Of all the crazy shit!
Yep, that strange squeezing sensation in my chest was my heart. It was still pitter-pattering rapidly while my lungs worked desperately to keep up.
I was no longer homeless!
It would seem I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I had a place to live, food to eat, a bed to sleep in, and even a job to go to first thing tomorrow.
And I didn’t have to deal with an asshole who enjoyed putting me down and forcing me to give him blow jobs at every turn.
The icing on the cake?
The closet.
Holy smokes, that place seemed to be burping out clothes and shoes every time I clicked on the light.
Yes. My closet had a light.
And drawers.
And a chair!
Of course, when I’d gotten over the fancy outer shell of that room—because I was sure ten by ten qualified as a room—I’d given the wardrobe a good once-over, and much to my surprise, I was almost certain I owned every piece of clothing that poor Judy had tried to sell me that morning.
Gah, and the shoes!
I so wished I was the type of girl who went gaga over shoes, because I would’ve been half out of my mind at this point. Unfortunately, those fancy heeled demons were all wasted on me.
Not that I wouldn’t do my best to get used to them. I would.
Because they were mine!
It was an incredible feeling, I couldn’t lie.
Overwhelmed was the word I seemed to be going back to.
But even with all the excitement, there was also something else.
A strange feeling that had been curling through my body, making my fingers go numb and my mind go fuzzy ever since I’d stopped to take a breath.
Something I hadn’t expected.
I was…lonely.
I know, I know. Poor me, right? I had all this fancy shit and here I was complaining?
But what good was it to have so much stuff without a single person to share it with? Not even a friend I could call to say, hey, I got these new fancy panties that have matching bras!
Nope. No one was going to know about that.
It might’ve taken a couple of hours, but now that some of the excitement had faded, I really was lonely here in this ginormous apartment by myself. It hadn’t taken me long to realize that I’d enjoyed spending so much time with Mr. Parker and Mr. Snowden. So much so, I kept wishing time could speed up so that it was six o’clock. I was looking forward to having dinner with them. If nothing else, it would give me something to do and people to do it with.
That was one of my flaws, I knew. I wasn’t the type of girl who could spend countless hours alone. I needed social interaction. I enjoyed being around people.
Or rather, I’d grown accustomed to it over the years. Being that I’d never had a place of my own, peace and quiet was a luxury I wasn’t familiar with. It was going to take some time to get used to it.
Getting to my feet, I headed for the living room and snatched up the remote.
My heart fluttered again because…
I had a television!
Yep. I did.
And the best part was that there was no one to tell me what I could or could not watch.
*
At roughly six o’clock, the phone in the kitchen rang.
I’d been so engrossed in watching Friends—imagine that, a channel that played reruns almost all the time—I was startled at first, unable to do anything but stare across the room at it. Fortunately, it didn’t take me long to figure out answering it was the appropriate thing to do.
After jumping to my feet, I darted across the room and grabbed the cordless receiver from the base.
“Hello?”
“It’s Justin.” The deep voice came through crystal clear.
“Hi, Mr. Parker.” Oh, great. And now I was all breathy, like I’d been…waiting for him to call.
“I’m requesting the pleasure of your company for dinner.”
I giggled. “Requesting? You’re not much on requesting anything, are you?”
The raspy chuckle that responded kicked off a swarm of butterflies in my belly. “You’re right. I’m commanding your company for dinner.”
Oh, dear heavens. I might’ve swooned at that.
“I’d be happy to come over,” I blurted.
He chuckled softly. “Good. Whenever you’re ready. The door’s unlocked.”
“Yes, Mr. Parker.”
Another deep, raspy snicker and then the line disconnected.
In an effort not to look too excited, I went to the bathroom and checked my appearance. I had changed out of the interview ensemble and pulled on a pair of new denim shorts—that fit like a glove—and a body-hugging, navy-blue T-shirt, and I briefly wondered if I should change. There were dozens of skirts and dresses in that huge walk-in closet/room. And plenty of shoes to go along with them.
I glanced down at myself, then over to the closet door.
Admittedly, I wasn’t completely comfortable wearing dresses or skirts, but the ones they’d given me were nice. Both quality and style. I could possibly get used to wearing them. Granted, the shoes were another story.
After a few minutes of indecision, I finally decided to keep on my current outfit. Which was perfect because my Converse were the perfect compliment.
Once I pulled on my shoes and composed myself somewhat, I grabbed my apartment key, locked the door, and pivoted so that I was facing Mr. Parker’s door.
Not a long walk.
It was possible I stood there for a couple of minutes—maybe five—before I got up the nerve to take the final three steps to his door. I lifted my hand to knock, then dropped it. He’d told me to come in, so should I do that?
It was awkward to open the door and let myself into Mr. Parker’s apartment, but I didn’t want to put him out, so I did just that. When I stepped inside, I was overwhelmed by a delicious aroma that seemed to fill the apartment.
“Damn it,” Mr. Parker snarled. “I’ll be right back. Got sauce on my shirt.”
I heard Mr. Snowden laugh in response. “There’s a reason I try to keep you out of the kitchen.”
