Chronicles of a Serial Dater - Book 2: A New Adult Romantic Comedy

by Adele Huxley

  He wisely gave me a few moments to come around. When our eyes met, my stomach clenched in a strange mix of arousal and trepidation.

  “You aren’t freaked out?” he asked with an arched brow.

  I gave him a tight smile and I glanced at the walls again. “A little, but isn’t that the point?”

  He held my gaze as he slowly licked his bottom lip. With a hand over his shoulder, he pulled his shirt up over his head and dropped it on the floor. The overhead lighting accentuated every ripple and crease of his muscles. With a smirk, he closed the distance between us but didn’t touch me.

  “You’re happy to indulge my little… kink?” His voice was deep and sultry, a sparkle in his eye at the promise of pleasure. I didn’t trust my voice, so I only nodded, which seemed to be answer enough for him.

  He took a deep breath that flared his nostrils before turning. I watched with wide eyes as he browsed the walls of the room, fingers slipping across the various surfaces of leather, plastic, wood, and latex. I was wandering into a dark world I’d never even entertained, but inside, I was psyching myself up. You can do this. Lots of people do this. Maybe you’ll really enjoy it…

  Forrest casually plucked a black collar off the wall, the two silver rings jingling in his hand. A second later, he paused in front of a collection of whips, choosing one with a thick handle and dozens of leather strips hanging from the end.

  My eyes fell between his legs as he returned to me. Despite my trepidation, I was beyond turned on. I squeezed my thighs together in anticipation.

  “Do you… you want me to wear that?” I asked, glancing at the collar.

  He examined it as if reevaluating his choice. “No, actually, I have a better idea.”

  He dropped the collar to the floor with a thud and reached down into his pants. The bulge between his legs moved, shifted, and as his hand came up… disappeared. In the low light, it took me a few moments to understand the majority of the bulge in his pants had actually been a bright red ball gag.

  Lust and promise filled his gaze. Without a word, he handed me the whip. My mouth dropped open but before I could ask one of the hundred questions flying through my mind. He held the bright red ball into his mouth, moved to fasten the strap around his own neck, and fell to his knees in front of me. Before he fully tightened the device on his face, he pulled it away and spoke, sounding like he was already on the edge of orgasm.

  “Talia. Make me your little bitch.”

  Oh my God, oh my… holy shit… why was that down his pants? Holy shit. Did he have that down there the entire date?

  “Um, what?” I stammered.

  “I’ve been a horribly bad boy. You need to teach me a lesson,” he moaned.

  I stared at the whip in my hand, the red ball hanging around his neck, and resisted the urge to check the corner of the room for cameras. “I… this…”

  “I promise I’ll be a good boy from now on, but I understand you have to punish me.” He gave me a little wink before slipping the gag into his mouth and tightening the straps behind his head. He curled his lip as his teeth sank into the hard rubber, an erotic moan filling the silence. On his hands and knees, he crawled to the middle of the room where a variety of large foam cushions waited.

  I was frozen in the doorway. The whip in my hand felt foreign, almost alien. Imagine a clown in a bowler hat at your front door handing you a trout covered in pink glitter with instructions on how to launch it into space. Bizarre, right? That’s what the whip felt like.

  In a daze, almost as if I couldn’t believe I was doing it, I walked toward him. He was already writhing on the cushions, his hips bucking into the air, as if they were rising to meet me. As strange and unexpected as it was, there was a part of me strangely intrigued at how much of an effect this was having on him. His muscles tightened with every footfall of my heels on the hard floor.

  I was playing a role now. This was so far out of my comfort zone, I might as well be on stage pretending to be that clown in a bowler hat. But I tried. I really did. Forrest, if you ever read this, try to understand I did my best.

  “Get on your stomach.” I wanted to sound intimidating and intense. Instead, my voice came out high-pitched and squeaky. It didn’t seem to bother Forrest in the slightest, who immediately flipped over and whimpered.

