“That’s my fucking cunt, and you’re going to give it to me.”
I surrendered completely, melting underneath him.
His dick was so hard it stabbed at my leg several times before he settled inside me. My back arched. His mouth closed on my neck, and I could tell by the pressure he was going to leave a mark. He grabbed each of my breasts, one at a time, and licked off any stray drops of Ranch dressing I’d left behind. I writhed underneath him as he sucked and fucked me until I had to scream out, “Sir, may I please come, sir?”
“Come. Yes, come all over me. I want you to leave a river of your juices on this table.”
We had already destroyed his table. Most of the dining area to be honest. At this point I didn’t have any qualms about making a mess so I lay back and gave myself over to the waves of ecstasy I’d been holding back.
My body pitched and shook, and all the while he continued fucking me. Pushing in, pulling out, then pushing in again. Each time deepening the connection between us.
“I fucking love corrupting you, Sophie. Love how innocent you are. It makes me so hard for you, the nasty things I make you do.”
I was starting to return to Earth now, so I had the wherewithal to point out, “But now that you’ve corrupted me, I won’t be pure anymore.”
He grabbed my hair and pulled hard. “You’ll always be pure, Sophie. It’s the beauty of who you are.” He plunged deeper into me. “My Madonna and my whore in one irresistible package. Damn, woman, you’re so fucking perfect for me.”
With that he filled me with his cum, and I couldn’t have been happier.
I didn’t care about being perfect, but I wanted more than anything in the world to be perfect for him.
We didn’t lay like that for long. The hard wooden table wasn’t all that comfortable and there was salad dressing and stray bits of lettuce everywhere.
Quentin climbed off me and helped me to my feet. We looked at the mess all over the floor and started laughing.
“Thanks for helping me christen that table.”
“You’re welcome. But what a mess we’ve made. I don’t even know where to start with cleaning it up.”
He hugged my head to his chest. “You go take a shower. I’ll clean this up.”
“Are you sure? I’m happy to help.”
“I know you are, but I’m the one who flung it all on the floor. Go get cleaned up, and when you get finished I’ll wrap you up in a blanket and feed you.”
“No PJs?”
“No. Naked, but I’ll give you a blanket. A warm one. And some body heat.” This time I was sure he winked.
I’d practically forgotten about food, but now that he mentioned it I was famished. I thanked him and went to take a shower.
About thirty minutes later, I sat on Quentin’s couch with him, my legs draped over his lap while he fed me my dinner.
I’d waited until all the fucking was out of the way, but I couldn’t wait any longer to bring up my potential punishment. “This doesn’t taste too done to me. A little cold maybe, but not overcooked.” I giggled.
He gave me a playful swat on the thigh. “Careful, pet. You were tiptoeing very close to that line earlier.”
“You mean you know I beat your timer.”
He sighed, but didn’t say anything.
“I think you Doms just invent reasons to punish your subs. Like you set things up for us to fail just so you can punish us.”
His eyes widened. “Never.” But he gave my leg an affectionate squeeze.
The fire roared, and I thought about how much I enjoyed a good fire and how we never needed them in the part of Texas where I lived. I basked in the warmth of Quentin’s affection and snuggled against him.
He gave me another bite of food. The act of his feeding me was part of his aftercare. I had to hand it to Quentin, as much as he’d taken me out of my comfort zone in the scene earlier, he was amazing at bringing things back around and making me feel adored.
As we snuggled up together on the couch, in the cozy setting of his cabin, I felt complete. I entwined my fingers with Quentin’s and wondered what BA was doing at that moment.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I was back in Ft. Worth, on the way home from school when I first heard the news. One minute I was listening to a new song, the next, the radio station’s DJ broke in with an announcement.
“In a late-breaking news story, what police believe to be a bomb has just gone off in a Dallas shopping center. A masked gunman opened fire earlier today in a department store. It is believed the gunman has barricaded himself and several hostages in the salon in the back of the store. Stay tuned to this channel for updates.”
My throat went dry, and I tried to swallow. The night before Shelby had told me she was heading into Dallas today for a hair and nails appointment. It couldn’t be at the same place…
As soon as I drove into my driveway I put the car in park and sent Shelby a text.
“You okay?”
No emojis.
And no response.
I went inside, threw on my running shoes and grabbed Felix and his leash before running out the door.
I needed to think.
How could I find out if Shelby was okay?
I considered contacting her mother, but thought better of it. If Shelby was in harm’s way the last thing her mother needed was people crawling out of the woodwork asking inane questions.
I tried telling myself Shelby was fine, that she could take care of herself, but then realized that no one did much holding their own against the automatic weapons these nut jobs seemed to take to crime scenes these days.
While I may not have done the trick distracting myself, at least Felix and I got some exercise. Both of us were panting by the time we got home.
After filling a tall glass of water for myself, and making sure Felix’s dish was filled as well, I perched nervously on a chair in the living room and turned on the TV.
The news hadn’t gotten worse, but it had gotten more bizarre.
