8:00. Be prompt.
Mick
God, she was trembling all over, her sex going warm and wet.
“And they are my hands. Never forget that.”
As if she could!
She almost wished his email had come later in the week, giving her less time to think about it. But she also knew he’d done it on purpose. He was a sadist, after all. Exactly what she wanted. And everything she feared.
It was going to be a very long week.
* * *
MICK’S COMPUTER BEEPED at him, and he checked his email. Allie had written three words back. “Of course, Mick.”
He could almost hear her saying those words to him, her voice low and soft, like a caress on his skin.
He could make her say those words to him. What a wonderfully wicked idea.
His cell phone went off and he picked it up.
“Reid here.”
“Mick, it’s Jamie.”
“Ah, our flesh merchant.”
“Ha! Hardly.”
“Our negotiator, then. Is that better?”
“Much, actually. And that’s what I’m calling to talk to you about.”
“If you think you’re going to lecture me about how to handle Allie, keep it. You’re the one who set this thing up. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t know I can be trusted with her.”
Jamie said quietly, “Can you, buddy? And I’m not asking because I intend to lecture you. It’s because I think maybe you need to talk it out.”
“I’m not that much of a talker.”
“Yeah. I just need to know your head is in the right place.”
“I’ll get it there by the end of the week.”
“Which is why I’m calling. Look, Mick, we both went through the Dominant’s mentor program at The Bastille. Are you now so experienced—or so damn macho—that you’ve forgotten it’s okay to ask for help?”
He ran a hand over his goatee. “Of course not. But I can handle this on my own.”
“It’s Allie we’re talking about, Mick. Which makes this different from any other woman you’ve played, and you fucking know it.”
“I do fucking know it, all right?” he exploded. He pushed his chair back from the old wooden door he’d made into his desk and stood up to pace. “Fuck, Jamie. Sorry. But I do know. I understand this will be a challenge. And believe me, I was not too happy with you—or with her—at first. But now . . . I’ve had some time to mull it over and I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I’m looking forward to it. To playing her. To the challenge of it.”
“But you believe you can absolutely maintain with her?”
“I wouldn’t go near her if I didn’t think so.” A small lie—it burned on his tongue. “Yes. Of course I can maintain control, with her or anyone.”
There was a long pause on the other end. Then Jamie said, “It’s not that I don’t have confidence in you as a Dominant, buddy. But this is different.”
“Why all the dire warnings about something that was your idea?”
“It was her idea. And I’m making a point. If you’re in denial about this stuff—”
“I’m not,” he interrupted.
“If you were, it could be dangerous,” Jamie finished.
“What we do is always dangerous.”
“Agreed. And it’s exactly why the ‘dire warnings’ aren’t warnings as much as a reality check.”
“Duly noted.”
He was getting annoyed with Jamie, even though he knew he was right. The things they did at the dungeon—or at home, in some cases—were dangerous. Physically. Sometimes emotionally. He was always careful with the women he played. He would be even more careful with Allie.
“Okay. Since I’m still responsible for her as her mediator, we’ll check in again on Thursday or Friday and see how you’re doing.”
“Yeah. Fine,” Mick agreed grudgingly.
“Fine. I’m heading to the gym around seven tomorrow night. Meet for a workout? We don’t have to talk about this.”
Despite his boxing workout that morning and the martial arts training he had scheduled that evening, he wouldn’t mind working with some weights with Jamie. It would calm him down. He hoped. “Sure.”
“See you then.”
They hung up and Mick tossed his phone onto the desk. His body was flooded with adrenaline, as it was every time he thought about Allie. Which was most of the time since she’d come back to the city. Adrenaline or a hard-on that wouldn’t stop no matter how many times he came. In bed, in the shower, at his desk.
He was growing hard even now just thinking about her for three damn seconds.
Allie.
He pressed on his aching cock through his jeans.
Control.
But he couldn’t get her face out of his mind. Her beautiful, lithe body.
He remembered what her naked breasts looked like, the hardening nipples a dark, dusky pink. So succulent under his fingertips, his tongue.
His cock grew rigid. He reached for his zipper. His cell went off again.
“God fucking damn it.”
He pulled in a quick breath before he picked it up and looked at the screen. A business call. He had to switch gears. Get his focus on work.
“Reid here.”
Twenty minutes later he hung up, having negotiated a job for the coming Monday. Which meant he’d be gone soon after playing with Allie, unavailable to do aftercare should she experience a delayed subdrop, those moments—or days, sometimes—when a bottom’s brain “dropped” after being high on the endorphins and seratonin that often flooded them during play. They could go through depression, feelings of emptiness, tears. And as the Top who took them there, it was his responsibility to see them through any aftereffects. If Allie was prone to subdrop, if Jamie wasn’t around to help out with her while he was out of town, then Friday night would be off.
He didn’t fucking want Jamie to do her aftercare.
But since Allie was new to the New Orleans scene, she might not have any other local kink friends yet, so Jamie would be it. Not that he was threatened by his best friend.
Damn it. He’d have to speak with Allie.
He dialed her number. It went to voice mail.
“Hey, it’s Mick. Something’s come up and we need to talk about Friday. Call me.”
He hung up. He hadn’t meant to sound so short.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw.
Almost unbearable even to hear her voice on her outgoing message.
He dropped his phone on his desk once more and began to pace again. But his office—the second bedroom in his flat—was too small to contain the thrumming energy running through his body. He went into the living room and was drawn, as he so often was when he had something to figure out, to the windows overlooking the narrow street.
It was quiet down there, no people, no cars. Just the row of close-set buildings, stucco and brick and softly painted wood, some with the intricate wrought iron balconies and gates New Orleans was known for. He tried to allow the familiar scenery to lull him, but he was crawling out of his skin.
Maybe he should go for another quick run. Either that or get into a scalding hot shower and fist his hand around his throbbing cock until he came again.
“Because twice already this morning apparently wasn’t enough,” he muttered. Then, when his cell phone went off again in the other room, “Whoever you are, I do not want to talk to you.”
He stalked into his office and grabbed the phone.
Allie.
Well, that statement had been bullshit.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” It was that smooth, purely female voice of hers. More mature now than when they’d met in high school, but still the same Allie he’d always known. Sweet.
Not as sweet as he’d imagined, or they wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“Mick? You there?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I was working on something when you called.”
When had he turned into such a liar?
“Oh. I’m sorry to interrupt, but your message sounded important.”
“Yeah. We need to talk about Friday.”