Did the nipple clamp drop?
Did it get pushed out the door?
Derrick's outside the door when he says, "I'll just leave this little bugger next to your door, love. I'm sure you wouldn't want to lose it."
Oh my God! Oh my God!
He knows. He knows!
I'm so embarrassed and scared that I fling myself onto the bed. I want to die right now. I want the earth to open wide so I can just go inside and hide.
I hear Derrick's steps walk down the hallway. I have to get it back. I change into a sports bra, and put on some yoga pants and my running shoes from the stuff that Derrick’ men brought over.
I need to get out of this condo and go for a nice long run.
For like, maybe, forever.
Never come back here again! I open the door and peek out. There's no one. I crouch down to retrieve the tiny nipple clamp.
"Boo!"
My heart literally stops as Derrick jumps out of the parlor across from my room.
"Derrick! You ASSHOLE!" I yell at him. I'm shaking.
Derrick's laughing uncontrollably. "Sorry, love. I'm so sorry," he says as he laughs. "It was just so fucking hilarious. I had to. I hope you forgive me, yeah?"
I'm pissed off at this asshole and I can't believe he saved me yesterday. What an ass. That's it. I'm not going to respond.
"So tell me, was it as good as Jake?" Derrick asks and I roll my eyes. "Are you still thinking of that wanker, love?"
I ignore his off-English accent and head down the stairs. My cheeks are burning red. I open the door and start running away as quickly as possible.
Instead of running in Central Park, I decide to run downtown and am just passing by the Lower East Side when my head starts to clear a little bit. I still can't believe Derrick! What a disgusting dirt bag asshole!
But why is he so nice to me? And after he's nice, he turns around and starts acting like an asshole again!
It's so confusing. I'm hoping another mile will clear my head.
I need to clear my head.
I mean, look,
I've told you before. I’m in this to grab dirt on him. Bring him down.
But a part of me wants to give that up and just have sex with him.
Every. Single. Day.
I shouldn't want to...I shouldn't do what I did last night.
Well, let me rephrase that actually. I shouldn't do what I did, thinking of him. That's just wrong.
He’s a sick man whore. Dirty. Lewd. Lascivious.
I shouldn't focus on his muscles or his smile, or his smirk, or his eyes, or his huge...ego.
I should just keep running.