Page 28 of Whatever Lola Wants (Odyssey #2)

F our days later, her butt still twinged a bit when she sat down in her office chair.

She grimaced and shifted, trying to find a less tender spot to settle on.

There wasn’t one; he’d very generously spread his smacks around.

When she’d seen how her entire backside—and the tops of her thighs—had been glowing red, she’d scowled and told him such a severe punishment ought to earn her a few ‘ Get Out of Trouble Free ’ cards for use on future infractions.

He’d roared with laughter, smacked her butt hard enough to make her squeal with outrage, and bullied her into getting dressed.

Then he’d taken her to a baseball game. And laughed some more when she’d tried to find a comfortable seat in the Wrigley Field bleachers.

Luckily for her, it had been an exciting game, and she’d spend most of the nine innings on her feet, cheering for the home team.

When they’d gone back to her apartment and tumbled into bed, she’d insisted on being on top.

Her butt was far too tender, she’d told him, to rub against the sheets or be stuck up in the air as an easy target.

He’d gone along without a quibble, and then demonstrated just how much attention he could pay to her ass from the bottom.

Long arms, big hands, and a ridiculous amount of upper body strength meant she hadn’t had nearly as much control as she’d wanted.

By the time they were done she’d run out of curses to fling at him, her butt was throbbing anew, and she’d come so hard she might have actually forgotten her name for a moment.

And telling him that had been a huge mistake. Every night since then he’d made it his mission to get her to forget again.

She grinned down at the contract in front of her, squirming in her seat at the memory making. Which made her wince, but it wasn’t enough to dim her happiness.

She was, for the first time since she’d moved to Chicago , spending time with a man who excited her in bed, didn’t bore her out of it, and who seemed to genuinely like her.

They had a surprising amount in common; a passion for their respective careers, enjoyment of most sports—he’d taken her refusal to watch the golf channel with him in stride—a shared interest in books and art.

It sometimes surprised her how often they stayed up into the wee hours, cuddled in her bed in the dark, talking about current events or dissecting the documentary they’d just watched.

They’d even managed to work around the whole problem of her not being submissive.

It helped that the way he liked to play meshed so well with what she needed as a bottom; when she worked her way free of his ropes or cuffs or fought back, he never got angry.

He just laughed. Then he overpowered her, punished her for her antics in a way that made them both hotter, and continued with the scene.

It made for some of the best scenes of her life, and she slept like the dead every night, exhausted from multiple orgasms.

And after tasting her cooking just once, he’d declared her a disaster in the kitchen and appointed himself in charge of breakfast.

Since he always made bacon and usually cooked wearing just a pair of worn jeans—unbuttoned, half zipped, and clinging to his ass in a way that made her mouth water—that worked just fine for her.

She was falling for him.

The thought was sobering. She leaned back in her chair, chewing on the cap of her pen.

She couldn’t say the realization was a surprise; trying to cook for him was a dead giveaway that she was trying to impress him.

She snickered, remembering the look on his face at his first bite of her pancakes.

Apparently , she hadn’t mixed the dry ingredients together thoroughly enough, and he’d bitten right into an undissolved glob of baking soda.

Once he’d stopped gagging, he’d laughed.

And once she’d stopped pretending to be hurt and offended, so had she.

She knew he had feelings for her. A man didn’t spend time with a woman he didn’t enjoy being with, especially a man like Simon .

He had money, a great deal of power in certain circles, and the kind of dangerous good looks that brought women out of the woodwork.

She rolled her eyes, remembering the first time they’d gone out to dinner rather than ordering in.

She’d come back from the bathroom to find a long-legged brunette draped all over him in the bar, and their waitress had practically genuflected when he’d smiled at her.

He’d barely paid any attention to it, which surprised her. Oh , he’d been amused by the brunette at the bar, but he’d excused himself effortlessly when he’d seen Lola coming back from the bathroom, turning his back on the disappointed woman—and her enormous breasts—without a backward glance.

When he was with her, he paid attention to her. And in her experience, that alone made him unique.

But then again, he was a Dom , used to exercising control, used to being in charge. Maybe she’d made a mistake all those years she’d spent shying away from dominant men.

Because, boy howdy, it was sure working for her now.

