You could ask Scott Sanderson if he’d like to spank you? a small voice piped up. You get the release, he can punish you for that time you did those things that got him arrested. Everyone wins.
Everyone except common sense, Sam reminded herself.
“I’m fine,” she told Scott. “I was pretty invested in winning, but you have to be to stand a chance. It’s never a done deal. Travis impressed the judges more.”
“You should have won.”
He sounded so resolute, she smiled. “Thanks. I wanted to. Fadeout could have turned things around for the Silver Daughters.”
“You’re still in the ballot, though. The emcee said it’d be drawn this week.”
“Yeah, but there’s fifty other artists in there, too. I don’t like the odds.”
“You’ll get it. I can tell.”
“Become clairvoyant since we last knew each other, Galahad?”
Scott’s expression remained solemn. “You deserve to be there. All you need is a chance and everything else will take care of itself.”
For a moment they stared at one another before looking away. Sam was grateful for the darkness, concealing the burn of her cheeks.
Is that what this is? Am I a chance you’re taking?
She couldn’t ask, though. Too much risk, not enough energy to handle the answer if it was no, if he’d just been roped into one of Tabby’s schemes. Out of any context, this Scott Sanderson was just a nice, handsome guy and she just wanted to go somewhere with a nice, handsome guy.
“I hope you’re right,” she said as they walked into the car park. “Otherwise I might have to start tattooing the Australian flag on xenophobes.”
“We wouldn’t want that.” His serious expression cracked as he gave her a wide, lovely smile. “So, where are we headed, Samantha?”
Oh, but how she liked the way he said her name, all three syllables of it in his crisp British voice.
“Anywhere but Trippy Taco.” Sam looked around. “Which one is your car?”
“Oh, right, sorry.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and the headlights flashed on an ink-black BMW.
“Nice,” Sam said, surprised as always to discover people actually owned luxury vehicles.
“Thank you.” Scott walked around the car and opened the passenger door. “After you?”
She shouldn’t have been surprised about the Beemer. Scott looked so natural standing beside his fancy car in his fancy suit, showing the subtle, glossy wealth Aaron and now her sister were practicing to attain. “It’s fine if you don’t want a lift,” Scott said. “We can walk or catch a c-c-cab—shit!”
“Galahad, it’s fine,” Sam said, a little unnerved.
He turned away, shaking his head. “I swear to Christ I never normally stutter. You don’t know how f-f-frustrating it is.”
From his fierce reaction, Sam believed him—it wasn’t typical, or at least it hadn’t been. She thought of the little boy at her window and her chest gave a tight spasm. “I want to get in. I was just thinking about Nicole’s fiancé, he’s always wanted a car like this.”
Scott took a deep breath, clearly trying to get himself back under control. “You don’t like him, I take it?”
“No. He’s a fucking toolbox.”
Scott laughed, throwing his head back so she could see the perfect angle of his jaw. She stared at it trying to manually slow the rapid pulsations of her heart. It didn’t work. She walked toward the BMW and climbed in. She settled into the seats, smelling leather and new car, cologne and a faint trace of laundry detergent.
Her ex-neighbor climbed in beside her and she smiled. She’d always liked riding in cars with boys, driving around listening to music, parking to make out on a hill. She had always been allowed to bring boyfriends home, but sometimes, just for the thrill of it she’d say she wasn’t, just so she and her date could stay on the street kissing where anyone could see her.
You mean where Scott Sanderson could see you.
Because she had wanted him to see her. She’d imagined his gaze on her in the dark, judging her for being so dirty and simultaneously wanting to be the one touching her. He wasn’t the first person she imagined spanking her—that had been the bad guy from The Swan Princess, for some fucking reason—but he was the first ‘real world’ man she imagined blistering her ass—usually for whatever prank she’d last inflicted on him. When he left for London, she’d tried and, for the most part, succeeded in leaving him out of her BDSM fantasies. But now they had fresh blood pumping through them.
