But what if I have it all backward? Maybe this all happened for a reason.
I’m reminded again of my father’s funeral. His kindness to a gangly, grieving teen left a permanent mark on me. Does it make sense that the same man might circle back to my life and mean something?
“I say explore the hell out of it with him. Open the lines of communication. Tell him what you liked, what you didn’t like. Ask for more. We all deserve to be fulfilled, and if you just figured out what does it for you, you’re way ahead of the game. Some people never figure it out.”
I draw in a breath and let it out, both relieved and excited at the same time. “Thank you. I knew you’d have all the right words for me.”
“You know how much I love to talk about sex.”
“I do.” We catch up a little more on her life before we say goodbye.
I Google “impact play” while I ought to be cleaning my townhouse and spend two hours poring over sites, discovering an entire world of BDSM kinksters out there. By the time I finish reading, I’m grinding over the seat of my chair, more turned on than I’ve ever become without anyone touching me.
Sereva was right. On the forums, I find many, many people requesting advice on how to get their partners to act more dominant.
I snort at the thought of coaching Joey. The man was born dominant. He took me in hand probably without even knowing it’s a thing. The thought of him giving me a real punishment, the memory of the way he spun me around and delivered his form of justice, makes my fingers seek my aching sex, my eyes rolling back in my head.
I end up ordering some implements, following the recommendations and reviews of other kinksters, including a wooden paddle, wrist cuffs, and a stainless steel butt plug.
I chew on a fingernail thinking about talking to Joey about my desires. How I want more. Technically, tonight’s our final date. But now that he opened that door for me sexually, I’m not so willing to send him packing.
Joey
When I show up at Sophie’s townhouse for dinner, I hear the music from a musical–I don’t know which one–blasting inside. I tap on the door, but I’m guessing she can’t hear me, so I try the handle and find it open.
I don’t like that. Her neighborhood sucks, and the idea of someone walking in on her makes me angry as fuck.
But I soon forget because Sophie’s in the kitchen, singing along to the music at the top of her lungs. I stop, transfixed. She sings like an angel. She looks like a goddess. She’s swaying to the music in another short skirt paired with a top that shows off her flat midriff, some of the pieces I sent her. What else can I send her? Her feet are bare.
Her eyes are closed, her head falling back, so her thick hair moves in waves down her back. She bounces on her feet wearing a look of pure joy on her face. I lean in the door frame, drinking in the show.
When her eyes flicker open and she sees me, she shrieks and laughs. “I didn’t hear you come in!” She lunges for the music and turns it down.
I hand her the bundle of orange roses I brought and set the bottle of wine on the counter. “Yeah, you need to keep your door locked when you’re here alone,” I say. “But don’t stop singing. Please—don’t stop.”
“Thank you for the flowers.” She offers her cheek for a kiss, but I catch her jaw and turn her face to claim her mouth. “I mean it,” I murmur. “Please don’t stop. I was enjoying the show.” I nudge her back into the kitchen, sidling up behind her to mold my body to hers and slow dance with my arm wrapped around her waist. She sways with me.
“Didn’t think you were the dancing type.”
“You like to dance?” I turn her around and back her up against the counter, pressing my body against hers. “Is that what you want to do for our third date? Go dancing?”
“This is our third date, remember?” She’s smiling, though. “But Imightconsider a dancing date since they’re pretty hard to find.”
“I would love to take you out dancing. See those gorgeous legs moving around the dance floor in one of your tight skirts. Mmm, but I don’t know if I could handle other guys looking at you, though.”
“Come on, really? You’re that type?”
“Bella,I’m possessive as hell. But fuck it, I’d be proud to show you off in whatever you want to wear. I’ll make sure no one touches you.” I give her a wink. “I know how to fight.”
She rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s turned on by the way her nipples protrude through the thin fabric of her bustier. I make a mental note to send her couture evening dancing outfits. Shoes. And definitely lingerie.
I uncork the bottle of wine and pour us each a glass while she serves dinner–baked salmon with broccoli–and we sit down at her small round table to eat.
“So...Joey?” She looks nervous. There’s something different about her tonight. Something a little more open. More vulnerable. “About last night. Was that for real?”
“What do you mean?”
She sips her wine. “I mean, were you really mad? Would you have stopped if I saidno?”