Bastard.
With shaking legs, I move toward the door. Somehow, I make it there without crumpling again, pick up my bag, and unclick the deadbolt.
I say nothing as I exit his office. I know the contract is still in my bag.
I don’t know whether to sign it or burn it.
****
My hands shake the entire way home. I manage to rush through the hotel lobby without anyone at the front desk seeing me, a line of check-ins keeping the staff busy. For that, I am grateful. When I arrive at my apartment building, I purposely leave my bag in the car, along with the contract and my cell phone. I don’t want to talk to him, don’t want to field phone calls and texts. Don’t want to be available 24/7.
I especially don’t want to look at the contract. Not yet. I don’t want it to tempt me once I am inside my place.
I am not prepared to read it.
I grab my wallet from the bag, lock up, and rush through the parking garage and into the elevator. I watch the numbers and stifle a slight panic that begs to well up inside me. The garage is three floors beneath the building. Three, two, one. All I need at this moment is to get inside my apartment.
Safe.
The doors rattle open, and I am caught unaware of the memory of myself, stepping over the threshold of the elevator at the hotel earlier, and into the lobby of Gage’s office. My body betrayed me, heating up and on fire for a man I barely know.
Stupid.
What was I thinking?
I hurry through the empty lobby to the second elevator and push the button. I hold a momentary fear that when the doors open, Gage will somehow be on the other side. It opens. He’s not, of course. Three young men rush out, pushing around me, laughing. I shift to my right and enter the car, then press the button quickly.
Three, four, five.
Six.
My floor. I cannot get to my door quickly enough. The keys in my hand shake as I attempt to push them in the lock. I try once, twice, then steady my right hand with my left, open the door, fall inside, and slam it closed again quickly.
I lock and deadbolt myself inside, then drop to the floor. Sobbing.
I’d held it in for minutes. Hours, it seems. No, just minutes.
Sitting on my heels, the tears fall, and I am not quite sure why.
Relief? Fear?
Disgust?
Fear.
Of what?
“Of him.” Yes. Of him.
Gage Parker scares the shit out of me. How he makes me feel. How he doesn’t make me feel. How he looks at me and how he doesn’t.
How he makes me feel.
I have just experienced the most incredible, sexual encounter of my life.
And the most empty one.
I rise and strip off what is left of my clothing, peeling away the layers as I head to the shower. Perhaps I can rinse away the day, along with the vacant, delicious feelings that Gage Parker has left inside me.
Perhaps that is an impossible thought.
****
By Monday morning, I have no more come to terms with what happened on Sunday than when I left the hotel that afternoon. I am dizzyingly conflicted.
On one hand, Gage Parker is the most sexy, virile, exciting man I have ever met, and I sense the sexual intensity he demonstrated yesterday is only the tip of his erotic iceberg. I am curious what more he can deliver. On the other hand, I know he is right. I am not prepared to take on someone like him.
I’m out of his league, for sure.
But I am intrigued, which is why after showering last night, I spent most of the evening with a bottle of wine and Google, researching Gage Parker and dominant sexual behavior in men. I read article after article about what it means to be a sexual submissive. I think about that as I drive to the hotel this morning, wondering if I am ready for this day.
I have no clue what it will bring. Glancing to my bag on the seat, I know the contract is still inside. Unread. I also researched what sexual contracts between a Dom and a female submissive might look like. Yes, despite the fact that Gage left me feeling almost humiliated yesterday morning, I am still intrigued. Am I submissive?
I wonder.
Could I be what he needs in a woman?
I doubt it.
Is there something about me that attracts him? Obviously.
I am getting way ahead of myself. Overthinking. He simply wants to fuck me. He made that perfectly clear. Which is why I see no need for the kind of contracts I read online. There is no way I’m getting into some kind of long-term lifestyle thing with him. And I don’t think that’s what he is after either.
In some ways, I may appear a demure, southern belle with a hearty Baptist upbringing, but I am also a college-educated woman with a mind of my own. And free will. I never did subscribe to the notion that Godly women submit to their husbands, on all levels.
