Call on Me

by Roni Loren

  Theo put his hands to his knees and nodded. “All right. I understand. I appreciate you telling me. Though, these are the times I wish I were one of the doms. I could order you to change your mind.”

  She laughed. “You realize that would so not work on me, right? I’d tell that dom to take his riding crop and shove it in his special place. You’d have a much better chance of persuading me than they would.”

  Theo lifted his head, and the little quirk of his lips could’ve been mistaken for a smile.

  The sight nearly knocked her out of her chair. Goddamn. He was dangerously good-looking on any day. Broody and smug worked for him. But hell if that little hint of humor in his blue eyes didn’t take the wind right out of her.

  “Thanks for that, mistress.” He stood. “I hope you have a good new year.”

  “I—” Seeing him head toward the door sent a sharp dart of panic through her. She’d been enjoying this—a taste of a real conversation with him. And she had a feeling if he walked out, he would never be back to see her. “Wait. I didn’t say you could leave yet.”

  He turned, one eyebrow lifted. “I apologize. May I leave, mistress?”

  She stood, trying to gather her courage. She’d put this man on her knees, had put her hands on him, but doing this was giving her heart palpitations. She cleared her throat. “We’ve both had long days. I’m really ready to get out of here. But what if … Well, there’s a little diner up the road from here. They serve great pie. We could, you know, go have some pie together.”

  God. Her inner cringe was absolute. Badass domme, step aside, awkward teenager is here to humiliate you and undermine all street cred you’ve built with this man.

  Theo looked stricken for a second then his expression closed down. He tucked his hands in his pockets. “That’s generous, mistress. But I don’t … have pie with people.”

  She frowned and put a hand to her hip, considering him. “You realize the pie wasn’t a euphemism, right? There will be actual pie involved.”

  That half-smile appeared again but with a somber edge to it. “I don’t date, mistress.”

  Her lips parted for a second at that bomb. “Like ever?”

  “Ever. Good night, Margaret.”

  Her given name on his lips sent a warm curl of awareness up the back of her neck. He’d never called her anything but mistress. She hadn’t even been sure he knew her name. But before she could respond, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

  She stared at the empty doorway for a long minute. If she walked out to the main floor, would Theo be setting up an appointment with another domme? Would he let someone else exorcise his bad day? The thought sent a wash of hot jealousy through her.

  She sighed and leaned against the wall. “Give it up, girl. You asked him out and he shut you down. You were just the hired whip. Let it go.”

  Great. Now she was talking to herself.

  She massaged her brow with her fingertips, exhaustion settling in like a wet coat. She needed to get home and get to bed.

  And she definitely needed to forget about the doctor with the ridiculously hot body and the haunted eyes.

  Wrong tree. No barking allowed.

  THREE

  Theo sat in his car in the parking lot of The Ranch, watching the storm clouds on the horizon grow closer and closer. He needed to get moving or he’d be dealing with iced-over roads on the way back to Dallas. But somehow, he couldn’t make himself put the car in gear.

  He’d come to The Ranch hoping for swift and pain-laced oblivion. He hadn’t been here in months, and the whole ride over he’d been planning to sign up for a session with one of the other dommes. The last time he’d scened with Margaret, it’d been the anniversary of his wife’s death. He’d wanted to go out and get hammered that night, but he’d gone to The Ranch instead.

  He’d been visiting Margaret pretty often back then. And though she always kept things focused on the reason they were there, he’d slowly gotten comfortable with her. Sessions with dommes used to be interchangeable. Selfish on his part. It didn’t really matter who was on the other side of the whip as long as he got the physical release of the pain. But Margaret had changed that. She could be mean as hell, but she also had fun in the role and seemed to enjoy it. And her sense of humor was wickedly dry—something he couldn’t help but be drawn to.

