“Wow. Um, before the beginning of school would be best. And maybe we could meet in Houston.” The idea of meeting MC in Fort Worth, where I lived, freaked me out. But Houston was only a few hours away. I could drive there, and the airport would be convenient from wherever he was coming from. I probably could stay in a hotel and not see anyone I knew…
“Houston, okay. Is that near where you live?”
“Close enough.” My heart thudded in my chest. Could this be for real? Because now that it was thrust upon me, I realized this could be a very good, or a very bad, idea. What if we met and he hated me? Or I hated him? This could ruin everything.
Or, it could give me exactly what had been lacking from our experiment, or training, or whatever you wanted to call it—the kinky fuckery we engaged in.
“You’ll be flying out of what city?”
“Seattle. I live in the area.”
“But not in Seattle?”
“No, a little bit outside the city. It’s more rural, woodsy.”
“Oh. Sounds nice.”
“It is.”
“Great. Should I find a place for us to stay?”
“That would be nice. Why don’t you make a reservation, and I’ll pay for it. Email me a few dates that are good for you.”
“Yes, sir.” I could hardly contain my excitement.
“It’s nice to hear you so upbeat. I’ve been concerned lately that we were hitting a roadblock in your training.”
“You’re right. I’ve been quite frustrated lately, but I think this will help a ton.” Of course I had my doubts. I knew meeting each other in person could completely destroy everything between us, but I needed it so badly that I couldn’t let on that I expected anything but for this to be the perfect next step in my journey.
“All right.”
“Oh, sir… there’s one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Well, if you want me to make a reservation, I should probably know your name, in case you get to the hotel before I do.”
“I see.”
Flustered, I forged ahead, babbling, “I mean you know my name, at least my real first name, but if you don’t want to tell me, I’ll understand—”
He interrupted me. “It’s all right, Sophie. My name is Quentin Andrews.”
From the moment he told me his name until the morning I finished packing my bags to drive to Houston, Quentin Andrews consumed my thoughts. He hadn’t balked when I told him which hotel I’d chosen, so I assumed he could afford it. We continued our play sessions, and I had to admit the passion between us felt energized by our upcoming meeting. I no longer fretted over not having a “live” man, and that allowed me to focus enthusiastically on the tasks he gave me. After all, he’d shown me he was willing to give me what I needed—a live experience with a Dom.
I’d considered shopping for some sexy lingerie, but that would probably be a waste. I imagined he would expect me to be naked in his presence most of the weekend. The very thought gave me goosebumps all over. What would he do to me in person? Would it be better or worse than what he had me do to myself? It had to be worse, and in some ways that might be even more delicious. Oh, I was all discombobulated, but for the most part I tried to remain on an even keel and keep my expectations low. If I wasn’t attracted to him, it would be okay. I could always close my eyes and focus on what he did to my body. Surely, that would be acceptable. It was close to how we currently operated.
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 comfor
ted 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.
It made me want to crawl onto his lap and kiss him hard on those spectacular lips of his. Yes, he was out of my league physically, but for some reason this man had found something in me he liked well enough to come here and be with me in person. I vowed to embrace the whole experience, and worry about the future later. I needed to live in the present.
“You’re perfect. And I love this hotel.” I stopped myself from saying “I love you,” though a part of me wanted to. I didn’t need to send him running screaming out of the room just yet.
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at me. “You are too… perfect that is.”
I made a little snorting noise, which would have made my mother faint on the spot it was so decidedly unladylike.
“Sophie, you are lovely, prettier than I even imagined you would be. But, as you know, it’s not what you look like that interests me.”
My eyebrows rose.
He leaned into me and growled, “It’s how well you can follow my instructions, how hungry and desperate you are to show me what a dirty little whore you are. That’s what matters to me.”
My breathing grew erratic again, and I simply nodded. I did know that, and it made me want to straddle him, run my fingers through his dark hair and take him deep inside me.
“Finish your drink,” he said clamping his palm down possessively on my knee under the table.
“Yes, sir,” I said, eager to be alone with him. I polished off the last of my drink in one gulp, trying to be smooth, but failing miserably as part of it went down the wrong way.
“Slow down.” He patted me on the back as I sputtered, and I thought I saw a twinkle of amusement in his eye. At least I could entertain him.
