associate them with sex. In fact, I’ve never had so little. I pull her door open, and in her soft, prim, Southern drawl she says, “Before that, you didn’t ever seem to go out hooking up with people.”
She hoists her small self neatly into my passenger’s seat, and I press my lips together. So that’s what people think. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I got noticed.
After I dismissed Gina, my last submissive, I thought I could terminate all sex. I made it all of thirty-seven hours before I admitted that would never work. So I started bar-hopping.
I always took the women I picked up to hotels. I couldn’t fuck them how I like, because word would get around—as evidenced by Cleo, looking smugly down her nose at me right now. I fucked them hard and fast and sent them on their way. They may have told their friends I like it rough, but they couldn’t say they didn’t enjoy it.
All those liquored, perfumed, ropeless fucks weren’t satisfying. By coincidence, about the time I started to feel restless, I was sniffing out my “rival.” She’s been my distraction ever since. Everything about her, from her slow, casual gait to the way she throws her head back when she laughs—like a bad actress on a sitcom—strums some cord inside me.
I think I knew earlier than I’ve been willing to admit that I need Cleo in my windowed room.
I walk around the car without corroborating her story about the “Sexcalade” and slide behind the wheel. I can feel her watching me. I ignore the urge to meet her eyes as I back out of the spot.
It doesn’t matter why I was never seen out socially with women, then suddenly was. She doesn’t need to know. Keeping Cleo in the dark about me is the only way I can know her.
I pull out of the parking lot onto a crosswalk-striped campus street. She crosses her legs and props her hands on her knee. She looks at me, and I can feel her expectation hanging in the shadows.
“So that’s kind of weird, right?” she asks me, in a chipper, prodding tone. “Aren’t you going to tell me why you didn’t you date before four months ago?”
My throat stings with the question. Four months. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long. I wish I had met Cleo before. I want to have her thoroughly, and now I’m worried that there won’t be time.
I keep my feelings off my face, because, again—she doesn’t need to know this shit. I twist my lips into a smug smile and try to project the Kellan Walsh she thinks she knows. “Maybe I was in a committed relationship.”
Her pretty face twists skeptically. “Were you?”
I laugh. “That’s Kellan business, don’t you think?”
I turn into the narrow drive that leads around the side of the huge, brick library building.
“I thought we’re doing business together ,” Cleo replies.
“Are you committing to that?”
She hmphs.
“That’s what I thought.”
I find a spot on the second level of the parking deck and notice the thought of Cleo doing business with me has taken some of the tension out of my shoulders. More and more, I think she’s exactly right for what I have in mind. It gives me peace.
I walk around the front of the car and open her door. She sashays out, her black shawl fluttering behind her as her boots click against the cement. Like every time I’m near her, it’s a struggle not to touch her in some way.
She turns around to face me as I shut the passenger’s side door. “Were you?” she asks, hand on her hip. She looks like a superhero with that ridiculous long shawl and those boots. “Were you with someone before? Honesty, Kellan. If you want to work with me...” She licks her soft, pink lips. My cock twitches.
I trail my hand down her lower arm, catching her by the wrist and tugging her lightly toward a covered breezeway that adjoins the parking deck to the side of the library.
“I was,” I say as I slide my fingers through hers. It’s not a lie—exactly. “I was always with someone else
She hoists her small self neatly into my passenger’s seat, and I press my lips together. So that’s what people think. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I got noticed.
After I dismissed Gina, my last submissive, I thought I could terminate all sex. I made it all of thirty-seven hours before I admitted that would never work. So I started bar-hopping.
I always took the women I picked up to hotels. I couldn’t fuck them how I like, because word would get around—as evidenced by Cleo, looking smugly down her nose at me right now. I fucked them hard and fast and sent them on their way. They may have told their friends I like it rough, but they couldn’t say they didn’t enjoy it.
All those liquored, perfumed, ropeless fucks weren’t satisfying. By coincidence, about the time I started to feel restless, I was sniffing out my “rival.” She’s been my distraction ever since. Everything about her, from her slow, casual gait to the way she throws her head back when she laughs—like a bad actress on a sitcom—strums some cord inside me.
I think I knew earlier than I’ve been willing to admit that I need Cleo in my windowed room.
I walk around the car without corroborating her story about the “Sexcalade” and slide behind the wheel. I can feel her watching me. I ignore the urge to meet her eyes as I back out of the spot.
It doesn’t matter why I was never seen out socially with women, then suddenly was. She doesn’t need to know. Keeping Cleo in the dark about me is the only way I can know her.
I pull out of the parking lot onto a crosswalk-striped campus street. She crosses her legs and props her hands on her knee. She looks at me, and I can feel her expectation hanging in the shadows.
“So that’s kind of weird, right?” she asks me, in a chipper, prodding tone. “Aren’t you going to tell me why you didn’t you date before four months ago?”
My throat stings with the question. Four months. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long. I wish I had met Cleo before. I want to have her thoroughly, and now I’m worried that there won’t be time.
I keep my feelings off my face, because, again—she doesn’t need to know this shit. I twist my lips into a smug smile and try to project the Kellan Walsh she thinks she knows. “Maybe I was in a committed relationship.”
Her pretty face twists skeptically. “Were you?”
I laugh. “That’s Kellan business, don’t you think?”
I turn into the narrow drive that leads around the side of the huge, brick library building.
“I thought we’re doing business together ,” Cleo replies.
“Are you committing to that?”
She hmphs.
“That’s what I thought.”
I find a spot on the second level of the parking deck and notice the thought of Cleo doing business with me has taken some of the tension out of my shoulders. More and more, I think she’s exactly right for what I have in mind. It gives me peace.
I walk around the front of the car and open her door. She sashays out, her black shawl fluttering behind her as her boots click against the cement. Like every time I’m near her, it’s a struggle not to touch her in some way.
She turns around to face me as I shut the passenger’s side door. “Were you?” she asks, hand on her hip. She looks like a superhero with that ridiculous long shawl and those boots. “Were you with someone before? Honesty, Kellan. If you want to work with me...” She licks her soft, pink lips. My cock twitches.
I trail my hand down her lower arm, catching her by the wrist and tugging her lightly toward a covered breezeway that adjoins the parking deck to the side of the library.
“I was,” I say as I slide my fingers through hers. It’s not a lie—exactly. “I was always with someone else
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