“It is to me. I take my hard-ons very seriously.” I cross my arms and watch her for a moment—reading her. “Why are you asking?”
She looks away down the street. “It’s been brought to my attention that I’m a bit high-strung.”
“High-strung?”
“Stuffy,” she confirms.
“Yeah, that’s true—but I’m still not getting what that has to do with us fucking?”
“I’m in need of relaxation,” she explains. “Stress relief on a regular basis.”
Suddenly it all becomes clear. What she’s asking. Offering. And every drop of blood in my body heads south—tightening my trousers in anticipation.
“And you’re thinking I could be your personal stress reliever?”
She gives a little shrug.
“You did say you were interested. And I admit, there’s an attraction between us. You’re the best-looking man I’ve ever seen . . .”
My ego is a lot like my cock—large and fully capable. But if it ever needed a boost, that compliment from this particular woman would certainly do the job.
“. . . and our kiss, in your hospital room, it was—”
“Hot,” I finish for her.
Abby’s voice goes low and husky.
“Yes, it was hot.”
Because she’s remembering that kiss the same way I am—the addictive feel of it, the sensuous taste. But then she remembers herself. She steps back and shakes her head, like she’s trying to clear the lusty sheen that’s fallen over us both.
“But, there would be rules to our arrangement. Parameters.”
And she’s back to prim and proper and dignified. Like she’s flipped a switch. But it’s still sexy as fuck.
“What sort of parameters?”
“Well, as you know, I have a very demanding schedule. We would have to coordinate our time together in advance. I have the most flexibility on Tuesdays and Saturdays—I could pencil you in if those days work for you.”
I laugh out loud.
Because my sex drive is more the free-range, voracious type. It’s not the kind you pencil in. Although this flexibility she speaks of is intriguing . . . I’d like to hear more about that.
“Also, I have no time for emotional entanglements. It will have to be purely physical. When it’s run its course, for either of us, we tell each other. Simply, honestly—no dramatics, no regrets.”
Now I think she’s messing with me.
I actually glance around to see if one of the boys is hiding behind a bush or something. If they put her up to this to prank me. Because talk about too good to be true.
It’s like all the falling stars and fairy godmothers got together to grant one perfect, massive wish—and this is it. It’s like a fucking miracle.
Without thinking, I reach into my pocket for my smokes. But before I can even tap one out of the pack, Abby holds up a scolding finger.
“And no smoking—that’s one of the parameters too. For as long as our arrangement is in effect, you have to promise me you won’t smoke. Whether you’re with me or not.”
“Why does it matter if I’m not with you?”
“Because it’s bad for you.” Her brow furrows sweetly, “It’s harmful and I don’t like the thought of you being harmed.”
I tilt my head back, thinking on it.
“So it’s an ultimatum. You’re saying I can put my lips on this”—I wiggle the pack of cigarettes—“or I can put them all over that.” I gesture up and down her beautiful body.
“I suppose that is what I’m saying,” Abby agrees.
I click my tongue.
“No contest.”
I crush the pack into a ball in my hand—and toss it, in a perfect arch, into the trash bin on the corner.
Abby smiles then, laughing a bit.
“So, you agree?”
It’s the look on her face that gets me—that tightens my chest and hits me in the gut—and tells me she could become so much more addictive than any tobacco.
Her expression is hopeful. Open with uninhibited yearning.
Stress relief or not—Abby wants this. She wants me to say yes. This talented, smart, stunning woman wants me, period.
“Give me your fuckin’ cash!”
That snarl comes from a wild-eyed, tweaky bastard—who’s now standing about two feet away on my left. Holding a jagged-edged buck knife in Abby’s direction.
I’m typically better about being aware of my surroundings, but Abby—and our topic of conversation—was an epic distraction.
“This isn’t a good time, mate,” I tell him lightly. “We’re in the middle of something here.”
He waggles the knife around. “I said your cash—and make it fast or I’ll cut you!”
Now I’m annoyed. And the terror on Abby’s pretty face makes me think dark, merciless, creative thoughts.
But it’s better if I resolve this quickly. Cleanly.
So, I take my wallet out and hand the twat a twenty.
“This is all you’re getting. Walk away. And stop looking at her like that or I’ll remove your eyeballs from your fucking skull.”
He leers at Abby harder, baring rotten teeth.
“Maybe I’ll do something more than look. You talk a big game, mate—but I’m the one holding the knife.”
Three moves.
That’s all it takes for the knife that was in his hand to be gripped in mine. I could’ve done it in two, but I slapped him for good measure. I press the blade under his chin, against his throat, hard enough for him to feel the sting.