Being with him in Houston had been amazing, but now I wondered if it had been a mistake… and I wondered where would we be if he had denied my request to meet in person? Would we still be playing online, no cameras, lost in the fantasy? Or would I have tired of that too? I wasn’t sure. I just knew that this sort of relationship had a shelf life and for me, it had expired.
It would be next to impossible to fight the urge to send him a message and start things up again. A simple, “Hi, sir” might be all it would take. But that would be setting myself up for more of the same—immediate gratification followed by an intense longing that could never be satisfied. It was more than masochism. It was self-sabotage.
No, I would refrain. When I felt that familiar twinge of need between my legs I’d find a toy, use the techniques he gave me, and think of someone else while I masturbated. Anyone other than the man I so desperately wanted but couldn’t have. The man I was afraid I loved.
Somehow I’d have to find a way to get over him.
School was fast approaching and it was almost time for me to start decorating my room and welcoming my new students. The timing was ideal because it gave me a distraction, something to do besides pine for Quentin. This year I was looking forward to school starting more than usual. I needed something productive to throw myself into, and I truly did love my job.
I spent my evenings cutting out various paper shapes for a themed bulletin board, and my online time was spent visiting various teaching websites looking for new ideas. During the day, I shopped at the local teaching supply stores and made worksheets and files for my class.
With all my energy focused on preparing for school, I kept myself too busy to check the email I used with Quentin. Since it was different than the one I used for the rest of my personal life and for teaching—I couldn’t risk there being any form of overlap or accidentally sending someone an email from my slutty alter-ego so I kept them separate.
Then one afternoon while I was knee-deep in creating tissue-paper flowers with each of my new students’ names on them, my cell phone rang. It was the special ring tone I’d given Quentin.
I dropped the pipe cleaner I was about to wrap around the paper blossom in my hand, debating whether or not to answer it. My brain counseled me not to, but my heart fluttered in my chest, telling me to pick it up. Ultimately my curiosity won. I had to know what he wanted.
“Hello.”
“Sophie, is that you? You sound out of breath.”
“Yes, it’s me. I was just working.”
“Working? Is that why you’ve been too busy to answer my emails?”
“I haven’t been checking emails. Sorry. Yes, I’ve been super busy getting ready for the kids to start back to school. I meet my new students in a week, and school starts the week after that.”
“That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“Which is why you should check your emails,” he snarled.
“You have no right to get snippy with me,” I said primly.
He cleared his throat. “Fine. I hadn’t wanted to trouble you unless you wanted to talk with me, but it sounds like I’m bothering you, so just check your email please.”
It sounded like he was about to hang up. “No, wait! I’m sorry. It’s just that I really have been busy and I’m trying to focus on work… after things with the training didn’t work out.”
“That’s what I’d like to talk with you about.”
“My training?”
“Yes. I, uh, I bought you a plane ticket.”
“A plane ticket? To where?”
“To Seattle. I wanted to bring you up here, to where I live. For a few days… so we could talk.”
“We can’t talk over the phone?”
His laugh was bitter. “Apparently not. I can’t even get you to return an email. Look, Sophie, if this is a bad time… I mean, with starting school and all. I hoped we’d have a chance to meet again before you started school, but I guess I was being too presumptuous.”
“No, no. It’s not that. It’s just a surprise. I’m not good with surprises.”
“Okay. Well, when you have a chance, please read my emails. Then let me know. Will you do that?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, falling easily back into the rapport, the relationship we’d shared over the past few months. “I’ll do that.”
“That’s all I ask,” he said, and I thought I heard a smile in his voice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I was antsy during the plane ride. Not that flying bothered me, it was the anticipation of seeing Quentin again that had me all undone. I brought a book by my favorite author, but even that couldn’t hold my attention. Next I tried a movie from my tablet, but when that didn’t work either, I gave up and closed my eyes. Scenes from my time in Houston with Quentin played in my head like my own personal movie, and I felt my panties grow damp as I recalled the amazing things he’d done to my body.
Would there be any of that during this visit? One of the things Quentin was so good at as a Dom was being clear about his expectations for me and my behavior, but in this instance he simply said he wanted to see me, to talk to me. When I asked him to clarify further, he was uncharacteristically opaque.
“Let’s see how things go when we talk,” he’d said.
“Do I need to bring any toys?” I asked, hoping for a clue as to his frame of mind.
“No,” he’d said simply, and told me he would pick me up at the airport and that the return portion of the trip was paid for, but with an open return date so I didn’t have to feel pressured to stay any longer than I wanted to.
Before we landed, I made a trip to the restroom to comb my hair and apply some lipstick. I wanted to look my best for him. When the plane taxied down the runway my foot began tapping with excitement. As I traipsed up the jetway into the airport concourse, a gate agent waved to me. “Sophie Davenport?” she asked and I nodded, already checking my pocketbook to be sure I hadn’t left my phone or my tablet on the airplane.
“A gentleman left this for you.” She gave me a folded note. I opened it to see the words “Meet me in the bar” scrawled across the ivory card in a hand I didn’t recognize.
I swallowed hard and scanned the airport for the nearest bar. Considering the current security precautions, it would have to be outside the government checkpoint. Good. I’d have a moment to get my bearings before seeing him. What would he say? What could be so important that he couldn’t say it over the phone or via Skype?
The thing that mattered most was whether or not he wanted me to be his sub during this visit. I thought that I’d wanted to cut ties with him, to be done with him and the limits he imposed on our relationship, but now, when I was about to see him, all I wanted was to kneel at his feet, feel his fingers in my hair, and hear him call me his “good girl.”
As I passed by the area where the TSA screened passengers waiting to enter the terminal, I noticed a yellow and blue neon sign that said, “BAR.” Peering around the corner, I saw him before he saw me. Though he was dressed casually in a long-sleeved green Henley shirt and jeans, I wondered for the hundredth time how I could have fallen for a man so good-looking, his looks not even playing a role in that attraction.
At least not initially, but I’d be lying if I said the way he looked didn’t make my panties wet.
I entered the bar, and as if he sensed my presence, he swiveled his barstool toward me as I approached.
“Sophie.” His voice washed over me, that velvet baritone I’d stroked myself to for weeks burrowing into my ears like a familiar tune, one consisting of love and lust all tangled together to form the sweetest melody.
“Quentin.”
He held his arms out to me and I crossed to him, letting him enfold me in them as if we were long-time friends rather than a kinky couple who mostly masturbated together over the internet.