Danielle: You think I just met you?
Remy: If you'll allow it.
Danielle: I'll allow inappropriate sex questions on the condition you don't mention his scars.
Remy: Are they as nasty as everyone says?
Protective energy fills my veins. Who's talking about Adam that way, and where can I destroy them?
Danielle: No, they're beautiful.
Remy: Danny.
Danielle: Not because I have some fixation on scars. Because they are. He's still handsome.
Remy: To a normal person?
Danielle: Are you the normal person in this situation?
Remy: Yes.
Danielle: I didn't know you looked at guy's faces. I thought you only looked at dicks.
Remy: Well…
Danielle: You know I won't tell you.
Remy: Above average though? Tell me he's above average.
Danielle: I'm satisfied.
Remy: Danny!
Danielle: Above average. But not too much.
Remy: Too much?
Danielle: Too much is as bad as too little.
Remy: No.
Danielle: Really?
Remy: No such thing as too much.
Danielle: What if he had a horse dick? Didn't some guy die from that?
Remy: Yes, but he actually fucked a horse. Do you think I'm into bestiality?
Danielle: You're pretty freaky.
Remy: Danny!
Danielle: Not full-on animals, but maybe furries.
Remy: I would never!
Danielle: No? What if the guy was really hot?
Remy: That's not a toll I'm going to pay. And you won't distract me from this important topic? What's too much to you?
Danielle: No comment.
Remy: No fun.
Danielle: Does one work for brunch? Maybe two?
Remy: Nine inches? Eight?
Danielle: We're in the financial district right now. Near the brunch place with the French toast. And the single-origin coffee.
Remy: Seven?
Danielle: I'll meet you there at one.
Remy: Not six, Danny! Tell me it's not six!
Danielle: I'll see you at one.
He sends me a sad face emoji.
Then an eggplant and a sad face.
Remy: You're the worst.
Danielle: Love you too.
It's almost eleven. One is two hours away. That's just enough time to work out, shower, dress, fuck Adam.
Will he?
Or will he make me wait?
It feels strange texting him, but I do it anyway.
Danielle: Told Remy we'd meet at one. Does that work for you?
I leave my cell and coffee cup on the counter. Look for workout clothes in the dresser. Of course, it's stocked. There's even a sports bra in my size. A nice one, made out of nylon, in an actual bra size and not the boob smooshing small, medium, large nonsense.
Then leggings, socks, shoes, a tank top, one of those sleek zip up jackets.
I look like a space commander. An overly curvy space commander with too much hair, but a space commander still.
Adam already has the TV set up for my workout streaming service. And the couch and table are a little farther back.
He rearranged the room for me.
It's sort of absurd, working out in the living room of his multi-million-dollar penthouse. If we really lived here, I could go to actual classes, in an actual studio.
Before, they were out of my price range.
Now, I could rent my own studio room and hire a private instructor.
Whatever I want.
The world is my oyster.
I stream my dance workout. Lose myself in the rhythmic movements. After forty minutes I'm sweaty and spent and buzzing with endorphins.
I do a quick cool down stretch then I strip and step into the shower.
The door opens.
Adam's footsteps move closer.
Into the bedroom.
Then he knocks.
"Come in," I say.
He's in his own set of high-tech workout gear. A sleek jacket and running leggings.
Why don't men wear leggings more often?
I can see all the muscles in his legs. They're as broad and built as the rest of him.
And I need my hands around them.
If he wants the leggings between us, fine, I can do that, as long as I can touch him.
"Adam." My eyes fix on his. "Are you going to stand there and watch?"
"Do you want me to?" His eyes move over my body. Lips, neck, chest, stomach, pelvis.
"Yes." My cheeks flush. "But I'd rather you fuck me."
He actually smiles. "You're persistent."
"Isn't that what you like about me?"
"Besides your tits?"
My cheeks flush. My stomach warms. "You made another joke."
"Did I?"
I want to laugh, hug him, and tear his clothes off in equal measure. "I like it."
"I know."
"It changes the mood."
"I know."
"Because you're not going to fuck me?"
He nods.
"But maybe later?"
"Maybe."
I turn to him. His image is fuzzy through the fogged glass. He's impossibly far away. I need him in here with me. "I need help."
"You were fine last night."
"It's a different help." I arch my back. "Your hands on my skin."
"You want me to fuck you?"
"Yes."
"Then do what I ask."
How can I say no to that? "Will you promise?"
"No."
A whine falls from my lips.
"Do you fuck yourself in the shower?"
"Not usually."
"Why not?"
"The water makes it difficult. Not enough friction."
He nods with understanding. "Wait here."
Uh, okay…
He slips out of the bathroom.
I try to ignore the desire building in my stomach. I want to fuck him. No, I need to fuck him. I don't care what I have to do to make that happen. I'm doing it.