Playing Hard to Master

by Sparrow Beckett

  Ugh. She wished he’d just text back so she knew he was even alive!

  “It’s cute,” Genevieve said.

  “Thanks.” She stood behind her client, adjusting the chair to the right height. “So what can I do for you today?”

  By the time she finished Genevieve’s foil highlights, her feet felt like someone had stuffed two inflated balloons in her shoes.

  “Fucking heels,” she muttered in the break room, prying them off of her sweaty feet. After nearly throwing them into her locker, she slipped on her flats, sighing in comfort, grabbed her coat and purse, then headed for the door. “I’ll be back after lunch,” she told Alison.

  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?”

  “Actually, coffee, please.”

  After a curt nod, he spoke to the chef for another minute then turned back to the table, grinning like a kid in a candy shop. It was fucking adorable. Here was Ambrose, in his element.

  “You really like food, huh?”

  “Yes.” His forehead creased, the grin fading away. “Is . . . that bad? Anytime I date a girl who only eats salad or whose idea of eating out is Taco Bell, things never seem to last long.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” She giggled. “I hate salad. Unless it’s drenched in ranch, but then it’s not really a salad, so much as dressing with salad as the garnish. I should probably eat more salad—I mean, look at me—but I just like real food too much. I’ve never made a very good herbivore . . .” She trailed off, realizing she was rambling.

  When she lifted her eyes to look at Ambrose, he was giving her that silly grin again.

  “What?”

  “You’re perfect the way you are. And I love when you talk food.”

  Smirking, she said, “Just food? Or are you thinking about other things I put in my mouth?”

  “Don’t tease, little brat. You have to go back to work after this. You don’t want me to muss you up in the bathroom, do you?”

  That didn’t sound like a bad idea at all. She shrugged and looked at him coyly.

  He chuckled. “Bad girl.”

  The chef appeared, carrying a glass of wine and a mug. She thanked him, then, after adding cream and sugar, she sipped her coffee, hoping it would make her come to her senses. No matter how private the table, they were still in a public restaurant. And she did have to go back to work after this. Now was not the time to tempt the demon.

  “So you’ll come over tonight?” he asked. “I’ll text you the address after I get my phone.”

  “Sure.” She arched a brow. “What are we gonna do? Watch a movie? Play a board game?”

  He leaned back, letting his arms span the back of the chair, reminding her just how large he was.

  A shudder swept through her. Fuck, how was she going to last until tonight when she was getting horny already?

  “We’ll play some games all right,” he said. “I liked the one we played last time. I’m the Sultan and you’re my little slave girl.”

  She thought of the slave bells he’d given her and the fact that she sometimes wore them around her apartment. Wearing them made her feel like she was his property, which was a crazy turn-on. She’d fantasized about belonging to somebody for so long it seemed almost too good to be true.

  Time to test a theory. “Oh. Here I was just thinking maybe I’d wear my new schoolgirl skirt.”

  His body seemed to freeze in place, then he swallowed hard. “I . . . uh . . . I’d be okay with that.”

  She chuckled, feeling cocky and powerful. “Maybe it’s too soon for that. I’ll just wear a T-shirt and jeans.”

  Abruptly, he sat forward. “No, I like your idea better.”

  “Nah.”

  “Wear the fucking skirt, little brat, or you’ll be sorry.”

  “Mmm.” Warmth slid from her belly down to her pussy. “What if I like being sorry?” She nibbled her lip.

  “There are better reasons to be sorry than for disobeying me.”

  She leaned in, her breath shallow and her voice husky. “Like what?”

  He sat up straighter. “You’ve been very bratty today. I have a desk and a strap with your name on them.”

  A whimper escaped her and she fought the urge to slide her hand down between her legs. If she pressed on her clit, just for a second, she could possibly come right there in the restaurant.

  “So you’re going to wear that pretty skirt for me, right?”

  “Yes,” she said on an exhale.

  He quirked a brow.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good girl.”

  Ugh. How was she supposed to finish the day like this? Needy and wet and ready to hump her own hand? She was just about to ask about the mussing-up-in-the-bathroom idea, but Ambrose cut in.

  “Here comes the food.”

  The chef placed two plates in front of them with heaping piles of pasta that looked and smelled delicious. Still, she was distracted.

  Ambrose scooped a bite then stopped and looked at her. “Why are you pouting?