I ponder that, thinking back to some of the sermons preached over the years in my small, hometown church. I wonder why I am thinking of that now, of all things.
Although, I speculate what Gage Parker really wants, and needs in a woman, has nothing to do with godliness. Gage Parker is all about business, and it appears, he is stinking rich. Googling his name brought up a ton of business articles concerning WestInn Enterprises, and some articles about his ranch, the Branded Filly. I chuckle. That’s a pretty bold statement, I think, about the man.
Of course, I had researched WestInn and management before I accepted the position. At the time, Gage Parker was simply a name. Yes, of course, he was a young, up-and-coming entrepreneur, touted as incredibly intelligent and with business savvy. But the Branded Filly seemed such a contradiction to that persona, and I wondered why I’d not read about it before now.
I came across a few images of him at social functions. No picture shows him with a woman. I also find that rather odd.
But maybe not.
I realize I know a lot about WestInn but very little about the man who owns the corporation, yet I cannot deny the sexual attraction I feel for him.
My cell phone buzzes in the bag on the seat. “Crickets.” I haven’t looked at it since yesterday. Pulling into the parking lot at the hotel, I find a space and then fish the phone out of the bag.
The battery is nearly dead. I press the button and notice a couple of texts from Candy. I scroll through and my notifications show some emails and a couple of missed calls, including the one of a few seconds ago.
Nothing from Gage.
Chapter Six
Normally after spending a Sunday afternoon at the office, Gage would have stayed the night at his condo in Billings. Not this Sunday.
After Emma left, he stared long and hard at the door to his office, the one she’d slammed on the way out. He hadn’t watched her leave. Couldn’t lift his head and make eye contact with her, because he feared if he did, he would dissolve.
He never dissolved.
The sheer notion unnerved him.
Shaken, he glanced at the clock, picked up his phone, and dialed. The conversation was short and direct.
He headed for the ranch.
****
Amanda McIntyre lived several miles out of Billings, which meant she would reach the ranch before he did. A quick text to Cole alerted him of Amanda’s pending arrival. Still, Gage pushed the speed limit on the highway, and even faster when he hit the dirt road back to his place.
His sense of urgency was potent and palpable. He needed to fuck Emma out of his head along with any notion of him coming unglued at the sight of her leaving his office.
He didn’t come unglued.
He parked and bypassed the house, heading straight for the barn. When he opened the door to the tack room, Amanda looked up from where she sat kneeling on the floor, waiting.
“Eyes down,” he growled, and Amanda immediately lowered her gaze. He bolted the door behind him.
He and Amanda had an arrangement. They used each other. She wanted more, he knew that, but was willing to accept the crumbs he threw at her. He w
as not in the market for a permanent sub, no matter how compliant. He’d not called her in weeks because he hadn’t needed to. He’d been busy with other playmates. Besides, Amanda had a drawback. She could get… Well, clingy.
They’d known each other since high school and had even dated back then. The three of them—Amanda, Cole and Gage—spent a lot of time together. They had history. What they shared now, though, was far from personal.
Just another arranged fucking. Friends with benefits. Nothing more, nothing less. It helped that she liked it rough and liked to take orders.
Gage paced the room in front of her. She knew better than to speak, although if she did, it would give him a reason to punish her. And he wouldn’t mind administering a punishment session, right now.
Hell.
He crossed the room to the case where he kept his leather, pondering which of his favorite toys to use this evening. As he reached for a single-tail, he paused, realizing he was in no state of mind to wield a whip. He didn’t trust himself. Besides, he was in a mood.
He plucked up a softer leather flogger and a short riding crop. He’d make decisions later.
He turned and went to Amanda. “Get up.”
She rose, still looking to the floor. He grasped an upper arm and led her to his spanking bench, a converted draft horse saddle. He positioned her over the seat, her knees on a leather kneeling bench in front of it, her ass offered up to him, her arms hanging over the other side.
