And while “call me Lilah” McGuire was cute, her personality turned me off romantically. I could tell she was a takes-no-shit woman who maybe didn’t wear the pants in a relationship, but she damned sure wasn’t submissive.
At least, not in any way I could see.
And that would be an issue for me because I’d learned my lesson years ago. I needed a woman who didn’t mind me being in charge. I didn’t want a doormat or a sugar baby, but I wanted a woman whose complete trust in me meant she could give herself to me in every way.
If she was a bit of a masochist, even better. Or a rope bunny.
Both would be wonderful, but I’m a realist.
I vaguely remembered seeing a doctor in the ED last night during the mass-casualty with the last name of Colefield but I hadn’t interacted with her long enough to form an opinion of her one way or the other.
Once I had my bagels and coffee, I left and pulled into my parking spot at my apartment complex less than ten minutes later. I’d showered at the station so I stretched out on my sofa and munched on asiago cheese bagels with cream cheese while scrolling the hospital’s staff page on my phone.
Dr. Esmerelda Colefield didn’t look cold, exactly, but I wondered if she had the same takes-no-prisoners attitude as her sister. If so, there was likely nothing in store for me beyond a meal with people who weren’t firefighters or EMTs.
Although I guess dinner with a doctor and a game warden wasn’t too far from that target.
Still, despite holding no high hopes for the evening, I felt determined to go and enjoy myself. If nothing else, I could honestly report to the chief later that yes, I did have a “social life”.
Sort of.
At thirty-six I wouldn’t deny I sort of resented it when someone tried to meddle and dip their fingers into my dating life. After a disastrous first marriage at way too fucking young an age—seriously,whydo they let kids get married at eighteen?—and now having been single for six years, I knew what I needed, wanted, and—most importantly—whatwouldn’twork for me.
Early last year, my friend Cedro extended me an invite to check out Rawhide Ranch. I spent my week there attending classes and learning about power exchange and realistic BDSM relationships, finally able to definitively label the thoughts and desires I had. I also admitted that settling for a vanilla relationship would only cause me and a woman unnecessary emotional stress. I’d visited the Ranch several times since then and learned how to play, tried my hand at basic ropework, and even scened with a few women.
But no deeper connection developed with any of them. Not that they weren’t very nice, and I found several of them physically attractive, but I didn’t even do orgasm play with them.
Although I did go through a lot of lube each visit from pounding my own cock with my fist after every play session. My next scheduled visit was in six weeks, when I’d timed taking vacation days around a scheduled program that featured a rope intensive, as well as other classes. I knew if I told the staff I was open to matchmaking, I might meet more eligible women, but that wasn’t my goal.
They say date within your particular kinky pond but it was more complicated than that for me.
Most of my life was spent outside of the bedroom. I’ve learned from hard experience if I wasn’t compatible with a woman outside of bed it didn’t matter how spectacular the sex was inside it because the relationship was still doomed.
I also wasn’t into casual sex. Never had been. Which in retrospect I knew contributed to me getting married way toodamned young. I suspected a couple of my coworkers thought I was gay because I never talked about sexual conquests or openly dated a nonstop rotating roster of bunker bunnies—I refused to refer to them as “hose hoes”—like some of my single male coworkers.
I’d never meant to settle in Bozeman, Montana. I was attracted by the landscape and the signing bonus I received for being a certified EMT in addition to being a firefighter. Yes, it was a long way from my birthplace in Savannah, Georgia, but it also meant I wasn’t stumbling over my ex’s numerous friends and relatives every time I turned around, either.
Yet another reason I married too damned young. She had the huge family that I didn’t, and I thought that was more than enough to smooth over any future issues we might face.
Spoiler alert: it was not. Thankfully, I never gave in to her pressure to have kids. I wanted to be part of a large family, not start a large one of my own.
Not like I had family keeping me there, either.
Emmy Colefield.I quickly scanned social media sites and saw absolutely no match for her on any of them. Another search for Officer “call me Lilah” McGuire unsurprisingly produced zero hits either, not that I’d expected to find any for a law enforcement officer.
I had one profile, but the only personal info it displayed was my name and an old picture from before I moved to Montana six years ago. I didn’t even have a location listed. I’d deleted everything when I divorced my ex and all anyone would see was a post from six years ago stating,Life is short.
Which I’d already known before I’d become a firefighter.
That lesson I learned the hard way two months after I turned fifteen.
Chapter Three
Emmy
I quickly forgot about our unexpected dinner guest as I wrapped up and headed home to shower and collapse, too exhausted to think about anything except sleep. I didn’t have to work again until tomorrow morning unless I was called in for an emergency. Thank god we paid the neighbor kids to come over every day to take care of the horses.
That was why I felt disoriented when someone insistently poked my shoulder through my Hello Kitty blanket, which I’d pulled over my head at some point because I’d forgotten to close my blinds.