I closed the door behind me and the clicking sound it made seemed extremely loud for some reason.
Mr. Snowden stepped into the living room, his eyes coming to rest on me, and a smile tilted those ridiculously sensual lips.
“I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me, too.” He had no idea how much.
“Hope you’re hungry,” he said, holding out his hand as I moved toward him.
I smiled, unable to help myself. I’d missed them in the few short hours we’d been apart.
As though it was natural, I put my hand in his and allowed him to lead me toward the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.
Although the kitchen in my apartment was beyond spectacular, Mr. Parker’s was a little fancier. As though it’d been upgraded with a chef in mind. There were two ovens and a huge five-burner gas stove. Everything was stainless steel and shiny.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Uh…sure.” I didn’t usually drink—another extravagance I hadn’t been able to afford—but I wasn’t opposed to wine.
“How’s the apartment?” Mr. Snowden asked as he poured a glass, then passed it over to me.
“It’s ah-mazing. I—” My words died instantly when Mr. Parker stepped around the corner and into the kitchen, pulling a T-shirt over his head.
My mouth practically dried up at the sight of his delectable chest. Solid muscle covered by smooth, bronzed skin, with a set of abs—complete with divine dips and valleys—that practically begged for my touch. The man was drool-worthy and I was wondering how I hadn’t noticed it before now.
Okay, so I’d noticed.
As far as his face went, Mr. Parker was conventionally handsome with his blond hair, blue eyes, and chiseled jaw, but I hadn’t realized he’d been hiding a smoking-hot bod
beneath the expensive clothes. In fact, I’d thought he was a little on the thin side, but clearly I was wrong. He was ripped.
And I was staring.
Mr. Snowden chuckled. I blushed.
“She was telling me about the apartment,” Mr. Snowden stated as he turned toward the oven. “Apparently, she got a little sidetracked by your nakedness.” His golden eyes came over to me. “Don’t worry. He has the same effect on me.”
I felt my blush creep up my neck and I suspected Mr. Parker noticed, because he smiled.
“It’s a great apartment,” I finally said, taking a sip of my wine. “Thank you again for everything.”
Mr. Parker shook his head. “Don’t thank me.”
His words weren’t said as a polite brush-off. He sounded serious, so I nodded and turned my attention back to Mr. Snowden.
“Dinner’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Mr. Snowden peered at us over his shoulder. “Why don’t you show her your playroom?”
Mr. Parker cocked one blond eyebrow.
“You have a playroom?” That sounded fun.
I wanted to know what they were into and one way to find that out was to see the inner workings for myself.
“Come on.” Mr. Parker held out his hand and once again, I found myself walking right up and giving him mine in return.
For some reason, I liked that these men touched me. Not in a sexual manner, per se. But it was friendly and made me feel welcome. I hadn’t had much of that in my life. Not as far back as I could remember, anyway.
Mr. Parker led me through the living room to a closed door on the opposite side of the room from his bedroom. There was a small alcove with a lighted niche in the wall. Hanging there was an abstract painting in black, white, and red. Down the short hallway was what appeared to be a bathroom.
“This is where I keep the fine china,” he said.
Another joke? He was full of surprises all around.
“Yeah? Good thing I didn’t know about it last night.”
When he turned the knob and pushed the door open, Mr. Parker stepped back and allowed me to walk in before him.
“Holy…shit.” I liked his idea of fine china. My eyes widened as I took in the wall of toys—a wide variety of crops, floggers, whips, and restraints. “Wow.”
The room was nice-sized, and clearly a second bedroom, although he obviously didn’t use it as such. The walls were a creamy beige, the floors the same rich hardwood as the living room. The far wall that held the variety of toys contained floating glass shelves and glass-encased drawers that were lined with red velvet. I couldn’t see the contents within the drawers, but I figured it was more toys.
But that wasn’t all. Hell, that wasn’t even the most impressive part.
On the left and right sides of the room there were…
“I’m very much into role playing.” His tone was firm and he clearly wasn’t ashamed by his admission.
“There is nothing wrong with role playing,” I whispered, admiring his setup.
There was a mockup of a doctor’s office on one side, something that looked a lot like a jail cell complete with a desk in front of it—for the jailer, I assumed—in the far corner, and a variety of equipment neatly stacked in a pile, as though it hadn’t been used in a while.
“What type of role playing are you into?” I asked because I was curious.
“Let’s just say I’m very open-minded,” he said, his hand still warmly wrapped around mine. “What about you?”
I turned to face him, holding my wineglass between us. “I’m interested in…just about anything, too. Except, you know, that whole Daddy thing. And pet play. That doesn’t really do anything for me.”
“No desire to have a tail?”
I shook my head. “Not really, no.” Yeah, my voice was a little scratchy as my libido kicked into high gear. I might not necessarily be into all that stuff, but the images it produced were rather erotic in nature.
“Me, neither, so you’re safe there.”
His eyes locked on mine and held for what felt like an eternity.
“Maybe one day soon we’ll get to play,” he added.
Tonight would be good.
No. Wait. No, it wouldn’t.
I wasn’t ready for that.
Was I?
I finally managed to tear my gaze away and I once again surveyed the room, more for something to do than to simply admire Mr. Parker’s toys.