Her self-deprecating chuckle was interrupted by the chirp of her cell phone.

A quick glance at the readout made her smile.

Ginger had been living in the apartment next to hers for only a short while, but she’d come to enjoy the other woman’s company.

They’d had dinner once, with Anna joining them for burgers at Navy Pier , and they’d talked several times since.

She tapped her screen to engage the speaker. “ Hello , Ginger .”

“Hey, Lola . Are you home right now?”

Lola frowned and checked the time display on her computer. It was already after six—she’d lost track of time working on the latest version of the Anderson contract--and thinking about Simon . “ No , I’m still at work, actually.”

“Nuts.”

“Is something wrong?”

Ginger’s sigh came over the line. “ Nothing that can’t wait. I bought a new bookshelf today, and I need some tools to put it together.”

“Oh. Can’t you find Peter’s tools?”

“He doesn’t have any.” Ginger’s voice was disgusted.

“He’s a structural engineer, and he doesn’t have tools?”

“When I asked him that exact question, he got all huffy and said he only designed buildings and bridges; other people build them. He doesn’t even have a screwdriver.”

“Well, you’re welcome to my tools. And you should have a key to my place on the key ring Peter left you.”

“Really?”

“We traded emergency keys a couple of years ago. It’s the one with the red rubber cover on it.”

“Oh, I wondered what that was for. But it can wait until you get home.”

“There’s no need,” Lola assured her. “ The tools are in a case under the kitchen sink; just help yourself to whatever you need, and bring them back when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Lola . You’re a lifesaver.”

“Anytime.”

“I had a lot of fun with you and Anna the other night.”

“We did, too. We should definitely do it again.”

“My schedule is wide open,” Ginger offered, “so you just tell me when.”

“I’ll get with Anna and let you know. Since she’s hip deep in wedding details, she’s the one we’ll have to work around.”

“Maybe we can get her nice and loaded some night. You know, as stress relief.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Lola said. “ I’ll get with her, let you know when.”

“Works for me. I’m going to grab your tools now. And before he gets back, I’m going to buy Peter a set of his own. In pink.”

Lola laughed as the call disconnected, then turned her attention back to the contract in front of her, forcing herself to stay until she’d reviewed the full document.

Finally satisfied it was ready to go, she fired off a quick email to her assistant with instructions to proceed, then shut down her computer.

She locked up the files she’d had spread over her desk and flicked off the lights, suddenly wanting nothing more than a hot shower and food.

And maybe, while she was waiting for the pizza to be delivered, she’d see if Simon was busy.

Head bent over her phone as she headed for the elevator, she didn’t notice the man in her path until she slammed into him.

“Ooof.” She bounced off a hard chest and would have fallen but for the hands grasping her upper arms.

She had a moment of panic before she caught the scent of soap and Simon . Speak of the devil.

“For such a little thing, you pack a punch.”

She tilted her head up, so pleased to see him she didn't even object to being called little. “ Flatterer .”

Simon grinned, bending to press a kiss to her mouth. “ Must be all those muscles,” he murmured, kissing her again, and she gave a little hum of delight.

“I was just thinking about you,” she told him. “ Maybe I summoned you with the power of my mind.”

He raised an eyebrow. “ Well , I did have a sudden urge to see you.”

“Did you?” she asked, delighted. “ Was this a general urge, or are there specifics?”

“Among other things, I believe pizza was involved.”

She blinked in surprise. “ God , maybe I really do have mind powers. I was craving pizza.”

“No anchovies,” he warned.

She gave him her best pout. “ It’s boring without them.”

“You can have the spicy sausage and banana peppers, but I draw the line at fish on my pie.”

“Well, if you’re going to be a wuss.”

He lifted her right off her feet to look her straight in the eye. “ That will not work.” He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth, then dropped her back down.

She rocked a bit on her heels, heart thumping.

It always made her stomach flutter when he demonstrated just how much strength was packed into that muscled body.

Especially when he was dressed, as he was now, in his working wardrobe of dress slacks and a silky shirt.

“ Maybe we could just get anchovies on half.”

He slung an arm around her shoulders and pressed the button for the elevator. “ What’re you going to give me if I cave?”

She pursed her lips. “ I can probably think of something.”