“You missed my ass.” Her smile was a dare. “I told you, most Doms find me hard to handle.”
Leaning back in his chair, he looked her over but this time didn’t try to hide it. “I doubt I’d have much trouble handling you, but that’s pure speculation at this point.”
They stared at each other. Maybe it was creepy to make eye contact for so long, but he was incapable of looking away. Adrenaline started to buzz through him. God, he wanted to punish her, hear her beg, feel her underneath him. Was Everly feeling the same connection? Her slanted amber eyes reminded him of a cat, and they seemed to hold the same independence. This wasn’t a submissive who needed a Dom to define her. She wasn’t afraid to show her strength.
She broke the silence first. “I guess we’d have to play together to figure that out.”
“Now?” Crap. This girl had him off balance. He needed to get that under control.
“Well”—she shrugged—“unless you need to find your balls first.”
Fuck. His hand itched to grab her by the hair and teach her to be more respectful, but with brats there was a fine line. Sometimes when they wanted to get a rise out of a Dom, the Dom had to ignore their sass to keep the upper hand. Although nothing was more fun than teaching a bratty girl a lesson in manners.
Calm the fuck down, idiot.
“What’s your safeword?” Why did that sound like a creepy pickup line?
“We’ll use ‘red’ for now.” She raised a brow. Was she surprised he’d kept his cool?
“Fair enough.”
The way her eyes narrowed suggested she was waiting for him to make a move. “Are we doing this now?”
“Yes.”
“Are we going . . .” She gestured vaguely at some vacant equipment along the walls.
“No. I prefer not to use the equipment here. For now we’ll sit and talk, and if you sass me, I’ll deal with it accordingly.”
“Is this the part where you try to lure me back to your private dungeon?”
“No. Dungeons are so limiting. I believe in free-range beatings.”
She snorted. “Are you sure you’re not a brat?”
“Doms are never brats,” he said with mock disdain.
Everly settled beside him on the overstuffed couch and looked at him impatiently. “Now what?”
Now straddle me and settle yourself on my dick. “Now we have a polite conversation, like well-behaved adults.”
She leaned in, looking up at him. Mischief lurked in her gaze. “I’ve never been a well-behaved adult, and I doubt I could role-play one well enough to be convincing.”
“Not into role-play?”
“Well . . . I didn’t say that.”
Such a naughty kitten. He fought the urge to coax her into his lap so he could pet her. Behind her, he caught a glimpse of Konstantin and his girls coming back, but his buddy spotted the tension and steered them away to another part of the club before they reached the table. Maybe he was going to be a decent wingman tonight after all.
“What do you like to play?”
She shrugged. “It depends. If my partner can’t hold up his end of things, I’d rather not role-play at all. If he’s good, he could talk me into playing almost anything. I’m not into animals, bodily waste, or anything that causes permanent damage though.”
“What about pain?” Ambrose draped his arm over the back of the couch, and without hesitation she tucked in against him. A warm protectiveness stole over him, and he let his arm curve around her shoulders.
“I like it in moderation. Having my ass beaten until it bleeds isn’t a turn-on for me though.” She smelled like a dessert he wanted to put in his mouth and savor. “I like fun and hot BDSM, not cranky BDSM. If a Dom doesn’t like laughing or my bratting, then he isn’t a good match for me.”
There was a wistfulness in her tone that suggested it was an ongoing struggle for her to find partners that suited her. He identified with that feeling a little too well. Most of the girls who took a shine to him were well-behaved submissives who wanted strict Doms who would call them on any breaches in conduct. Ambrose liked to laugh too much for that kind of responsibility—it wasn’t in him to be a rule-monger, and he resented having women expect that of him. So fucking boring.