Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
I had typed out the whole truth at first—I want to be bent over your knee more than I want my next Venti Peppermint Mocha with extra Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Foam, Sir. And there’s never been anything I’ve wanted more than THAT before.
But then I erased it. Chickened out. My voices talking me out of speaking what I truly desired.
You’ve never even looked the man in the eye before and you’re gonna tell him you want him to spank your ass?
He’s gonna think you’re too easy, you ho.
Have some dignity. Jesus.
A spanking isn’t a reward, remember, Miss Not-Masochist-Enough-To-Keep-Your-Sadist-Husband-Happy? You busted your ass for a REWARD, not to get your ass busted!
God knows he’s already going to think you’re a little slut for meeting up with him to play just a few weeks after meeting him.
“That’s not necessarily true. People at Club Alias play together without having even met before that night. It’s an exchange of power, an understanding between two consenting adults,” I argued aloud with the intrusive thoughts badgering me like they constantly did. “Two people fulfilling each other’s needs without shame.”
Yeah, well, he’s not a member of the club, now is he? No. He’s some random dude off the internet you just so happened to recognize from the gym. You have no idea if he’s safe to play with. He hasn’t been put through psychological testing from a professional to make sure he’s sane and not some psycho who’s just really good at manipulation.
That was the thought that made me forcibly shut the voices down.
I felt oddly protective over Gym Daddy. I never got a single bad vibe from him when he was just my gym crush, and he’s been nothing but kind, understanding, and uplifting while I’ve talked to him constantly over the last few weeks. I’m sensitive to people’s auras. It’s an annoying characteristic I wish I could either turn off or be able to read more accurately, because there are some who are so good at masking their true intentions that they can fool an empathetic person like me, who wants to always see the good in people.
Most often, it’s other women.
Case in point: my ex-best friends.
Now, my hands tremble on the steering wheel as I turn out of the gym’s parking lot, and before I know it, I’m pulling into the lot of the abandoned bank. Just as he promised, his dark-gray Hummer is parked in the back of the lot.
A jolt of unimaginable energy zips through my entire body at the sight.
He’s really here.
It wasn’t until this moment I recognize there was a tiny voice teasing in the background, behind all the louder, more annoying ones, mocking me in a whisper, He’s not gonna show up. Why would he waste time on you? There are so many better options out there. You’re just a fun experiment, someone to pass time until a submissive worthy of a man like him comes his way. He said over and over that he didn’t think you’d actually give him what he desires. Sure, he disguised it, worded it in a way that made it sound like you just wouldn’t give in to your desire to play, but really, if you go back and read his exact messages, I’m sure you could translate it differently. So much is lost over texts, remember? I bet you anything he really meant you weren’t good enough for him. I bet you he won’t even be there when you go to meet him. I bet you… I bet you….
And as I see just a glimpse of the light beard turn my way, I may avert my eyes on instinct, but inside, I want to shout, “Ha! See! He wasn’t just toying with me. He didn’t stand me up. He really does want to see me!”
But even as I think the sad little “pick me” comeback, that bitch voice already has a rebuttal.
You go to the same gym. Of course he showed up. He wouldn’t want you confronting him in public, dumbass.
I don’t park directly next to him. I’m so nervous I’m afraid I’ll park too close to open my door, or too far away, taking up more than my space. So I leave just one spot between us, shift into Park, and turn off my car, placing my hands in my lap just as he instructed. Even though he didn’t tell me to, I stare down into my hands, my head lowered like so many of my heroines I’ve written. But where they were doing it out of obedience, a classic submissive pose, my body does it of its own accord, because for some reason, I’m terrified to look up at this man as much as I crave his attention.
Yet the feeling that beats out everything else, the one that stands out above all the voices, all the emotions, all the reasoning and reality of the situation I’ve found myself in…