She could feel his grin through the line. “Now get back to work, slacker. I’ll pick you up at six, and I guarantee that won’t be your last orgasm of the day.”
With that, he hung up.
And as she walked to the restroom to get cleaned up, she came to terms with one foundation-rattling fact. She was addicted. Downright, no denying it, addicted. No matter how often she saw Grant, she couldn’t get enough of him.
And that scared the ever-loving shit out of her.
Because this thing had an expiration date. And it was thundering toward them both.
TWENTY-THREE
Charli stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, feeling refreshed after her long walk on the grounds this afternoon. In the heat of the shower, her muscles had loosened, but the remnants of last night’s session with Grant remained. Phone sex had definitely only been the appetizer in his plans yesterday.
She unwrapped her towel and turned her back to the full-length mirror in the bedroom, peering over her shoulder. He’d used a whip on her for the first time. The angry welts had mostly faded, but a few bruises now colored her skin. For some odd reason, seeing those marks made her feel lighter, buoyant. She glanced down at her wrists and rubbed the faint pink rope burns, the brush of pain tightening something low in her belly.
“God, I must be freaking losing it.”Author: Roni Loren
The empty room had no response. With a sigh, she tucked the towel around herself again and headed toward the boxes on the bed. Grant had sent them over after she’d gotten home from work today with a terse note. Charlotte, I’m taking you out to a business function tonight. This is what you will wear for me. No additions or subtractions. Wear your hair down. Be at my cabin by six. Grant.
She shook her head but couldn’t help smiling. He’d told her she was going as his date, not as his submissive. This was apparently something for the winery. But even on a supposedly “normal” date, the man couldn’t help but be bossy.
She opened the first box and unfolded the tissue, finding a gorgeous plum-colored wrap dress. Wow, that hadn’t been what she expected. She thought for sure he’d put her in something short and tight. But this had luxury and class written all over it.
She peeked into the smaller boxes. One had a lacy bra and panty set in the same shade of purple as the dress. She held up the thong. He’d said he’d let her wear underwear, but she wasn’t sure if this little bit of material quite counted. Cheater.
The other small box had a pendant necklace and two cuff bracelets that would perfectly cover the marks on her wrists. The final package was a pair of buttery soft, knee-high leather boots. “Ooh.”
A Post-it note was stuck to the left boot. These should be a little more comfortable than those heels I always torture you with.
She rubbed her thumb across Grant’s neat handwriting, warmth whispering through her. Her cowboy had thought of everything.
She groaned. No. Not her cowboy. She had to stop thinking of him like that.
No doubt this wasn’t the first or last time he bought an outfit for a woman to wear for him. This was all part of the game. She’d agreed to play sub to him for the month, and this was simply a part of that.
She let her towel fall to the floor and slipped on the panties and bra. If Grant ever decided to stay with someone longer than a month, did that mean he’d pick out her clothes every day? What if the woman wanted to wear jeans sometimes but he wanted her to wear a skirt? How would that work?
She frowned at her reflection in the mirror. The thought of having Grant take care of her like that was simultaneously appealing and appalling. Knowing that she’d be wearing only things he’d selected for her tonight gave her a little thrill. It felt intimate and personal, having him choose things he thought would complement her body and coloring.
But someone doing that for her every day? She’d freaking lose it. Right?
She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. She needed to reel herself in. Over the last few weeks she’d had moments where she’d wondered what it’d be like to really be Grant’s, secretly imagining how it would be to push things further than just a short experiment. But even if she was discovering that she had a submissive streak, Grant didn’t want anything more than a month. He was already in a long-term relationship—with a memory. There was no room in his life for someone else.
And hell, it wasn’t like Charli was Ms. ’Til-Death-Do-Us-Part either. Getting attached to someone was dangerous enough. She’d learned that the day her mother and sister had walked out of her life. But how much more intense would that loss be if she were in a D/s relationship and her dom left her? That kind of lifestyle and level of care could become addictive quickly, and having it end would surely make someone feel adrift.
She shuddered. She could never let herself become that dependent on anyone. Already Grant was becoming too important a part of her day.
Charli shrugged on the dress, wrapping it around herself and coming to a decision. Tonight, she’d be Grant’s date, get some social practice in, but then they were going to have to talk about their situation afterward. She’d left herself too open with Grant. She’d wanted to help him see past his grief over his wife, but in the process, she’d forgotten to protect her own heart. The fact that she was even imagining the idea of giving herself to him for a moment proved she was sinking too deep, getting caught in the quicksand.
She took the cuff bracelets from their box and slipped them over her wrists, ignoring the hot shiver that went through her, and then bent to grab the necklace. But the sound of her cell phone vibrating on the bedside table had her veering in another direction.
Charli reached for the phone, the caller ID flashing unknown number. “Hello?”
“Ms. Beaumonde?”
“Yes, this is Charli.”
There was a long pause, and Charli thought the call had dropped, but then the man cleared his throat. “This is Rodney Wilson. I’m sorry about the last time we met. I’m ready to talk now. For real.”