As she looked across at the man buckling himself in beside her, it was easy to see how she’d mentally made a disciplinarian out of Scott. He was classically handsome and simultaneously commanding and moderate—a kindly English professor who would have to be pushed and prodded and teased by a naughty, short-skirted student until he reached breaking point. He was, even when coating her garden path with homemade slime, virtuous and something about that just cried out for corruption. It was why she’d thought Galahad such a great nickname. The fact remained, she had no evidence he was actually dominant. She had probably been seeing things that weren’t there.
“So, where would you like to eat? That is, assuming you’re hungry?”
“I am now I’m sitting down.” Sam glanced at her watch. “It’s almost midnight, how low are your standards?”
“I haven’t eaten since lunch, so pretty low.”
She smiled. “Then I know the perfect place.”
Ten minutes later they were sitting in the parking lot of the High Street McDonald’s, their order spread around them.
Sam unwrapped her cheeseburger. “Are you worried we’re gonna make the seats smell weird?”
“I’m too hungry to care, to be honest.”
Sam bit into her quarter pounder, trying not to think about her mother. The smell and taste of McDonald’s always conjured up Madeline DaSilva. One of her earliest memories was her mum taking her and Nicole through the drive-through and then the three of them eating parked beside a random football oval so no one would see them. Afterwards, she made them promise not to tell their dad where they’d been. It was a mean thing to do. Her dad wouldn’t have given a shit if he knew they’d eaten McDonald’s—her mum was just ashamed of what she liked. Or maybe she just liked keeping secrets. There was something to having a secret that brought you pleasure. She and Tab were never happier than when they were doing something they shouldn’t and Nicole had developed a lifelong addiction to nuggets that once saw her eat two dozen in one sitting.
“Can I ask you something?” Scott said, through a mouthful of fries.
“Anything,” Sam said, eager not to dwell on thoughts of her mother.
“How have you managed to stay off social media all these years? I don’t know anyone else who’s managed it. And I know some anarcho-communists.”
“I don’t know. It helps that I don’t have a phone.”
“I can barely believe that. Doesn’t it make you feel…” He shook his head. “I can’t think of the right word. Disconnected? Like no one can see you?”
Sam held up her arms. “Do I look like someone who escapes attention?”
“No, but then you are exceptionally beautiful.”
Unsure how to react to this unprecedented compliment, Sam stuck out her tongue. “I mean the tattoos, you posho charmer.”
Scott laughed as he unwrapped his cheeseburger. “Just speaking the truth. Seriously though, you’ve never had the urge to get Instagram or Facebook or anything?”
“I do get the urge,” she admitted. “I’m an exhibitionist at heart, it’s why I have tattoos. I want to show the world my stories and the symbols that mean things to me, but I want to reveal myself in a controlled way. On my terms. Being on the social media just feels like masturbating into a webcam—it’s so private and public at the same time.”
Scott chuckled. “Nice metaphor.”
“I mean it, I used to do burlesque but I still never felt as naked as I do whenever I see my picture on
someone else’s Facebook or Twitter or whatever. It just feels like theft. Like people shouldn’t be allowed.”
Scott sat up straight in his chair. “Okay, backtrack with me for a moment—you used to do burlesque dancing?”
She laughed. “I did. I was a professional. Two shows a night, stripped off in the big martini glass and everything. It was only for a little while when I was twenty-two and only on the Melbourne scene. I was looking for something fun and I thought ‘why not?’ I love dancing.”
“I know you do,” Scott said and then cleared his throat. “Would you ever think about doing it again?”
“Right now, you mean?” Sam teased.
Scott grinned. “I wouldn’t say no, but I meant professionally.”
“Nah, it was fun at the time, but it was too much work.”