  Once when she’d caught him trying to top from the bottom—something he’d gotten away with with other dommes—she put the heel of her boot against his crotch, the material of his boxers the only protection, and had made him recite the periodic table of elements because if you’re so determined to act like a know-it-all, show me what you’ve got. He’d gotten all the way to Krypton before she’d relented. She’d leaned down, put her lips a breath away from his, her green eyes meeting his with a steady gaze. For that one moment, he’d thought she was going to break both their rules and kiss him. Right then, he would’ve let her, had wanted her with a ferocity he hadn’t felt in so long, maybe ever. But instead she’d smiled, tapped his lips with the tip of her finger, and said, Nothing makes me hotter than smart boys. But you missed Arsenic, gorgeous.

  He’d managed to smirk. “I left it out on purpose. Didn’t want to give you any ideas, mistress.”

  A laugh had bubbled out of her at that—so genuine and unexpected that he’d found himself falling into that warm, welcoming sound, had wanted to come up with ways to make her do it again and again. She’d even let out this adorable little snort. That was the first time he’d gotten a glimpse of the real woman behind the role, and he’d yearned to find out more. He’d known then that he was in dangerous territory.

  He’d found himself liking that he’d impressed her with his knowledge, that he could make her laugh so openly, that she thought he was attractive. It had started to feel like they were lovers playing this dangerous game together, like money wasn’t being exchanged, like this was more than a business arrangement. But in doing that, he’d let his guard down.

  Because that last night, he hadn’t been able to hide from her. She’d sensed his struggles and had wanted to know what was going on with him. He’d been tied down, his back on fire from the cane she’d taken to him. All the ugly stuff had been obliterated from his mind in those blissful moments, leaving just sensation and the present moment. But her knowing eyes had drilled into him, seeking the truth, making him want to confess every damn thing he’d ever locked up. Tell me why you’re so sad today. He’d never had to use his safe word, but he had that night. And he’d decided then to never put himself in that position again.

  But tonight, when he’d walked through the doors, all he could think about was her. Mistress M. Margaret. She scared the hell out of him with her astuteness, her quick mind and spot-on instincts, but that’s also what made the thought of seeking out any other domme unappealing. All of the others felt like playacting now in comparison. And seeing her tonight had confirmed it.

  He’d gotten another glimpse of the real Margaret tonight. With her wavy hair down and the weariness of a long day hanging about her, she’d looked beautiful and undone and it’d made him want her. Not for a session but in his bed. He’d wanted to say yes to pie just to have her keep talking. And that alone was enough to send him bailing on the whole thing.

  He’d originally picked Margaret because she was so opposite his type. A bold girl with dark hair, a Texas twang, and a stud in her nose. So unlike any woman he’d ever sought out. His wife had been blond, east coast, and refined. A brilliant lawyer. In the bedroom, he and Lori had been equal partners, vanilla.

  Margaret didn’t have one thing about her that reminded him of his wife. So it hadn’t felt as much of a betrayal if he found a girl he’d never be interested in outside of The Ranch. He hadn’t gone there for sex or to find another women, he’d gone for a service, to feed a need he’d always suspected he was wired for.

  But now … his blood was pumping with a need for something way more basic. Conversation. Companionship. Pie.

  He g
roaned and turned the key in the ignition. He needed to get the fuck out of here.

  He knew he could go inside and get whatever he wanted. If he wanted to get laid, he’d have a lot of choices. He hadn’t been a monk since his wife had died. But since he’d started coming to The Ranch three years ago, he’d stopped the occasional one-night stands and had become celibate. Vanilla sex wasn’t worth the trouble. He didn’t want to date the women or have them get attached or explain to them that he wasn’t much of a partner. That he worked too much, that he could be bossy as shit, and that in the bedroom, he’d rather be humiliated than treated like a stud.

