“Did you put that ad up?”
“Nope.”
My belly clenches hard with excitement. “Okay.” With a long-suffering sigh I give in. “You were right, Kris. This one is…”
“Say it. Go on. Say it.”
“It was different.”
“No, not it.”
“Jesus. Okay. Fine. She. The woman. The one from last night. She was different.”
Kris grumps a little. “I believe the word I used wasspecial. She’s special and she’s also just what Doctor Lamé ordered for you.” Something rustles and they yell out, “Skinny half-caff for Daddy Larry!”
“I need you to take the note down.”
“Sure, hon. Hey Lar, baby!” they yell. “Would you be an angel and grab that little piece of paper off the board for me? The yellow one. Fabulous. Thank you, you’re such a doll.”
“Does Daddy Larry know who you’re on the phone with? For fuck’s sake, Kris, if he puts two and—”
“Why? Want me to invite him, too? I could. His Little’s a real cutie. About twice his age, but since Larry’s just this side of legal, that’s not—”
I’m tempted to hang up, but I’ve reached the ripe old age of thirty-three without ever doing so and I don’t plan to start now. Instead, I interrupt. “I didn’t say I’d meet her tonight. I just need you to take it off the board. I’m not going, but we can’t have—”
“Oh, honey, you’ll be there. You almost cracked a smile this morning. First time in three years I’ve seen anything other than a scowl on that pretty mug of yours. Now go on and get all gussied up so you can grab another dose of that magic pussy. I’ll bet it goes great with that big, fat, magic pen—”
“Please stop talking.”
“Fine.” Lamé blows a raspberry and ends the call.
At least one of us got to hang up.
8
Grace
Tonight’s different.Already, when I get dressed, it’s not for some amorphous idea of a thing that I’m into, but for him: The man whose smell I know, whose rough hands I felt. The man who gave me my first ever partnered orgasm and left every other sexual experience in the dust.
The man whose arms held me together while he flayed me wide open.
For him, I put on my favorite T-shirt. It’s got the tiniest bit of lace at both shoulders. That’s a lot of embellishment for me. He’ll never see it and probably won’t know the difference, but I will. I’ll know it’s fancier than anything I own except for the prom dress at the back of my closet.
Before pulling on the shirt, I waste a few minutes debating the usefulness of a bra, recall the way he yanked almost angrily at the cups, and decide to keep it. I liked being pried apart, one piece at a time. I liked everything that happened. If I could do anything different tonight, it would be to draw out every single beat, make it all last longer.
That’s why I don’t accept the skirt Max tries to give me. “No thanks,” I tell her. “I’m good with shorts.
“But, Gracie!” She shakes the black cotton in my face. It’s kind of hilarious to watch the sexy night version of her Kink Camp self—Mad Max—acting like the regular Max I’ve always known. Like, we could be twelve again and arguing over boys and what show we’re going to watch, except she’s wearing fishnets and a short corset that shows off her tattoos and bruises and…shit, those pinpricks have got to be from needle play, which I didn’t even realize she was into. She’s still wearing the thick-heeled, steel-toed boots her camp persona prefers and the little backpack, filled with water and first-aid supplies and scissors and condoms and a few pairs of those flexible cuffs for lord knows what reason, but she’s also sporting bright red lips and dark smokey eyes and thick fake lashes.
“A skirt’s easy access,” she whines. “You need easy access.”
I just shrug, feeling the tiniest little thread of self-satisfaction and…ownership, I guess you’d call it. This ismykink, not hers. It’s a rarity for me to be into something that doesn’t particularly turn Max on.
She’s pansexual and polyamorous and kinky as hell and up for most everything. I’m sure, for example, that she’d be fine with having a person hunt her down and fuck her. She’d have no issue with it. It’s not, however, what lights her up inside.
Whereas I’m getting wound up again just remembering the way he worked to get my pants off, the way they trapped my legs together, binding me until he yanked one leg all the way off, with a quiet, satisfied grunt.
“I like that it’s not easy to get to me.”
