“And what do you do?” Arlo asked, stealing the tea back from me. “That’s mine.”
I glanced away, raising a hand to wipe at my mouth and hide my smile. “I—” needed to be careful with my words. “I work predominantly with financing, looking at the bottom line and expansion opportunities.”
Arlo quirked his head. “That’s incredibly boring.”
Surprised, I let out a loud laugh. “It certainly can be,” I admitted, thinking about my last week, dreading each tick of the clock.
Right now, I wasn’t bored at all.
The kitchen had all but cleared out at our arrival. I wondered if the event was closing down soon, or if they were all just out serving. Either way, Arlo and I were completely alone. “Tell me something about you.”
“About me?” Arlo sounded surprised. He gently touched his hand to his chest as he spoke, brows furrowing as he considered. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
I crossed to the end of the counter, so that only a corner square of the silver table separated us. I leaned my hip on the side, facing him. He shifted, and then we were closer than we had ever been. His hands were still on the ceramic mug, arms stretched out to reach it halfway across the counter. I reached over and placed one hand on his wrist, my thumb moving gently on his skin there. Goosebumps rose and he shivered.
“Arlo,” his name tasted good in my mouth, fitting around my tongue comfortably. “Start anywhere.”
His tongue darted out of his mouth to swipe across his bottom lip. “I’m not sure there’s anything interesting about me.”
I clicked my tongue. “Oh, Arlo. I sincerely doubt that.”
He took in a deep breath, sucking in fast enough I could hear the air move. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. I was swaying toward him, momentarily glad for the table between us. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling—a heady excitement, wakefulness, that was so unlike the state of perpetual boredom I had been in for weeks that I nearly felt drunk off of it. “You, Arlo, are absolutely fascinating.”
Arlo was swaying toward me, too. I could see it—his big, bright eyes flickering across my face and down my neck, his pulse hammering just beneath his skin, the white-knuckled grip he had on the mug—Arlo was as affected by me as I was him. A surge of pure, undiluted desire flashed through me, warming me from the stomach out.
“I can tell there’s more to you,” I murmured, tightening my grip on his wrist for just a moment—just long enough for his pulse to start to race—before loosening it again, gently smoothing my thumb over the protruding bone of his wrist. “I can tell that just beneath the surface, there are parts of you just screaming to break out.”
Arlo’s eyes were dark and he was watching my lips move with rapt attention. “You can tell all that?”
“I can,” I kept my voice low, even, as I shifted a little bit closer, raising my other hand to the side of his face. He had a long strip of brown hair that I gently tucked behind his ear. “I can see how good you’d be at begging.”
I thought he would break at this, tremble, reach over and kiss me or slap me or something. I didn’t expect for his eyes to narrow, lips to spread in a sharp, dangerous smile and for him to pull away from me. He slowly reached to where I had my hand, gently pushing his own hair back and letting his index finger trail so, so slowly down the ridge of his ear, the sharp jut of his jaw before his hands fell. I didn’t expect for him to tilt his head, lean closer, and say, “What makes you so sure I’d be the one begging?”
My throat was dry, my pulse leaping. “I promise, sweetheart. I would make you beg.”
“What would I beg for?” His eyes widened as soon as the words spilled out, as if he hadn’t expected to say such a thing.
I grinned, delighted. My heart threatened to break my ribs as it beat in my chest, wild and fast. “Anything. Everything. You’d beg for my kiss, my touch—I’d stay right above you, my breath on your skin and my hands not quite touching you, until you were writhing and squirming just for the hope that I might press down on you. I’d hold your hips tight enough to leave pretty little bruises, my mouth still over you, until you were crying for me to move, to do anything. I’d make you beg for every stroke.”
He swallowed hard, eyes darting around the room. His cheeks had turned from the prettiest soft pink to a delicious, rounded red shade.
It was clear that though Arlo had a wicked smile and a sharp tongue, he wasn’t used to dirty talk. He likely wasn’t experienced in kink at all.
Normally, that might have been a turn-off—after all, I was here specifically to find someone perfect for my tastes, with none of the trial and error of dating.
But the idea of blushing, squirming Arlo—one that would narrow his eyes in retaliation but still end up spread across my bed, begging for me—a bright pulse of heat went through me—well, that was worth a little inexperience.
And that meant he could be all mine.
Arlo was watching me, his whole body alternating between stiffly frozen and trembling.
More than I had wanted anything in a very long time, I wanted Arlo. I wanted him.
“I wouldn’t mind all that,” Arlo said eventually, a little breathlessly.
I tilted my head. “No, I don’t suppose you would,” I murmured. My fingertips tingled with the urge to reach out, to touch him. “I am very much looking forward to you being mine.”
Arlo froze as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
His whole body tightened, except for his jaw which fell. “Excuse me?”
I frowned and opened my mouth to respond, but Arlo’s outrage beat me to the punch.
“I’m not yours,” he said furiously.
“Well, no,” I agreed, tilting my head. “Not yet, of course not.”
Arlo glared at me, his expression at once steely and cool. “I might be interested in becoming a consort,” he said sharply, “but I am not interested in becoming a whore.”
He pushed away from the counter, turning on his heel and storming out of the kitchen.
I blinked in surprise. The kitchen door swung closed and I stood for a moment, blankly staring at it.
I reran the conversation in my head.
I hadn’t meant it to sound bad—hadn’t meant to misjudge the way he’d react to such a statement.
I was sure that Arlo would see that, in a moment. I took the mug of tea to the sink and quickly tossed out the bag, rinsing it with cool water twice.
After giving Arlo a moment to cool down, I slipped the black mask out of my pocket and quickly donned it—though I hadn’t been wearing it for the entirety of my conversation with Arlo, it technically was required of patrons. Anonymity, even when it seemed fabricated and unnecessary, was of the highest regard here.
I slipped back into the main room, blinking at the sudden change in lighting and the uproarious noise coming from the partygoers. It seemed everyone was in pairs, no stragglers left.
What a good night for The Club—everyone finding their perfect pairing in one quick event.
I looked around, but was unable to find Arlo. As quietly as I was able, I lapped around the room, searching for his bright hazel eyes in the fog of people.
After going around the entire perimeter of the room twice, it became clear that Arlo had just left the whole event.