  His wife had discovered how difficult it was to be married to him the hard way. The night of the accident they’d been in a screaming argument. She’d wanted to start trying for a baby, and he’d told her she was nuts. They’d just begun to get on their feet after med school and law school, and in his opinion, the last thing they’d needed was a baby. Looking back, he could remember how fucking terrified he was at the thought of being a father. But he’d been an asshole about it, and they never got to finish the argument. They’d been yelling in the car, and he hadn’t been paying close enough attention to the road. When a drunk driver hazed over the line into their lane, Theo hadn’t had enough time to get out of the way. Maybe if he’d agreed to a baby that night, he’d be tucked into his home tonight with his wife and child.

  He blew out a breath, wishing the painful memories would blow away, too, and pulled onto the road as the sleet began to fall. The tap tap tap of the icy rain was almost a comfort as the black night closed around him. He could be back in the city in an hour. Maybe by then he’d be tired enough to sleep this bout of holiday ghosts off. Tomorrow things would get back to normal. He’d tuck the things he couldn’t change away, take an extra shift at the hospital, and move forward like he always did.

  He flipped on his windshield wipers as the sleet picked up and hit the button for the seat warmers. Just the open road and the quiet. Maybe that’d be enough. And by the time he turned onto the main interstate, it was starting to work, his mind settling and going over the patient cases he had to follow up on. But a few miles down the road, the inky night was split by the flashing of hazard lights. On instinct, he slowed. A small car had slid off the road and looked to be wedged against the highway sign announcing how far to Dallas. Someone was huddled in a jacket and knit hat in the rain, crouching next to the car. A woman by the looks of it.

  “Shit.” Theo eased the car to the side of the road and pulled his phone out of the cup holder. The other car had spun and hit on the passenger side. Bad news for the car, but if there was no passenger, then good news for the driver. Theo buttoned his coat and carefully made his way over to the car, the pavement beginning to ice beneath him. “Hey, are you all right? Is there anyone else inside?”

  The figure turned, all shadows still. “I’m okay. And no one else. But my phone is somewhere inside, so I haven’t been able to call anyone.”

  A breath of relief gusted out, resulting in a frosty cloud. But then the accent registered. He trudged closer. “Margaret?”

  The woman straightened and turned. “Dr. Montgomery?”

  The clouds rumbled above and pelted them with sharp pellets of ice. “Please don’t call me that.”

  Everyone in his everyday life called him doctor. He expected it, liked it. But hearing her call him that felt altogether wrong.

  “Sorry,” she said, holding her hands above her eyes to shield them from the sleet. “That’s what most people call you around The Ranch. I figured …”

  “You’re not most people, Margaret.”

  “It’s Maggie,” she said, stepping closer and into the shine of his headlights. Ice clung to her pink knit cap and eyelashes, making her look like she was dusted with tiny diamonds. “When I’m not there, it’s just Maggie.”

  “Why do you change it there?”

  She grinned, despite the storm and the shitty circumstances. “Because Maggie is the least intimidating name ever. No one is scared of a Maggie.”

  “Then they haven’t seen you in session. You can be terrifying.”

  She laughed. “Oh, Theo, you say the sweetest things.”

  He glanced at her car. No way was that getting out of there without a tow truck. “Come on, let’s get in my car where it’s warm. You can call a wrecker.”

  “Okay, let me grab my stuff.” She headed over to the backseat door and wedged it open far enough to get a bag and her purse.

  He took the bag from her, recognizing the size and shape of it. Her toy bag. The thing had been in his line of sight enough times for him to know it by heart. He ignored the little ripple that sent through him. He held out his hand to her. “Be careful. This kind of ice puts people in the ER all the time. We don’t need to add a broken arm to the list tonight.”

  Maggie eyed his hand for a second. Despite her knowing him in many intimate ways, there was rarely direct touching. She always wore thin leather gloves in session. Holding her bare hand seemed downright rebellious. But after a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped her cold fingers into his. He ignored the pleasure that simple skin-to-skin contact gave him.

  He guided her to the passenger seat, set her things in the backseat, and then hurried into the driver’s side. He shut the door and she groaned. “Oh my God.”

  He glanced over at her as she wiggled in the seat and tilted her head back in what could only be described as pure bliss. The sight and the sound went straight to his dick.

