Just outside, she bumped into a familiar chest. She squeaked and almost toppled over but he caught her. Without heels, she had to crane her neck to see his face.

His head blocked the sun and shadowed his face. Still, she’d know that body and that scent anywhere. Memories—so vivid and alive, she was instantly horny—surfaced.

Then she shoved him. “Ugh. What are you doing here?”

“Hey.” He wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her closer. “What’s wrong? Bad day?”

She couldn’t stop herself from melting into him, even though it was him she was irritated with. But the gentle pressure of his arms on her lower back, and her body pressed up against his calmed her in a way that felt almost nonconsensual. She snorted at herself. Nonconsensual cuddling again.

Giving her head a shake, she peered back up at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping to slip in for a haircut. Do you have time?”

She looked at his still relatively short hair then sighed. “Yeah. I was about to go to lunch, but I’ll squeeze you in now.” Stepping away, she turned back for the door. Why was she giving in? Did his hair really look that bad?

“Nooo.” He grabbed her arm, stopping her and pulling her back to him. “No way. Not until you eat. If you can’t fit me in today, I’ll come back another day. I’m not taking up your lunch break.”

“But—”

“I said no.” Then he arched a brow in only a look a Master could give, and her resolve fell away.

Ugh. So annoying that he could use that against her. Curse her stupid hormones!

“Come on,” he said, linking their arms together. “I’ll take you to lunch. There’s a nice little Italian place just around the block.”

Her arm went slack in his, and it hit her just how tired she was. The work day was only halfway over too. She needed coffee, stat.

“So what’s with the hair?” he asked.

“Oh!” Self-consciously, she fiddled with it. “I just get bored sometimes and change it up. Why? You don’t like it?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t know you planned on changing it. Why didn’t you tell me?”

It felt like a rejection, which stung. Her heart sagged, along with her tired body. Emotions welled up, but she let irritation mask the hurt.

“You’re not in charge of my hair,” she snapped. “Look, I know some Masters like having a say in everything their slaves do, but I’m not one of those people. I need my freedom. It’s just part of my personality.” Her voice escalated as she rambled. “You’re not even my Master anyway. We never agreed to—”

“Shh.” He pulled her between two buildings, where there was some privacy, then pushed her gently up against the brick wall. Putting his hands on either side of her face, he leaned down and kissed her lips gently.

She let him, too tired to protest anyway. Plus, he smelled so damned good.

After he slowly teased her mouth, making her pant and want more, he stopped but only pulled back a few inches. “Why are you getting so upset, sweet thing?”

She realized she was letting her frustration influence everything, and it wasn’t fair. He didn’t exactly say he didn’t like her hair, or that she couldn’t color it without permission. Now that she’d calmed down, he didn’t seem like that type.

“Why do you keep stalling when I ask about seeing your place?” she asked, her voice smaller than she’d meant. “And why haven’t you answered any of my texts today?” She’d spent all day wondering if he was running away again. “I’ve been worried all day, thinking you were . . . done with me. Or seeing someone else . . .” Her voice hitched, embarrassing her. The last thing she wanted him to see was how much it hurt, how vulnerable he made her feel. She also didn’t want to come off as clingy.

“Is that what this is about?” He chuckled. “No. I am absolutely not seeing anyone else. I promised you we’d be exclusive, and I take that seriously. Also, I came today to invite you to my apartment for dinner tonight. I just wanted to get it cleaned up a little so I didn’t embarrass myself.”

“Okaaaay.” She sized him up, narrowing her eyes so he’d know she was using her bullshit detector. “What about texting? Why have you been ignoring me?”

“I dropped my phone down the stairs last night.”

“Oh no!”

“Yeah. So I have to pick up a new one today.” He sighed. “I was planning to go after the haircut.”

“Ugh. I hope you had a warranty. Morgan had to replace her iPhone after her toddler broke it, and it cost six hundred dollars outside of a plan.” She looked up at him. “Want me to ask around if someone has an old one they’re not using?”

“No.” Smiling, he ran a finger down her cheek. “That’s sweet, but I’ll be fine. I got an end-of-the-year bonus from work, so I’ll just use that.”

She nodded, getting lost in the way he looked at her, like she was his next meal. His finger left a trail of heat down her cheek. Pictures of the last time he’d touched her flashed through her mind, sending tingles down her spine and to naughty places. Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry for food anymore.

“Are you okay now?” he asked, concern on his face. “I didn’t mean to make you worry so much. And I do love your hair. I was just surprised you didn’t tell me. I’m not the kind of Dom to dictate what color my sub’s hair is.”

“It’s not your fault.” Now she felt guilty for assuming the worst. “Work has been tiring, so I’m not exactly at my most stable right now.” Chuckling humorlessly, she added, “I guess it’s good you see just how crazy I can be.”

He pushed away from the wall, turned back to the street, and took her hand. “Everyone is crazy now and then. Come on. Food will make everything better.”

“That really sucks about your phone.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll pay for lunch today.”

“Not a chance.”

By the tone of his voice, she knew there was no point in arguing. “Stubborn.”

“Yup.” He held open the door, and the smell of fresh sauce filled the air.

Her stomach growled. “Mmm. I wasn’t hungry a minute ago, but now . . .”

He laughed. “Me too. Come on. I know the owner. There’s a special table in the back we can sit at. Marcelo!”

Someone from the kitchen peeked out and waved. “Hey, Ambrose! Table’s free if you want it.”

“Excellent. Thank you!”

“Hey, tell your mom thanks for the polenta bread recipe.”

“Will do.” He pulled her through the busy but small restaurant, then around the corner, where it split off to the kitchen and bathrooms. There, by the window, one little table sat in a private nook.

Wow. Star treatment for Ambrose. She was surprised, and maybe impressed. With a hand on her lower back, he guided her to one side and held her chair for her. After she sat down, he took the seat on the other side.

He gazed at her a moment, wearing a lopsided smile. Then he seemed to snap to attention. “Is this okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask.”

“It’s fine.” She laughed nervously. How could this be more awkward than everything else they’d done? “Um.” She fiddled with the menu on the table. “You have a lot of friends.”

He shrugged. “I like to eat. You get to know people that way.” He took the menu out of her hands and shook his head. “My parents own a bakery, remember? So they know all the foodies in town too.”

Frowning, she looked at the menu he’d stolen away. “But . . .”

“The good stuff isn’t on the menu, gorgeous. Trust me.” He winked.

At first it seemed like he was being controlling, insisting he order for her, but now she realized this was his version of fun. With a smile, she sat back and relaxed, letting worry go for once, and trusted him.

There didn’t seem to be a waiter serving their table, so Ambrose went to the kitchen and spoke directly with the chef. She tried to tell him this was lunch and she wouldn’t eat that much, but he seemed to be on a mission. Considering the size of him, he’d probably eat what she didn’t anyway.

He turned from the kitchen and asked, “Red wine or white?”