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“You weren’t just controlling me. You were… with me, if that makes any sense.”

He didn’t answer immediately, but his hand tightened at my back.

Then it hit me.

I don’t feel small.

I’d begged, I’d lost composure, I’d been driven to the edge, but I didn’t feel diminished.

I felt trusted.

Max

I pressed a kiss into his hair, and he relaxed even further.

“Before you head home…” I paused.

Why is my heart racing? This is ridiculous. It’s just a phone number.

Quinn looked up at me, his face a little taut from the exhaustion. “If you want to do this all over again, can we wait a few days? I’m feeling kind of wrung out right now.” His eyes twinkled in spite of his obvious fatigue.

I rolled my eyes automatically. “I can’t think why.” The humour barely covered the shift inside me, however. I was about to change something fundamental.

I had never given my number after a first repeat scene.

Ever.

Obsidian was neutral ground, structured, controlled, safe in its containment.

Numbers led to texts.

Texts led to casual contact.

Casual contact blurred edges.

Edges kept things clean.

I knew all this, and yet I was still going ahead.

I cleared my throat. “I was going to say…” My voice was steady. My pulse? Not so much. “Can I give you my number?”

The words hung there, but their meaning was much richer.

I want access to you outside this room.

I want the option of you in my day.

I want this to continue beyond negotiated hours.

Quinn blinked, and his teasing expression disappeared.

“You want… my number?” He repeated it as though he needed to be sure he’d heard correctly.

“Yes.” I didn’t bother to elaborate or justify it, to cushion it with disclaimers.

Quinn’s slow grin lit up his face. “You sure?” There was no challenge or cockiness in it.

“I don’t offer twice.”