“Disgruntled ex-employee opens fire on salon” ran across the ticker at the bottom of the screen and my heart clenched when I saw the name of the store. It was the same place Shelby had said she’d be going.
Panicked, I sent another text.
“Are you all right? Worried sick. HUGS!”
Was the hugs part over the top? I didn’t know or care. The girl who had been my best friend since we were in pre-K might be in that store with a crazy man, fighting for her life. A cold fear gripped me, and I didn’t know what to do.
But there was nothing to do but wait.
I texted Quentin.
“Emergency. I need you.”
Was that overstating the situation? Perhaps, but I was scared to death. I needed his calming guidance right now.
I thought of calling my mother, but she would only stir up more panic and before I knew it, I’d be consoling her. I’d call my father, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. The first thing he would do would be to tell my mother. With a sigh, I gave up trying to do anything and just glued my eyeballs to the TV screen, waiting for something new to be reported.
After a couple of hours of nothing new, I turned on my computer. Maybe the internet had better reporting. Sometimes you could get great eyewitness reports from Twitter.
But before I could check social media I saw the chat box at the bottom of my screen, the one I used to talk with BA, lit up.
BA: Hey. You there?
Sophie: Yeah, I’m here.
BA: What are you up to?
Sophie: Actually I’m in the middle of a pretty scary situation. I think one of my friends is being held hostage right now by a nut job.
BA: No kidding?
Sophie: Nope. Not kidding.
BA: Wow. That’s intense.
Sophie: Yeah.
BA: Are you okay?
Sophie: Well, I’m pretty nervous, upset.
BA: I’m sorry. Anything I can do?
Sophie: I don’t think so. But
thanks for asking.
BA: So, what are you doing?
Sophie: Just sitting around, waiting to see if she’s okay. I guess eventually the police will talk this guy down and the hostages will go home. That’s how these things usually go down, right?
BA: I believe so. If a shooter’s intention is to kill the people, they usually do it upfront. If he wanted to shoot the hostages, he would have already. He’s just using them as leverage.
Sophie: Really? How do you know so much?
BA: I read a lot.
This surprised me. I pictured BA as much more of a “doer” than a “thinker.” I’m not sure why, but this was inconsistent with the image I’d conjured of him. As a teacher, I loved books and reading, so this only made me warm to him more.
Sophie: You do? What do you like to read?
BA: Fantasy. Military History. Nonfiction. True Crime. Lots of stuff.
Sophie: Wow, that’s cool. I love to read myself.
BA: What do you read?
Sophie: Romance mostly, but I like historical fiction, too. The Old West and Tudor England are my favorites.
BA: Sounds like a Texas girl—likin’ them cowboys. Lol. Romance? The steamy stuff.
Sophie: Of course. Lol.
BA: That’s a girl! Soon you’ll be giving me ideas.
Sophie: I don’t know about that…
BA: I’d give you a task of some sort to help distract you, but you’re probably not in the
mood for that.
Sophie: Not really. Thanks for trying though. You’ve cheered me up some.
BA: You’re welcome, Sophie. Try not to worry. Put your mind on something else. If your friend is really there, she’ll probably be okay. Physically anyway. Maybe somewhat traumatized, but she should survive the experience. The odds are in her favor. Remember that.
Sophie: Okay.
BA: She’s lucky to have a good friend like you who’s there for her, regardless of the situation.
Sophie: Smiley face emoji.
I thanked BA again and told him I was going to make myself something to eat. He said if I needed him to give him a shout. That made me feel better, and after checking to see there were no news updates, I logged off the computer and waited.
I must have fallen asleep, because several hours later I was awakened by my phone buzzing with a text. It was from Shelby.
I’m okay now. What a fucking day. Held hostage by a lunatic at the mall. Not what I was expecting. Exhausted. Will call you tomorrow and tell you everything. On my way to hospital to get checked out, but I’m fine. No worries. Except—some people are assholes.
It took a minute for me to process everything she’d said. So she had been there! I was so glad she was okay, and I couldn’t wait to hear the details of her story, but I felt bad that she’d had to go through that. BA’s mention of trauma rang in my mind. I expected that was true, and I hoped Shelby wouldn’t suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress.
She already sounded rather cavalier about what had happened. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Or did it depend on the person? Everyone’s coping style was different.
Unable to quiet my curious brain, I spent the rest of the night Googling how to support people who’ve experienced traumatic events.
The next morning I got a text from Shelby asking me to meet her for brunch. I happily accepted and we met at a chain restaurant in the middle of Fort Worth. When I arrived she was already there. I greeted her with a big hug before sitting down across from her.
“How did you sleep last night?” I asked.
“Fine, why?” She narrowed her eyes.
“I’m just worried about you. That’s all.”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Sophie, but I’m fine. I’m not some fragile doll. You know me—tough as nails.”
I nodded.
