by Kira Barker
“You are,” she replied, still shaking her head with mirth. “You’re like a walking cloud of bad social interaction karma. Please, don’t change. What would I have to laugh my ass off at then?”
Gritting my teeth, I let her have her fun with me as we slumped into one of the comfy seating areas in the back, waiting for the others.
“I really didn’t say anything,” I said, picking up the thread again while Kara was busy perusing the menu.
“Uh-huh, sure you didn’t,” she replied absentmindedly. “It was funny enough to watch you sneer at everything for the past ten minutes. But why anyone would approach you after seeing you do that is still beyond me. They must have stellar rules about customer interaction here.”
I wondered if I should have pointed out that the woman hadn’t actually been rude. Come to think of it, that she had probably been observing my critical perusal of their wares explained why she’d been a little uppity. But still, it was a very strange encounter.
One by one the others flocked over to us, and eventually someone came to take our order. Guess who? Of course, with a staff of at least five people, it had to be her. I might have sunk a little deeper into the cushions of my seat, although hiding in plain sight had never been my forte. It didn’t feel like a coincidence that I was the last one she looked at while scribbling on her notepad, and I made sure to be extra friendly when I ordered my double espresso. She gave me a bright, fake smile in return that made me wonder if she now thought I was making fun of her.
Just as she bustled off to get our drinks, my eyes fell on her name tag again, this time snagging on the four-letter word printed there. “Beth.”
I felt my stomach drop out from underneath me as the skin on my arms and back started to crawl. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Yeah, right. Because there were so many sex shops with attached coffee shops in the area. I felt like slapping myself. I should have made the connection earlier, like, way earlier, when Kara had told me about where our girls’ night out was headed to the first time. Not even sleep deprivation coupled with boredom could explain that lapse of judgment.
Getting out my phone, I was tempted to just Google “sex coffee shop” but instead scanned through the photos Simon had shared on Facebook. It didn’t take long to find one from a party we’d been to last weekend. Jack had taken that one, I thought, with Simon sitting in a stuffed armchair, looking very relaxed and regal, and me, perched on the armrest, gesturing animatedly with a beer bottle. Not the most favorable shot of me, but good enough to be a realistic representation of my resting bitch face. And Simon’s arm casually slung across my middle kind of hinted at the fact that we weren’t exactly just roommates.
So it hadn’t been that hard for her to recognize me; likely even less if she wasn’t just friends with Simon, but also with Jack, who posted a lot more, and in many even less flattering poses. It had taken me a week once to get him to delete a picture of me sleeping on the couch, weird contortions and drool included. If this Beth was the Beth I thought she was, I might just have stumbled into trouble.
I put away my phone as she returned, trying to judge her in the light of my recent suspicion. Problem was, I personally didn’t think I looked like the kind of woman who loved spending some quality time on her knees, tied up like a pretzel, so why should she seem like someone who got off on spanking someone until they couldn’t sit down for a week?
On closer observation, she seemed older than I’d thought at first—no longer my age but at least five to ten years my senior—and when she briefly caught my gaze as she set down the cup of coffee in front of me, I couldn’t help but stop slouching in my chair. I knew Simon had that effect on me sometimes, but that was usually because of my libido kicking in and shutting my brain right off. With her, it wasn’t sexual attraction—I really was the wrong kind of woman to judge how attractive or not she might have been to those who cared—but there was that same silent expectation in her gaze that instantly made me want to gain her approval. A silly notion, really, and one easily quenched as soon as I recognized it, but still…
Like a dork, I just murmured my thanks under my breath, then pretended for the next ten minutes to follow the conversations going on around me while trying to watch her as stealthily as possible. She disappeared into the sex shop proper a few times, but seemed to linger whenever she checked back with her coffee-slurping clientele. I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was watching me watch her; the amused twist coming to her mouth made that rather obvious.
