“I don’t know.” Her laugh is a sugary delight, her light Richmond accent like music. “Are you a Daddy type? You kind of seem like it, all bossy and nurturing or whatever.”
I half shrug. She’s not wrong. I’ve never been into Daddy Dom/little girl play, but I get parts of the role, no problem. “I’ve got some caregiver instincts, for sure.”
“Big Daddy Boss Ma-an,” she says, giving the last word two syllables.
“Cute. But no.” My hand hovers over her head. “I want to touch your hair. Not too hard.”
“You can.”
My fingers wind into those thick red curls and tighten infinitesimally. “This okay?”
“Yeah.” Tilting her head, she tests my hold. “Oh, definitely.”
My fist tightens, drawing a gasp from her pink lips as I pullher back against my shoulder again and look down into those astonishingly bright eyes. “You can call meSir.”
“Sir.” She stiffens, a soldier going unconsciously to attention. “Oh, that’s really good.”
Dammit. It’s there. Here. In me, her, between us. That Dom/sub chemistry that makes a scene flow, makes playing a pleasure instead of hard work.
Makes it even, sometimes, beautiful.
I can definitely work with this.
That is to say, I could. If I were actually in the market for a sub.
CHAPTER FIVE
Rae
THIS, THIS, THIS.
This is what I came here for. Exactly this. Well, no, notexactly. Before tonight, I’d pictured this a dark, sleazy nightclub complete with heavily thumping bass and obscenely writhing bodies. I’d imagined a masked Dom dragging me into a corner, pressing me against a wall, and having his way with me.
Now that I’m here, I get that what I’d envisioned was pure fantasy. Impossible, unreal, and, in the end, completely unsafe. I’d have turned right around and walked out if the place had been skeezy and some dude had tried tomakeme do anything, much less have random, unprotected sex against the wall.
This is so much better. Not once did I dare daydream a fraction of this excitement.
I whimper at the feel of the General’s breath against the side of my face.
“Had enough?”
“No way,” I whisper.
“What’s that?”
“Sir, I mean. No, sir. No. I want more.”
“Where do you feel it? The want?”
“I… I don’t know.” In my brain? Mostly. Other places too, I guess.
“Show me.”
Does he…? Does he want me to take off my clothes? Touch myself? I can’t tell, and maybe that’s what he intends. He’s destabilizing me so that up is down, and doing literally nothing while he massages my back has turned me on more than any single sexual act of my life. This man—this erogenous zone wizard—should give lessons. He should become a cult leader. Or at least an influencer. Hell, if the man did a TED Talk, he’d get billions of views.
“In my lungs.” I finally eke out an answer. Honestly, I feel what he’s doing to me everywhere.
From where he’s now sitting at my side, I watch his eyes flick toward the quick rise and fall of my chest. “I see that.” The tiniest curve pulls at his lips. “Where else, Sunny?”
