I force myself to tap another text.
Me: I’m afraid not.
When she doesn’t reply, I shove the mental image of sucking her nipples aside, and continue.
Me: I’ll show you around, though. Introduce you to a couple decent Doms who’d be happy to play with you.
The ellipsis appears and disappears a couple of times. I resist the urge to make a promise I’ll definitely regret and force myself to wait her out.
Sunny: Great. I look forward to it. Take care now.
Now it’s my turn to start a message and delete it. Twice. Both times offering up my services in ways I would absolutely regret.
Finally, I force myself to type a message she will in no way be able to misinterpret.
Me: You too. Have a great night.
And then, because I wouldn’t be fulfilling my responsibilities if I didn’t end on a caring note, I add,Sweet dreams.
Later, I lie in bed, hard as nails, mentally scrolling through every single storyline in my playbook in search of a quick release to help me sleep. It’s not until I give in and replace my usual fantasy women with Sunny’s sweet face that I get anywhere close.
But when I do—fuck me, it’s so good. Her list of BDSM limits and fantasies was so on par with mine that I don’t have to look far.
She’s on her knees, her hands tied at her back, those long red curls a wild tumble, just begging for my grip. Her spine arches hard as I consume her from behind, forcing one orgasm from her body after another.
She’d beg me to stop, and instead of giving in, I’d tell her just how pretty her pussy is, all puffy and pink and shining with want. When I finally line up and allow myself the mind-numbing pleasure of penetration, the tight, swollen clasp of her body pushes me right over the edge. Hell yes. That’s it.
My climax blasts through me so hard I see stars for a few head-spinning seconds. Best I’ve had in ages.
A few minutes later, I clean up, stretch out in the dark, my heartbeat finally back to its normal rate, and think about how, once Sunny’s learned the ropes, grown a thicker skin, and gotten a hang of the kink world, maybe we can play without the worry that she’ll get too attached.
In the meantime, I grab my phone with the intention of deleting tonight’s text chain. My thumb’s hovering over the trash icon when it occurs to me that she might have questions at some point, or hell, maybe I’ll come up with a great Dom for her and send the info along. Instead of deleting her number, I save it under Subby Sunny.
Finally, I fall asleep.
CHAPTER NINE
Rae
MONDAY’S ONE OF THOSEbright autumn days I’d be absolutely in love with if I didn’t have to drag my ass over to the new office. All because some out-of-touch finance bro says we have to. I can’t imagine why Dorothy—the Sugar app’s founder, CEO, and acclaimed matchmaking queen—has entrusted our fates into this guy’s hands.
He’s a consultant who’s been pulled in to cull the flock. I know it, even if Dorothy refuses to confirm. This is exactly the kind of thing that happens to start-ups after that initial wave of success dies down and the executives realize they need to trim the fat to stay afloat.
My job as HR manager is to make sure that doesn’t happen. Okay, not really, but there’s no way I’m letting some corporate toady like the mysterious Grant Bowman come in and slash positions at will. Nope. Not on my watch. I advocate for my team.
From what my phone’s telling me, the new office isn’t too far. So at least there’s that. In fact, it’s in Carytown. Maybe if things get really bad, I can swing over to Off the Cuff for, I don’t know, another massage or something.
Ha! No. No, as the General told me, that was a one-off—a one-night domination experience.Not in the market for a sub.
Whatever. That’s fine. There’s nothing stopping me from finding another Dom to play with, right? Like he said, maybe the General can introduce me to an experienced Dom like him. Only better. If I’m lucky, the new guy will rub my back and talk sweet and dirty in my ear and make me come apart at the seams. Maybe he’ll be all frowny-browed and serious about it, like it’s his job to do this one thing right, and by god, he will, come hell or high water. And maybe we’ll go further than just a back rub. Maybe he’ll go through the list of things I want, like spanking and hair-pulling, and that fantasy where he pushes me into a dark corner and puts his hand in my panties and makes me see stars over and over again and tells me how badly he wants—
No. I promised myself I’d quit thinking about it every second of every day. Quit checking my texts just in case the General changed his mind and decided he was in the market for a sub, after all. Quit picking up my phone and typing out messages asking for just one more Dom/sub experience to slide into the spank bank for posterity.
Seriously, if I don’t stop this nonsense right now, someone like Jaffrey Jenkins will poke his oddly square-shaped head into my new office to ask about retirement benefits and catch me squirming in my seat with my eyes rolled back.
Gross.
I park and hop out of the car, juggling my coffee, my computer bag, my office survival supplies, and a teetering mountain of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies as I go. If nothing else, maybe the cookies will soften up Dorothy’s Evil Boy Genius.