“Grasp the stirrup.”
She wouldn’t move and didn’t need to be bound to the bench. They’d been this route before.
“I’m going to flog your ass, Amanda. I may use the crop later. And then I’m going to fuck you hard.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said.
“Are you in agreement?” They’d long ago discussed hard limits, safe words, and the like.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Remind me of your safe word.”
“Red.”
“Red is your safe word, Amanda?”
“Yes, Sir.
Red. Like her ass was going to be in a few minutes.
Before he used the flogger, he ran a palm over the fleshy part of her ass. She had ample padding there, and he squeezed hard. Amanda whimpered, and the sound made his cock harder. With both hands now, he rubbed and massaged her ass, increasing the blood flow to the area, getting her ready—and at the same time trying to center himself. His breathing evened out, and he spread her cheeks apart, his thumbs pushing into her pussy.
Gage cupped her with one hand and slipped a couple of fingers inside her. Amanda groaned more, and he pulled out.
Enough.
He started slow, swishing the flogger back and forth across her lower back, her thighs, and then cheeks of her ass for several minutes, increasing pressure and intensity as time went on. The mindless act brought his thoughts back to Emma.
How dare she make him feel something.
Amanda moaned.
“No sounds from you.” He slapped the flogger harder.
He put Emma out of his mind. He looked to Amanda’s ass, reddening with the application of the thin leather pieces. The sight excited him. He wanted to fuck her. His cock was engorged and throbbing, and he needed to plunge it deep between the cheeks of her ass. He wanted to fuck her hard, thoroughly, until she called out that damn safe word and begged him to stop. He wanted to prove he was a man. Remind himself of who he was and what he was about.
He needed to fuck and leave. Come and go.
No emotion. No romance.
Cold. Hard.
Get off and get done.
Amanda gasped, and he realized he was applying the flogger with more strength than he’d intended. She’d not said her safe word. Of course, she wouldn’t. He couldn’t remember a time that she had.
“Quiet!”
She always took what he dished out. No matter what. How much more could she take tonight? How long would it take him to rid his head of Emma’s sweet whimpers and her screams of orgasmic pleasure when she came?
Hell. He reared back and threw the flogger against the wall. Amanda jumped.
“Get up.”
She pushed back and turned, looking at him. She was doing it on purpose. Looking. Disobeying his orders. The rules. She was never to look at him when they were in a session. “Goddammit, Gage!”
“Shut up, Amanda.”
“Why did you stop? I was just getting into it. What’s going on with you?”
“You made a noise. I asked you not to. Stopping is your punishment.”
“Like hell.” She twisted up off the bench and faced him.
“You should have said your word.”
“I didn’t want to say my fucking word. I can take it, Gage.”
Suddenly, he wanted her out of his sight. He stepped back, jerked away. “Go home,” he barked. “Go home now, Amanda.”
She glared. “You’re a goddamn son-of-a-bitch, Gage Parker.”
He laughed. “Damned straight. Now get out of here.”
“Fuck you.” She stalked off to the corner where her clothing lay neatly folded on a bench. He’d trained her to be neat and tidy with her things when she was in his presence. He watched her put her clothes on and thought of how he had chaotically ripped Emma’s blouse earlier in the day. How she had struggled to pull her ripped clothing together.
He shook off the uneasiness that came with that thought. Emma hadn’t deserved that.
What the fuck was going on in his head?
Amanda squared herself and stared. “You’re fucked up, you know that? What happened all those years ago? You gotta let that go, Gage, or you’re going to be a miserable bastard the rest of your life.”
Gage glared back, his teeth clenched, blood rushing to his head. “Get out.”
Amanda grinned and chuckled. “No problem. I’ll leave. This time. But you’ll be calling me again. You always do.”
She left, and Gage whirled in rage, kicking at the spanking bench and knocking it over.
