“Yeah, but I can reschedule,” I said, and meant it. “Getting laid is way down on the priority list. Especially if my best friend needs help.”
Andrea smiled, her tense shoulders dropping from where they were scrunched around her ears. “I’m fine, I promise. I’ve been sewing all day. I’m probably only going to put a couple more hours in tonight. I’ll be in bed by midnight.” A smile twitched on her scarlet lined, pouty lips. “Besides, it’s time you put ‘getting laid’ higher on your priority list. Ash seems like a nice guy—just, don’t get attached. I don’t want to upset you, but I’ve seen him in LnS with a different woman every weekend.”
“I know,” I sighed. “He was really clear—no relationship. Just sex.”
Andrea chewed the inside of her cheek, silently staring at me. I wrapped the towel tighter around my body and went to step out of the tub’s tepid water.
“Nuh-uh,” Andrea said. “Fill that thing with hot water and shave your legs, pits, and vag.” She pointed at the razor she had tossed me. Then, without another word, she left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Chapter Twelve
Ash
I paced in my kitchen. With each step, each second that passed, the dinner I cooked was getting colder. What the hell was I thinking cooking shellfish on our first night together? It didn’t keep well and didn’t stay warm. But I wanted the meal to be special, something that she didn’t treat herself to all that often. When I remembered the clams her mother used to make, I knew just what to cook. But shit, Lucy didn’t even know how to get to my house. What if she was lost? What if that stupid tin can she drove got flattened by a semi?
My grip on my cell was so tight, I could have crushed it with one good squeeze. But instead, I punched in another text message to her. I took a deep, calming breath, staring out at the palm trees in my backyard as they swayed in the evening’s gentle breeze. Despite the lush green I knew the leaves to be in the daytime, the hues were a muted selection of blues and grays. I blinked, my lungs stilling as I gnashed my teeth together and jabbed my finger into the keypad on my phone. Again. I couldn’t sound too pushy. Or too angry. It might just make her run. So, instead, I typed: How close are you? The text before that: Are you on your way? The text before that: Text me when you’re leaving.
God, I sounded like a needy motherfucker. Paranoia and anxiety rose like high tide up my throat. It was paralyzing and my muscles clenched painfully with each passing minute she was late. The large, bay window curved around my dining table; the perfect view lay just beyond the glass, the city lights like diamonds scattered across navy velvet. I backed away, moving to the head of the dining table, sitting in my usual seat. Spreading my legs, I dropped my head between my knees. My therapist would tell me this was just the anxiety spiraling inside me—the guilt over Brie. He would say it wasn’t my fault, and I needed to let it go. But what the fuck did my therapist know? Dr. Melsieve was happily married with two kids. He didn’t make a promise, sign a fucking contract to always have her safety in mind, only to let the goddamn ball drop when it was most important.
Lacing my fingers behind my head, I took a few deep breaths, forcing my racing heart to calm down. Breathe, baby. Breathe.
Brie. I could almost hear her soft voice, twinged with the lightest Texas accent.
Deep breaths. In and out. My buzzing mind slowed down, and the spiral shifted to a swirl. Instead of a whirlpool, it was a circling drain. I need to go find Lucy. I could drive the route back to her apartment and along the way, I’d see if she’d had a wreck. Or a flat tire. I’d find her if she was in trouble.
On the one hand, maybe the reason she wasn’t texting back was because she was driving. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. I wouldn’t want her to text and drive—that was even less safe. But another reason she could be not texting me? Because she could be in an ambulance on her way to the hospital.
Why the hell was she driving such a small fucking car? Good gas mileage? Come on. A Prius will save the planet as well and not fucking kill you in the process.
I jumped to my feet, grabbed my keys, and launched myself down the hall, rushing for the front door. Throwing it open, I skidded to a stop. Lucy was in my driveway. Correction: Her car was in my driveway, parked behind mine. Lucy, on the other hand, stood in my walkway, pacing back and forth, phone in hand.
