Page 13 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

I don't know. Everything?

Before I can delete that, I move on.

A few questions later, another one stops me.

What appeals to you about a Daddy Dom?

This time, nothing comes immediately.

I shift against the couch and read the question again. My screen dims while I'm still staring at it, and I have to tap it awake.

I could leave it blank.

Instead, I type:

The idea of someone wanting to take care of me.

My stomach tightens as soon as I see the words on the screen. They look needy in a way I don't like, as though I've admitted to something I should have grown out of years ago.

Before I can stop myself, I add:

I know that sounds pathetic.

I nearly delete the answer, then consider deleting the entire questionnaire, my browser history, and possibly my identity while I'm at it.

Instead, I put my big girl panties on and keep going.

By the time I reach the final page, I've tried to talk myself out of submitting it. This is ridiculous. I have work on Monday, bills to pay, a mother who needs help navigating anything more complicated than an automated phone menu, and a sister who currently owes me thousands. I do not have time to start filling out applications to spend an evening with a dragon because my best friend got me tipsy and showed me his photograph.

My thumb hovers over Submit.

Then I press it.

The confirmation page appears.

For several seconds, I just stare at it.

"Well. Fuck."

Chapter Three

Margot

I've been sitting outside Dom Dot Com for eleven minutes, trying to come up with a believable reason to leave.

Work emergency is the obvious choice. Tess would know I was lying, but she'd let me do it anyway, which makes using it as an excuse feel particularly shitty. She already knows I'm here because I sent her the address, my appointment time, and strict instructions to call the police if she doesn't hear from me by four. Not because I genuinely expect to be kidnapped, but because if I'm going to meet a seven-foot dragon I found on the internet, basic precautions seem reasonable.

I delete the half-written text, drop my phone into my bag, and finally get out of the car before I can change my mind again.

The screening process took two weeks. There were forms, follow-up questions, and a phone call with a woman named Gael who somehow managed to ask about my sex life with the same calm efficiency I use to confirm a lunch reservation for Richard. Somewhere along the way, this stopped feeling like a ridiculous thing Tess talked me into at a wine bar and became something I was actually going to do.

The confirmation arrived a few days ago.

Saturday, 2 p.m. Wear whatever makes you comfortable.

I spent an embarrassing amount of time on that last part. My wardrobe is divided into things I wear to work and things I would never wear to work, most of which have elastic waistbands. Neither category seemed appropriate for meeting a professional dragon dom.

Jeans and a sweater were the best I could do.