Page 89 of Key of Kink

I’d wanted him, and God help me, I’d fucking taken him.

Rule four lay shattered on the living room rug. Contained scenes only.

What unsettled me most was that I hadn’t even hesitated.

The shower cut off, and seconds later, the bathroom door opened and footsteps padded down the hallway.

“Hello?”

My spine straightened automatically.

Dial it back. Regain control. Contain this.

Quinn poked his head around the bedroom door, wearing only a towel. He gave me an inquiring glance.

“You okay?”

That was the problem. I was—and I wasn’t.

“I thought we should eat.”

He arched his eyebrows. “You’re feeding me?”

“That depends if you’re offering to cook for us.” I managed a smile. “Because I seem to recall someone looking uncannily like you, telling me they were a service-oriented submissive.”

Dial it back. Sex done. Make this normal.

Except I wasn’t sure how to take this back to normal.

His grin was immediate. “I did, didn’t I?” He glanced down. “Then maybe I’d better put some clothes on. Cooking in just a towel is asking for trouble.” He raised his gaze to meet mine, his eyes twinkling. “Not to mention burnt bits that I’d rather keep intact.” Then he retreated, whistling as he headed into the kitchen.

He doesn’t appeared plagued by doubts, does he?

Of course he didn’t. This was what he’d been after, what he’d gone to the gym for in the first place.

And I gave him exactly what he wanted.

That wasn’t fair. I’d wanted it too.

I followed him to the kitchen, where he’d put on his jeans and tee, his feet still bare. He was opening the fridge and cupboards as though this was totally normal.

As though he belonged here.

My chest tightened. This is what you avoid. Not sex, but what comes after.

After was where things got complicated.

Quinn peered at me. “I’ve found eggs, cheese, pasta, milk… I could make macaroni cheese.” He grinned. “I think we worked off enough calories to allow ourselves a few carbs, don’t you?”

“That works.” I leaned against the door frame and watched him move around the space, relaxed, humming something under his breath. He filled a pan with water, and when it started bubbling, he dropped a couple of handfuls of pasta into it, then unwrapped the cheese.

It was… domestic. Intimate. And I didn’t know what the protocol was for that.

Send him home.

That would be the clean, responsible thing to do.

Instead, I found myself admiring his ease, his energy.