The day before we were to meet he sent me these instructions, which ratcheted my anticipation up another notch.
Sophie,
If I’ve heard you correctly you have a burning desire to become a bondage fucktoy. That is my specialty, and we can definitely go there. We haven’t practiced much bondage yet, but since we will have a live session this weekend, I am devising an extra-special and intense session for you that will involve several toys. Pack your elastics, your favorite dildo, and a new role of tape.
You are a delicious plaything, and we are moving in the right direction. I look forward to showing you where compliance and bondage can take you. I plan to turn you into a puddled, sweaty mess. As I’m creating this latest session, my lust is fucking boiling, and I can feel my cock starting to harden in anticipation of how helpless I’ll have you. I wonder how much you will whimper all tied up, how well you will absorb the pain, and how many times that fuckhole will collapse with sweet release.
When you arrive at the hotel, take your luggage to the front desk. I will leave instructions for a bellhop to bring it to the room. I’ll meet you in the hotel restaurant at 5:15 p.m. this Friday. I will expect you there at five p.m. sharp, where you will request the table I’ve reserved for us. You will sit with your back to the entrance. You may have a cocktail, but no more than two. I realize alcohol has a tendency to ease one’s nerves, but I want you sober enough to remember every filthy thing I intend to do to you. From the moment we meet, you will follow my directions exactly, addressing me properly as Sir.
Understand?
I hope that cunt is aching for me. I’m looking forward to a weekend with my little play-slut. Remember, for every ounce of pleasure, a price must be paid.
Quentin
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I followed Quentin’s instructions to the letter. I waited as patiently as I could, staying within his two-drink limit, even though I desperately wanted a third bourbon and water. Finally, after all that time wondering about the man behind the MC moniker, he was finally here, sitting next to me, dominating me in the hotel restaurant.
The moment I heard his deep, gravelly whisper, “Close your eyes, my pet,” I came alive. Shivers of anticipation danced down my spine, and his touch when his hand encircled my neck electrified my skin. I pressed against him, shamelessly asking for more, and even though we were in a public place, it was all I could do not to moan out loud.
I inhaled the smell of him, that of a raw outdoorsman, all pine and woods, but clean and fresh at the same time. I could feel the warmth coming off his body even when he wasn’t actually touching me. He’d forbidden me from opening my eyes, so I still had no idea what he looked like.
But he could see me, which was one more way to keep me off balance, and to remind me of how the power differential worked between us. And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, sitting there with my eyes closed, he had just made me suck my own pussy juice from my fingers in a room full of people, so my nerves were frayed. I had no idea if one person had seen me, or if everybody had seen me, or no one at all. I was trying to hold back the hysterical laughter bubbling up at the back of my throat when he told me to open my eyes.
I hesitated, knowing that once I did see him, there was no going back. If he frightened me with troll-like features, I could never go back to picturing him the way I currently did in my mind. If his beer gut protruded so far that I would have trouble finding his penis underneath it—so be it. I reminded myself that it was his mind that drew me to him, his dominant personality. The relationship did not have to change because of what he looked like. In the back of my mind I knew this was bullshit, but I felt compelled to psych myself up somehow.
Just as I started to flutter my eyelids open, I thought about how he had already seen me. He was probably staring at me right now. My stomach did a flip, and I hiccupped. “Excuse me,” I mumbled, covering my mouth, worried I might lose control of all bodily functions right there in the middle of the restaurant. My breath hitched, and he said, “Relax, Sophie. Everything is going to be all right. I will make sure of it.”
I gulped and grabbed on to the arms of my chair, trying to regain my composure. Suddenly it seemed like everything in my life had led up to that moment, and the pressure threatened to vanquish me. It wasn’t so much that what he looked like would change everything, but that having seen each other would alter our lives forever. There would be no going back. No more hiding. No more secrets.
“Take a deep breath, open your eyes, and look at me.” His voice was stern and familiar, which comforted me.
As scared as I was, I decided it was like ripping off a Band-Aid—the quicker the better.
My eyelashes fluttered, and it took me a minute to process my surroundings. First I saw the man sitting next to me, then I looked around, taking in the scene of the restaurant. No one was looking at me. I exhaled, my heart thudding in my ears.
I looked back at the man, and my brain screamed out, This cannot be him! This is not MC! It was exactly like when you go to a movie and the main character is nothing like you pictured in your head—your mind tells you it’s all wrong and it takes half the movie to try to adjust to someone else’s version of the hero.
I took a big glug of the bourbon and water sitting in front of me, glad that Quentin had ordered me a third drink while my eyes were still shut.
Shaking my head, I stared at him again, as if I could adjust my set and the proper picture would appear in front of me. But it didn’t. Instead, I continued to gaze upon a man who would give the sexiest of the Mad Men a run for his money. He was immaculately groomed, with short dark hair. He wore a suit in a time when almost no men wore suits anymore. Certainly not what I would have expected from a composer from Seattle.
This man was too impossibly gorgeous to 1.) Be interested in me. 2.) Be real. 3.) Be a hermit who lived in the middle of nowhere, typing on a computer all day. He looked like the kind of man who should be in Hollywood, or modeling in New York. I had only thought my pussy was wet before. Now a fresh wave of desire flooded my cunt, and to my horror a tiny whimper tumbled past my lips.
He chuckled. “Surprised?”
With a shaky hand I reached for my drink and took a sip while nodding.
He fiddled with the button on his suit jacket, buttoning then unbuttoning it, a sign Adonis was nervous too. That made me feel a little better.
“You’re wearing a suit,” I said, feeling lame as soon as I said it.
“Yes. Definitely not my usual attire, but since this is a special occasion, I thought it appropriate.” His fingers worked the knot of his tie. He looked amazing, but uncomfortable.
“A special occasion?” I asked, still trying to take in his appearance. Long, dark eyelashes framed piercing brown eyes, and those lush lashes were his only feminine feature. His mouth was enticing and his lips looked soft. A strong jaw and wickedly angular cheekbones made him appear stern and serious, which actually suited the MC I knew, but I’d never expected the package to be so altogether gorgeous.
“Yes, Sophie. It’s not every day that I fly across the country to attend to one of my subs in person. In fact, I’ve never done this before, so yes, I considered this a special occasion.”
I cleared my throat. “Oh yes, it is. It is. I thought so too, but I wasn’t sure if that’s what you meant.”
He sighed. “And, do you approve?”
“Of what?”
“Me? The suit? The hotel? All of it.”
The wheels spinning in my head halted. He wanted my approval? That was strange. Perhaps because we were on my turf, so to speak. He was out of his comfort zone, and my heart leapt at the realization that this might be even more difficult for him than it was for me. I’d been too busy thinking about myself and how this would affect me, that I hadn’t thought about what it would be like for him, traveling across country and putting himself in an unfamiliar environment where he wasn’t necessarily in control. He’d done that for me.