  The chef had left, and no one was within earshot.

  “I’m horny, Sir.”

  He laughed. “Poor girl. That’s what you get for teasing me.”

  Obviously, she wasn’t going to get any mercy from him. She growled and stared at her food.

  “Eat. The chef made it just for you. You still have a long day. I’m not letting you leave until you eat.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she grumbled with a mock salute.

  His eyes narrowed. “We’ll address that over my desk later.”

  Her stomach thunked and her whole body felt like it turned to Jell-O. Slowly, she picked up her fork, trying to clear her mind of all the dirty thoughts flipping through it. Fuuuuuck. Why did she have to open her big, bratty mouth? Now she’d be thinking about that desk for the rest of the day.

  They fell into silence as they ate the cheesy pasta mix on their plates. Though she stayed horny, her thoughts drifted from sex to food. The dish was amazing. Each ingredient blended perfectly with the others. She found most cheese dishes to be greasy, but this was just perfect.

  It wasn’t long before she’d finished more than half of the heaping portion on her plate.

  “How do you like it?” Ambrose asked, polishing off his.

  “It’s really good!”

  He smiled genuinely.

  “But I’ll pay for my half. It’s only fair, especially since you have to replace your phone.”

  Rolling his eyes, he placed his fork by his plate. “This is a date. You’re not even paying for your water. Now shut up and keep eating.”

  “Rude!” she teased. “I’m full though.” At his glare, she said, “Seriously. It’s too much. I’ll take it home for tomorrow.”

  He seemed satisfied with that and took it upon himself to get to a to-go box from the back. After working out some kind of arrangement with the chef, he told her everything was paid for and walked her to the door.

  “I think I’m booked solid from one to four,” she told him as they headed back to the salon. “But you can come after and I’ll do your hair.”

  “Nah. Not today. Just let me know when you have an open spot later this week.”

  “It’s no big deal. I can take you at four.”

  “No.” He playfully nudged her. “I need you well-rested for tonight.”

  “Oh really?” Chuckling, she said, “What if I need you well-groomed for tonight?”

  He frowned at her. “Heyyy. You’re not attracted to me with shaggy hair?”

  She sighed wistfully. “You’re hot no matter what. It’s not fair.”

  When they reached the salon, he yanked her up against him, leaned down and kissed her, hard and long, until she couldn’t breathe. When he stopped, she turned and realized they were right in front of the big window and all her coworkers were watching.

  She scowled up at him.

  He didn’t look sorry. In fact, he s
mirked and said, “I had to claim what’s mine.”

  Sighing, she rolled her eyes and pushed away from him, hiding a smile at the word “mine.”

  “Men!” she shouted over her shoulder.

  His cocky chuckle followed her inside, making it harder to hide that smile. But right when she stepped through the doorway, about nine women squealed and grinned at her. A few coworkers even clapped and jumped up and down.

  Oh my God.

  Sometimes working with a bunch of women in such a close environment really sucked. For the rest of the day, she played Dodge the Twenty Questions, counting down until their date tonight. And her date with his desk and strap.

  Chapter Eight

  “This is the act of a desperate man.” Kate laughed as she followed them up the stairs.

  “When you meet her you’ll understand.” Ambrose grunted and hefted his end of the desk.

  Banner almost dropped the other end, but caught it before it hit the metal stairs. “If a girl is the one, Trouble, a guy will go to ridiculous lengths to win her.” He and Ambrose exchanged glances, and Kate grimaced.

  “You just wanted to stick your dick in me.” Kate snorted.

  “Yes,” both men replied.

  Banner growled. “I’ll drop this fucking desk on your foot, you bastard.”

  “Oh, like that was a big fucking secret.” Ambrose rolled his eyes and shuffled backward when he got to the top of the stairs. If Banner thought any straight man on the face of the planet didn’t want to fuck Kate, he was a moron. “Things happen for a reason though. For me, I think Everly might be that reason.”

  They moved into the main loft area and set the desk down to rest for a minute. “This fucker is heavy. There’s no way you’ll break this one.”

  “Break it? You’ve broken desks before?” Kate asked.

  “You don’t want to know.” Banner raised his eyebrows at his wife, and she blushed. How Kate could still be blushing after hanging out with them so long was a mystery, but it was also adorable. “Wow. This place is a complete shit hole, Ambrose. She might leave your ass so she doesn’t end up having to support you.”