“With all of this, why do you even bother going to the club?”
“I’m an exhibitionist by nature.” He said it so naturally.
I liked that about him. Surprisingly, not a lot of people were quite so open about their kinks.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
I tried to suppress my giggle but failed.
“What’s funny?”
Cutting my gaze to him, I grinned. “I was just thinking that we’d make quite the pair.”
“How so?”
“You’re an exhibitionist and I’m a voyeur.”
“Is that right?” He seemed genuinely fascinated by my admission.
Again, I nodded, and this time when I turned toward him, I found myself even closer. His eyes were hooded as he stared down at me.
“Does Ben like to role play?” I whispered.
“He does.”
Neither of us looked away.
“Are you interested in role playing with him?”
My inner hussy squealed, God, yes! My demurer side offered a shrug and a soft, “Maybe.”
I was clearly getting way too comfortable with these men in the extremely short time I’d known them. It wasn’t like me to open up to people so quickly, but they made it easy.
Mr. Parker’s finger curled beneath my chin, his thumb pressing down on the dimple I knew was there, but he didn’t lean in and I didn’t move away. Our eyes were locked together for several seconds, and I swore I felt something potent fizzing in my veins. It started in my belly and fluttered outward.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mr. Snowden called from the kitchen.
My stomach rumbled in response, making Mr. Parker smile.
“Let’s eat.”
“Okay.”
And just like that, the moment was broken.
Mr. Parker led me out of the room, closing the door behind us, and we returned to the kitchen to find Mr. Snowden placing the plates on the table. He glanced over at us sideways with a wide grin on his too-handsome-for-words face.
“I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving.” It smelled heavenly and my stomach was protesting its lack of food.
“So, what’d you think?” Mr. Snowden prompted when the three of us took our seats. “Nice playroom, huh?”
“Very nice.” Once again, I found myself blushing.
“Now that you know Mr. Parker’s wicked secrets, tell us some of yours,” he stated nonchalantly, as though the topic wasn’t something that was quite so intimate.
I opted to play dumb. Just so I could catch my breath, of course.
“What do you mean?” I noticed both men were eyeing me intently.
“At the club,” Mr. Parker clarified, “when you play. What is it you enjoy doing?”
I took a big gulp of wine, then shrugged. “I’m into bondage, I guess.”
It was far more embarrassing to admit that to them than I would’ve expected.
Mr. Snowden grinned. “Ropes? Cuffs? Spreader bars? Arm binders? Suspension?”
“All of the above.” More heat infused my face, but I couldn’t seem to stop talking. “I also enjoy…pain.”
“What sort of pain?” Mr. Parker asked, his expression curious.
“Electricity, clamps, whips, floggers, having my hair pulled, and, you know, erotic spankings.” I lifted my gaze to his. “Not like what Josh was doing, obviously. But I do like rough play.”
Someone please give me a ball gag! I’m getting in over my head here.
“However, I don’t care for humiliation,” I confessed simply b
ecause I wanted them to know. “Especially verbally. Does nothing for me.”
“Have you filled out a limit list?” Ben asked between bites.
“I haven’t. Not with the club, anyway.” It wasn’t a requirement at Dichotomy, although some Doms wouldn’t play unless there was one on file. Personally, I hadn’t intended to play all that much, so I figured I had all the time in the world to complete it when I did find someone who interested me.
I fully expected Mr. Parker to tell me it was one of his requirements, but he didn’t contribute to the topic, instead forging ahead.
“Are your records up to date at the club?”
“Of course.” We were required to provide quarterly blood tests.
“Are you on birth control?” he asked.
“I am. Pills. I get them at Planned Parenthood.” Jesus. I just opened my mouth and all my secrets came spilling off my tongue.
“What days do you work at the club?” Mr. Snowden asked.
“Usually Tuesday and Saturday.” All submissives in the training program had to pick a Friday or Saturday night, along with one of the slower nights of the week. “Although those can change if someone needs a day off or something.”
“We’ll be accompanying you when you go,” Mr. Parker said absently.
I was curious as to how that was going to work. If they insisted on going to the club with me, would they play while I worked? I kind of liked the idea. I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing the two of them together.
And that thought instantly made me blush. I picked up my wineglass and brought it to my lips, hoping neither of them noticed.
“What’s on your mind, little rebel?” Mr. Parker questioned.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that he caught me. He seemed to pick up on every little thing.
“Nothing.”
His left eyebrow quirked. “What did I say about subs who lie?”
Shit.
“They get fifteen swats,” I answered.
“That’s correct. Which means you’ve earned fifteen,” he stated firmly. “We’ll take care of those later. Care to try again?”
Swallowing hard, I debated on whether or not I wanted to make something up. I took a sip of wine, bought myself a little time.
“I was thinking…” I put down my glass, grabbed my fork, and focused on spearing my lasagna. Then forced the words out as quickly as I could. “I was thinking about what it would be like to watch the two of you together.” I shoveled the lasagna in my mouth and chewed, never once looking up at either of them.
Their Rebellious Submissive (Office Intrigue Book 3) Page 13