Page 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

LIAM

Preparations for Sasha to move into my apartment started the moment she left the club for the Dominick. Actually, they started before that. The moment she let her curiosity show, I knew she was going to say yes.

I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

Taking my own advice, I flip off the light in the spare bedroom and head down the hall to mine. I set an alarm to ensure I have adequate time to get to her hotel by 10:00 a.m.

Keeping busy getting ready for Sasha’s anticipated arrival stopped me from thinking about my impulsivity this evening, but with my head resting on the soft, down pillow, it’s suddenly the only thing I can think about.

Untrained .

She’s had horrible examples of Dominants. Training her will be like teaching a new submissive.

Untested.

We have not played together, and I have no idea if we are compatible. The way I lead and the things I like might not be compatible with how she learns to follow. We might not be a good fit for a training dynamic.

Unknown.

The two of us are practically strangers, and she’s moving in this morning. Several women have lived here over the years. All of them were trained— very well-trained —and appropriately tested long before an offer was extended to be their Dom or provide them with a key to my apartment.

I don’t know what’s more ridiculous… The fact that I offered my dominance to Sasha. Or lengths I was willing to go to ensure she accepted it.

My alarm blares, and I’m surprised to find that I actually managed to get a few hours of sleep. After a quick shower, I get dressed and send a quick text to my brothers before heading down to the parking garage.

Won’t be coming to the club today, taking care of Sasha.

CONOR

I bet you will be TAKING CARE of her

FINN

Do you even remember how sex works at his point?

Or do you need one of us to draw you a picture?

Fuck the lot of you.

TRISTAN

Layla will be there in about an hour.

She has a key, so she can let herself in.

FINN

Sasha AND Layla. Is Tris sharing again?

CONOR

Please say yes!

Just one picture of Layla with Sasha between her thighs…

Or Layla between Sasha’s. I’m not picky.

DECLAN

Pretty sure if you keep at it, you’re going to need ice for the fat lip Tris is going to give you when he gets to the club.

TRISTAN

Conor, I literally have one word for you: TINDER

Shoving the phone into my jacket pocket with a laugh, I slide into the driver’s seat and turn over the engine. The display illuminates, and I note the time. 9:15 a.m .

Here’s to hoping traffic isn’t fucking horrendous.

I pull into the valet with around eight minutes to spare. The attendant takes my keys, and I head inside, aiming for the elevator bank. I am surprised to find Sasha stepping from the elevator cab and into the lobby. The clothes Layla chose fit her impeccably. The long open-front sweater provides a modest view of the leggings hugging the generous curves of her hips and thighs, and the V-neck of her well-fitted T-shirt provides the faintest peek at the cleavage of her ample breasts .

Walking toward me—struggling to carry all the bags I had delivered yesterday—she flashes a short, nervous smile. “Good morning, beautiful,” I greet her, watching her shoulders drop and her face crumble as the words pass my lips. “Is it my arrival or the name that makes you uncomfortable?”

Her eyes widen, clearly surprised by my observation, and she whispers, “Beautiful… That was Isaac’s name for me.”

“You are far too stunning for me not to compliment your appearance, but I will be mindful of using that word,” I promise, reaching for the bags to relieve her of their weight. “What are you doing in the lobby?”

“Coming to meet you,” she answers timidly. “So you don’t have to wait for me.”

“I appreciate your punctuality, but I will always come to collect you,” I explain. “I don’t want you going anywhere without me or protection.”

“I…I’m sorry,” she stammers.

“And most of all”—I collect the last bag from her hand—“I need you to let me take care of you. Understood?”

Struggling to meet my gaze, Sasha nods her agreement.

“I’m not angry or upset with you, sweetheart,” I assure her, noting her disappointment in her own behavior.

“Really?” She sounds genuinely surprised as we walk to my car, which is still sitting in the valet.

I deal with the attendant and retrieve my keys, delaying my answer to her. “Yes, really.” I open her car door, and she lifts a black folder from the passenger seat to climb into it. “Why don’t we go get some brunch before I take you to my place? It’ll give us a chance to discuss the contract in your hands.”

Closing her door, I stow her bags in the trunk. I join her in the car and drive toward the Williamsburg Bridge, heading into Brooklyn. It’s thirty minutes in the opposite direction of my apartment, but The Galway has a remarkable traditional Irish breakfast, right down to the beans and soda bread.

This late in the morning, the restaurant is sparsely populated, and it only takes a few minutes for us to get a large semi-circle booth and a couple of cups of coffee. I order for us both—after Sasha vehemently denies being hungry—waiting for the server to leave before sliding along the hunter-green leather bench to sit closer to her. Placing the folder between the two of us on the table, I open it to reveal the contract within.