Thank God. Immediate relief rushed through me. She was okay. She was here and safe and… pacing in front of my house.
“Lucy,” I said, my voice sharper than the edge of a blade. When she jumped, her phone flew out of her hands and hit the stone walkway with an awful cracking sound. I cringed, rushing toward her.
“Shit,” she whispered, falling to her knees, collecting her phone. Cracks spider webbed from the center of the screen out to the edges, her screensaver a kaleidoscope version of what it once was.
“Sorry,” I apologized in a softer voice, curling my fingers around her elbow and helping her to her feet. “I’ll fix it.”
She shook her head, her eyes still fixed onto the broken screen. “It’s fine.”
It was definitely not fine. She looked like she was about to cry.
Beneath the broken glass, I could see my text messages displayed. She had read them… and not answered me. How long had she been out here pacing? Then, below my name, I saw Rich’s name listed with a text that I only made out a couple of words before she dropped her phone into her purse. Come to my office… was all that I could see.
“Is that a text message from Richard Blair?” I sounded jealous. Was I jealous?
“Oh… um, yeah. With the early morning and running late and doing the stand-in thing I had forgotten to drop off his dry-cleaning.” She shrugged and nibbled the corner of her mouth.
It seemed odd that he would have her cell number and she would have his. But I didn’t push it. Maybe this was something Richard did with new employees. I vaguely remembered Jude having Rich’s number early on in his career.
“Come on,” I said, giving her a little tug toward my front door.
If she was reluctant to come inside, she didn’t show it as she followed me.
“Your house is beautiful,” she said, her voice quieter than the other night at LnS. So far removed from the girl who was yelling at me about Judy Garland being the better performer.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” I said. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Sure, in actuality, I thought she was involved in some sort of fiery car crash—but that sounded completely crazy. And I was trying my damnedest to limit the crazy tonight.
“I made it to the driveway,” she admitted, the tiniest movement of her shoulder crunching to her ear. “And then I started…” Her voice faded off.
“Pacing?” I offered.
“I was going to say over-thinking.” Her back straightened and she sniffed, her nose angling toward my kitchen. With a little smile, she blinked up at me. “You made clams.”
I shrugged. “You said they’re your favorite.” There wasn’t a whole lot I could offer Lucy—but good meals, and even better orgasms were a fucking guarantee. And if that’s all I could do, well, I was going to make sure I did them to perfection.
The line of her throat tensed as she swallowed, and then she tilted her chin, her lips damp as they parted, waiting. Waiting for me to kiss her.
“Are you offering me your lips?” I asked, my voice graveled.
She nodded, eyes hooded, and looked up at me through a web of thick, black lashes. “That’s what you wanted, right?”
I grinned and felt that smile all the way to my core. She read my rules. I bent, brushing my lips gently across hers and my stomach clenched. Oh, she really read those rules. Because those gorgeous, plump lips of hers didn’t taste like they did earlier in the closet. They tasted like her pussy. Sweet and tangy, like she had drizzled her lips with the tiniest bit of honey. I groaned, opening my mouth and running my tongue along the seam of her lips. She opened wider for me as I stabbed my tongue deep into her mouth, driving
my fingers into her soft, dark hair. God, she was exquisite. Her hesitancy and nervousness only made the victory all the sweeter and I devoured that reluctance like it was the best cut of filet mignon.
I ended the kiss, my thumbs circling her jaw as she opened her eyes, blinking up at me in wonder. Fuck, was this what I’d been missing? What Richard was talking about? The pure innocence of someone who had no idea what she was about to unearth. The sweet allure of a submissive who was only beginning to discover the pleasures of pain and control.
“I read the rules,” she said, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.
I licked my lips, still tasting her. “I can tell.”
“I have some issues.”
I expected no less. “Is that why you were afraid to come in?”
She nodded. “More or less.”
“Let’s eat and talk after. Deal?”
“Deal.”
