The sight made something warm and dangerous flutter low in her belly, but she ignored it and said, “I wish you were here to smell this. Look!”
She flipped to the other camera, aimed the phone at the pot, lifted the lid, and got a good shot of what was inside, then flipped back to the front camera and smiled. “I made it! Now I only have to wait a few hours to try it!”
“Look at you,” he said, voice warm. “Cooking like a proper Southern woman. Looks damn good. You’ll have to let me know how they taste.”
She stirred them again, set the spoon to the side, covered the pot, and stepped away from the stove.
“Of course, but I didn’t just call to tell you about my collard greens. A guy I’ve worked with in the past, a kind of famous chef, actually, is branching out on his own, and he’s about to open his own place. He was actually offended that they brought me in when he worked for someone else, but now he wants me when it’s his place.” She shrugged and smiled. “Kind of a compliment, I guess. Anyway, I’m driving to Atlanta next Tuesday.”
Never would she volunteer that they’d wanted her to start Monday, and she’d told them she’d be there Tuesday evening so they could get started first thing Wednesday morning.
“He wants me there for a full two weeks, possibly longer, to help him put the menu together and then write up all the job aids while we train the top people he’s brought in onexactly how he wants everything prepared, cooked, and presented.”
And she was giving him way too many details. “So, our next Monday will be our last for a bit.”
His expression didn’t change much, but she saw the subtle shift in his eyes. “So, at least two Mondays?”
“Yeah.” She swallowed. “He wants me to handle some other stuff, too. Apparently, he’s overwhelmed with all the things that need to be decided, and he trusts me to take control of some of it for him, or at least break it down to a few things for him to decide from, instead of dozens.”
Again, too much information. “I want to plan something fun for our next Monday. An adventure. Something outside, assuming the weather cooperates, but I have an idea for an indoor adventure if it doesn’t. Meet at your house, go have an adventure. Return to your house. My treat this time, beginning to end.”
His slow smile made her clit throb. How could asmilelook dangerous? “Okay. You get to decide the day — within reason — but the evening and night areallmine.”
The low, possessive growl in his voice went straight between her legs, and she reached to press on her clit.
“Right. Of course.”
He tilted his head. “Are you playing with yourself?”
She felt her face flame hot. “Maybe.”
“Wishing you were in my ropes, little painslut?”
“Wishing you had me in them, Mr. Sadist?”
“Always.”
The simple word almost made her heart hurt, but he didn’t give it time before he growled out, “Scissor your clit, a finger on either side. No touching it. Press into the skin around it.”
She did as he ordered, and he said, “Good girl.” She hadn’t told him she’d followed orders. How did he know?
“Do you have your fingers in your panties? Or did you pull them off?”
“Inside my panties, Sir.”
“Oh, I do like the sound of thatSir. Wish I was there to stretch you open, but we can work with this — can have that little clitty of yours burning and aching in no time flat.” His voice dropped lower, rougher, the Dom slipping fully into place. “Pinch your clit. Hard. Dig your nails in while I tell you what I’m going to do to that pretty little bundle of nerves next time I have you tied open and helpless.”
She didn’t even think about disobeying, and a yelp escaped when her fingernails dug in.
He kept talking, his voice low, owning every word while he told her exactly how he was going to clamp it, shock it, whip it, make it swell and throb until she was crying.
He told her to pull it for a count of ten, talking dirty the whole time.
She begged for permission to finger herself, but he only said, “Denied, little painslut. You’re going to come from pain to your clit, and nothing else today — or you won’t come.” He shrugged. “At least not while you’re on the phone with me. What you do after we hang up… I don’t get a say in that.”
It was almost like a bucket of ice water, being reminded she didn’t actually belong to him, but he didn’t let it take hold.
“Count of ten again, little masochist. Dig those nails in and stretch it away from your body. Fight those leggings. Use your arm and shoulder to torture your little clit — for no other reason than I want to see your face while you hurt.”
