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I grumble the way I always do when I have to download another damn app. I quickly check to see if there’s a desktop version, but alas, of course there isn’t. Only a mobile app is available.
But knowing it’s to talk to Gym Daddy, I find it a lot less of a pain in the ass to fill out the form and go through the email verification process. When I’m all done and can finally send a message to someone, I type in the Kik username he gave me, and he pops right up.
WillDive4Plants:
OK, I downloaded this just for you. Pray for my ADHD.
I send the photo too and pray he doesn’t immediately block me.
I’ve been having a hell of a time trying to keep up with all the sites I signed up for, but I guess I’d be able to delete all of my profiles if Gym Daddy and I—
“Girl. Calm thy tits,” I scold myself. “You don’t even know his real name yet. Don’t go planning y’all’s future, you damn psycho.”
A new tone dings from my phone, and my belly feels funny all over again.
RomanticSadistLL:
LOL… thank you. I'm hoping you'll let me enjoy more than just speaking with you
I’m sure the thank-you was for my message and not the photo, but the fact that he’s being persistent about wanting more has to be a good sign after seeing me not all dolled up.
Though, while I would pretty much give anything to lick this man’s damn skin off, I really do want to take things slow. To enjoy the ride, I guess. I don’t want to just jump into bed with him without there being much build-up. While I’m all for instalove in my books, in real-life, I want to feel all the anticipation. I want there to be meaning behind sleeping with a man. And most importantly, I have to be able to trust a Dom before I submit to him.
I decide to play coy—or dumb, whatever—and pretend I don’t know he’s insinuating something naughty and physical.
WillDive4Plants:
I mean, if you're up for telling me stories, I'll totally meet with you. Our café at the gym has excellent smoothies. I even had a random thought a little while ago of you whipping my ass into shape.
“Ah, fuck, Sienna!”
At the gym.
“Still not clear enough, you whore.”
Like… personal training.
“Goddammit. You’re making his notifications go fucking apeshit. Stop it!”
I really just said whip my ass to a Dom. ???????
I clearly have no self-control. Either that or my fingers have a mind of their own.
Before I can embarrass myself any further, my app pings, and I grimace as I peek at the message, expecting him to admonish me in some way for blowing up his phone.
Instead, my face instantly morphs into a mask of pure sexual desire when I read his words.
RomanticSadistLL:
I mean, meet me alone where no one can save you. You can get to your knees and bow your head, and I’ll tell you stories about what I'm going to do to you, how I plan on enjoying you.
Chapter Nine
SIENNA
I don’t know how long I stare at my screen or how many times I reread his message. I only know it’s enough time for my mouth to go completely dry, to the point my throat clicks when I try to swallow, because I was doing both those things with my jaw slack.
Gym Daddy has turned me into a mouth-breather.
WillDive4Plants:
I…
Have to go write now.
Inspiration suddenly struck.
Excuse me.
But I don’t go anywhere. I stay right the hell where I am, staring at my screen, my breath held to see what will come out of his mouth—fingers, whatever—next.
RomanticSadistLL:
LOL. It'll be fun. What time will you be at the gym tomorrow? Before you go in, come meet me.
My entire body heats. One, because I’m embarrassed to admit just how long it’s been since I’ve even gone to the gym. And two, because the thought of meeting him in person has sent a flush through my veins.
I type the first thing that pops into my head that isn’t either “with or without clothes?” or “ain’t no way in fuck I’m meeting you when I haven’t had a brow wax in three months or even remember the last time I bought razors.”
WillDive4Plants:
?? That's how people get kidnapped.
There’s a spa at the gym where you can get your eyebrows done, and there are disposable razors in the locker room, the little cunt voice inside my head suddenly decides to be helpful.
I ignore it and do my classic Sienna move. Deflect. Self-deprecate.
WillDive4Plants:
Sidenote—for real though, do you do personal training? I just saw a picture of me in an open-back shirt my friend Vi took, and now I feel the desire to go do the row machine for like 83 hours ??
He allows it.
RomanticSadistLL:
83 hours would be impressive.
I let out a sigh of relief that he let me off the meet-him-tomorrow hook. My foot wiggles as I stare at my screen. I don’t really know what to say now. It’s been a long time since I tried flirting with a guy, and even though I’ve written more meet-cute scenes than I can count, my words just aren’t lining up for real-life courting.
