Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
My brain clamors for something to say. “Uh, can I talk to you about the schedule?”
He pulls it out and slaps it on the desk. “Sure.”
I walk toward him. As soon as I’m close enough, he murmurs, “Panty-check.”
I sneak a glance over my shoulder. No one is there. I reach into my department-issued pants and pull up on the waistband of my new polka-dot panties to stretch the fabric. “One hundred percent cotton.”
He eyes it like he wants to touch, but seems to hold himself back. “Good girl. You’re dismissed.”
I don’t particularly like being dismissed. I don’t know what else he could do—there are people in the lounge who saw me come in. But he’s got me hot and bothered now, a slow pulse aching between my legs and no way to relieve it.
Plus, I can’t stand the sting of rejection at being told I’m dismissed.
He did the same thing at his house the morning after my punishment session and I wasn’t sure I liked it then, either. I guess he’s making it clear we’re not hanging out. We’re not boyfriend-girlfriend. We’re master and slave. Or daddy and doll. Or whatever name fits this kinky relationship.
And as much as I love what we’re doing, how incredible the sex is, I’m not sure I can do sex without an emotional attachment.
I mean, is such thing even possible?
Maybe just for guys, I don’t know.
I don’t think it’s me.
So I guess I need to talk to him.
Except do I want to break this thing off?
He suggested three punishments. It was a defined, finite thing. When those are over, are we through? Should I at least get my three before I bail?
It’s tempting. The last one was so incredible, I don’t want to miss out on the rest.
I go back to my room and text him, There are punishments for daddies who tease, too.
His text comes through immediately. Don’t even think about it or you’ll spend all day tomorrow sucking my cock.
Then a second text follows. Please say you’ll delete both my texts right now.
I laugh softly, but do as he asks. I know this forbidden relationship is dangerous for us both and I would never want to risk either of our careers. I text back, done.
Good girl, he texts back.
I’m starting to wonder about myself. About why those two words have such an effect on me. It seems supremely ironic after spending my entire life defying sexism to prove I’m capable of doing a man’s job, I’d get off on being treated like a little girl.
At least four times since Tuesday night I’ve panicked, wondering what all this means about me. Am I flawed? How could I, of all people, want to be some guy’s babygirl? How could I want to be disciplined and told what to do?
And yet I do. I just keep trying to remember this is sex. It’s not real life. It doesn’t mean I can’t be a firefighter or that he doesn’t respect me on the job… at least I hope it doesn’t.
What if it does? What if I’m ruining my career because I couldn’t help but get kinky with my captain? Because I sure as hell can’t quit—I was lucky enough to get this position.
I jiggle my phone in my palm, staring at Blaze’s name. Finally, I text something real, something bothering me. Why does James hate me? Because I’m a woman?
As soon as I do, I’m sorry. What’s he going to say? You can’t tell people how to make friends. They have to figure it out on their own. He’s going to text not to worry about it, and I’m going to feel stupid for asking.
His reply comes after a moment. You’re replacing his cousin. He’s still mourning that loss. Give him time.
Oh. I suddenly feel like the biggest ass for not guessing it might be about the guy I’m replacing. I knew he’d been badly hurt on the job. I just was so caught up in trying to prove myself I forgot people might resent anyone who took his place—male or female.
I text back, shit. I’m sorry.
No, don’t be. It’s not your fault. He’ll come around. They all will.
They all will. Does that mean the rest still haven’t? I was kinda thinking I was part of the crew. I mean, I have a nickname and everything.
I hit the side of my phone to turn the screen off. Fatigue is making all this seem way more daunting than it should be. I reach for a book of matches. I thought about throwing them away after my first date with Blaze. I haven’t lit one since. But now I’m glad I didn’t. An addict never gets rid of their drug.
I need the flame. It will calm me down. Give me focus.
I rip off a match and hold it against the striking strip, but something won’t let me flick it.