“Don’t tell me you’re backing out on me,” she said, warning in her voice, which he wouldn’t have put up with from any other submissive. There was something else beneath the bravado. Disappointment?
“Not necessarily,” he said. “I’ll run the scenario by you, then we can talk it out.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve had a job come up in Atlanta. A small venue concert, but it’s for someone I’ve worked with for years, so I didn’t want to turn it down. It means I’ll be gone on Monday.”
“I . . . don’t understand what that has to do with Friday. Do you need to leave that soon?”
“No, I’ll leave early Monday. But it means I won’t be available again until Thursday. I haven’t checked with Jamie to make sure he’ll be around—I wanted to talk with you first. In case you need someone here for subdrop. I know we haven’t discussed this yet. I’d planned to talk through your aftercare needs later this week.”
“My aftercare needs are pretty basic—some water, a snack if my blood sugar is low, a blanket. I’m relaxed and happy after play if the connection is good. I’ve never felt subdrop, although I’ve sat with friends through it.”
“You’re certain?”
“I’m certain. Usually I’m a little giddy and dreamy the night I play, then the next day I’m a bit tired if I haven’t slept enough. Or, those times when I’ve played a whole weekend with someone, the energy just keeps going until the play is over—the endorphins, the adrenaline. The rush. Then I just sleep it off.”
He didn’t want to think about her playing with anyone else. He couldn’t stand it.
“Tell me what you usually feel like a few days after.” He had to ask. It was his responsibility, and responsibility was something he never took lightly.
“A few days after I just feel like myself. Sometimes a little happy and floaty still, but that’s a good thing. And sometimes I’m sore, of course. Loving my marks.”
Lord, he’d love to be the one to mark her. To welt that fragile-looking skin. To put bruises there. Teeth marks.
He got hard again in such a hot, sudden rush he had to swallow down a gasping breath.
He adjusted himself through his jeans, and his own hand against the iron-hard erection beneath the denim had him shivering.
Control.
“Okay,” he said. “But I’m checking in with Jamie anyway to make sure you aren’t left alone if you need someone.”
“That’s fine. I know I can go to Jamie, anyway. And I always have Marie Dawn, of course.”
“Do you know anyone else here yet?” he asked. “I don’t know that she’d know what to do.”
“I’ve talked with a few people online, but I haven’t met anyone in person yet. So, no—no one close. But I’ll be fine, Mick.”
“Just covering the bases. That’s part of my job here, Allie. Or haven’t you played with anyone who goes by those standards?”
“Of course I have! Mick, I’m not ‘kindergarten playing’ at kink any more than you are. The people I’ve played with are the real thing. Check my damn references.”
Oh, he loved the fire in her. But her sharp-tongued reply was deserved.
He blew out a breath. “That was an asinine thing for me to say.”
“It was. But I’m glad to see you can admit it when you’re wrong.”
“I can. Just know those times are rare.”
She laughed. “God, you are such a Dom.”
“Am I supposed to be insulted?” But he couldn’t help the slow grin that quirked the corners of his mouth.
“Nope. Probably not.”
He lowered his tone. “Don’t think for a minute that I am anything but dominant, Allie.”
“Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure you won’t let me forget.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“Okay, so, Friday night at eight, appropriately dressed and in the appropriate frame of mind,” she said, her tone shifting. He could tell by the breathiness in her voice she was switching gears, edging into her submissive role the slightest bit. He liked it.
What would she be like to play? To have her submit to him? Feisty or not, she would submit. He’d see to it that she did. He didn’t need a service sub in order to feel that yielding.
His groin tightened.
“We need to discuss sexual contact,” he told her.
“Oh. Of course.”
“Right now my limit is no sex.”
There was a long pause. “No sex?”
It was going to kill him, but if he was going to hang on to any shred of control, there had to be some line drawn in the sand.
“I feel fine with some contact and, frankly, in getting you off—I wouldn’t leave anyone high and dry. But we’re not going to get that involved.”
There was another pause. “I understand.”
“Do you? It’s us, Allie. The contact has to reflect how complicated this is.”
“It doesn’t have to be, Mick,” she said quietly.
“You know it does. It just is, and we can’t pretend this is something it’s not. We are not two people who’ve just met or have had nothing more than friendship between them. Safe, Sane and Consensual also means being realistic.”
“Okay. I get it. I honestly wouldn’t choose to impose those limits, but if that’s where you stand . . .”
“It is.”
“All right,” she agreed.
Thank the Lord. He wasn’t sure how long he’d have been able to hold out against any real argument.
“Since I have you, is there anything else you’d like to discuss before we play?” he asked. “Any questions for me?”
“I think we’ve covered everything for now. I understand some things change, and will expect that we can renegotiate as needed—outside of scene time, of course.”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I’ll check in with you that night before we start to see if you feel differently about anything, to see how you’re feeling physically.”
“You’re very thorough,” she said.
“I am.”
“You’ve always been a perfectionist, though, haven’t you? I remember even in high school you’d polish your motorcycle for hours, making sure every inch of chrome gleamed. I liked hanging out in the garage with you, watching you work. Listening to music.”
He didn’t want to think about the damn motorcycle. Not now, not ever. He moved back into the living room, stared out the window without really seeing anything.
It wasn’t the bike that had ruined his life—it was his own bad judgment. But Allie referencing their past . . . those had been good days, and he couldn’t find it in himself to focus on the bad part that had come later—either with the bike or with her. Not now, with her voice soft in his ear.
“The music was great,” he admitted, “except for your strange fascination with Nickelback.”
“What? I still love them,” she defended. “His voice is amazing.”
“You’ll never convince me of that.”
“Do you remember our song, Mick?” she asked, her voice going soft.
He didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to think about him and Allie together back then.
After a few silent moments she said, “‘Drive’ by Incubus. I . . . still listen to it sometimes.”
“Great song,” he said gruffly, his breath catching in his throat.
Damn it.
“Allie, if we’re going to play at the club, maybe we’d better set some ground rules for this stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Trying to bring back the past. That was a long time ago.”
“Okay . . .” She drew the last syllable out, and he could hear the hurt in her voice. But he had to lay down some boundaries or things were going to get messy.
Hell, they already were messy. This whole thing was messy. But he wouldn’t go back on his word. Maybe a night of play and they’d both have it out of their systems.
Yeah, right.
And then she’d go on to play with some other Dom at his home club, and he’d fucking want to kill the guy.
“Mick?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re right. We should stay focused on the present. Not get caught up in history.”
“Glad you see it my way.”
“You always are,” she muttered.