****
Although he’d slept little, Gage entered the ranch house kitchen ready to get on with his day. He had too much on his mind, too many tasks on his list to go in late. He stalked across the hard plank floor, threw his suit coat over the back of a chair, and slapped some papers down on the table.
Cole cocked a brow and looked up from his breakfast. “Mornin’ sunshine,” he said.
Gage grumbled and headed for the coffee. Cole lived in an addition off the main house. It was a good arrangement. At times, Gage could be gone on business for weeks, and he liked having someone close to the main house while he was away. Cole’s place was a separate, fully functional apartment with all of the amenities, including a kitchen, but often when Gage was home, Cole fixed breakfast in the main kitchen for the two of them.
Gage was thankful for that. He didn’t have to make anything himself and it saved time. Besides, Cole was a helluva cook. Today, however, Gage would have preferred Cole had stayed in his own quarters.
He was in no mood for chitchat and knew getting out of the house without a conversation was going to be impossible. Cole was a smart and observant man. He probably had more than one question about Gage’s Sunday afternoon.
“Backatcha,” Gage responded. He slid the coffee carafe out of the coffeemaker and poured the steaming black liquid into his travel mug, full to the brim, then screwed the lid securely on top.
The legs of Cole’s chair screeched against the flooring as he scooted back. “Hadn’t expected to see you back here last night after you headed out Sunday morning.”
“That had been the plan.”
“But things changed?”
Gage turned and looked at Cole. “I’m here, aren’t I?
Cole nodded. “You are at that.” He paused for a moment and picked at a tooth. “How’s Amanda?”
Gage cleared his throat and flipped the notch on the mug to take a sip of the coffee. Hot, dammit. “She’s a pain in the ass.”
Cole lifted a brow
again. “And that’s news?”
“No it’s not news.” Gage pushed away from the counter and glanced across the room. Where had he left his briefcase? It wasn’t by the door. “I’d appreciate it if you’d not bring her up. Ever.”
“Heard that before.” Cole rose.
Gage watched him head toward the sink. Cole was right. He’d sworn off Amanda too many times in the past.
“Just one thing,” Cole said, turned and looked straight at him. “Why call her? Hell, women are lining up and taking tickets for a weekend with you. Let Amanda go find someone else to bang. She’s always nothing but trouble, Gage, and needy. I don’t get it.”
Gage huffed out a breath and glanced off. Cole was right. Amanda was needy but she was available, willing, and discreet. And they had history so it was easy. He set his coffee on the table and flipped through the paperwork he’d brought down from his upstairs office. “She’s convenient. And yesterday, that’s what I needed.”
“I hope she was everything you needed and more.” Cole’s sarcastic response caught Gage off guard. Cole turned and rinsed out his dishes, then added, “It’s Monday. Does Helen need to spend more time than usual in the tack room?” He set his plate it on the counter.
“Probably not.”
“Quick session?”
“That’s none of your goddamned business.” Was he purposely trying to get his goat? Cole knows discussion of what goes on in the tack room is off limits.
Cole rotated back and said, “What the hell is going on with you?”
Gage reached for his jacket. One arm in, he stopped and studied his friend. “What do you mean?”
Cole paused and looked him over, as if he were weighing his words. “You’re pussy-whipped.”
Gage’s agitation increased ten-fold. He was damn sure his blood pressure just spiked. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Cole smiled. “Maybe not in the way that sounds. I don’t think you’ve even fucked her yet. But there is a woman out there who has you spinning.”
Gage straightened his jacket on his shoulders. “Like hell. I don’t spin.”
Cole went on. “The signs are all there, Gage. You were preoccupied while we were cutting and branding. Then you head out of here early Sunday saying you’re gone for the week. Sunday afternoon, I get the call to unlock the tack room for Amanda, which if that isn’t a red flag, I don’t know what is. About twenty minutes after you arrive, she hightails it out of here throwing up dirt and spinning wheels like nobody’s business. Plus, you’re in a pissy mood. All that, my friend, are sure signs there is trouble with a woman.”
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