He flagged down the waiter and asked for the check. He wrote his room number, our room number, on the white slip of paper and set it on the table. “Are you ready to continue your training?”
I managed to nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Very well.” He pushed back his chair, stood, and came over to help me up. His touch jolted me back from what felt like a dream. Suddenly this was very real, and I accompanied this man, who was in some ways a total stranger, to his hotel room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
He wrapped his big fingers around my small ones and led me from the dining room through the lobby. His frame moved with a confident grace I’d only seen in a couple of Shelby’s athletes. He pressed the button with the “up” arrow, and we stood side by side, waiting for an elevator. Though my focus was on him, I couldn’t help but notice how both women and men alike reacted to him as they passed. The women’s eyes followed him with open appreciation, while the men looked past him purposely, or at the ground, pretending they didn’t notice him. But I could tell they had.
I was excited, and I squeezed his hand, dropping any pretense that I was calm and experienced with this sort of thing.
He squeezed back and glanced down at me before returning his gaze to the bank of elevators.
Another couple came and stood next to us, talking with one another. Then another man holding a briefcase joined the group of us waiting for an open car.
When the light above one of the elevators lit up and the doors opened, I took a step forward only to be stopped by Quentin’s outstretched arm. The three other people got on, and as they turned to face us, the man with the briefcase asked, “Going up?”
Quentin favored the elevator occupants with a dazzling smile. “We’ll wait for the next one.”
The man shrugged, the couple went back to chatting, and the elevator doors closed.
“There was room…” I said, then bit my tongue, realizing that he wanted to be alone with me. My knees felt weak and I looked for something to hold on to, but found nothing other than his hand, which I gripped tighter.
He ignored me and the next time one of the elevator doors opened he held a hand out to me in a ladies-first gesture. I got on and walked to the back of the car where there was a bar that I could hold on to if I needed it.
The doors to the elevator closed, and we were all alone. Rather than facing forward as was customary, he stepped toward me, invading my personal space in a way that made me dizzy.
Wanting to kiss him, I leaned in and lifted my arms to embrace him.
To my surprise, he caught one of my arms in the air and clutched my wrist tight. “Ouch!”
With his free hand he pulled my body close to his, holding my other hand behind my back. Looking down at me, he sneered, “You want kisses? You will have to earn them, my dear.”
I huffed indignantly, but a voice in the back of my mind asked, Wh
at did I expect? This man and I were not engaged in a romance-and-flowers courtship. In fact, quite the opposite was true. My purpose was to serve him, to submit to him. There would be no changing the rules here with this man.
I tried to center myself and remember what to do. His handsome looks swept me off my feet, and for a moment downstairs I felt like the heroine in a romance novel, instead of the sex slave I’d agreed to be in real life.
“Sorry, sir.”
Pressing on my shoulder, he forced me to my knees before turning and pressing a button that halted the elevator. When the elevator creaked to a stop, panic set in. If the elevator ceased to run, the hotel would have people working to fix it. In a matter of minutes, they would be overrun by workers trying to get the elevator operational again. The hotel staff would probably know they did it. How embarrassing! Really, they needed to get to their room where they could be alone together in private.
“Hands behind your back,” he said, as I knelt on the floor. His voice was mild, which helped calm me.
“Quentin!” It was the first time I’d said his name aloud, and I hated that it was said in protest.
“Sophie,” he said my name with an exasperated sigh, and my heart sank. We were off to a bad start. “If you don’t want to do this…”
I pictured him getting off the elevator at the next floor and walking out of my life forever. Desperation sprang up inside me and I blurted out, “I’m sorry, Sir.” And I clasped my hands behind my back.
I tried to quiet the pounding of my heart by clearing my mind and staring straight ahead like a robot. Don’t feel, just obey. Ignore everything but him. Trust him.
He placed a hand on my head, not exactly petting me like a dog, but reminding me my place was beneath him. On my knees. My pussy creamed, and I licked my lips as I heard the zipper to his pants.
“Open your mouth.”
It was a simple command, and I obeyed. Before I knew it, he’d opened the front of his pants, and his cock sprang through the hole in the front of his underwear. Suddenly my mouth went dry and I had to close it to swallow. I opened it again quickly, but instead of giving his cock to me, he slapped me on my cheek with it.
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