“Excuse me, I think I need to take a quick time-out,” I offered to no one in particular, then got up and strode toward where I guessed the restrooms might be located. As soon as I was out of sight of our table, I ducked back into the shop, appearing on the other side of the checkout area—where Beth was already waiting for me, her arms crossed underneath her ample chest, eyes twinkling with mirth.
I felt my cheeks redden, although I was well aware of the fact that I hadn’t done anything wrong, or particularly stupid. Yet. Narrowing my eyes, I held her gaze evenly, although it still made me kind of nervous.
“I was wondering… do you perchance know a guy named Simon Chalks?” I asked, because it seemed like the safest route.
Her lips curved into a bright—but now real—smile.
“Know as in, have I read his book? Or do you mean in a more biblical sense?” she questioned in return.
This was quickly shaping up to become one of the strangest conversations I’d ever had. With all the endless explanations and pep talks Simon loved to give, he’d somehow left out the part of how to introduce myself to his former Mistress and mentor. And there was still the possibility that I was making a complete fool of myself in the first place.
“A little bit of both, I guess.” I hated how my voice wavered slightly. She definitely seemed to like watching me squirm, though, which kind of lent a lot of conviction to my guess about who she was. Suddenly realizing how hilarious this situation was, I couldn’t help but laugh, and extended my hand toward her. “Hi, I’m Erin. If there’s a secret handshake, no one has told me yet, so I’m preemptively sorry for any faux-pas I’m committing.”
She took my hand and squeezed, maybe a little too hard, but it was still a strong, good handshake.
“Beth, as you apparently finally read, and guessed correctly. And if there’s a secret handshake, no one has told me, either, but then I usually use my hands for something different than shaking people’s hands.”
“I bet,” I replied, feeling both relieved and just a little self-conscious. Meeting Simon’s mother—albeit years before we got around to bumping uglies—had been a lot less intimidating than meeting Beth. Then again, Linda was one of the most easygoing people I knew, while Beth was cut from an entirely different cloth. Or should that have been leather?
“Anything I can help you with?” she asked, repeating her previous words but now laced heavily with sarcasm.
“No, not really. I just wanted to say hi. And I’m glad we finally got to meet. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All good things, I presume?” That feral smile from before resurfaced. “Or do I have to remind Simon of his manners?”
Oddly enough, most of what I knew about her had come from Jack, but that was likely because I hadn’t really asked. Dragging my lower lip between my teeth, I gave a slight shrug.
“I’m sure Simon wouldn’t be opposed to that, but I’m not sure if I want to be in the same room at the same time.”
Did that sound like I was scared of her? Because I wasn’t—just having the appropriate amount of healthy respect. And, strangely, while usually my hackles rose when I thought about Simon with anyone but me or Jack, my mind remained calm and unconcerned. Probably because Beth didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would put up with any notions of misplaced jealousy—or competition.
“We can always talk about that later,” she suddenly deflected, looking at something—or someone—over my left shoulder. Glancing back, I saw Kara approaching, a s
light look of concern on her face.
“Oh, there you are. I was wondering if I should come check on whether you’d fallen asleep on the toilet.”
She looked from Beth to me and back again, likely trying to judge whether she’d better remove me from the premises before anyone could call the cops on me.
“I’m not that bad,” I protested, but as if on cue, a yawn wrenched itself out of me that belied anything I could have said about not randomly keeling over everywhere.
“You are,” Kara was quick to assure me, then glanced at Beth again, who was still listening to our exchange without batting an eyelash. “Are you coming back now, or have you decided to bail on us for good? You made it through half an hour, almost a new record.”
Staring impassively at her, I wasn’t surprised that she didn’t back down, but that seemed to be a theme for me of late. Turning back to Beth, I wondered if I should smile at her, but it seemed borderline sacrilegious.
“It was nice meeting you,” I offered, then turned when she just nodded.
I was halfway around the checkout area already when she called after me.
“See you on Friday, I expect?”
