Page 66 of Dangle

Nostrils flared as he dragged several deep breaths in before saying, “Sit your ass down at the island while I cook dinner and we talk.”

“Ugh! Talk? Why?”

“Because what I want to do to you might not be shit you’re comfortable with, and we need to discuss what happens between us—both sexual and non-sexual—before we fall into bed.”

“But…”

“You can beg and pout all you want, but I told you already. I’m a bossy, possessive fucker and you need an image overhaul. You are getting rules.” He cleared his throat. “I mean,ifyoudecide you want to be mine, and by mine I mean my boy. My sub.”

My boy. My sub.

Fuck me, I never thought I’d be interested in having a Daddy Dom, but when he talked about claiming me, about me beinghis? Sign me the fuck up. Yesterday, today, twice every day that ends in ‘y.’

I backed away from him, pulled out a barstool, and planted my ass on it. “All right, Gordon Ramsay, whip us up something to eat and get talking. Because I’m over not having your dick in my ass.”

He burst out laughing, pressed a kiss against my temple, and rounded the island.

Within minutes, pans were on the stove, water bubbling, meat sizzling, and something fucking delicious had been put in the oven to bake. The only time I’d ever seen anyone cook so efficiently was when my parents brought a chef in for an event they were hosting. I would have told him so, but I worried doing so would derail the conversation he demanded we have before we fell into bed. And I really, really,reallywanted to fall into bed with him. Under him. I would settle for fucking anything as long as his dick was in my ass before the end of the night.

“Okay, let’s start with the rules,” he said as he opened a drawer on his side of the island.

A notepad landed on the counter next to me. Then a pen. I glanced at them, then at him. “What…”

“You’re writing; I’m talking. Then we’ll discuss.”

“Gotcha.”

“No sex outside our dynamic.”

“What?!”

“You heard me in Nashville: I’m a possessive fucker.”

Holy fuck. Why the fuck was the thought of belonging to him so damn hot?

“Um, yeah.”

“Okay then. If you’re mine, then… You. Are. Mine.”

“You don’t share at all?” I asked.

He turned, placed his forearms on the countertop, and leaned over until we were eye-to-eye. “Sharing and fucking around isn’t going to help your image. Do I share? I can, and I have. When it’s what my partner wants, and it’s what I want, and when I know it won’t affect the dynamic we have, but on the flip side of want is need. Do I want to share youifyou decide to be mine? No. The last thing you need is something else fucking up your image. I’m already worried about my business fucking with your image.”

“Is the business in your name?” I asked.

“No, but it’s not buried too far. If someone goes digging, and they know where to look, they’ll find it.”

I nodded with a sigh. It was a worry. The Wardens were known for being clean-cut guys with safe, run-of-the-mill home lives. They’d buried more shit for my dad and his buddies than I probably even knew about, and I’d been a nosy, sneaky little shit. But I wanted Slone. Almost desperately. I refused to deny myself the opportunity to experience what he offered. What my gut told me would only come along once in a lifetime.

“I’m willing to take that risk. The issues the Wardens aren’t happy with are less about the who and more about the how many and the where and when. Teammates have caught me in some compromising positions with other teammates.”

“You’re telling me your guys are running their mouths?”

“Not everyone enjoys being on a team with the Prince of Hockey.”

With a deep sigh, he shook his head. “Insecure assholes.”

Pleasure at his assessment, which aligned with my own, washed over me.