Scrupulous (An Affliction of Falling Novel Book 1) (8 page)

“Are we discussing my business or how I like to spend my free time?”

“Business, of course. Quite honestly, I have no interest in your
free time
, who or what you do it with. What I am concerned about is what affect my after-hours play might have on my current place of employment.” That should get the matter at hand out and on the table and far away from sex.

“That depends; do you have something to hide?”

He truly is a bastard. Part of me wants to slap his hard-lined jaw, and another part wants to rip that black, silk button-down straight off.

“You
know
everything there is to know about me as it is, don’t you? Vetting employees for employment gives you quite the volume of information.” Daz’s background checks were a bit intrusive; we all signed the waiver agreeing to it. His rationale was that he didn’t want his clientele to become mixed up with anyone that could be looking for trouble. He implemented it after a waitress intentionally tried to extort a member with incriminating photos of her giving him a blow job. The situation was handled in a manner that did not involve the authorities, but with men like Gavin around, I am not surprised.

“I don’t know
everything
,” he feigns in exasperation.

“Nothing else to know. Now, if you will excuse me, many a thirsty palates await.”

Thankfully, he takes the hint and fades back into the crowd. Hopefully, it is to go nurse his burned gullet. Hank, God bless him, is the one to see me to a cab. With no Tobias or Gavin in sight, my tired body gratefully finds its way back to the homestead.

After a long shower and wrapping up in my favorite chenille robe, I find a beer and sit down to watch some recorded shows before planning on turning in. The mindless droning of TV does a mind good after a stressful night like tonight. Halfway through a
Grey’s Anatomy
re-run, my intercom buzzes, scaring the crap out of me and making me almost spill my beer. It is four AM! Who─ wait. Getting up to answer the buzzer, I try to collect my nerves. Without asking who it is, I fire off, intuition telling me everything that I needed to know.

“What do you want, Gavin?”

“You were waiting for me.” It wasn’t a question─ just a statement that hung in the air.

“No, stalker, I was not. Go home.
I am not interested
.” I hang up the call and almost make it back to my spot on the couch when a knock thunders out from my front door, freezing my heart in my chest.

Stomping to the door in a most pissed-off manner, I unlock it without looking through the peephole and swing it wide open in exasperation, causing my robe to fall from my shoulders. My hands catch it in time and hold it to my breasts. He is there, leaning casually in the door frame without a care in the world. His jeans and a fitted V-neck sweater cling to every inch of him in a devastating invitation as the scent of aftershave deliciously beckons me.

“What the feck? Mr. GQ, it’s a bit late for your fuckery.
Go Home
!” I make to slam the door but he catches it and lets himself in before closing and locking the door behind him. My heart leaps into my throat as I try to comprehend what is taking place. He shouldn’t be here; this should not be happening. This is wrong. He strolls in nonchalantly and sits on the couch as if it were any lazy afternoon.

Stunned by the events transpiring, unsure of whether or not to call the cops or not, my feet are cemented and mouth remains gawking.

“Can I have one of those?” He lifts his chin to my beer, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes as I stand there clutching the soft fabric to my barely covered breasts while attempting not to drop my beer while wrapping my neurons around what is happening. The sounding out of a throat noisily being cleared snaps me out it.

Sourly heading into the kitchen to grab him one from the icebox, I head back into the sitting room while my mind continues to whirl. Passively handing it over with an incomprehensible grunt, I make my way over his long legs to curl back up in my spot on the sofa. Even though I cast him a suspicious eye from time to time, we exist in companionable silence in between pulls of our longnecks. Though he has caught me off-guard, I sense no threat and begin to slightly calm.

“Why are you here, Gavin?” I finally break the ice, tired of his games and beyond ready for bed.

“To apologize.”

I almost spit out my beer and find myself sputtering, thankful for the sleeve of my robe to catch it.

“Is it that absurd that I do? I should have not broken your trust by viewing your company records. I couldn’t help myself. After our night together, I found myself unable to stay away. Breaking your trust was the least of my intentions. Trust is a fragile thing, yet powerful all in the same.” Gone is his arrogance, and a genuine attempt is what seems to be taking place. His typically stern face is relaxed, uncomfortable even.

“Yes, it is the foundation on which your lifestyle is based, the seat upon which the power exchange sits. I understand,” my mouth absently validates.

“I cannot remember the last time I gave in and made love the way we did─ unrestrained, unrefined, raw. My intent, at first, was simply sex, but our undeniable chemistry overtook and intoxicated the mood. The force in which you make love is unforgettable. It made me abandon myself. You syphoned my power and left me freed. For the first time, I believe I may have had a taste of what a submissive feels─ a rush in the release.” He slams the rest of his beer, sets it down, and sits back to take in my expression.

I must look as shocked as I did the day my sister told me Santa Claus didn’t exist, threatening my fragile world of fantasy and myth that enraptured me. At the fragile age of eight, I had sworn up and down I was really a faery, placed in the arms of humans for my safekeeping until they could come back for me. The phase drove my mother mad. And Santa was very real─ until my sister shattered that.

After picking my jaw up off the floor, I place the beer on the table, not trusting my ability to swallow. “I don’t know what to say. That wasn’t a planned event; things have been different and off all around since the other night.” Thoughtfulness and reflection cloud my mind.

“Can I ask an honest question?” He brings his hands up behind his head to lounge.

“Sure.” The relaxed theme is doing our hardheaded demeanors well.

“Did you feel anything different when we were together, or was it just me?”

Do I answer honestly? Can I lie to him? No, I cannot, even if his confession is part of a mind game. It has never been in my nature to outright lie to people.

