“Has anyone ever crossed a line with you?” I didn’t look at her as I asked the question because it was possibly intrusive, but after seeing what a teaching session and not even a full-blown session looked like, it worried me she was that vulnerable with random dudes all the time.
“I deal mostly with wealthy, powerful men, Mr. Chase. Many of them think they’re entitled to more than we negotiate and spend the session pushing those boundaries. But I can usually keep them in line. I’ve only had one who took things far enough it was upsetting.”
“Did that make you want to stop?”
“It made me more wary with my other clients, but no, it didn’t make me want to quit. Women are more vulnerable on your average date than I am at work. I’ve got a panic button with a burly security guard at the other end. Not to mention the threat of being banned from the dungeon. I feel less safe out with a guy than I do with my clients.”
“That’s depressing.”
“What’s depressing is that’s only true for legal sex work. Strippers and people who do porn are mostly safe. Working in a dungeon or a brothel is pretty regulated. But the sex workers who’re arguably the most vulnerable are the least protected because of the stupid laws in this country.”
I’d never considered any of this before. Like an elitist asshole, I’d generally dismissed sex workers as beneath my concern, but she made a valid point.
“Do you feel safe with me?” I looked into her slate blue eyes, hoping to see the truth in her answer.
“I do…Boy Scout. Do you feel safe with me?”
She had an eyebrow cocked and was peering at me from under her lashes.
“Of course, my lady.”
She let out a throaty laugh. “Don’t be so sure. I’m about to rock your world.”
21
Elena
It had been four days since our spanking lesson, and in that time we’d attended an industry party, meetings for the film, and finished out the table read. My brain felt like it was going to melt from making small talk.
Alex and I had done some more work on his scenes, but something still wasn’t clicking. Reaper’s monthly party was happening that evening, so it seemed like high time to expose him to the real deal.
I sent him a text that said, “Play party tonight. You game?”
“You know I am. What time should I pick you up?”
“Eleven. We can talk ground rules at my place. Dress to impress. No jeans.”
He arrived at my house in a designer tuxedo and his signature dazzling smile. He knew exactly how good he looked.
I was still in a robe, so I quickly ushered him inside.
“Of course you show up in a fucking tux. Come on, we’ll fix your outfit and I’ll finish getting ready.”
“Nice to see you too, sweetheart. Happy two-week anniversary. You’re halfway done with me.”
“We’re running a little late. I meant to get there before it gets crazy, but we’ll make it work. Now let’s figure out what to do with your outfit. That’s way too many clothes for where we’re going.”
He spread his arms and spun in a circle, smiling unselfconsciously despite my criticism. “Constantly coming up with new reasons to get my clothes off…” He tutted.
“Lose the shirt and it’ll be fine. I’ve got a mask we’ll put on you.”
I left him in the living room to do as instructed and ran to my bedroom to finish getting dressed. I had to squeeze and shimmy into my strapless latex minidress, carefully pulling and snapping the stretchy fabric until it sat snuggly where it was supposed to. It was like squeezing my way into a balloon, nothing graceful about it, but thankfully I didn’t have an audience.
I pulled on a pair of platform thigh-high boots, grabbed a bottle of lube, and headed back to find my date. I didn’t want to leave him unsupervised in my house for too long.
Evidently, that had been long enough for him to go snooping around because he was brandishing three DVDs. He waved them at me. “You own no fewer than three films that I’m in—look that’s me right there on the cover—and yet you claimed you had no idea who I was?”
I broke into a fit of laughter at how indignant he looked. “To be fair, Kate Fucking Brannan is on that cover with you, so I don’t see anything else. She’s a goddess.”