She could have said more. She could have told Scott how she’d unconsciously gone into burlesque to find the powerful, attractive man who’d know how to put her in her place in the bedroom. How it didn’t take long for those illusions to shatter, and once they did, burlesque lost most of its charm for her. She could have told him, but that would have been a bit heavy for a first date. Besides, the knowledge of her sexual modus operandi might give him ideas and he already had too many of those.
They ate in silence for a moment and it seemed to Sam that they were both weighing the tension in the air, the level of flirtation to which they’d quickly ascended. That was dangerous. She decided to offset this by asking what she always asked clients when conversation was flagging. “If you could have anything, right now, what would you want?”
Scott looked surprised by the question, but not put off. He stared into the middle distance for a moment and then smiled. “I’d want a puppy. A beagle puppy, like the one in John Wick.”
Sam grinned. “Oh, that was such a cute pup. Do you have room for a dog at your new place?”
“Yeah, it’s more complicated than that, though. I don’t know if I can handle the commitment. Besides, I’ve never owned a dog, I might be shit at it.”
He sounded so wistful, Sam had the sudden urge to hug him. “If it’s what you want, you should go for it.”
He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “We’ll see. What about you? What do you want?”
That didn’t take much thought. “I want Silver Daughters to be okay and not collapse due to my incompetence.”
“Oh, well, I’m sure you’re doing your best.”
Sam grimaced.
“Sorry, that was an insufferably British response, wasn’t it?”
She smiled. “No, I was just thinking you sound like my dad. He was always on me about doing my best.”
“It’s not bad advice.”
“I know, it’s just…” Sam shook her head, gloomy again.
“Just, what?”
“I have no idea what I’m doing! I know how to tattoo, but the rest of it—advertising, managing, making sure everyone’s on the same page, it just feels like too much. Tabby and Nicole are here to help me now but soon they’ll be gone and I’m scared it’ll all go to shit.”
Scott put down his burger. “Samantha, trust me, no one knows what they’re doing. We’re all just making it up as we go along. Or copying people who also don’t know what they’re doing. You’re still showing up and trying to learn, that’s impressive.”
Sam felt tears prickle at the backs of her eyes. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. You’re the one doing all the work.”
“I have to thank you. You’re letting me eat McDonald’s in your car.”
Scott took her hand and despite the cool of his fingers, a warm current rippled through her skin. “You asked for help when you needed it and you just came second in a huge competition. I don’t want to be presumptuous Sam, but I’m sure wherever your dad is, he’s proud of you.”
Dear lord. With that comment, and the skin-to-skin contact, the threat of tears became actual dripping reality. Sam swiped a palm across her eyes, embarrassed. “This is the second time I’ve cried in front of you. You must think I’m a mess.”
“I don’t. I’ve thought many things about you, but never that.”
Sam gave a watery grin. “Thanks, Galahad.”
“Samantha, do I have to remind you I’m not a virgin again?”
She laughed. “It’s just a habit now. Besides, it suits you.”
Scott ducked his head and even in the semi-darkness, Sam could see he was blushing. His hand tightened around hers. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah, much. Thanks.”
They smiled, then glanced away. Sam felt as though she’d just done something indecent—flashed him or said a dirty word. There was a kind of electricity in the air and it promised mischief. Their food was getting cold.
“Your fingers are kind of icy,” she said, because she needed to acknowledge his touch.
“They’re always like that.”
“I remember.”
Scott frowned. “How?”
“We used to touch hands by accident when we played in my room, remember? When you first moved to Melbourne.”
The corner of Scott’s mouth quirked. “When we played ‘elves and knights and dragons?’”
“Yes. Though it’s a shame we never came up with a better name.”
“How could we? That one already had everything. Perfectly communicated what it was about.”
Sam smiled and without thinking, traced the skin on the back of his hand with her thumb, taking a weird pleasure in the feel of the fine hairs that lined it. It was a man’s fist, thick-knuckled and broad. She rubbed across his index finger, pretending she couldn’t feel him shudder. The moment was building now, rushing them toward the point where they’d have to do something about all this…everything. She listened quietly as Scott used his free hand to stuff the remains of their dinner into the brown paper bag it had come in. It was close now, very close…
Scott shoved the rubbish bag into the back seat. “You didn’t touch your chips. Were they cold?”