“Yes. I’ve never connected with someone on that level
.
”
Stop there, Sorcha. Stop while you are ahead
. Expecting another shit-eating grin on his face when I glance over, I am surprised to see him look conflicted, pained in a sense. And there we sat, staring at each other with equal measures of perplexity.

“Samuel said dating isn’t your style.” The thought seems to add to the hallow expression set deep within the lines of his freshly shaven face.

“What
else
did he say?” I try not to growl. Fucking Samuel.

“Calm down; I didn’t interrogate him. Just wanted to know if the guy in the bar was more than an obvious fling.”

“Jealous much? I’m surprised you care. Dating doesn’t seem much of your thing either from what I hear.” My snarky tone can’t be missed, still perturbed how this supposed one night of ecstasy has been tracking me down.

“Yes I am, and no, dating isn’t my typical style either. Shit, all of this is foreign and quite the inconvenience. I don’t have time for this, but it feels foolish to walk away.” His simple honesty stuns me in its purity. I had expected him to tell me something he thought I might want to hear.

Sucking in my breath, I grab the beer, drain it, and make my way to the kitchen for the bottle of vodka. Foregoing a glass, the bottle comes back to my seat.

“Samuel doesn’t think we are a good match. Your Dom style and my non-sub, promiscuous tendencies and what not,” I inadvertently sigh as my fingers tuck the escaped loose tendrils of brown hair back behind my ear.

“You did the interrogating then?” he laughs.

“No, unsolicited advice after you showed up and it became obvious.” My head shakes back and forth in disbelief.

“Can we try?”

Unscrewing the top of the vodka and stealing a mouthful to cover a rising cough, my stomach flips as it receives the contents. Did I hear the bastard right?

“Gavin, try what?”

“Playing dumb isn’t your strong suit,” he grumbles.

“I’m sorry I needed clarification on a question posed by a complete stranger,” I smart back.

“Strangers, perhaps in some sense. But I believe our connection negates the simple fact that we have not spent much time with one another.”

“I don’t do monogamy, if that is what you are suggesting. I don’t date either, period. The friends and relationships I have are because they respect my life choices and there are no reciprocated desires,” I sputter over the words sending an unattractive slight mist of vodka out with them.

“I am not asking for commitment. I am asking to see you on a continual basis, have as much sex as we desire, and see from there,” he counters in a way that is quite telling. ‘See from there’ is just the beginning.

“Ah, finally, clarification. Here is the thing, you say no commitment, which means we are free to have sex others. But you were jealous of one of my flings and made an arse of yourself. I don’t do that bullshit. I won’t,” I say more to myself than to him. Did this tall drink of water really have me considering one of my big boundaries?

“You had no sense of jealousy?” he asks in disbelief.

“Of Carolyn? God no!” I laugh out loud. Carolyn is sweet and all, but a few short of a full deck.

“You are that secure in yourself?” Why does he seem surprised in that?

“Yes, and smart enough to see through your games. That is another thing I don’t do─ playboys.” I momentarily become quite interested in the label of the bottle in my hands.

“But you did me all night long Thursday.” His tone takes a devious turn, his voice like satin, stripped of the innocent and honest conversation we were having, his eyes narrowing in on my lower half.

“Ignorance is bliss,” I challenge, drawing his attention back to my face.

“Sorcha…” There it is again, my name on his lips with perfect lilt and pronunciation… S-U-R-R-A  K-A.

“My American friends and some family call me Sorka, Sore-Sha or Sor for short. But you get it perfectly, the way my daddy intended when he named me. Is it true you ran with the Irish mob?” My analytical brain cannot stop processing details, trying to pair up facts to make sense of this… situation that has deemed itself out of my control.

“No, not in the capacity you may be thinking. I was paid for a service to perform investigative work and such from time to time, behind the scenes. It was nothing more than if anyone from the street had paid me; it was all legit. Any other rumors you care to discuss?” The planes of his face suggest I should let it go as he won’t be venturing to tell me more. Many of the staff members have said how scary this man can be… yet I don’t quite see it. To me, he appears hardened by time but worn out all the same. Not at all threatening, not really.

“How many waitresses have you banged?” Now it is his turn to almost spit out the vodka he stole from me seconds ago.

“How many out-of-town visitors have you?” His eyes narrow, not really ready to hear an honest truth as jealousy taints the air once more.

“I am serious.”

“Fine, none. I told you, I don’t do vanilla sex, especially with employees, ever.”

“How did that fan club of yours get going then, with all the rumors?”

“I’ve worked over a few in the dungeon, but never had sex with them. I am guessing that is how. Is that all?” He eyes the top of my breasts peeking through the parted robe.

“How did you find out who I was?” His intrusion into my privacy left me feeling violated in a sense.

“Your application to the dungeon. Everything cross-referenced into your employment as Daz owns both. I swear that, I didn’t know who you were beforehand. Anything else?”

“For now.” My tired brain is becoming fuzzy and ready to turn off for a few hours.

“Is that a yes then?”

“No!” I grab the bottle back from his meaty paw and take another sip.

“How about another proposition?” he excitedly asks, amber eyes shining in hope.

“You don’t stop, do you?” My head comes to rest on the back of the cool leather, grateful for being one step closer to lying down.

“Not when I see something I want. One more time together, if it is as intense as it was last time, we agree to see each other again. If it is a fluke, and neither of us agrees to continue, I will slither back under the rock in which I came.” He puts his hand over his heart in a Boy Scout-type pledge, laying on an innocent expression so thick; I think it might need to be outlawed. It should be illegal for a face as handsome as his to pull it off to that degree.

His proposition becomes appealing as the alcohol kicks in enough to make me relaxed while still keeping my wits about me. Would it be so bad to give it a go? I have been fantasizing about him nonstop since our rendezvous. Our rational and open, adult-like communication has put me at ease and tells me more about a healthy exchange than I thought possible.