He shrugged. “Pretty much.”
I bit back a grin and grabbed the wine bottle, pouring us each a glass. “A funny thing happened to me this afternoon,” I said. “A courier showed up with an envelope. It was a check for all of the back pay I was owed, plus an extra five thousand dollars.”
Max put his fork in his pasta and stirred it. “I think that’s a severance payment,” he said. “Devon was talking about that. He paid all of the other girls who got ripped off, too, by the way. Not just you. With a severance for each of them.”
I sipped my wine and stared at him. He was wearing his usual jeans and a white t-shirt with a dark blue flannel shirt buttoned over it. He wasn’t as dressed as he’d been the other night at the theater, but still he looked like he’d made… an effort. A Max-type effort. His hair was neat, not mussed for once. He’d traded his black zip-up sweatshirt for something with buttons. It was possible the shirt was even new.
Some rich guys impressed women by taking them on private jets; Max did it by changing his shirt. And I still felt touched, because I got it. I understood. I wanted to unbutton that shirt and pull his clothes off and explore every inch of his body until he was changing his shirt a hundred times a day, just for me.
Instead I took a bite of pasta, which was delicious. “Well, here’s the interes
ting thing,” I said. “I cashed my check, and then I went to my landlord’s office to pay the back rent I owe. And I found that not only was it already paid, but my next six months’ rent is paid in advance as well.” I swallowed another bite and raised my eyebrows at him. “Or maybe you already know that part of the story?”
Max grabbed his wineglass and frowned at me. “That building isn’t very safe,” he grumbled. “I went in there and said I wanted to pay your rent, and he didn’t even ask who the hell I was. I could have been anyone.”
I licked a drop of wine off my lip. “My sugar daddy,” I teased.
That made him grumble harder. “You know that’s not it. You just need a few months to figure out what’s next, that’s all.”
“And I don’t have to sleep with you?” I batted my lashes at him. I wouldn’t tease him so much if he didn’t make it so easy.
He took a gulp of his wine. “I told you before, fuck me or don’t fuck me. It’s up to you.”
I pressed my knees together under the table as a pulse of excitement made its way up my body. “I pick option A,” I said.
He stared at me for a long moment, and then he laughed softly. “We can do that if you want. You want me to spank you again?”
Jesus. I tried to stay casual and not stare longingly at the bedroom door, a few feet away. “That was rude,” I told him. “Spanking me like that.”
Max put his fork down. “You think?”
“Uncouth,” I said, stirring the last few noodles on my plate. “Ill mannered.”
His voice was rough. “Yeah?”
“Brutal,” I said, the words making the pulse of excitement run through my body again. I put down my own fork. “Forceful. Powerful.” I raised my gaze to his. “Rough.”
His eyes were dark on mine. He shoved back his chair and stood. “Come here.”
I was out of my chair before I could think. He took my wrist—a little roughly, just like I wanted—and took me into the bedroom, which was dark except for the light spilling in from the main room. I had kicked off my shoes before I even hit the doorway, and when he pulled me into the room I eagerly got on the bed.
No negotiation. No finesse. No seduction. I was drunk with anticipation, wet and ready. I felt free and totally wild, my dress sliding up my bare thighs as I leaned back on my elbows and looked up at him. He watched me in the dim light, and I felt like the sexiest woman in the world.
“Take your shirt off,” I told him.
He reached down and grabbed my ankle, holding my foot in midair. “You think I’m just going to do what you want?” he said.
I tugged my foot, but he didn’t let go. His big fingers were wrapped around my ankle, his muscled arm holding me easily. It was a game, one that made my breath come short. “Do it,” I said.
He grabbed my other ankle, so now he held both of them, my legs slightly spread and held in midair. “Maybe I won’t,” he said. “You’re bossy, even after I spanked you. Maybe I’ll just fuck you with my clothes on.”
Oh, I could play this game. “Take them off or you don’t fuck me at all,” I countered. I lifted my skirt up, showing him my panties between my opened legs. “I’ll walk out of here, and I’ll take this”—I slid my hand down into my panties, over my pussy—“with me.”
His eyes followed my fingers, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, as my fingers moved beneath the fabric. Then he let my ankles go and unbuttoned the blue shirt, pulling it off. The t-shirt followed next.
I kept my hand moving. “Now your pants,” I said.
He unbuckled his belt and dropped them, like he’d done in his living room that day. He was wearing black boxer briefs. I couldn’t see his damaged leg from my angle, but I didn’t forget about it, that he’d said he’d rather not wear it in bed. “Your leg,” I said.