Not Until You. Roni Loren

the small space and trying to quell the hum of anticipation running through him. He checked his watch—five minutes past when he’d told Cela to be here. If she were his sub, every one of those late minutes would be earning her a fun punishment for later.

      But of course, she wasn’t his. He doubted Cela had ever even heard of sexual submission. She screamed innocence with every unintentional dip of her lashes, every unsure smile. He’d had to fight a hard-on sitting across from her in his apartment, despite the fact that minutes before, he’d jerked off in the shower to thoughts of her.

      Pike leaned against the wall of mailboxes and crossed his arms, the picture of placidity. “What did you whisper to her before she left?”

      “Doesn’t matter.” Foster had said the first thing that had sprung to his lips, had been unable to resist seeing those sable locks fall over her shoulders and telling her how much he wanted to run his fingers through them. It’d been stupid. He’d felt her startled panic electrify the scant column of air between them. Maybe all the innuendo he’d been playing with tonight had gone over her head. Maybe she had simply wanted to go out and dance—as friends, neighbors.

      “Maybe she’s not coming,” Foster said, forcing himself to stand still. Pacing was going to do no good, and perhaps it was better if she didn’t show up. She’d been as jumpy as a bird on the highway as she’d stood in their doorway. She was too sweet for what he and Pike brought to the table. They could break her. Or at the very least, freak her the fuck out.

      Unfortunately, her sweetness was the very thing that had Foster’s dominant side busting through the seams and hijacking his best intentions to stay away from Cela.

      “There’s our girl,” Pike said, coming up behind Foster as red high heels appeared on the top step, drawing Foster’s rapt attention. Red. Shoes that said she wasn’t going to spend the night at the library. Cela’s bare calves came next—smooth, touchable skin that sent Foster’s heart rate speeding up. Then a snug black dress came into view, one that hugged her above the knee and molded over flared hips and a narrow waist.

      A bolt shot straight downward to Foster’s cock.

      Pike’s hands landed on Foster’s shoulders from behind. “And holy fuck does she look hot.”

      Pike had stolen the thoughts right out of Foster’s head. Ms. Lives in Scrubs looked like a goddamned pin-up girl sashaying down those stairs. The only thing that didn’t match the come–hither outfit and fuck-me shoes was the hesitant expression on her face.

      When she hit the bottom step, she offered them both a tentative smile. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late. I couldn’t find my shoes. I haven’t worn them in a while.”

      Pike stepped around Foster and took both of Cela’s hands in his, holding her arms outward so he could get a good look. “Damn, doc. I changed my mind. Let’s send Foster out to dance, and you can just come back upstairs with me.”

      A laugh broke through the nervous compression of her lips, proving she wasn’t immune to Pike’s natural gift of putting women at ease.

      Pike guided her into a little twirl, giving Foster a delicious view of how the material clung to the curve of her ass. “You look smoking.”

      “Thanks.” She sent a shy glance Foster’s way, hope for his approval in her eyes.

      The move reached into Foster’s gut, wrenched something sideways. He took her hand and kissed it. “You look stunning, Cela. And if you make one move to go back upstairs with Pike, I’m tackling his ass.”

      Her pleased look had him tightening his hold on her fingers, not wanting to let her go. Her eyes dipped down, taking in his blue button-up shirt and dark jeans. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans.”

      His mouth curved. So she’d been surreptitiously observing him in their hallway passings, too. “I work a lot. Suits are part of the deal.”

      “You pull off both well,” she said, her voice still dancing a bit with nerves, the Latina accent peeking through.

      “Thank you.” He took her hand and tucked it in his elbow, taking control, hoping it would help ease some of her anxiety. “Let’s get going. There’s a stiff drink and a dance floor with our names on it.”

      “Now we’re talking,” Pike said. “The cab’s waiting outside.”

      * * *

      Foster watched Cela’s throat work as she sipped her margarita. The club was in full swing, but Pike had used his connections to get them a table on the balcony so that they could all have a drink and talk without the music drowning them out.

      This kind of club wasn’t usually Foster’s speed. Too loud. Too crowded. If he was going to go out, he usually drove to The Ranch where true privacy could be had if needed. But when Pike had suggested dancing, Foster couldn’t resist the thought of having Cela’s body pressed against his, the scent of her swirling around him.

      But unless Cela relaxed, they were going to be cemented to these chairs all night. Her salt-rimmed drink sloshed precariously in her unsteady hand as she sent the tables nearby a darting glance and sipped. If he said “boo,” she’d probably leap off her seat.

      Way to go, genius, he chided himself. It was his and Pike’s job to make sure Cela had fun tonight, and they were reaching epic-fail status quickly.

      Pike was at least trying to put her at ease. “So how long do you have before you move back home?”

      “I’m going to help out in the clinic at the vet school for a few more weeks. I’ve been interning there this year, and I wanted to make sure they had a replacement for me before I left. So before the end of June.”

      “Wow, that soon, huh?” Pike asked.

      She looked at her drink and seemed to sink into her thoughts. “Yeah.”

      Damn, they needed to turn this night around quickly. Cela seemed to be getting more morose instead of relaxed. Enough sitting around. He didn’t have Pike’s talent for settling women with humor and the occasional off-color comment. If he said half the stuff Pike did, his face would be permanently marked from angry slaps. But he did have one potent tool in his arsenal—one that only worked on a special type of woman. And all his God-given instincts were telling him Cela was exactly that kind of girl, his kind of girl. Even if she didn’t know it yet. Time to do what he’d been wanting to do since he’d first met his shy neighbor.

      He reached out and plucked the glass from her hands. “Stand up, Cela.”

      She turned toward him and blinked as if to clear her vision of some afterimage. “What?”

      He stood. “Up. Now.”

      She glanced at Pike with a what’s-going-on look but rose to her feet anyhow.

      “Thank you.” He stepped around the small cocktail table to stand in front of her, using his height advantage to the fullest. “Look at me.”

      Her head tilted upward without hesitation—like he’d tugged a string attached to her chin.

      Good girl, his mind whispered. But he shoved the instinctual response to the back of his brain. “We brought you here to have a good time tonight.”

      Her lips rolled inward, nervously smoothing her lip gloss, and she took a breath. “I know. I want that, too.”

      “Good.” He glanced at Pike, who was watching the exchange with deceptively casual interest. Pike gave a barely perceptible nod, somehow always in tune with Foster’s thoughts, and climbed out of his chair. He moved behind Cela with easy confidence and slid his hands along her waist.

      She jolted a bit at the touch, a flush creeping over the skin exposed by her V-cut neckline, but she held Foster’s eye contact.

      “You’re shutting down on us.” Foster reached out and cupped her face, running a finger along her cheekbone. “I need you to let go of the nerves. You have no reason