Byron follows me out into the late autumn chill. “I’ll find you.”
My hurried steps slap the sidewalk. “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”
“Don’t care what you want. You make Ronnie happy. That’s all that matters.”
Frustration spikes into a thorn that demands a target. I whirl on him in a fluid motion. Whatever he sees on my face has him retreating backward into a narrow alley. The wind doesn’t touch us here, but a cloak of privacy does. It gives me the confidence to reclaim what’s mine.
My hips swing as I approach him. “What makes you happy, hmm?”
The brick wall halts his escape, trapping him for a change. “Will that change anything?”
As if I’ll answer that. “Who takes care of you?”
His jaw hardens. “Don’t fuck with me.”
“I’m more interested in fucking you.” Mutual desire pulses between the short distance separating us. “How long has it been?”
Byron glares, but doesn’t move otherwise. “You’re crossing a line.”
“Says the man who tracked me down at a cafe.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?” I press my body against his. “How were you planning to sweeten the deal?”
The brown in his eyes brightens. “A signing bonus.”
“Money is nice, but predictable. Let’s see what else you can come up with.”
“What do you want?”
“Control,” I breathe. “Let’s forget the boundaries. Just relax. Enjoy yourself for a moment.”
He trembles against me, which is confusing. But then I feel the unmistakable steel of his arousal. My smile is predatory and victorious, like slipping on a favorite push-up bra. This game boosts me to a blissful state I’ve rarely reached before.
“Do you like this?” I grind my hips along his cock.
The bob of his Adam’s apple is telling. “No.”
“Liar,” I whisper against his lips.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Of course,” I scoff. “It’s a bit of payback for putting me on the spot. But maybe you’ll get something out of it.”
Byron’s breathing is labored. “You’re catching me at a weak moment.”
“How does it feel?” I have personal experience with the pressure he inflicts. It’s only fair he gets a taste.
My cheek caresses his. The coarse friction from his beard is gasoline on the fire and I’m going to watch him burn. Specks of gray are buried in the dark bristles, giving a nod to our difference in age. There are probably a solid ten years separating us. My bottom lip gets trapped between my teeth as I wonder if he knows what to do with that gap.
“Stop,” he rasps.
I go still. “Do you actually mean that?”
His head jerks to the side, confirming what I already knew. That grants me permission to cup the bulge nudging into my torso. A throb greets my daring exploration.
My mouth curls in satisfaction. “I have an almighty Benson in my grasp. Who would’ve thought?”