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I turn off the Hello Kitty light between our beds and pull the covers over me. “Sure, whatever you say.”
Off limits. Yeah, I know that feeling. Like for me, Evan Kohl is off limits. Without question.
But even as I state it firmly in my mind, as I drift off into sleep, I still can’t forget the heat and promise of pleasure at his hands all wrapped up in the most amazing kiss I’ve ever experienced.
Chapter 9
Negotiations
That night, I drift to sleep and my thoughts center on Evan Kohl. And apparently, my imagination is delighted with the opportunity to run wild.
I’m in a dark room, my hands tied together in front of me, naked. A dark figure looms over me. I can’t see his face, but somehow I know it’s Kohl. He says nothing as he leans over me, his breath brushing across my sensitive skin. I’m not sure what he plans to do, and it doesn’t matter. With my hands tied, I couldn’t stop him anyway. I feel vulnerable, and yet excitement trips through me. None of this makes sense, but it all feels so familiar, natural.
“Kneel for me, Madeline,” comes the rough, echoed voice in my mind. Harsh. Grating. It’s dark and I’m scared, trembling with fear and…a deep, deep longing.
When I wake up, it’s morning, and Sam is already gone. I try to shake off the dream, but even as I grab a bowl of stale Cheerios and plop down in front of my laptop, the heaviness in my chest lingers.
To distract myself, I browse the internet idly for a while, watching random cat videos, before ending up on Kohl’s Wikipedia page. I skim through his numerous accomplishments and business ventures until I find what I’m looking for. His personal life is only two paragraphs long, and covers everything from his political affiliation to the type of cars he drives. But what interests me most is his romantic life. My heart thumps in my chest as I read through the list of models he’s dated. Two are Victoria’s Secret angels, for God’s sake.
Shit. I shouldn’t have looked.
Now all I can think about is what the fuck he would want with me—a nobody from Missouri who would rather assemble solar sails than shop for heels.
I open my email program and decide to reply to his email with no idea, really, of what I’m actually going to say.
From: Swanson, Madeline
To: Kohl, Evan
Subject: re: Negotiations
Mr. Kohl,
I’ve read through your paperwork, and I have a few questions.
First, how is The Mistress guaranteed that you wouldn’t change your mind and discontinue the relationship once it has begun, leaving her to fend for herself financially?
Second, what other safeguards are in place? For example, you have not delineated your requirements for how often The Mistress should be “available” to you and what “services” would be required to fulfill the contract. What if she doesn’t feel like it one night—is she still obligated to see you? What agency does The Mistress have in this contracted relationship?
Also, what if you and The Mistress are incompatible? Is there a trial period?
I’m sure whomever you choose will negotiate these terms to the satisfaction of both parties, but I felt compelled to mention them nonetheless.
Best of luck with your search.
Sincerely,
Madeline Swanson
I lean back in my chair and re-read the words a dozen times, tweaking here and there, before I decide they’re business-like enough and hit send. I laugh a little at the irony. How many people would kill for Evan Kohl’s personal email address? A month ago, I definitely would have. But now that I have it, all I want is for him to stop emailing me.
Maybe it’s because Sam is right. What he’s offering is a pretty sweet deal, if I could just ignore the mistress label. But I’m not sure I can.
Minutes later, my computer dings to notify me that I’ve received an email.
From: Kohl, Evan
To: Swanson, Madeline
