ELLA
It took me three days to pull myself together. Things like what happened at Plush with Armand didn’t happen to me. I didn’t let my damn hormones rule me. I liked being in control and I liked being in control at all times. It was a necessary skill I’d picked up after Jackson’s death because I believed our situation wouldn’t have gone so far off the rails if I hadn’t let it. That part was clearly my fault. It was an error I never planned on repeating, but Armand? Those lips, that tongue, the way he smelled, the way his body felt against and underneath mine, the fact that this big, powerful, mean-as-hell man was visibly nervous in my presence? All of that made me lose myself in the moment, in…him, and I was barely able to rein myself in.
Barely.
So, three days passed before I reached out to him. Three days of me trying to convince myself that Armand Daniels would not be my undoing. I still wasn’t one hundred percent positive that was true when I finally contacted him.
Me: Can we talk?
A whole five minutes later he replied with: About what?
I sighed.
Me: I’m sorry.
Him: About what?
Me: Come to my house and I’ll elaborate.
No response from him so I added: Please.
Him: When?
This man was ridiculously fine.
Always.
Like, every time I had the pleasure of seeing him, he was just…fine! This time, he wore black sweatpants and a black hoodie with gold lettering that read, “BLACKNIFICENT.” His expression was serious but not hostile. I kind of wanted it to be hostile. After all, I did like a challenge.
Smiling, I leaned against the front doorframe and greeted him with, “Hi.”
Crossing his powerful arms over his chest, he gave me a rather terse, “Hi,” in return.
I was still smiling when I asked, “You’re mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Come on in and let me explain myself.”
He did, following me to my bar-height kitchen table, taking a seat on one of the stools. I could feel his eyes on me as I took a seat across from him in my robe and slippers.
Licking his lips, he asked, “So…what’s up? Why you do that the other night?”
“Can you not do that? It’s distracting,” I countered.
With a frown, he said, “You invite me over here to talk but I can’t ask questions? The fuck are you on?”
“No, I meant the licking your lips thing. Can you not do that?”
A smile crept up on his face, a devious one. Then he licked his lips again. “Oh, okay.”
I rolled my eyes and told myself not to move, not to climb in his lap and rub myself all over him. “Anyway,” I resumed, “I want to apologize if it appeared that I was sending mixed signals the other night. I…like you. I want you, but I want you on my terms.”
“You started it, so wasn’t it on your terms?” he asked, leaning forward with his arms on the table.
“Yes and no. I…I’ll be right back,” I said, leaving him in the kitchen as I headed to my bedroom, quickly returning with a stack of papers.
“These are my terms,” I informed him, handing him the papers.