It was just happening.
And that was good.
However, this day was bad.
Because he’d come to her last night murmuring into her sleepiness while he pulled her into his arms that the job was done and she would have very much liked to have a full Sunday to have more time with him, make more progress with him …
And to play.
He’d helped her break the seal. She was back. And she had a sub who rocked it.
Not to mention, their last scene had been mind-blowing.
Branch was a phenomenal lover and she enjoyed every second when they had sex, his game, his rules. And importantly, if they were normal, it wouldn’t always be about the kink. They’d have both, and if it worked (which it did, hugely), they’d get off on both.
But she was in the mood to crack a whip.
More, she wanted to use every way she could to show him what they had was something worth keeping. Something worth building. Something worth fighting for. And Evangeline wanted to use every way she could dream up to tie him tighter to her. So tight, he couldn’t get loose even if the occasion came where he thought he should try, if only doing that to protect her from whatever it was that had all but destroyed him.
They were who they were. They liked what they liked in how they enjoyed playing. It was difficult to find someone in life you connected with in all the ways that were important. Add that crucial nuance, it made it exceptionally difficult.
She loved it that she had a man in her life who could throw a chop (or a steak, she’d now had both) on her grill and make her mouth water. And she loved that he’d fallen into a place where he could take off his boots and put his feet on her coffee table. She also loved it that he could make her feel what he made her feel with his hands and mouth on her.
But she was a woman who needed to wring a man’s balls dry.
And he was a man who needed a woman to wring his dry.
So she’d hoped they’d have a time where they could take their time, fall into a prolonged scene and both enjoy the heck out of it.
And she’d wanted to do just that today.
That didn’t happen because she had a job where she sometimes had to work Sundays. And she presently had an annoying client who knew more than she did about real estate (not even close) because he had a dick (though she suspected with his behavior that member was not all that much to write home about). And last, he wanted precisely what he wanted without buying his own damned lot and building the fucking thing himself.
So she’d shown him three (more) houses that day instead of spending it with Branch.
Branch had been cool with that. Another thing that worked for them that he wasn’t noticing was that he was okay with her doing her thing the way she needed to do it and she gave him that same freedom.
He’d said he had things to do and to text him when she was heading home.
She’d done that, and within fifteen minutes, the time she was pulling into her drive, he’d replied, Be there in an hour.
So now the day was more than half done and she’d spent the first part of it being irritated to an extreme and the last hour of it changing her sheets, doing laundry and watering her plants.
Not what she’d wanted to be doing.
That being reddening a fine male ass, that ass belonging to Branch.
Therefore, when Branch strolled into her Arizona room, eyes to her watering can before they came to her and he quipped, “Let me guess. With your jungle, you’ve been at that near on since you texted me,” she was in no mood to giggle.
She was in the mood to bitch.
“Yes. And if the client I showed his fiftieth house to today, and I’m not sure I’m exaggerating that, doesn’t make an offer on something sometime soon, I’m going to take this watering can,” she lifted it, “and shove it up his ass.”
His mouth quirked and his eyes lit as he said, “You’re good with ass, baby, but not sure that’d feel all that great.”
She turned fully to him. “That’s the point.”
“Got that,” he muttered, eyes still alight, standing where he’d stopped six feet from her and crossing his arms on his chest.
“He’s driving me crazy.”
“Got that too,” he kept muttering.
“He works in tech sales,” she informed him, even though he didn’t ask, “although I have no earthly clue what that means, whatever it means, the only good thing about him is that he prequalified for a mortgage. But he also somehow knows every comp on every property within Maricopa County. Knowing this without looking a damned thing up, he can just rattle them off willy-nilly and, just to say, inaccurately.”
Branch said nothing.
She carried on bitching.
“And he’s absolutely definite on what a seller should have listed a house for and this is always at least thirty percent less than the listing. And he has clairvoyance for he also knows precisely what a seller will accept as an offer and that’s always at least forty percent below listing, which is insane. Though, I’ll add, he knows this but hasn’t offered dick.”
She took a deep breath as she watched his lips quirk again at her last, but she didn’t shut up.
“And, with all of that genius at his disposal, he’s also lived a past life as an inspector because all he has to do is glance at a roof and tell me the seller’s agent lied on the listing’s description. Because it isn’t five years old, it’s fifteen. And just to say, a, it’s illegal to lie on a listing and, b, this guy is in tech sales not roofing.”
“I see your day hasn’t been rough,” Branch noted quietly. “It’s been rough.”
She agreed to that with a sharp nod but didn’t let up.
“And by the way, he’s made it clear I don’t know roofing, and a variety of other things, all having to do with my job, a career I’ve been engaged in rather successfully for seven years, and you know, say, simply breathing, not because I don’t know roofing or how to breathe correctly. But because anyone with a vagina can’t possibly understand something that complicated, and yes, that includes the proper techniques of breathing.”
That earned Evangeline a thrilling scary look from Branch, which wasn’t thrilling because it was scary.
It was thrilling because Branch looked pissed, he was hot when he looked pissed, and that was mostly because he was pissed on her behalf because he clearly didn’t like a man disrespecting her.
“Usually, I love my job,” she declared, alas, too irritated to fully appreciate Branch’s pissed-on-her-behalf look. “I like houses. Mom and I would go to open houses on weekends back when I was in high school just because. She was a serial decorator. No room was ever decorated quite enough. So she went to get new ideas. For me, it was the houses. How they were laid out. The surprises you’d sometimes get. Imagining who lived in them. She wasn’t surprised I got into the business. But when I got into the business, it became more. It’s a thrill to be a part of finding someone a home, something that’s fundamental to living your life. And it doesn’t hurt if I sell enough that I make a good living.”
His gaze wandering the room they were in, going so far as to look over his shoulder into the family room, Branch remarked, “Woulda thought you were about the decorating.”
He was being funny.
And she thought he was funny.
That didn’t mean she didn’t snap, “Stop being a smartass, Branch.”
He looked back at her and his mouth quirked again.
She ignored that and shared something more he’d already got. “Today, I did not love my job.”
He finally became serious.
“You work too much, honey,” he said softly.
“I know that, Branch.”
“Said yourself you wanted to cut back,” he reminded her.
“I know that too,” she returned. “I just don’t know how to do that without losing a client or the referrals they could bring because I might want to cut back but I still need to pay the mortgage.”
“Far’s I can see, you pay your mortgage and then some. Cut back a little on clothes, shoes and knickknacks, you could lose a client, especially a pain-in-the-ass one, and whatever referrals he might bring.”