“Sure, but you hired me to be your coding consultant. I can help.”
Tristan studied her for a minute, noting the serious, steady intent in her dark eyes. By her own admission, Colleen had half a degree in computer science. However, CS was one of those fields where a degree meant little for an ambitious self-starter, and he suspected Colleen was one of those self-taught geniuses with an interesting GitHub account.
He could back up everything with multiple copies. If she messed up something, he could recover it within a minute or two. “I would appreciate your help.”
20
Logan
Tristan
Coding consumed their lives.
Food was their first problem. Colleen had pizza delivered from her favorite place for lunch, and then Tristan called Jian to arrange thrice-daily meal deliveries.
And so the white boxes and paper bags arrived.
If Tristan couldn’t wine and dine Colleen at the best restaurants in the city, the best restaurants would come to them.
And coffee delivery. Tristan had placed that order personally.
A courier arrived with an espresso with cream for him and a caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon sugar on top.
Colleen smiled at him over the peak of whipped cream, and his heart warmed.
In the parlance, those sorts of things were the responsibility of a Big to do for his little. A Dom provided new and exciting experiences, showed his little sub the world, and adored his good little, and then he took her to bed and ruined her for other men.
That was the problem with the Big/little power dynamic relationship. If it didn’t end in a lifelong commitment, it was tough for any other man to live up to.
But Tristan couldn’t take her to Paris and Rio because the damn Butorins were hunting them. So that part of the relationship was off the table for now while they were holed up in her apartment.
Which left adoring her and taking her to bed.
And maybe it was because they were cooped up and working well together on the program to erase Colleen from the internet, or perhaps it was because they were telling each other stories about their lives and hers were cute and sweet and heartbreaking at times, but the adoration part of their relationship seemed to be outpacing the other aspects.
For him, at least.
Between working sessions, they dined on Chateaubriand and scalloped potatoes, Niçoise Salad and ratatouille, and of course, the best desserts and wine the city had to offer.
And when they collapsed onto her slim mattress, exhausted after coding for many solid hours, he couldn’t keep his hands off her. The softness and satin of her body enticed him, and he liked to blow her mind with a few orgasms from his hands and tongue that she screamed into her pillow before settling between her legs for a long slow screw that languidly built to an even greater peak.
Tristan did most of the primary work on the project, writing the initial pass of the code, and then he passed it to Colleen for fine-tuning and revision.
He improved upon his program that rendered him anonymous in every picture and video taken of him, which he’d pulled out of his secret spaces on the internet and downloaded onto her hard drive.
Downloading the initial chunks of the program took longer than he’d expected, and he found the internet speeds in her apartment were dismal.
Uploading the finished program was going to be a problem. Writing and compiling it was going to take long enough. They didn’t havedaysto upload it and set it free.
That was a problem. They were going to have to find faster internet somewhere for the upload.
Tristan watched for an opening to make a quick, private phone call, and his chance came whilst Colleen was in the shower.
Tristan wound his courage up into a tight ball and gritted his teeth. “Hi, Logan. It’s me.”
A man’s voice, with an odd mix of the Midwest and New York that did not meld into a neutral American accent in the slightest and instead sounded like two different people having a conversation, said, “I figured that from the caller ID, yeah. Whaddya need?”
“I just want to ask a question.”
