Chapter 9
At ten o’clock, my phone vibrates on my nightstand, indicating a text message has come in. I mute the television and reach over, swiping my thumb across the screen. I can’t hide my smirk when I see Sloan’s name.
Sloan: Are you expecting me to be a dominatrix?
Gareth: No.
Sloan: Because I don’t want to be like that.
Gareth: Have you been researching online?
Sloan: Yes, and I’m not cut out for this. I just got done watching some really disturbing porn, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you should find someone else.
Gareth: I don’t want anyone else and I don’t want what you’re watching. I just want you.
Sloan: …
Sloan: …
Sloan: So you don’t have expectations of me being one of those women in a corset with a bullwhip, wrapping your dick in a leather chastity belt?
Gareth: I’d prefer not.
Gareth: I just want you to be free. You’re trying to label what we’re doing, and that’s not what this is about.
Sloan: Well, I’m trying to figure out what you want.
Gareth: I want what you want.
Sloan: I DON’T KNOW WHAT I WANT.
Gareth: Yes, you do. Think back to that night we were together. What did you like about it?
Sloan: …
Sloan: …
Sloan: I liked seeing you touch yourself.
Gareth: I liked having you watch me touch myself.
Sloan: Why?
Gareth: Because I liked pleasing you. Pleasing you pleased me. It’s a full circle act, you see. Did you like having the control?
Sloan: Yes.
Gareth: Why?
Sloan: Because I’ve never had control before. It made me feel strong. I don’t feel strong often.
Gareth: See? You’re getting this.
Sloan: Why did you like it?
Gareth: …
Gareth: …
Gareth: Because it allowed me to not be the person everyone depends on. It let me forget all the rubbish in my head and just feel. So much of my life has been tied to my past and my future. Having you in charge helped me stay in the present.
Sloan: What happened in your past?
Gareth: See, that’s a question someone would ask if they were in a relationship.
Sloan: OMG, you’re right! Don’t tell me!
Gareth: Don’t worry. I won’t.
Sloan: So you really have no expectations?
Gareth: None, except that I want you.
Sloan: …
Sloan: …
Sloan: Gareth, why do you want me?
Gareth: …
Gareth: …
Gareth: I want the side of you that you don’t show to anyone else. You’ve shown it to me once and I can’t get it out of my head.
Sloan: …
Sloan: …
Sloan: If I agree to this, no one can know.
Gareth: Okay…
Sloan: I mean it. I don’t want to end up in the papers or have people know that I’m sleeping with a client. I have a reputation to uphold. Can I trust you to keep our relationship completely private?
Gareth: Sloan, you know me. Don’t lump me in with all the other footballers you work with. Trust me when I tell you that what happens between you and me stays between you and me.
Sloan: Will you be home at 5:00 tomorrow?
Gareth: Absolutely.
Sloan: Okay, I’ll see you then.
Gareth: I look forward to it.
I set my phone back on my nightstand and flick the TV off, far more interested in thoughts about Sloan than football recaps. I lie back, hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling and realising that she is the first woman I’ve been excited to spend time with in years. And that’s a crazy thought.
It’s not that I have a problem feeling attracted to women.
The truth is, I think the female body is a stunning fucking sight, and I could get hard just thinking about Sloan naked beneath me.
But the pressure to connect with women on a personal level has never been something that I’ve wanted.
I’ve always envisioned myself as the terminal bachelor, fulfilled by my siblings and their families more than ever wanting something of my own.
I don’t see myself having kids. Someone who looks to me every day for comfort, for help, for guidance… That’s a lot of bloody pressure.
The second someone begins sharing personal shit with me is the second they realise how much I’m constantly holding back. Hell, I barely talk to my siblings about personal shit. I help them with their problems, but I don’t need their help with mine.
So I’m grateful that I’ve found someone whom I can consider a friend and dive into this arrangement with clear boundaries and expectations.
There’s something about Sloan that makes me certain she won’t fall for me.
She has a wall around her heart, and that’s something that will work very well in our situation.
Feelings can’t be part of this arrangement.
Sloan on my doorstep in a beige trench coat evokes fantasies beyond my wildest dreams. Her sheepish smile desperately makes me want to kiss her, but I know that is an important limit for her, so I will respect it. The fact that she’s here at all is a victory in and of itself.
