20. The Anticipation
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE ANTICIPATION
Orion
I look up from the sink in my primary bathroom, taking in my messed-up hair, wild eyes, and clenched jaw. It looks like I’ve been pacing the apartment for the past hour, which is exactly what I’ve been doing.
I need some fresh air.
I’ll be back soon.
See you later.
I’ve been analyzing and overanalyzing Layla’s words from earlier the entire time she’s been gone. Kai had texted me that he was with her next door, and I know he’ll help her come down from the shock of what just happened, but I still have no idea what she’ll decide.
I rub the scruff on my jaw as I sigh heavily, hanging my head as I think about the look on Layla’s face as the elevator doors closed.
Hurt, desperation, panic, arousal.
When we kissed at Liam and Zoe’s rehearsal dinner, she was angry afterward. She pushed me away and shut me out. So why am I holding on to some tiny thread of hope that she might not do the same thing this time around?
She kissed me.
This isn’t like last time. She saw the ring, panicked, and kissed me.
She has feelings for me, but in an ironic twist of fate, she also has feelings for Starboy .
Just as I walk out of my bathroom, the burner phone chimes from inside my bedside table.
A smile creeps across my face as I pull it out and open the text from Layla. She must be back—I didn’t have the courage to wait for her in the front of the apartment.
Little Dancer
I need to see you.
Dread and excitement spread through me, sending jolts of confusion to my brain.
Little Dancer
And I’d like to see your face, if possible.
We can meet in person, but I’ll keep my mask on.
Little Dancer
Fine.
Are you going to explain this sudden urge to see me?
Little Dancer
It’s nothing.
Don’t lie to me, Layla.
Little Dancer
I’ve just had a weird day, and I’d like to see if our chemistry is physical.
Physical, how?
Little Dancer
Are you really going to make me spell it out?
Yes.
Little Dancer
I want to try doing a scene with you.
You’re going to need to be more explicit.
LittleDancer
I just need to see you, okay? So we can do… whatever you want to do.
Fuck.
Her blanket statement is tempting. The open-endedness… the possibilities.
Except she needs me.
She needs someone to guide her, to show her.
To dominate her.
I can send you my in-person submissive contract. I need you to fill it out thoroughly. If you have any questions, text me.
LittleDancer
Okay.
I need you to be sure about this.
LittleDancer
I am.
I’ll think of a public place we can meet tonight.
LittleDancer
What about Inferno?
I shake my head and sigh.
What about it?
I want her to spell it out. I need her to understand what she’s getting herself into.
LittleDancer
Could we meet there?
I’ll reserve a private room. When you arrive, tell them you’re there to see me. 9:00p.m. Bring the contract, and do not be late.
LittleDancer
Yes, Master.
What should I wear?
I consider her words. It hasn’t ever mattered to me what my submissives wear. Inflicting pain happens whether or not my submissive is wearing clothes. Lately, my scenes haven’t been sexual in nature—though I can’t make the same promise with Layla. The thought of laying her across my lap with a paddle… or watching the blooming redness spread across her fair skin.
It doesn’t matter to me. Something comfortable.
LittleDancer
Okay. See you soon. :)
I quickly send off my regular (anonymized) submissive contract. It’s forty-eight pages of clauses, rules, experience, and checkboxes for any potential limits, as well as my limits.
I’d adopted the contract Chase used for his submissives and made it my own by adding several additional pages about what it means to be with a sadistic Dominant, as well as any degrading words or phrases I should avoid.
I’ve sent the contract. Please look it over and be thorough with your answers. Like I said, I’m around if you have any questions.
LittleDancer
Thank you, Master.
I pocket the burner phone and run my hands over my face.
Tonight, I’ll get to do my first scene with Layla.
Except it won’t be me, will it?
A dull ache pierces through me when I think of if she’d still want to do this with me if I wasn’t Starboy.
The doom spiral continues when I think of how I need to approach tonight. If we connect, she’ll push me— Orion— away.
And then I realize, how the fuck am I going to keep her from finding out it’s me? We’ll have to resort to sign language, and I’ll have to hope she doesn’t realize it’s my body underneath the black hoodie.
Fuck.
I’ll have to tell her tonight. I’ll have to come clean.
I pull on a T-shirt and boots before turning the corner and walking down the hallway. I ignore Layla’s closed bedroom door with classical music playing on the other side. I stop for a second, suddenly nostalgic for when we lived together under one roof. She’d hole herself in her room with her books and her Beethoven, and knowing she’s probably doing the same thing now, almost a decade later…
I can’t fuck this up.
I know she’s teaching ballet intensive later today, so I walk through my apartment to the kitchen, jotting down a note for her.
Be back later. Help yourself to anything.
Grabbing my keys, I take the elevator back to the parking garage and unlock the Bentley. I wish I could take my bike, but it’s too hot out.
I head out of downtown Crestwood, hopping onto the 405.
I have to clear my head before tonight, or I’ll risk ruining everything. Luckily, I know exactly how to distract my busy mind.
I have to play this perfectly, or I could lose her forever—as both Orion and Starboy .