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I grit my teeth, force my lips to kick up. "Yes, I’m sure. Just stomach cramps."
"Oh, I get that. Do you have anything you can take for it? I might have something in my purse...” She begins to rummage in her bag.
“Thanks, but don’t worry about it. They’ll pass.”
“If you’re sure...”
The vibrations fade away, and I slump a little. "I am. Thank you. That will be twenty-nine, ninety-nine, please."
She taps the credit card on the machine, and that’s when the blasted thing begins vibrating again, this time in a clock-wise motion. Jesus, can this thing also open a bottle of wine, or what? It pauses, then begins to vibrate, this time in a counter-clockwise motion.What the—!
Tendrils of pleasure pulse out from my core. My thighs tremble. I must moan a little, for she startles.
I give her a strained smile. "D-do you want your receipt?" I ask.
She shakes her head, then wishes me luck and walks out.
I clutch at the counter and squeeze my legs together. Just need to ride this out. Except, the damned thing keeps vibrating. My entire body seems to shudder. Oh, hell. At least there’s no one in the shop. I bite down on my lower lip and clench my inner muscles as the thing picks up speed—pulsating, throbbing, sending pinpricks of heat squeezing out to my extremities. My nipples harden and my toes curl. I throw my head back, curve my back, and groan. Close, I am so close. I can’t believe it. Surely, I can’t be close to an orgasm already? I have never come this quickly.
The boyfriend I had before Fabio barely got me to climax once. And Fabio? Well, he was too focused on taking his own pleasure. And this is from an inanimate object. Not that vibrators should be called that, considering how intimately I have gotten to know them of late, but this… Knowing he is at the other end of the remote control, pressing down on the button, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me, makes me feel like I'm leashed to him by a virtual chain. That I’m under his control. That he can simply press a button and have me writhing and throbbing and aching for release.
Oh, my god!A whine bleeds from my lips.Please let me come, please let me come. I’m so close, so close.I brace myself for the oncoming onslaught of pleasure, even as I cross my legs, trying to hold back the impending climax, when— It stops. What the bloody hell? My climax slinks away. I snap my eyes open, and glance around the now empty shop. Thank god there’s no one around to hear my groan of sexual deprivation. No doubt, the jerkalope knows how close I was to the edge. He knew I was on the verge of an orgasm and pulled back.
Argh! I curl my fingers into fists. I turn around with the intention of heading for the restroom, but my steps falter. He told me not to remove the damn thing. I have to keep it in. I have to let him turn it on whenever he feels like it. I have to allow him to bring me to orgasm, without even touching me. Or worse, bring me to the edge and not let me orgasm.
It’s bad enough, whenever I see him, I seem to lose my ability to think. A-n-d I did ask him to dominate me, after all. So, in a way, his actions are justified. I can’t blame him for trying to turn me on at will. No, it’s the effect he has on me when I’m in his presence I resent. He only has to command me in that 'Dom' voice of his, and my body is unable to refuse him. It’s a turn-on, but it’s also a little scary. I refuse to become a doormat. Refuse to simply do as I’m told, no questions asked. I may want to submit to him… But I’ll be damned if I’m going to give in without challenging him. If he wants me to be his submissive, he’s bloody well going to have to come after me and tame me!
The blasted thing between my legs finally falls silent. I straighten, then walk to the door and flip the sign to closed. I hurry inside and sweep up the fallen leaves and stems on the floor. Thank god starting next week, we have a cleaner who’ll come by every evening to help me. The shop is doing well enough we can afford it.
I take a final look around the place—the gleaming counters, the flowers displayed in the window, and in strategic locations around the shop. One last breath of the rose and honey-suckle scented air, then I grab my bag and step out the door. I have just locked it when something vibrates… in my purse. It’s my phone. Not the other thing between my legs. Thank god!
I pull it out of my handbag, glance at the screen, and spot my ex-husband's name. My stomach churns and I grip the phone so tightly, the skin across my knuckles stretches white. The phone continues to vibrate. I grit my teeth and finally answer it. "What do you want?" I snap.
There’s silence for a second, then, "Is that how you greet your husband?" Fabio’s oily voice sounds in my ear.
"We’re divorced," I say tersely.
"How can I forget?" He chuckles. "It’s your infidelities which landed you in this mess."
"I never slept with another man, in all the time we were married."
"And what do you call frequenting S&M clubs? Too bad I couldn’t beat that proclivity out of you."
My breath comes in pants, my chest hurts, and I lean my shoulder against the door to take in a breath, then another.He can’t harm you. He can’t harm you.You got away from him, remember? Now, you just have to do your part, and everything will be fine. You’ll get custody of Avery. That’s what you want, right? It will all be worth it in the end.
I square my shoulders, lift my chin. "Why are you calling me?" I demand.
"Are we on track? We’d better be. I'm losing patience."
"A month," I reply, "you said I had a month."
"Forty-eight hours."
"What?" I stiffen. "What do you mean?"
"You have two days to get me the information I need to put the Sovranos behind bars."
"Two days? That’s impossible. You told me I had a month!"
