CHAPTER 9
“I want to see you work,” I blurt to Gil as he sits at the oval dining room table later that week. He’s spending the night here more often with each passing week, and he’s currently rubbing the sleep out of his eyes after he woke up. He had the late shift in Dominium, drove over here at an ungodly hour, climbed into the bed O and I were sharing, snuggled up behind me and never left.
O got up before the crack of reasonable people’s time to wake up, because, you know, work, and I got up when I was done sleeping. It’s not like I’m doing very much at the moment, I’m just going through the first round of editing. Which I do not want to do, because you know, procrastinating is way more fun.
“Coffee first?” he says as he stretches his arms above his head and I get distracted by his biceps.
“Hmm?” I ask, figuring I didn’t actually hear the words he said.
“Coffee?” he says with a side smirk. My eyes flit from his biceps to his mouth to the twinkle of his nose ring, and I almost forget what he’s asking again. What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s like I’m insatiable. Right. Coffee. I can do this. I can do hard things. My mind wanders to doing hard things and takes a turn into a whole other direction.
I make coffee on automatism, which is going way smoother now that we have a decent coffee machine. I try to force myself to think of things that’ll turn me off and stop thinking about Gil, but I’m having a hard time. When I put it down in front of him, he pushes his chair back, grabs me and makes me fall into his lap.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he says as he nuzzles my neck. “Now, what did you say?”
“I want to see you work.”
“You’ve seen me work,” he says as he reaches for the coffee while making sure I don’t fall out of his lap.
“No,” I answer as I focus on my mission to see him work and not on the way his body feels beneath mine. “I’ve seen you do administration and I’ve seen you do inventory, I’ve never actually seen you work.”
He sits back as he drinks from his coffee, his hand lazily on the top of my leg. “You realize that it’s not some sort of sex for hire job, right? The BDSM-stuff gets done by the people who attend, not the staff.”
“I know, but you had that outfit you wore to the Renaissance fair, and that was work attire, so I figured your job entails a little more than what Jonah does at Tempest, or at least has a different vibe, and I want to see you work.”
“I’m just a glorified bartender, Mor. There’s nothing special to see.”
“At the very least you’re like a sex bartender, and I want to see,” I say as I wiggle my ass in his lap. I know how to play dirty. He’s not the only one who can play mind games.
“Stop wiggling, you’ll make me spill my coffee.”
He shifts a little, making me sit more on his legs than on his actual lap, and that’s exactly how I know that what I’m doing is working. I’m affecting what he does. Mistress of Mindgames. That’s my new title.
“I’ll take you to see me work on one condition,” he continues, downing the last bit of his coffee after.
I lift my chin to signal him to go on.
“You can come see me work if you roleplay.”
That wasn’t what I thought he was going to say. What I exactly thought it would be, I don’t know, but not this. People actually roleplay? Isn’t that weird? I’m batting my lashes at him like I’m some ditz, but then decide that I trust this man and to just go along with it.
“What do I roleplay as?”
He shrugs. “Figure something out yourself. Pretend you don’t know me. Be someone you’re usually not. Then, pick up a bartender you don’t know.”
The thought of that goes straight to the apex of my thighs. Now that’s thrilling. I get to be anybody I want? It’s like going to the fair, but instead of going there it’s at a BDSM establishment. Who do I want to be?
“Do I get to dress up?”
He chuckles. “I don’t know, does the person you want to be need to dress up?”
“Uh, duh.”
“Surprise me. See if you can pick me up.”
“Do I know you in my roleplaying role?” The possibilities are infinite. Maybe I can be a supersecret spy on a mission, be a real badass. Or I could be a popstar, that tries to be normal for a night and runs into a super sexy sex bartender. Ooooh, maybe I can be some kind of pirate. Do I want to be a pirate? I like rum. But no, I don’t know yet.
“No, you get to meet me all over again. We’ll have to improvise from there.”