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Excitement thrums through my veins, wondering what buttons he’ll push next. “Do you have a preference for when we begin?”

His hooded gaze hasn’t left mine. “I’m ready to get started now, but it’s your call.”

I’m back in control. Good to know. This is my chance to turn the tables.

“What turns you on?”

His finger coasts along my bare arm. “You.”

It’s impossible not to feel flattered, but that’s not the point of this exercise. “How about general kinks or spank bank material. What do you fantasize about when you jerk off?”

“Still you, Wildflower. It’s always you.” The raspy grit in his voice strokes my appetite for the unknown.

“What do you picture me doing?”

“I’d rather show you,” Chance croons. “When you’re ready.”

“Do you have any triggers?”

His tongue pokes out from the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be afraid to push me however far your desires demand. I’ll be your fuck boy. Do to me whatever you wish.”

The visuals slamming into me range from tame to obscene… and I’m burning up again. “Very tempting.”

“Feel free to take advantage whenever the mood strikes.”

“Do you expect the same in return?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with that.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” I tell him honestly.

He’s passing me the reins easily. I want to be in control, but I also want him to dominate me. We can share the power position. That sounds like a stimulating compromise. A woman can have it both ways.

“On second thought, I do have a hard limit,” Chance says to burst my bubble.

“Oh?”

“I want to be near you at all times or as much as possible.”

“That’s unrealistic.”

“It’s only unrealistic if granting me unlimited access to you is one of your triggers.” When he explains himself, it almost sounds reasonable.

Or I’m just that delusional.

But the potential of having Chance at my beck and call isn’t horrible.

“You’d like it if we were together as much as possible?”

“Yes.”

“That’s challenging for me, since I’m supposed to hate you.”

The chair creaks when he sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his thick fingers. “Do you hate me, Gem?”

My bottom lip gets tortured between my teeth as I gnaw on the painful truth. “I hate that I don’t.”

He reaches out, using his thumb to free the clamped flesh from my chomping. “Maybe we could pretend.”