Her words made me freeze in mid-step, and my eyes inadvertently snagged to the poster on the wall directly behind the counter. I hadn’t noticed it before as I hadn’t come near that area of the shop, but suddenly the neon green letters blazing from the black background—“Fetish Party”—and the date stood out even more starkly to me. I paused, unsure how to respond, but then realized that Beth was likely just yanking my chain, and the last thing I wanted to convey was the sense that I was a pushover.
Beaming a bright smile back at her, I did my best to appear less intimidated of her than I actually was. “Sure. Looking forward to it, actually.”
Her mouth twisted into a wry grin, and something akin to acceptance appeared in her eyes. Had I just passed a test? Her small nod was dismissive, but not in a bad way.
I could practically feel Kara vibrate at my side, but she waited until we were halfway to the others before she reached for my arm and pulled me around to face her. She had cocked her head to the side and was studying me intently.
“Why is some sex-shop worker confirming dates with you?”
I shrugged, but likely failed to hide the ironic smile that wanted to tug on the corners of my mouth.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Oh, I do!” Kara replied, partly offended.
Chuckling under my breath, I let that smile bloom.
“Kara, trust me. You don’t. And that’s an answer in and of itself.”
She blinked at me, irritated, before her gaze flitted back to that poster. Then her eyes went comically wide as she made the connection. I couldn’t help but feel just a little smug. Self-conscious, too, but mostly smug.
Shaking her head, she resumed our journey back into coffee land, murmuring under her breath.
“One of these days I’ll ask you to take pictures. Not from any of those events—I get that they would not allow phones there—but from your getup. It’s hard enough picturing you in anything but slouchy jeans, but this…” She trailed off there and chuckled, then sent me a meaningful look. “As if you’d need a corset to shove your tits into anyone’s face.”
I pointedly looked down at my goods, squished and almost hidden away as they were due to the sports bra I always wore to work. Nothing like a poking underwire or a slipping strap when you’re wrists deep in someone’s chest cavity.
“Actually, I don’t own a corset,” I offered.
“Aren’t they mandatory?”
I shrugged. “Don’t think so. We’re all nonconformist rebels, you know? Would be stupid to impose such a strict dress code.” I didn’t tell her that I’d actually asked Simon about said dress code, and it had taken him the better part of five minutes to stop laughing.
“Then what are you going to wear? Nothing?”
The hint of color seeping onto her cheeks made me wonder if Kara’s guess hadn’t been a little bit serious.
“Black blouse and skirt. Kind of like going to a really inappropriate wake,” I offered.
It was kind of funny to watch her face fall in disappointment.
“Drats.” Her eyes zoomed to my chest again, and her smile resurfaced. “You should get a corset, though. It would distract everyone from the fact that you have no fashion sense whatsoever and can’t walk in high heels.”
“I don’t think that even a corset would make me stand out there,” I offered, but I was glad that Kara spared me from giving a more detailed reply as we’d just arrived back at our table. She looked kind of chagrined over that, but within seconds had inserted herself right into several ongoing conversations, leaving me to listen in—and keep wondering if I shouldn’t just get back up and ask Beth about any available clothing options she might have for sale. As much as I normally didn’t care about dressing up, my first ever dungeon play party was an occasion to get out the good underwear. And considering that Simon’s preferred option had been “naked” when I’d asked, it wasn’t like I could go wrong. Right?
Chapter 3
I didn’t end up buying a corset or a skin-tight latex dress, although I was sure that Beth would have been happy to hook me up with both. I also refrained from getting that butt plug, because, really, we already had those in abundance.
A month ago I would have bolted as soon as possible, but now I stayed until the majority vote decided that they would take the party to the next bar, which was my cue to check out. I had to be back in the OR by tomorrow at 6 a.m., so bedtime it was for me, no alcohol allowed. Kara gave me a good long hug before she let me go, and a few of her friends looked disappointed that I was already dropping out. That made me wonder just how much my perceived hostile persona was really something I wanted for people to see in me rather than who I actually was—or thought I was. But then I just needed to remember the looks that one nurse was regularly giving me, and I was sure that no, I still was a major bitch when it counted. Losing my edge was not something I had to be afraid of.