I pulled back, brushing the back of my knuckle across her cheekbone. God, she was gorgeous. My heart squeezed. I strived to care for all my subs. But these feelings I had with Lucy? This was different. I wanted to do more than care for her. I wanted to cherish her. Protect her. Keep her. You stupid son of a bitch, a voice said deep in my brain. It wasn’t Brie this time. It was all me. Because there was no way one night was going to be enough.
“How are the clams?” I asked.
“They’re great,” she said, but her voice wavered.
“No lying,” I snapped, my temper getting the best of me. I was already feeling short, unnecessarily angry over her being late. At least she was safe. And yet, those fifteen minutes of pure, undiluted panic had spiked my adrenaline, escalating into anger when I’d realized she was okay. That she was safe. And that she’d been here the whole time, not answering my fucking texts.
To make it worse, with that pussy flavored kiss she gave me, I knew she’d read the contract. She knew the rules I had set for us, and she chose to follow the one she liked—the kiss—and not follow the one that didn’t appeal to her—answering my calls and texts. Which only pissed me off more. That wasn’t how this shit worked. Answering text messages was non-negotiable. Her safety was my hardest limit.
“I’ll try that question again… slightly revised. Why aren’t you eating your clams?” I asked.
Her fork clattered as she intentionally dropped it against her plate. “They’re kind of cold, okay? But they’re still good.”
“They’re only cold because you were late.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything. Sometimes a lie isn’t nefarious. It’s simply avoiding an obvious and uncomfortable talk.”
“And sometimes it’s self-preservation because you don’t want to face your own mistakes. Like the fact that this is cold because you were late.”
“You know what? You’re being a real douchepop,” she snapped, taking a sip of water.
What the hell is that curse word? “A douchepop?” I repeated.
“Maybe you’re a deaf douchepop. A deaf, frozen douche. That’s what you’re acting like.”
I shook my head, not sure I was hearing this exchange correctly. Did we switch into a scene? Was she being bratty on purpose or was this a natural thing? Either way, I kind of liked it.
She snorted and picked up her fork again. Except, she still didn’t eat. She pushed her food around the plate, spreading it out like a fucking five-year old trying to trick daddy into believing she had eaten.
Beneath the table, my fingers twitched. I wanted to punish her. With every fucking bite of cold, rubbery clam, I wanted to take my palm to her ass. I didn’t want it pink… I wanted it red. A shade of fiery scarlet that would complement the deep red blush of her cheeks.
But it was too much. Too much, too soon. She’d barely been able to get in my damn door, let alone handle her first punishment. And if I was being honest… maybe I wasn’t ready either. I wasn’t used to this. I wasn’t used to dealing with a woman who didn’t get me. Didn’t get my lifestyle. And then there was the fear—maybe she wouldn’t like it. Maybe she’d reject the lifestyle… and in turn, she’d be rejecting me. If the fucking BDSM life is all about trust, how in the hell was I supposed to trust a woman who wasn’t even sure she wanted to be here? I stabbed another clam and shoved it into my mouth.
“What?” she interrupted my thoughts.
“Just… thinking.”
She swallowed. “About?”
I cleared my throat, taking a sip of beer. It was frothy and cold and I got a mouthful of head. She’ll be getting a mouthful of head soon. I smiled.
“Seriously, what?” she asked. “Why are you smiling?” I stayed silent, staring at her from across the table. Her eyes narrowed from beneath those black, rectangular-framed eye glasses. “If I’m not allowed to lie, then you aren’t either.”
“Fine.” Wiping my mouth with my napkin, I threw it down beside my half-eaten plate, slid out of my seat and stalked over to her. I yanked her chair back, pulling it away from the table and she yelped in surprise. With her chair tipped back, I looked at her upside down. “You want to know what I’m fucking thinking? I’m thinking about all the ways I could punish you for making me wait while you paced outside.” She opened her mouth to speak and I cut her off before she could. “I’m thinking about how hard I would paddle your ass for calling me a… what was it… douchenozzle?”