  I took a few steps forward, standing just over his legs. He ground his hips into the foam pillows, dry humping his cock against them.

  “Stop that.”

  And he did.

  I glanced at the whip in my hand, tightening my fingers around the handle and running my fingers through the fringe. I had no idea how hard or soft you’re supposed to whip a person. My first attempt was laughable. With a weak wrist, I did little more than tickle him. Maybe if I role play a little bit more.

  “You’ve been so… naughty,” I said, the last word coming out in an odd English accent. I actually laughed a bit, but his groan drowned out the sound.

  With a little bit more force, I slapped his back with the whip again but still not hard enough to leave a mark. He writhed under the contact and for a moment, I thought he might cum on the spot.

  “You like that, don’t you?” I was no longer in control of my mouth. I was essentially hearing myself speak, my dialogue sounding like every bad porn ever created.

  Forrest looked over his shoulder, his lips spread open by the red ball in his mouth, and nodded vigorously. “Mmmmph, mmmffph!”

  I gave him another whip, this time thin red marks rising on his skin. I waited to feel powerful, for the spirit of a true Dominatrix to enter my body and take over. But in the end, I was completely turned off, embarrassed, and so out of my depth I was drowning.

  Nothing in my life had ever prepared me for a moment like this. What’s the etiquette for politely exiting mid-one-night-stand-turned-surprise-BDSM scene without seeming rude? I thought about unbuckling his ball gag and calmly explaining this wasn’t something I wanted to participate in, but that moment had long passed. There was no coming back from this, no traditional sex with the up-till-now perfect Forrest.

  As I retreated into the inner sanctum of my mind to find a way out of this mess, I continued to idly whip him, muttering things I thought a person with a whip should say. I misjudged one particular swing and brought the straps down across the back of his thighs with a loud snap.

  I watched in horror as he creamed his pants in front of me. His fingers dug into the thick foam as he dry-fucked the cushion. Groans and moans echoed throughout the room, rumbling through his chest with the building orgasm. He shuddered, shivered, and looked more possessed than in the throes of pleasure.

  I’d like to say I handled it maturely, but instead I simply dropped the whip, turned on my heel, and made a quick move for the door. Just as my hand landed on the doorknob, I heard his panting voice behind me.

  “Thank you, Mistress Talia.”

  I was still in shock as I walked up the stairs to my apartment. Running almost on autopilot, I opened the door before considering how I would begin to explain my evening. Anette and Zach glanced up from the TV as I entered, not immediately seeing my expression as I stooped to pet Pluto.

  “You’re home early,” Anette commented absentmindedly.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Another dud?” Zach chuckled, his attention back on the movie.

  “Something like that.”

  My voice sounded robotic, numb. I was not only reeling from the evening but also from the whole world I’d found myself thrust into. With every date, I slipped deeper and deeper into a life I didn’t recognize. I kicked off my shoes and tried to walk quietly by the TV to my bedroom, but the pair wouldn’t let me off that easy.

  “You okay?” Anette asked, a twinge of genuine concern in her voice. “Was it a bad date?”

  His voice echoed in my head. I’ve been a bad boy… “Yeah, I…”

  Zach apparently saw something worrying in my expression. He was on his feet and by my side in an instant, turning me gently by the shoulde
r. “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

  I patted his chest, idly aware of the hard, comforting muscle beneath the thin shirt. “No, no, nothing like that. It was…” Strands of shaggy hair hung in his eyes as he intently studied my face.

  Anette scooted to the front of the sofa, poised to jump into action. With one word, I had no doubt she would scour the streets for my date and put him in a headlock if I said he’d hurt me.

  I opened my mouth to recount the evening, but I hadn’t even made sense of it myself. Something inside stopped me from diving into my regular confessional. I wasn’t embarrassed or anything, but I also wasn’t in the mood to deal with their jokes. These bad dates brought out a weird relationship between us all, like I was a naïve girl and they were the world-weary adults laughing over my head at every misstep. No thanks. This whole experience was feeling like a bad sitcom. I couldn’t do it, not after the night I’d had.

