"Whatever you need to tell yourself," he agreed, leaning down and planting kisses across my neck.
"So... they really liked my desserts?" I blurted out when I couldn't keep it in any longer, making him chuckle and push up to look down at me.
"Yeah, babe, they really liked your desserts. Several asked for your business card."
"I don't have a business card," I added unnecessarily.
Byron's face went a little wicked as he pushed back to sit on his ankles, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a card. He held it out to me and I reached for it, already knowing what it was, but needing confirmation. And sure enough, it was a business card. The front was light pink and white stripes with a picture of a cupcake and my name. The back was plain pink with my cell number and an email address. It was an email address that didn't belong to me, I might add.
"Byron..." I said, looking up at him, feeling a little emotional again.
"Look, I get that you need the safety and stability of your boring nine-to-five. I know you need that for your peace of mind. But there is nothing saying you can't do what you love too."
"You make it sound easy."
"Maybe it will be, maybe it won't. But there's nothing saying it needs to be easy. What in your twisted little life has been easy? At least this will be the kind of hard that leads to something you really want."
And, well, he had a point.
"Can I ask..." I trailed off at his brow raise, knowing he hated when I asked permission to ask a question. "Why waste your time designing and ordering and handing out cards for me?"
He was silent for a long minute, looking off into the darkness before looking down at me again. "Fuck if I know, Prue. You've had a rough life. I can commiserate. I had someone to help me get a leg up. Figured you deserved at least that."
"So you're... paying it forward?" I asked, hearing a bit of disappointment in my words and hoping he didn't catch it.
"Something like that. Now are you done with this bullshit? Can I fuck you now?"
And, well, I wasn't done with the bullshit. But I definitely wanted him to fuck me.
So he did.
Slow and sweet at first, then ending up rough, dirty, primal, my cries echoing out across his open land.--Four days after that, everything going the status quo I was beginning to expect, even if it hurt my soul and heart a bit more than I wanted to admit, Byron walked up behind me in the kitchen as I refilled both of our coffee cups. His head rested on my shoulder; his arm went around my belly. "There's a dress on your bed," he informed me.
"For?" I asked, feeling a swirling in my belly. It had been about a week since he put a hand on me during 'business hours'. He always seemed to keep our sexual activities separate from what I did during the day for him. I couldn't quite say if it was something I hated or maybe appreciated. It helped me keep things in prospective, but a part of me was always hoping for more.
"We're going to Mandy's tonight."
"Why are you bringing me to work?" I asked, shaking my head.
"I'm not bringing you to work. I am bringing you to a restaurant and casino I just so happen to own."
"I really don't think..."
"Gotta get over your hangups about casinos. They're not the awful places you have experienced them to be. So come with me, let me show you a side of it that doesn't involve your father and his issues."
"Why?"
"Why the fuck not?"
"Byron, I just don't..."
"For me?" he asked and I felt myself stiffen. That was a very un-Byron-like thing to say. It was almost as if he maybe had picked up on my more-than-sexual feelings toward him. And then decided to exploit them.
"For you?" I repeated, my tone cautious.
"You're going to make me eat alone?"
"You eat alone almost every night," I insisted.
"Humor me."
"I don't think..."
"Don't think. You're always weighing shit and debating shit. You're missing out on everything. Just agree. And trust me."
"Trust you?" I asked, shaking my head the smallest bit.
"Babe, if you can trust me to tie you to my bed spread-fucking-eagle and walk the fuck away and trust me to come back before someone finds you," he said, referencing what he had done the night before, "then you can trust me to take you to dinner."
"It's a different kind of trust. You know how I feel about gambling..."
"And if at any point tonight you are uncomfortable, I'll take you home. All I am asking is you take a chance."
Maybe it was the way he said 'home' like he meant it, like his home was my home too. But I felt my defenses that were, admittedly already rather weak, crumble. "Okay," I said, leaning back into him slightly.