“The thing that keeps running through my mind is…I should have recognized that guy was crazy before he pulled out the gun. In hindsight, he looked out of place from the minute he walked into the salon. Disheveled. Wild-eyed. And he had one of those big trench coats on. The cops said it was just like those kids who shot up Columbine. I mean, how did I miss that?”
“Well, what were you supposed to do? The minute you see someone who looks a little off—call the cops? You can’t do that.”
“I guess,” she hedged.
“Shelby, if you called 9-1-1 on everyone you thought was ‘off’—you’d be on the phone with them every day.”
“That is true.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Maybe, but it feels like I should have done something else. I mean, I did have an odd feeling when I saw that guy, and I didn’t do anything about it.”
“What were you doing when he came in anyway? Tell me the whole story.”
“All right. I’m going to need a drink for this.” She ordered us a round of Bloody Marys and continued. “I was having my nails done. Thank goodness I’d already had my hair done. Can you imagine what would have happened if I’d had color on my hair during all that? It might have been ruined!”
I didn’t know what to say to this so I just nodded like some hair breaking off could have been the worst thing that could have happened to her.
“Then this sketchy-looking guy comes in. He walked around the salon for a few minutes. He looked out of place, but he seemed to be looking for someone so I guess we all just thought he knew someone who worked there. But then, he pulled out this big, long gun and started shooting at a big display of products. Shampoo and conditioner flew into the air. It was a mess! When he stopped shooting, the manager ran toward him and tried to calm him down.”
“She ran toward the guy who was shooting the gun?”
“Oh yeah. She’s my freaking hero! Apparently, the guy had worked there briefly. They’d caught him on the store camera stealing products and maybe some money from the cash register, too, I’m not sure. Anyway, they fired him, and I guess the manager knew him and knew what he was upset about.”
“Right, but he could have just shot her…especially if he was mad at management for firing him.”
“I know. That woman is a rock star. I think she thought she was the only person who could get anywhere with him. She risked her life to try to calm him down.”
“That’s insane. What were you doing?”
“Well, the girl stopped painting my nails. Look.” She showed me a hand with only four fingers painted on it. “How sad is that?”
“Sad,” I answered, the dutiful friend. It seemed bizarre that she was worrying about her manicure in the context of a life-and-death situation, but considering what she’d been through, if her priorities were a little screwed up, I could forgive that. “What happened next?”
“Oh, the guy with the gun started screaming at her, pointing the gun at her, hollering. He made us all get in this little room where they washed and dried the towels. Like a storage room or something. One lady ran out of the salon into the store and got away. I kinda wish I’d done that, but I was too scared he’d shoot me in the back or something so I did what he said.”
“That must have been terrifying.”
“It was. He made us put our phones in a big pile. He counted them too so nobody could keep theirs. Then he locked us in there. It was so freaking scary being in there and not knowing what was going to happen.”
I nodded.
“Plus I was worried he’d find out who I was.”
I looked at her skeptically.
“Well, I mean, if he was going to hold someone for ransom, I doubt anyone in there was worth more money than me!”
Sometimes I forgot the extremely rich were different. Different from even the regular rich. With my trust fund, I had enough money that I wouldn’t have to worry about paying bills for the rest of my life. But Shelby’s wealth belonged in another category, and unfortunately it had been an issue for her throughout her life.
“But he didn’t find out?”
“No, thank God! Turns out he was do
ing it more for revenge than anything. People were saying he’d had a psychotic break or something. At one point he seemed to be talking to people up in the sky who weren’t there.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yeah.”
“What did finally happen?”
“Apparently the police finally talked him into surrendering. He had the manager out there with him the whole time. She was truly the hero of the whole thing. I’d like to buy her a car or something to thank her.”
I laughed.
“No, I’m serious,” Shelby said, and I could see she was.
“So, how is your mom taking it? And Bryan?”
“Oh my god, they were both scared shitless. Bryan and I are having dinner with Mom tonight. We’ll probably stay over. He had a time trial this morning, but he picked me up from the police station last night after they were finished questioning me.”
“That’s nice. You really like him, don’t you?”
She nodded gravely. “I do. It kinda worries me that I haven’t figured out what’s wrong with him yet.”
“Oh, Shelby. It doesn’t have to be that way.” I shook my head. “Just because it usually turns out that way—it doesn’t have to.” My mind wandered to Quentin’s aloofness.
She sighed. “You’re right. It’s just hard, with my track record, to still believe in the fairy tale.” Shelby had been married twice already, and I’d heard her say countless times that she’d never do it again.
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay, and I’m glad you have him.” I got off my stool and gave her a hug.
Shelby hugged me back, but hung back a bit. “You sure you’re all right?”
I laughed and sat back down. “Who, me? I’ve never been better,” I lied. In reality, Shelby’s whole brush with death had shaken me. And when I’d reached out to Quentin, he wasn’t there. I’d called him twice more the night before and once this morning. Each call went to voicemail. I’d tried email and texts, but he was unreachable. I wasn’t exactly worried, but I was annoyed. What if I’d needed him the way Shelby needed Bryan?
I’d be shit out of luck.
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