“So I have an idea,” she says, entering my home and dropping her small bag on the floor in the foyer. She bends over to rummage inside of it, then stands with a small fabric tape measure in her hand. “I’m going to fit you for a suit.”
“You’re going to what?”
“But first, do you mind that I brought some wine?” she asks, her eyes wild and her tone slightly out of breath as she stuffs the tape measure in her pocket.
“Erm, no. I won’t have any, but I don’t care if you do,” I reply regretfully. I should have been prepared for this and bought some for her.
“Good,” she replies and bends over again to dig in her bag. She holds a bottle of white out for me to take.
“What else have you got in that bag?” My eyes are wide and wondering.
“Never mind that,” she states firmly. “Open this for me.”
I pull my lips into my mouth to suppress my grin at her bossy tone. “Yes, madam.”
“Oh my God, don’t call me madam,” she balks, following me into the kitchen just past the formal dining room where we decided to embark on this crazy new sexual arrangement.
“Well, what should I call you?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder and eyeing her stiletto heels appreciatively. God, I want to know what she’s wearing under that coat so badly, I’m not sure I can focus on adult conversation.
“I like Treacle.” Her voice is soft and contemplative as I set the bottle on the large island counter.
I make quick work of opening the wine and grab a stemless wineglass out of the cupboard.
“Treacle it is.” I smile as I pour some of the golden liquid into the glass and hand it over to her.
Our fingers brush when she takes it from me, and her sharp intake of breath doesn’t go unnoticed.
She’s extra sensitive tonight. This should be fun.
“So this concept of ours is simple,” she states, drinking her wine and staring off into the distance as she speaks. “I tell you what to do and you do as you’re told.”
“Sounds about right.” I hold back an amused chuckle.
“This isn’t true BDSM. This is just…escapism. Or what you called it. Freedom.”
“Absolutely.”
“That means every time I come out here to visit, we will be liberated from our real lives. We will leave our personal lives at the door and only focus on the sex.”
“Sounds good to me,” I reply, my eyes falling down to her pointy black stiletto pumps. What if she’s naked under there? Fuck me, it is going to be really hard to give her all the power.
“And I’m in charge.” Sloan’s words sound like they are trying to convince herself more than me.
“That’s exactly what I want,” I reply, eyeing her speculatively. “Is that still what you want? You seem nervous.”
“Yes!” she exclaims, her eyes wide and urgent. “I mean, it’s what I want. I got myself all pumped up on the drive out here. This is going to be fun, like role-playing. But instead of being a character, I’m the director!”
I chuckle at her enthusiasm. Seeing the spark in her eyes is reward enough for giving in to her desires and making mine completely secondary.
This is a total transformation from the woman I’ve grown to know the past few years.
She’s embracing something for herself for once and the anticipation of seeing her really sink into it might just kill me.
“Let’s get on with it then, turncoat.”
She frowns at my comment. “Did you just make a joke?”
I frown back. “I make jokes.”
“When do you make jokes?”
“Okay, I’m not a standup comedian, but I’m not Mr. Serious.”
“No, you’re Mr. Submissive.” She smirks, then bites her lip.
“If you start to call me that, Sloan, I swear…”
“I want you to fuck me,” she barks, setting her glass down on the counter and widening her stance with determination. She’s a striking vision of power and command, like a real-life Wonder Woman.
My body’s reaction is immediate. “Anywhere in particular, Treacle?”
She smiles. She likes when I call her that and I so want to please her. “In your closet.”
I bite my lip and, fuck me, I think I’m already getting a little bit hard. “Your command is my wish.”
“Shut up before I spank you.” She giggles and cringes at her words, like she’s trying them on for size and is not quite sure if they fit yet. It’s pretty much perfect.
I shoot around the island and toss her over my shoulder. “Promises, promises.”
She gives my arse a hearty smack as I take her upstairs and relish in the fact that this entire messed up arrangement is already ten times better than I imagined.
Oh my God, I’m getting horny just thinking about his glass enclosed closet, never mind the fact that his ass is rock-hard under the tight jeans he’s wearing.
I’ve been fantasising about the closet in Gareth’s bedroom since the first time I saw it.
It’s a damn shame to waste it on a man. I could make the area sparkle.
Gareth doesn’t stop to flick any lights on in his room. He just continues to carry me up into his elevated closet that overlooks his giant bed. I hope to make good use of that piece of furniture eventually.