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But here I was.
In the cab, I was so excited I had to consciously slow down my breathing to calm my pounding heart. I’d never been so excited going on a date, and we weren’t even going on a date, really. Sure, he invited me over for dinner and to spend the night, but I knew what he’d really invited me over for.
Sex.
Kinky, Dominant/submissive sex.
The kind of sex I’d told him I wanted to explore with him.
I could hardly wait until I got there to see him, feel his hands on me, and I sent him a text from the cab to scratch the undeniable itch.
Me:I’m on my way over in the cab.
He replied a moment later.
Daddy:Good girl.
Warmth. Nothing but liquid warmth flowed though me at his words.
I stared at those two words on my phone, mesmerized. Why did I love it so much when he called me a good girl, even when we weren’t having sex?
You just do.
Go with it.
The reality was, I didn’t have much time to question it. I wanted to soak up every moment of this sexual experience for what it was. It was Sunday, and I hadn’t seen him since Thursday in the pool house. Friday he didn’t contact me and Saturday I was on the island. That was two whole days wasted, and I was leaving in exactly three weeks from today.
Suddenly, it didn’t feel like nearly enough time.
By the time the cab dropped me off at his place I was buzzing with anticipation. The doorman seemed to be expecting me and let me up, and when the elevator arrived on Shane’s floor, he opened the door for me.
There he was, waiting for me, in black sweatpants and nothing else. My eyes dragged greedily over his body. The man wore sweats better than most men wore suits.
He wasn’t smiling, but gazing at me hungrily.
“Hi,” I breathed. I stepped carefully into the apartment. And I wondered, was I supposed to get down on my knees again? Crawl? Was I supposed to call himSir?
Would he ask me for things like that? Or just order me to do them?
I didn’t really want to call him Sir. Or crawl, as much as I didn’t mind it in the pool house. It felt right in the moment; we were seated so low to the floor anyway. But now, it seemed like an uncomfortable thing to do. Literally. The floor in here was polished concrete.
But was it a hard limit? No.
Ever since Madeleine mentioned the hard limit thing, I’d thought about it, and I wasn’t even sure what my hard limits were. Other than anything super gross, though “super gross” was probably subjective…
“Breathe,” he commanded. Our eyes had locked as I mentally mini-spiraled, and maybe he saw it. He took a slow, deep breath in. I did the same, mirroring him as he held the breath and then breathed slowly out.
All the while, my mind kept spinning.He knows you’re excited. You’re breathing too fast. Just calm down.
I glanced past him, buzzing with curiosity, at the dining table that was lit with candles. The rest of the apartment was dark, no other lights on. “Am I dressed right?” I wore a T-shirt and jeans. I wasn’t sure if I should dress up or what. I didn’t want to look too damn eager or wear something too sexy or wildly different than I usually did. What if I got it wrong?
Anyway, he didn’t dress up. He’d barely dressed at all.
He didn’t answer me. His eyes roamed hungrily over my body, reminding me of his words in the elevator that first night we met.Your clothes aren’t what I’m interested in.“Did you bring what I told you to?”
“Yes.” I set my tote bag on the floor.
“Take off your clothes. Leave on your bra and panties.”
