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I fixated way more than I had any business doing on the moistA
We were not going to talk about it.

“I mean, yeah, you fucked up.”

From what I’d heard, it wasn’t even for a good reason.

“I’m aware,” he said with a grunt. “Do we have to rehash my early twenties and all the mistakes I made?”

“Not really.” I shrugged it off, but I noted the resigned tone and the way he enunciated mistakes. It seemed relevant. “Have you been with anyone since?”

“Since Sergio?” Tony raised an eyebrow.

I scowled. “Since Marga and Jen.”

“Does my fist count?”

I froze. Don’t blame me, okay? I wasn’t counting on the dry humor. Of course, it was the moment I’d grabbed another forkful of food, so I ended up having a coughing fit. My throat closed up over the food, heat rising to my face as I tried to salvage the little dignity I had left in front of him.

Unsurprisingly, Tony moved closer. It didn’t help. His hand on my back didn’t, either, but I had no way of letting him know. No, I could just sit there as I tried not to die, while he shoved the same glass he’d been drinking from in my face.

Tears pooled in my eyes. Double fuck. I wasn’t a crier. It kind of bothered me, too, the assumptions about subs and shit. I didn’t cry after a scene or when I got overwhelmed. When I laughed or coughed too hard, though? Or when I was stuck home with the flu? The tears flowed then—especially if there was someone to witness it.

Did I say I hated it?

Eventually, I managed to swallow whatever got stuck there and stopped coughing long enough to take a sip of the water Tony offered. Because my luck was shit, it wasn’t before twostray tears leaked out of my eyes or before I could stop Tony from running a thumb across my cheeks to wipe them away.

We weren’t going to talk about how my heart sped up. That was just a natural reaction. I’d go with that. Seemed feasible enough.

“You’re okay?”

“I hate you,” I grumbled.

Perfectly reasonable response.

Tony just quirked an eyebrow. Did I mention I hated when Domms pulled that shit? “Should I have left you to choke on your own?”

I narrowed my eyes. I knew, and he knew, there was no way for me to answer without sounding petulant as fuck.

“Whatever.” I had to think of something else. I couldn’t just let him have the upper hand, could I?Think, Jaime, think. “So, you’ve only fooled around in your office? With men, I mean?”

That would do it.

Or not.

Part of taunting him was hoping he’d move away. He didn’t. He was even closer than I’d dared to move earlier, when he’d implied I was?—

Nope, not going there either.

But he was still too close—I shouldn’t be able to track the way his jaw tightened, or how that cord in his neck begged to be licked and bitten and toyed with until he pushed me away. I shouldn’t be imagining what that would look like.

“Are you trying to shame me, Jaime?”

Jaime.

I paused.

All this time, he’d been calling me boy. Using my name felt significant, even with the derision in his voice.