Don’t worry, I’m only doing this for the money.
I can almost feel him laughing on the other side of the phone.
I thought you might say that. I’ll make you forget all about the money.
You can try.
Oh, I will.
The little texting bubbles appear for longer than before, and I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting to see what he might say. Is he going to give me instructions for Friday? But when the text actually comes through, my jaw drops.
When you’re spread open underneath me, coming over and over again on my mouth and cock, money will be the last thing on your mind. What do you say to that?
It takes me a second to breathe, imagining the scenario he painted, my body conjuring up sense memory of him to complete the scene. Dammit, now I’m wet and flushed and this isn’t how I thought the conversation was going to go. He’s better at this game than I am, and I need to step back and think about that. I need to be ready so that when I’m face to face with him, I don’t get blindsided by the sheer force of his charm and will.
So you Doms don’t mince your words, do you?
I don’t. And for the record, the only acceptable response to the above, is ‘Yes, Sir.’
Go to hell.
Get it out now. When you’re here, your ass will be under my hand for speaking to me that way. And believe me, that will be more fun for me than it is for you.
There’s a small winking face at the end of that text, mocking me. I have no words for what’s going on in my body and brain right now. Then another text.
Sweet dreams, Emma.
Sweet dreams? With the way I’m feeling, my dreams are going to be anything but sweet. Hot, sweaty, and unfulfilling is more like it. I don’t text him back—I’m too busy digging through my dresser drawer to find my under-used vibrator. I’m not even there yet and he’s got me so tuned up that I have to get off. What have I gotten myself into?
Six
Matthew continues to text me on Wednesday and Thursday, and even though I’m not a prude, the blatant sexuality of his texts still makes me blush. My vibrator has gotten more use in the last two days than in the last six months combined, and it feels like it’s not enough. Suddenly there’s a sex-starved monster inside me and she will stop at nothing until she’s fed.
There’s mention of how he’s going to taste me. How he’s going to take me slowly. How he’s going to make me beg. I threw that last one back in his face, but he just laughed. I don’t know what it is about his utter confidence that fascinates me. If it were someone else I think it would drive me up the fucking wall, but with him it somehow works. I know I barley know him, but somehow I can’t imagine a Matthew that wasn’t that confident.
Thursday night, I text him.
Are you sure I don’t need to bring anything? Not even a toothbrush?
He texts back instantly, like he was waiting for it.
No. Everything is taken care of.
Okay. That’s nice. I don’t remember a time that a trip was stress-free like this. It’s not even that long of a trip. Yesterday he told me where he lives, and it’s on the other side of Atlanta. A little far from the city, but not so far into the country that I’d consider it isolated. I’ve scoured the internet for pictures of his house, but there are none. There are barely any pictures of the animal sanctuary that he’s famous for.
I haven’t gotten up the nerve to ask him why there’s nothing about him online. Somehow I figure that’s a better in-person question.
Typically, right before I take off for a weekend, I’m packing frantically. I don’t really know what to do with myself since I’m not. When I texted Jess earlier to tell her that I was going, she suggested that we get drunk and celebrate, but I really don’t want to show up at his house hung over, so I said no. Lily just texted me a smiling face. I know she’ll want to hear as many juicy details as Jess when I come back, and when she gets back from her honeymoon.
Eventually, I settle on reading. I’ve had books on my nightstand for ages that I’ve been meaning to pick up but somehow I never find the time. I read until my eyes won’t stay open anymore, and I force them open just long enough for me to set my alarm. There’s no turning back now.
* * *
A limousine. He sent me a fucking limousine. This isn’t what I thought he meant when he said that he’d send a car, but the giant, black, shining monstrosity is stretched out in front of my apartment building and there’s even a uniformed driver waiting by the door.