Maybe he’s in his office wearing headphones. He does that sometimes out of consideration, since my hours are so much later than his. I tiptoe over and peek around the corner. He’s not there either. What the heck?

Heading back to the kitchen, I root around in my bag until I finally find my phone. Maybe he went out to pick us up something to eat. He’s considerate like that as well. The only messages I have are from Amie. She’s been out of town for the past week on a honeymoon test run. That’s right, she and Armstrong have gone away for a week to see if they like the location enough to return for their honeymoon. It’s a Mills hotel, so I can’t imagine they won’t love it. I check the counter, which is where I find one of Bancroft’s runelike scrawls.

Emergency meeting. Not sure when I’ll be back.

Bane

I frown, disappointed that my nakedness will go to waste and that the start to my day isn’t going nearly as well as the end of my night. Scrolling through my phone, I check my messages from Amie.

She returned from her pre-honeymoon test run and we have a lunch date. I check the time. Crapdoodles. I have less than an hour to get ready and meet her in Midtown. A shower is a must, I smell like Bancroft and sex.

Firing a message off to let Amie know I’m on my way, I rush to my room to shower. Twenty minutes later I’m fresh and dressed. My hair is still damp, but it’ll dry on the way. I slap on some makeup, grab my purse, and run out the door.

Amie’s already at the restaurant when I get there. She’s never late for anything. She puts down her phone when I slide into the seat across from her.

“I was just about to text you. How are you? How are things since Bancroft’s been back? I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.” She looks around then leans closer and drops her voice. “Has he walked around the condo shirtless?”

I feel badly that I’ve been riding Bancroft’s disco stick for a week and my best friend doesn’t even know. Although that’s not really my fault since she hasn’t been around to tell. And I also feel bad that I haven’t been honest with her about other things. So I tell her everything. Well, almost everything. We’re in a public place so there are things I’m not willing to say aloud for fear of someone overhearing. But I tell her about the job, and Bancroft coming to the club last week and getting angry about my lie.

The waiter brings us our lunches just before I get to the best part. I take a pause while he sets our plates in front of us. I’ve ordered steak frites, which are just French fries with a fancy name and Amie has ordered a salad.

“They forgot your dressing.” I point out.

“I don’t need it.”

“Without dressing it’s just a plate of leaves.”

“I like the natural flavors.” She waves her fork around. “So Bancroft drove you home, then what happened?”

I drop the salad dressing issue and continue with my story. I censor out all the best parts, like the curling for orgasms and the dirty talk and the awesome blow job I gave and finish with, “And then we had sex.” I pop a fry into my mouth and wait.

Amie stares at me for a few long seconds, unmoving. She glances around the restaurant and brings her hand up so no one can see what she says, even though she practically mouths the words, “You slept with him?”

I nod.

“Oh my God.” She exhales a breath, eyes wide, and blinking and sets down her fork. “You slept with him a week ago and didn’t tell me until now?” She looks hurt, which is not what I want.

I lean in closer and drop my voice, imploring her to understand. “I haven’t had a chance. You were away. This is the first time I’ve seen you since it happened and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone, because, well, it’s not over-the-phone kind of news.”

She sits back in her chair. “Was it just the once?”

I shake my head.

“How many times?”

I shrug. “I’ve lost count. A lot.”

“It sounds like your week was more exciting than mine,” she mutters. “So this is a relationship now?”

I stab a fry with my fork. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about that yet.”

“You’ve been getting naked with each other for the past week and you haven’t had a relationship conversation, yet?” Amie smooths her napkin out. “You’re not really a fling kind of girl. Does he know that? Do you know if he wants a relationship?”

I shrug again. I don’t actually have an answer to that. The only conversations we’ve had about relationships were before he left, and maybe once over the phone when we discussed how difficult it would be to have a relationship when he was traveling all the time. But he’s home now, and he hasn’t mentioned traveling—although we haven’t been doing much in the way of talking this past week outside of moans and orgasms.

I consider how much time I’ve spent “with” him over the last several weeks. If I’m honest with myself it’s felt like a relationship since before he came back from the UK.

“I guess you need to talk to him and figure out if you’re both on the same page,” Amie says, pulling me out of my head.

I nod.

“Do you think you are?”

“I think so? Maybe? God, I hope casual hookups aren’t his thing.”

“I’m sure he wants the same thing you want. I guess now you’ll really need to find your own apartment. Can you afford that yet?” Amie pats my hand in a consoling gesture. I think I might be starting to panic a little.

“I can’t live there anymore.” It’s not a question. It’s just that reality is hitting me, and it’s a lot like being smacked in the face with a giant penis. Bancroft’s giant penis.

“It might be easier if you have your own place now that you’re sleeping together.”

I nod dumbly. She’s 100 percent accurate on this. I can’t live with Bancroft if we’re in the beginning stages of dating. If that’s even what’s going to happen. Beyond that, my relying on him financially creates a power imbalance I’m not too keen on. I don’t want to feel like my services are being bought, even if they’re as incredible as he tells me they are.

“So?”

“Huh?” I’ve gapped out again.

She mouths the sex and then says, “Is it good?”

I think about last night. About coming in from work at three in the morning and waking him up with a blow job and the two-hour fuck marathon that then took place. Bancroft thoroughly enjoys testing out my flexibility. We’ve had sex in places and positions I’d never thought possible. And that mouth—sweet lord. “The best.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really? What’s he like?”

“Intense.” I lean in to whisper, “He has a very dirty mouth and excellent stamina. He can go for hours.”

Amie bites her lip and looks a little wistful. “Aren’t you sore?”

“Only in the best way possible.” I’m pretty sure I’m ruined for any other man. I’ll have this unreasonable bar to hold all other men to. Bancroft Mills and his dirty mouth, and amazingly large penis are my new minimum standard.

“Is he . . .” she trails off and does a few eyebrow raises.

I raise my own in question.

“Adequately endowed?”

“More than,” I reply.