She swallowed, then answered, her voice small, “Um… pop. A douchepop.”
“That’s right. A deaf, frozen douchepop.’
She raised a finger in the air. “Frozen douchepop is actually redundant…”
I snarled. Was she trying to be cute? It was cute. Cute and infuriating which was not a combination I was used to. “I’m thinking about how to tie you up. What toys I can use to paddle your tight, alabaster ass. How I could shove my cock in your mouth every time you try to talk back to me.”
She swallowed, her brown eyes widening and pupils dilating to wide, black orbs. With a lick of her lips, she said, “I didn’t come inside right away because I was nervous. Not because I was trying to piss you off.”
“Fine. But you could have answered my texts.”
“You would have come out and gotten me. I wasn’t ready yet.”
I shook my head in response, even though she was one hundred percent correct. “It still isn’t acceptable. And it still deserves to be punished.”
She huffed a laugh that gargled at the back of her throat. “And spanking me like a child is how you’ll accomplish that?” But it wasn’t disgust in her eyes… it was excitement. A gleam of anticipation that I recognized immediately because I’d seen it on set earlier that day.
“If you’re going to act like a bratty child, then you’ll get punished like a bratty child.”
I dropped her chair so that all four legs were once again on the ground and circled to face her. My hard cock fell right in line with those pink lips of hers and I swallowed a groan. I wanted to fuck that pretty little mouth so goddamned badly. “Spanking is both punishment and reward for some subs. It can be both at the same time or only one. But I think you know that already.”
“Fine,” she said. Her eyes dipped to the ground momentarily, but quickly jerked back to match my eyes. Like she almost gave into her submissive nature, but forced herself to fight it. “But you and I need to hash some shit out first. I’m not okay with all these rules you laid out. And I’m not okay with being punished before we do that.”
Yeah, we sure as shit needed to hash some stuff out. I was the one who told her that in the first place. I was the one who gave her the contracts to read with the intent of talking about them. Wasn’t that fucking obvious? “The whole plan tonight,” I said, “was that you were to read the contracts. Come over. Have dinner. Discuss the rules. And have lots of orgasms. I told you that.”
“Well, I didn’t expect the contracts to be so, so… detailed. And what the hell is up with this one night thing? The plan is to eat, hash out an eleven page contract, and fuck all in a coup
le of hours? I don’t fucking buy it.”
Her brown eyes flashed defiantly and that spark lit something primal deep inside me. God, I loved the fight. Almost as much as I loved control. But the fight? Full of passion and defiance, fuck it was hot. One of my favorite things about being with Brie was when she would fight me for power.
I gulped, closing my eyes briefly, and pushed Brie from my thoughts. No. Not tonight. If I was truly only allowing myself one night with Lucy, then I couldn’t start comparing Brie. Because nothing could compare. It wasn’t fair to Lucy. It wasn’t fair to me.
Then why did you bring her here to our house? Her voice echoed in the deep recesses of my mind, needling me in a way only Brie could ever do.
Because it was the better alternative than having to go back to the first place I kissed you, I reasoned with her. I mean, me. Shit. I was fighting with the voices in my own fucking head now. That was a new one.
“For the record, I never said one night. I said we needed to get each other out of our systems. I actually think it was you who said one night.”
She opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut without uttering a word.
“I did, didn’t I?” she whispered.
“I didn’t want to limit us to one night. We might have such an incredible time, that we decide to extend this and have a scene on the weekend. But whether we’re having a quickie in the closet or a month’s retreat together, the contracts are absolutely necessary. When you mess around with limits, understanding each other and making sure consent is there before, after, and during a scene is so important. So maybe this will be one night. Or maybe it’ll be one month. Either way, contracts are a necessity.”
She nodded. “That—that makes more sense now.”
Doubt resonated in me. A hollow, echoed feeling in my gut. What if I can’t train her into the lifestyle? What if I fuck up and she ends up hating it? She was already so responsive. Her desire to please shuddered down my spine, coiling hot around my insides.
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