True. He did. And he has been holding up admirably well. I fold Inara into a smooth side-hug and cut the shit. The moment my eyes lock on him, he straightens like he’s been shoved in front of a twelve-man firing squad. And doesn’t that make me feel like the top dog. “Christian, I’m proud of you for taking care of Stacy. I also appreciate that you got her to work on time, and you drove safely. Good man,” I tell him—meaning it.
Christian’s lower lids shine up so glossy it looks like he shellacked his waterline.
I have four sisters. I know what a waterline is.
“Thank you, Mr. Shawnessy—” he starts.
I hold out my hand again for him to shake—no menace this time. “It’s Matt. And coming in here took guts. Good for you.”
I politely do not notice or comment on his reddening eyes, and he takes his real handshake like a man. I nod to him and Stacy, and leave the two of them to say their goodbyes in as much privacy as a business waiting room offers.
I make it two steps away from them and one step past Inara when my alien velociraptor shrieks and leaps on me, rewarding me wildly with kisses.
***
Sal and Jason arrive, Stacy trots behind her counter looking like sunshine itself is bursting out of her face, and I’ve got Inara’s lipstick on my collar. I’m a reasonably happy man. (Who’s racking up a hell of a dry-cleaning bill, but I’m still a happy man.)
Stacy flags down Inara with a thank you note, on account of Inara being the reason I’m turning more reasonable. Inara brings the note to me with a question.
Before she asks it, she shuts my office door.
She sets her iPad knockoff on my desk, hitting buttons on it until it’s playing music out loud.
“The iSquid has decent speakers? I ask, thrown. “That’s a surprise.”
“Decent enough to cover noises if I have my way with you,” she purrs, all fangs and danger-teeth. She grabs me by my tie. Ice blue today to match her stripes, and it looks fabulous wrapped around her clawed hand.
“Sign me up,” I say with feeling.
She frowns and stops. “Sign you up for what?”
I wave her question away. “For you having your way with me—forget it, just come at me.”
That’s when she shoves the piece of paper at me.
“What is this symbol here?” Inara asks.
I glance down at the note Stacy jotted for her. “It’s a heart. It means love, or affection.”
“That’s not a heart.”
“You mean it doesn’t look like one? That’s how we represent them here.”
“It’s not anatomical at all.” She sets the piece of paper on my desk.
While she does this, her tail winds around my leg, slow and teasingly. And since she still hasn’t let go of my tie, I get the feeling that my Inara is in my office twenty minutes before we officially open with wicked ideas on her mind.
I’m great with that.
I drop the pad of my index finger on the sheet of paper and spin it upside down. “You’re right. But you know what this shape does look like? This is what your pussy looks like when I raise your legs and hug your knees together and fuck you. This is also the shape of your ass. Two round, spankable, fuckable cheeks—a perfectly shaped sweetheart.” I shrug. “If you don’t want to call this,” I tap the heart, “a heart, that’s fine by me. But we’ll have to call the non-anatomical heart shape something. Inara’s pretty pussy shape, or Inara’s ass stamp. I’m all for that. ‘Course, if it’s all the same to you, we’ll just call it a regular heart in front of Stacy.”
The scales at Inara’s cheeks have turned a molten teal color. “You are a naughty male,” she says. Her eyes are gleaming, as are her teeth, which are showing—and I realize I might have gotten in over my head. “And I approve.”
I catch her behind her neck and haul her lips to mine. “Glad you do, darlin’,” I say against her mouth. “You won’t be too scandalized when I tell you I want to lock my office door then come back here and lay you across my desk? I suddenly have the urge—” the need “—to fuck you on it.”
She growls at me, a Porsche’s sweet, sweet music, making my dick twitch.
I kiss her forehead then release her—before I bypass waiting and I go to the door myself to flip the lock.
Then I prowl back to my desk where Inara is looking thrilled and turned on and totally game for defiling my office with me.
Nice combination. She’s pretty as fuck. “Baby, get your ass on my desk. Flip up your dress and show me your pretty pussy shape.”
Her hands slap her cheeks. The top ones, for those of you who are still imagining the sweet shape of her ass. “Matt!”
I grab her shoulders, squeeze down her arms, stroke her sides, lovingly cup her hips, and finally, I’m lifting her and pressing her onto my desk. I split her thighs, fucking loving her half-scandalized, totally fucking turned on gasp. “Now, baby. Open up your sweet legs for me.”
My baby does.
CHAPTER 22
Jason plays the tuba in his high school band, and Inara and I are set to go to the band’s benefit picnic, a fundraiser where we’ll be listening to the band play and donating to the kids’ program. I’ve gone to a couple of these, but this is Inara’s first time and she is geeking out. She’s been stoked for this picnic for days.
“Inara,” I call out, not sure where she’s at in the apartment.
“Yes, my love?” she calls back from the washroom.
My heart stops—and then it revs like someone’s stomped on the gas. I’m so in knots that she’s just called me her love that I don’t ask why the hell she’s still in the washroom. She doesn’t need to do a lot with her hair—her dreads really are a sort of alien leather, and she doesn’t have to pluck or shave any body hair either. But I don’t care why she’s hogging the mirror. It’s proof that it’s built-in girl behavior, no matter what planet they’re from. I have to stop and clear my throat because emotion is making it rough. I hustle it to the bathroom and find her standing in front of the mirror, one earbud in to listen to music, and her clawed fist clutching her t-shirt, exposing her belly as she stands sideways critiquing herself.
“Oh geeeez,” I groan, head falling back. “Not you too. If you ask me if you look fat, I’m going to tell you no because it’s true and you’d better believe it.”
Gaze hesitantly searching mine, she cocks her head, one ear sweeping forward, the other one staying pinned back. “You don’t think I’ve gained weight?”
I straighten and send her wild eyes. “I will never answer that question.”
She stares at me, her mouth curling. Her tail serpentines on the floor until it finds my leg, curling around my limb like usual. “All right,” she finally says, dropping her shirt. “If you’re going to remain so adamant about it.”
“I will,” I confirm. “And you look fucking amazing. That’s your takeaway.” Then I yank her into me and pop a kiss on her forehead. My hands find their way to her hips. “You ready to go?”
She stares at me, her eyes hooded, her ears held low, the face of a hunting cat watching a stumbling deer. “Yes. I am.”