  “These seat warmers are the best thing ever. I think my blood may have frozen.”

  Theo adjusted in his seat. “Probably not.”

  She turned her head, a smile touching her lips. “Professional opinion, Doc?”

  “You’d be pretty dead if your blood was frozen.”

  “Okay, my soul is frozen.”

  “Entirely possible.” He handed her his cell phone. “You call for a wrecker. I’m going to get back on the road and find a gas station or something. Sitting on the shoulder with a patch of black ice out there is asking for trouble. Is there anything else inside your car that you’re worried about?”

  She frowned. “No, just my phone, but I have insurance on that. It’s not worth sitting out here for it. But the nearest gas station is in BFE. I only live two exits up the road. Would you mind dropping me off there instead?”

  “That’s fine. Just type the address into the GPS and you can get on the phone.”

  She punched in the address and then started making calls. He concentrated on the road, the ice getting worse, making his BMW fishtail onto the shoulder a few times. When he finally turned onto her street, which really turned out to be more dirt road than anything, his fingers ached from his hard grip on the wheel. Maggie let out a sigh and set down his phone. “They said all the trucks are already on calls. They’ll try to get to it by morning. Happy new year to me.”

  “New Year’s sucks,” he muttered.

  She peered over at him, her expression softening, and reached out to give his arm a squeeze. “I’m sorry. I can only imagine what you see on nights like this. I shouldn’t be bitching about car drama.”

  The sympathy made his chest feel tight. He didn’t want that from her—or anyone. “Bitch away. Under that logic, we’d never be able to complain about anything. People are dying every day, starving, being abused. There’s always something more tragic than what’s going on in our own lives.”

  She gave him a grim smile. “That’s a sunshiny outlook.”

  The words were delivered deadpan, but he could tell she was teasing him. He liked that she wasn’t afraid to give him a hard time. He smirked and tapped his temple. “Oh, you have no idea. It’s all butterflies and rainbows up here.”

  She laughed, the sound a frothy, honest thing. “Are there puppies, too? Please tell me there are puppies.”

  “Even better, baby penguins.”

  “Excellent!” She pointed to a small house off to the left, the porch light barely visible through the
sleet. “That’s me over there. You can pull in front of the garage.”

  His gaze scanned the area, seeing nothing but black night and trees surrounding the cottage. Not another house in sight. “Wow, are you all by yourself out here?”

  She gave him a droll look. “Said the serial killer as he drives the unknowing victim up to her cabin in the woods to harvest her organs.”

  A laugh escaped, the act feeling rusty in his throat. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. I’m a surgeon. I’ve completely sublimated my antisocial desire to carve on people into my job.”

  She put her hand to her chest in dramatic southern-belle style. “Oh, thank the heavens.”

  He parked the car on the gravel drive. “But seriously, you don’t get worried living out here alone?”

  She shrugged. “I have an alarm system. And I know how to shoot a gun. Plus, there’s a sunporch on the back of this house that’s the perfect art studio. I couldn’t pass it up.”

  “You paint?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t sound so shocked. There is more to me than bitch boots and riding crops, you know. My paintings pay the bills.”

  “Huh. That’s impressive. Hardly anyone’s art pays the bills.”

  “Don’t I know it. Took me three years before I turned any kind of profit. But a few of the galleries in Dallas have been featuring my stuff, and they’ve sold really well over the last two years. Plus I get online sales.”

  “What kind of art?”

  She glanced toward the house. “Why don’t you come in, and I’ll show you some? I’ll make you a cup of coffee for the road.”

  Theo frowned, following her gaze. They were crossing too many lines for the neat arrangement in his head. Mistress Margaret existed in one place—a dungeon at The Ranch. He didn’t have coffee with people who had seen him bound and begging. He didn’t visit their homes. He wasn’t ashamed of his submissive side, but he also kept his two worlds very separate.

  “Come on, Theodore,” she said, green eyes playful. “This is like the pie. Completely innocent.”