“I don’t like hot chips.”
He stared at her as though she’d just confessed to murder. “You, what?”
“I don’t like hot chips,” Sam repeated, smiling at his indignation. “It’s not the flavour, it’s the texture—they’re kind of mushy and rough at the same time.”
“Fuck right off!” Scott sat up ramrod straight. “How do you not like chips? What kind of human does that make you?”
“They’re just hot potatoes!” Sam protested. “What is this insane allegiance every human in the world has toward hot potatoes?”
“They’re delicious! Why did you order them if you weren’t going to eat them?”
“They’re part of the meal! You’d judge me if I just got two burgers!”
“Not as much as I’m judging you now.” He shook his head dolefully, as though she’d just left her empty shopping trolley in the middle of a parking lot. “This is so disappointing.”
She attempted to tug her hand from his, but Scott held on fast. “I think I’ll have to do something about this. For the good of society.”
“If you try to force-feed me cold chips, I will punch you in the Adam’s apple.”
But Scott didn’t appear concerned with avenging hot potatoes—his gaze was locked on her mouth. He leaned in, his scent so sharp it made her feel dizzy.
“Scott?”
He cupped her cheek, his fingers bringing nerves she hadn’t known she had to life. “Yes?”
“I…I don’t know.”
It wasn’t true, she did know, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
“Samantha,” Scott said, his gaze fixed on hers. “I want to kiss you. Would you like me to do that?”
“I…yes,” she said, embarrassed she was being so bashful and unable to say anything more. It felt like she was going to burn into nothing if he didn’t kiss her.
“Okay.” Scott exhaled softly, then moved toward her.
The first time she’d flown in a plane, it had
been at night. She and Nicole had gone to Sydney with school and as they circled the airport, Sam had marvelled at the lights below, a million pinpricks signaling life and technology. They felt like they were shining just to welcome her to this new and exciting place. As Scott’s lips found hers, she felt like Sydney at midnight. A million spaces electrifying to say ‘yes, I am awake and you are welcome here.’
The moment lasted as long as time, yet there did come a point when Sam felt a change, a hot hook behind her navel, the kiss becoming something more than a kiss. She pressed her legs together, shifting to move as close as their separate seats would allow. The leather stuck to her bare back but she enjoyed the sense that she was stuck there—held in position for Scott’s pleasure. Their kiss deepened and a nameless energy sizzled between them, nerve to nerve, synapse to synapse. The tang of chip-salt on their lips was tangible and Sam knew her feelings about McDonald’s were only going to get more complicated following this encounter. She wound her fingers through Scott’s hair, feeling an inner satisfaction at finally holding him that way. “God, your hair. It’s as thick as it was when you were a kid.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Not at all.” She leaned in for a kiss but to her surprise Scott pulled away, keeping their touch light, almost chaste.
“Not into tongue?”
He grinned. “I’m into it, but I’ve wanted to do this more than half my life. Give me a moment.”
Sam didn’t know what to say. Thankfully she didn’t have to say anything because Scott bent forward and kissed her again. This time his tongue slid between her lips and nine weeks of celibacy concentrated itself into a singular, desperate need. She all but launched herself across the console between them and clambered onto his lap.
Scott didn’t seem to mind. His hands found her thighs, urging her to sit flush against him. Sam arched her back, pressing her ass into his lap and her tits into his face. She was proud of how sexy she was being without honking the horn, until she felt her boot crunch on something. “Oh fuck. I think I just stepped on some sweet and sour—”
“I don’t give a fuck.” Scott reclined his chair so they were lying almost flat, sliding it backward so her ass wasn’t jammed up against the steering wheel.
So Wild Page 13