Page 179 of Unconditionally Yours

I glance at the desk. The little bag she brought sits there, taunting me. Velvet ribbon, obnoxiously pink. I open it like it might bite me.

Inside there’s a pair of silk wrist ties. A heart-shaped paddle. And underneath it all, white chocolate.

I pull one out, unwrap it, and walk back over.

She’s still watching me. Barely. Eyes half-lidded, expression soft. Her cheeks are flushed and tear-streaked and glowing like someone just prayed her into existence.

I kneel beside the couch and hold the candy to her lips. “Open,” I say.

She does. Slowly.

I press the candy to her tongue, and she sucks it in, lips brushing my fingers. She moans low and closes her eyes.

I brush my thumb across her bottom lip. “You okay?” I ask again.

She nods. Her hand finds mine and squeezes. “I wasn’t sure if you were gonna pick the gag or the candy first,” she says, voice rough and sweet and amused.

“I almost picked neither,” I tease. “I was this close to sending you home.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. I didn’t.”

Her smile turns slow and satisfied. “Good,” she whispers. “Next time, I want both. And the paddle.”

Fucking hell.

I drop my head to her shoulder and just breathe her in.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Delilah

“Dr. Hartwell, you have a call from Mr. Kline,” Susan chirps over the intercom.

I’m not even mad. I want to hate her, she’s snippy and tightly wound. But right now she’s the reason I get to watch Rhys do that thing where his whole face softens like melted caramel over a heat lamp.

My therapist, turned handler, turned personal sanity breaking Sir, goes all warm and gentle, and it’s disorienting because just minutes ago he had me collared and on his desk like a good little patient-girl-toy-thing. I tilt my head, dazed, blissed out, cockdrunk on professionalism ruined.

Should I know who that is?

Then he hits the speaker. “Walter, talk to me.”

Oh. Walter. Jett’s lawyer. My lawyer. The man whose office I cried in, paced in, possibly bled in, there was a lot going on that day.

“Benji saved the fucking day,” Walter booms, all gravel and bravado.

I sit up straighter.

“Ms. Patterson agreed to drop everything against Miss Darling if Benji seals the file about her HOA bullshit,” Walter says.

Rhys snorts. “She really likes being HOA president.”

“It gets better,” Walter hums.

Rhys crooks a finger at me.

I slink across the room like I’ve got nine tails and a secret. I land in his lap again.