  Forcing a smile on my face, I squeezed Zach’s bicep and shook my head. “It just wasn’t a good match. I’m tired guys, so I’m gonna head to…”

  “Talia,” he almost whispered, taking another step closer.

  “I’m good, really. See you tomorrow.”

  Once I was safely behind the closed door of my bedroom, I took a few minutes to run through the series of events that night. Writing always helped clear my head, so it stood to reason the blog would be the best place to work through some of this stuff.

  “Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m a terrible judge of character. I can only go on so many horrible dates before I have to start looking at myself. There’s that old saying. If everywhere you go smells like shit, maybe you should check your shoes.”

  It was one of those days where everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. From little things like knocking over a glass of water on my nightstand and dropping half my bagel on the train, to huge things like Lisa angrily calling me into her office.

  Apparently late the night before, she’d received a message from Mr. English’s team regarding the edits I’d made on his manuscript. They weren’t happy with the direction I’d decided to go and had requested a different editor on the project. Since our team was so small, there were only two other people she could shift it to… one of whom was Abi. Lisa hadn’t shouted. She hadn’t even raised her voice, which made me even more nervous.

  “I have to take time to look over the changes you suggested. It’s important my editors reflect the quality of work I promise. I blame myself for not checking your work before you returned it to his team.”

  That happened an hour into the day and things had only gone downhill from there. To her credit, Abi sensed not to antagonize me too badly. In her own kind way, she was taking it easy on me. The day was so messed up and backwards, I actually took my lunch break with her at the deli downstairs.

  “Ugh, I can’t wait to get out of the city this weekend,” she said around a big bite of pastrami. “I really need the respite.”

  “No one says respite.”

  “Smart people do.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Going out to your little family cottage in the Hamptons?” It’d been meant as a dig but she either missed that or chose to ignore it.

  “Not this time. We have a house Upstate on a private lake. It’s the perfect place to get away from all of this.” She sneered, looking around the crowded deli packed with people just like us trying to cram lunch into a half hour window.

  “Sounds great,” I muttered, staring out of the window.

  “I’d show you photos, but I don’t want you getting too jealous.”

  “I totally understand how hard living on your own must be. It’s difficult wiping your own ass, isn’t it? Good thing Mommy and Daddy are still around to take care of that for you.”

  “I’ll have you know my parents have summered in Europe every year since I was little,” she snapped. “I’ll be alone at the cabin.”

  A soft silence fell between us as I realized what that really implied. Every summer she and her brother were abandoned while her parents got to adventure around the world. She realized she’d inadvertently shared a little too much information. Abi shoved another mouthful of food into her face to hide the shift in her expression.

  It was the first real hint of humanity behind the mask. With a pulse of sympathy, I made a gentle gibe.

  “On the next episode of Lifestyles of the Rich for No Damn Reason, we watch Abi struggle with the agonizing decision of which diamond-encrusted phone cover best matches the feng shui of the private pool area.”

  Abi snorted and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “That’s ridiculous. None of my covers have diamonds. One would invariably pop out and ruin the whole design. I’d have to throw the thing away and get a new one every time it happened.”

  I frowned at her, unsure if she was being serious or not until she chuckled. It was a brief moment of calm in an otherwise rocky relationship.

  After lunch, I checked my personal email for the first time as we rode the elevator up to our floor. I blinked at the screen in shock for a moment, seeing ten new comments waiting to be approved on my blog. The post I’d written about Mr. Ball and Chain had apparently resonated with a few readers. All the shit from the day lifted from my shoulders as I realized people were reading my writing. I have readers! I was so excited, I nearly turned to Abi to share my news, but the doors opened before I could make that mistake.

