“I’ll be your rock anytime, my lady.” He nuzzled my neck with his beard, before pulling away and sitting back down with his beer.
Both of our phones went off at the same time. A text from Asha said, “Doing great. Can I get a steamier option? A little kissing maybe?”
My heart started to race. I’d never kissed someone on command before and I was surprisingly nervous about it. I was sure he was used to it since he seemed to kiss at least one woman in every film he was in.
All that practice had made him one helluva kisser.
He patted the spot next to him with a grin that told me he was up to no good.
I sat down, leaving too big a gap between us. I felt stiff and awkward. I didn’t know where to put my hands. Was I supposed to keep my mouth closed or really kiss him? Surely tongue was frowned upon in a fake relationship?
He inched closer and slid an arm across the couch and around my shoulders, pulling me closer still. With his mouth against my ear, he said, “I know we’ve got PDA in our contract, but I’m not into kissing someone who doesn’t want to be kissed.”
I pulled back to protest, but he said, “Shhh. It’s okay. I don’t want you to kiss me because you have to. I’m sure we can come up with another way to get people talking. Let’s just pretend we’re on a real date and my girl has worn smoking hot shoes that are filling my head with filthy images…” The corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile. “In this pretend scenario only of course—but they must be killing her feet, so I need to take care of her before even contemplating anything else.”
He reached down and snagged my legs, pulling my feet up and across his lap.
“May I?” he asked, grasping one of my shoes. I nodded, curious to see what he had in mind. I was so used to having every element of my scenes planned out, always the one in control, that the spontaneity of his gesture was thrilling. He slid each of my shoes off and placed them on the ground delicately.
I bit back a groan when he began to rub one of my feet in deft strokes with his giant hands. Heels were a reality of my life as an expected part of my work attire, so my feet perpetually ached. Once upon a time, I may have been self-conscious about him rubbing my feet out of the blue, but working as a domme had trained that patriarchal bullshit right out of me. My body had lots of flaws, but none of them made me self-conscious anymore.
He watched me intently as he made his way up my heel and along my ankle, kneading the tender ligaments there. The intensity of his stare was erotic in its own right. He seemed to be able to accurately read my minute reactions, returning to the spots that felt the best, leaving me to consider whether he was equally attentive in the bedroom.
He asked, “Am I going to give people the wrong idea that I’m a sub by doing this?”
“Dominance is care taking. It’s not unheard of for a dom to take care of his sub like this. After an intense scene, subs need aftercare. A massage can be a good way to check in, reassure, and reward a sub.”
He eventually switched to the other foot, and as he slid his thumbs along the arch for the first time, I couldn’t help groaning contentedly, hearing how sexual it sounded and not caring.
“Do you have a foot fetish, Mr. Chase?” I watched his face for a reaction.
“I didn’t before tonight, but anything that makes you moan like that is my new fetish.”
I laughed quietly. “Well, don’t expect me to do it on command. You’ll have to earn it.”
He slid a fraction higher than my ankle, looking me in the eye as he kneaded my calf, eliciting another breathlessly soft moan.
“If we weren’t in public, would you let me keep going?” he asked, inching his fingers higher on my calf to show me what he was asking. The low growl of his voice did nothing to dispel the heat that was building between my thighs.
“What makes you think I don’t like an audience? Aren’t we supposed to be killing your wholesome image?”
He huffed a laugh. “I believe we were instructed to ‘roughen it up,’ not kill it beyond revival. But I’ll be damned if I can remember why it matters when all I want to know is whether you’re wearing panties.”
“You could always use that question you’re hoarding.Or…you could check and see,” I dared him, parting my thighs slightly in invitation.
He called my bluff, sliding his hand up and under my skirt. As his fingers inched slowly higher, I snapped my thighs together, effectively trapping his hand before it reached its destination.
I pulled it away, dropping it like a dead insect, and straightened my skirt, slipping my feet back into my shoes. I was smiling without meaning to at the expression on his face. He looked fully prepared to bend me over the bench and punish me for it, and my husky voice betrayed how into it I was. “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”
He chuckled darkly and shook his head in dismay. “Temptress.”
“Professionally, yes. Don’t forget it.”
“That was fun,”I told him honestly as he drove me home.
“Don’t sound so shocked! What do you do for fun normally?”
I paused to consider what he meant. “I read.”
