Crave: Not Until You, Part 3. Roni Loren
in on him in compromising positions more than once not realizing he had a girl over. My parents had willingly let Andre have dates over, and he could use the rec room with the door closed. But when I wanted to even have a guy friend over, it was living room only, parents on guard.
“Look, I’m sorry that you were worried. My phone died, and I didn’t have my charger. I didn’t think it was a big deal because I wasn’t expecting anyone to call this early. But what I do with my personal time is no one’s business but mine. How would you feel if I barged into your place demanding details about your love life? Why don’t you tell me who slept in your bed last night?”
Andre looked away, some strange flicker crossing his features—guilt? But finally he ran a hand over the back of his hair, a tell tale sign his anger was deflating. “Fine. You’re right. That wasn’t fair.”
I tipped up my chin. “Thank you. Now can we start over and pretend the last five minutes didn’t happen?”
“I’ll try.” He pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans and checked the time. “But I think we’ve missed brunch. I told Evan and Jace to go on without me when I couldn’t find you.”
“Bummer. I haven’t seen those two in a while. Are they engaged yet?”
Andre frowned, a dark curtain falling over his face. “Not officially.”
Andre lived with his best friend, Jace. And Evan, Jace’s girlfriend, had moved in a few months ago. “You know when they make it official, you’re going to have to find a new place. I know you like living with your BFF and all, but you’ve got to feel like a third wheel now.”
He shoved his phone in his pocket, shifting like his clothes had suddenly gotten too tight for his body. “It’s complicated.”
“Ah, don’t do that to yourself, Dre.” I slid off the stool and patted his shoulder on my way to the fridge.
“Do what?”
I grabbed two bottles of water and tossed one to him. “I know you’ve got a crush on Evan. I’ve seen how you look at her when you don’t think anyone’s watching.”
He unscrewed the cap, his gaze shuttered, and sipped the water. “It’s not like that.”
I sighed. “I know we just agreed to not meddle in each other’s personal lives. But you got one free shot at me, so now I’m taking mine. Don’t mess things up with Jace for a girl, all right? Your friendship is more important that that.”
“Duly noted.” He swigged another sip of the water, then set it on the counter. “Tell you what. How about I let you catch up on sleep and we plan to hang out another time? Things are a little crazy at work right now, so I’m tied up for a while. But we’re throwing a little birthday party for Jace’s brother, Wyatt, the Friday before you leave. Evan’s cooking and everything. You in?”
I bumped the refrigerator door closed with my hip and thanked the heavens that I was going to be able to go crawl in bed instead of socializing on three hours’ sleep. “Sounds like a plan.”
He smiled and stepped forward, cupping the back of my head and planting a kiss on the crown. “And I guess if you want to bring … a friend, you can.”
I could tell the offer cost him something. I managed a smirk and ignored the longing ache the suggestion stirred. After this morning, I didn’t know if I’d even speak to Foster again. “Thanks. But uh, it’s not like that.”
Andre closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “Oh, I wish there was a machine to help you go back in time and un-know things.”
I shoved his shoulder. “Grow up, bro. I have.”
With a God-give-me-strength sigh, he turned and headed for the door. “Try to stay out of trouble, Marcela.”
I gave him my best choir girl smile. “Always.”
***
Foster stretched out on the couch, his head booming and frustration wrapping around him like itchy rope. It was probably a good thing that Pike had gone to sleep in his room, because Foster was spoiling for a fight—an unjustified one—but at this point he didn’t really care about details like that. When Pike had put his arms around Cela this morning, Foster had wanted to slug him. He’d also wanted Cela to push Pike away, to come to him.
But instead of any of that happening, Foster had just stood there like an asshole and let it all happen. Cela had gone off to the shower to do devil knows what with his best friend, and he’d stayed there frozen to the spot. For a breath of a moment, Foster had found himself imagining more with Cela. The way she’d described her experience submitting to him had lit something inside him, had awakened the desire to have her under his hand for longer than a night, to show her what that kind of power exchange could really be like, to bring her submission fully to the surface.
But if he’d had any illusions about her even considering something like that, they’d been annihilated the minute she’d left the room with Pike. Last night had been exactly what she’d said—a good time, a way to lose her virginity, a one-off wild night. The whole reason she’d chosen them was because they were low risk. No feelings. No attachment. She was leaving in a few weeks, and he and Pike had made an offer that fit those requirements perfectly.
And now he was going to have to leave it at that. No way was he messing with that rattlesnake of a situation again. He’d tried once before to woo a girl who wanted a vanilla life. Darcy had been submissive, he’d seen it plain as day when they’d played. But she’d only wanted to explore kink for fun—for kicks. She’d had a preacher’s daughter upbringing and had wanted to rebel.
Of course, Foster hadn’t realized that while he was tumbling into the love abyss like an idiot. Pike had warned him, but he hadn’t wanted to hear it. He and Darcy had dated for a year, and he’d been sure she was the one for him, meant to be his. Finally, someone who would stay in his life. He’d thought the only hurdle would be convincing her that she could have everything she wanted even if she fully embraced the submissive role with him. But it’d all been an illusion created by that lonely, hopeful kid that lurked inside him.
On their one-year anniversary he’d offered Darcy a ring and a collar. She’d offered him a good-bye.
Lesson learned.
Foster pressed his thumbs to his forehead, trying to exorcise both the headache and the bad memories, but a loud banging interrupted the effort. “Fuck. Not right now.”
But the sharp knocking came again, and Foster pushed himself up and off the couch. He rubbed his hands over his face as he made his way to the door, too mentally drained to face what he knew was going to be on the other side.
He swung the door open and stepped aside, letting the imposing force of Andre Medina stride inside. Foster didn’t know Andre personally, had never spoken with him. But he knew of him, knew he was in the tight inner circle of Grant Waters—owner of The Ranch, the BDSM resort Foster belonged to. And Foster had watched Andre scene.
“Sure, come on in,” Foster said dryly.
Andre spun around, arms crossed, pissed-off cop face in place. “Believe me, this won’t take long.”
Foster scrubbed a hand over his stubble. “Guess you figured out where we know each other from.”
The muscle in Andre’s jaw twitched. “The different name threw me, but yes. Ian.”
“Outside of those walls, everyone calls me by my last name.”
Andre didn’t even seem to hear him. “So what’s your game?”
Foster walked around the breakfast bar, heading toward the coffee pot. He didn’t have the energy for this conversation without more caffeine. “I don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Your kink, Foster. Is it going after vanilla girls? Because that’s about the only reason I could see why you’re messing with my baby sister,”