It had only just gotten dark as I got home. I hesitated on the porch for a moment when I realized that “home” really wasn’t my tiny apartment anymore. Shaking my head at myself, I let myself in, careful not to make too much noise.
As I’d expected, Simon was working at his desk in the den, his noise-canceling headphones on, foot tapping in turn with his rapid typing. Leaning against the wall, I just watched him for a minute or two, loving how relaxed but focused he was. True, it was the intensity in his eyes when he had me kneeling up in the attic, waiting for him, that got me soaking wet each and every time, but over the past weeks I’d come to cherish those other, gentler, every-day moments. Those moments that made me feel like I wasn’t just his submissive and he my Dom, but something else. Something… that my heart yearned for, but I knew he wasn’t feeling for me. “Yet,” he’d said, but that knowledge still made my stomach churn and my heart feel heavy.
Shaking myself out of my funk before I could slip deeper into it, I forced myself into motion. Being careful to only tap his shoulder lightly so he wouldn’t have a heart attack, I waited until Simon turned his head to look at me, then hugged him from behind, trying to shut down the sense of longing still lingering inside of me.
“Hey there,” I said once he’d taken off the headphones, and placed a quick peck on his cheek.
“You’re home early,” he replied after a quick look at the clock.
“The girls decided to get drunk, and I decided I’d rather call it an early night.”
“After only, what, forty hours on your feet?” he joked—or so I thought.
“I got two hour-long breaks last night. I’m almost rested,” I shot back.
“Yeah, right. The bags under your eyes tell a different story.”
“Oh, you say the sweetest things!” I laughed, but didn’t even feel offended. With Jack, a sentence like that would have been a provocation. With Simon, it was, if tactless, lik
ely the honest truth.
He gave me a look that let me know that he did understand how I might have taken his statement—something I’d had to learn when things got serious between us as Simon wasn’t half as oblivious to the world as I’d always presumed—but when I didn’t take the bait, he shrugged.
“By the way, I met Beth today,” I went on, leaning against his desk next to him. “I think the polite thing would be to say that she says “hi,” but I think she actually wanted me to remind you that her door is still always open for you, so, yeah. Message delivered.”
An amused twist came to his mouth, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he kept looking up at me.
“That sounds very much like her.”
I waited for more to follow, but he just went on studying me.
“I like her. Not sure the feeling’s mutual, but at least I think I didn’t really manage to piss her off,” I replied.
“Why, did you snark about the toys? It’s a pet peeve of hers, as you can imagine. If she could, she’d just offer high quality wares, but most people aren’t ready to shell out that much for a simple sex toy they’ll likely only use once or twice and then forget about.”
Snorting, I shook my head.
“You really think that? I never forgot about any of my vibrators, and I broke enough of them over the years that maybe I should have considered not getting the next one at a bargain.”
His level gaze let me know that this would have been a wise thing to do, but he didn’t say so out loud. Diplomacy from Simon always had me slightly on edge.
“And, what did you think of her? Judging from your words, you got a glimpse at the real Beth, not just her chipper, every-day persona.”
Again, another very accurate assessment.
“She scares me a little. But then that could just be projection. Any woman who has put needles into your cock because you asked her to will always scare me just a little bit.”
Simon snorted and looked away for a moment, although it wasn’t usual for him to hide something from me. Not that he seemed to, but that was another little tidbit I’d noticed of late. Things between us had relaxed and grown easier on so many levels since we’d both had to admit that we weren’t just screwing around, but every once in a while he seemed to be reluctant to let me in on something. Not that I was too willing to bare every single inch of my soul to him, but it still bothered me—yet not enough to ask outright and make him uncomfortable.