  My fleeting happiness was washed away when we stepped onto the floor. Lisa’s raised voice echoed down the hall, the heated conversation taking place around the corner.

  “I’m sure we can work something out. These are merely comments and suggestions. Of course your manuscript has received the utmost attention,” she said, irritation thinly masked by politeness.

  “Ms. Greene, I’m not looking for my ego to be fluffed. I was told your agency is…”

  I stopped dead in my tracks as I recognized the deep accented voice. Clint.

  Abi apparently placed the conversation as fast as I did, her face lighting up at the impending drama of it all. With a spreading grin of joy, she stared at me as we continued to eavesdrop.

  “Unlike most, I didn’t hire a ghostwriter to write this. These words are about my own blood and sweat, written with blood and sweat. I wouldn’t trust anyone to write it nor will I tolerate someone tearing it apart. She needs to explain herself.”

  My stomach sank as I frantically ran through the edits I’d made. They’d been rushed, but I’d looked over everything as closely as I could. The editing was solid. But what did I say in the comments?

  “Of course, I understand. I will speak to the editor assigned to your project as soon as she’s back from lunch,” Lisa replied.

  Abi’s eyes went wide as she spoke in an exaggerated loud voice. “Talia, aren’t you the funniest?” She gave me a wink and strode around the corner, turning as if we were in the middle of speaking. I had no choice but to follow, internally plotting how I would shave her eyebrows off with a rusty spoon the next time she fell asleep at her desk.

  Holding a deep breath, I turned the corner and confronted the pair of eyes that’d haunted my dreams for the last two weeks. “Mr. English,” I said, attempting to sound pleasantly surprised. He squared his shoulders and gave my frame a quick sweep, jaw clenching.

  Lisa stepped forward, almost between us like we were about to fight. “Talia, wonderful. Let’s grab a seat in my office. Mr. English would like to…”

  “Self-absorbed and lacks sympathy?” he snapped.

  I wanted to melt into the ground as I heard my own words ripped from the margins and thrown back in my face. Despite turning a hundred shades of red, I remained defiant. “I stand by my comments.”

  His eyebrow arched as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. I forced myself not to stare at the way his dress shirt hugged his shoulders. “I would respect your comments more if I felt you’d actually read the book.”

  I don’t know what got into me. I’d never had my work challenged before and i
n such an arrogant way. But it was the shit whipped cream on the shit pie slice of a day. My tolerance was running on fumes.

  “Maybe I wouldn’t have to make those comments if you knew how to write a book. I’d be happy to explain them to you, if you’d like.”

  “Miss McGinley!” Lisa snapped. “I apologize, Mr. English. I obviously don’t condone this sort of behavior. I…”

  He carried on, his eyes not leaving mine for an instant. “Let’s do that. Tonight. I’d like to hear it from your own mouth what you really thought of my book.”

  Lisa took her body language a step further and literally placed herself between us. “Better yet, I’ll reassign another editor to your project and we can start all over.”

  Clint reluctantly pulled his gaze from me. “No. It’s Miss McGinley or I take my project elsewhere.”

  “Okay, I’m sure we can work something out. If we head to my office to check the schedule, we can find a time for all of us to sit down and…”

  “I’m flying out early tomorrow morning, so it’ll have to be over dinner tonight.”

  “That won’t be a problem, will it?” Lisa asked over her shoulder with fire in her eyes.

  “Of course not,” I replied tightly.

  Clint nodded once and stepped around Lisa, his stride pausing only when he was at my side. “I’ll send you the details.”

  I double checked the address in my email, making sure this was the restaurant he’d arranged for us to meet. The Mexican place looked great but was definitely a hole in the wall. With his designer clothes and growing fame, I couldn't believe he chose this place for dinner. I was pressed against the side of a building across the street trying to collect enough courage to walk in there. Lisa was close to firing me, I could feel it. If I wanted to save my job, I was going to have to go in there and kiss some major ass.