9. Salt
NINE
SALT
I left before the sun rose, just like we agreed.
My entire body resisted each step I took away from Pepper, but I needed to leave before we did anything else stupid. I managed to make it to the nearest bus stop, guitar in hand, and begin the long ride home. It’d take about thirty minutes, which was plenty of time to think about what the fuck had happened last night.
I’d left her a note, at least, with my phone number and a few words.
I want more. If you want more, text me.
Her choice.
Last night was something I’d never forget. The scent of her still clung to me, and my eyes shuttered closed as I leaned back in the seat, the bus jostling over the narrow downtown streets.
I’d been with countless people over the years. Men, women, nonbinary people. I’d been in group scenes, in one-on-one scenes, and participated in orgies that lasted for days. I loved sex. I loved fucking. I loved kink and BDSM, the give and take of being a Dom. I knew how to do it all, too. I knew how to spank, flog, whip, use sensations like heat or cold, do wax play, and more.
I loved dominating others in the bedroom, turning them on, and making them beg for more.
But last night with Pepper?
Something about her had altered everything I knew about BDSM.
I wanted her. Just her . Her submission and exploration were stray sparks that kindled the dry waste of my soul into a roaring flame.
It turned me on knowing that she was older. She had a career she built from the ground up. She was a powerful woman who was always in control, always making decisions. I’d seen snippets of that part of her in how she spoke to me at the club when other people were around. It was evident in the way she spoke and carried herself.
But she’d knelt for me. She’d obeyed me. She’d opened up a door to submission, and seeing the way she melted right into it made me want to do other things with her.
She’s been so adamant that I was too young. That what we’d done was crazy. But she’d also opened up about her desires, finally giving into them. Giving them a chance.
How many more kinks were there under that tough exterior? Just waiting for someone to come along and coax them out?
The thing about me was that I didn’t care what other people would think of us together. Then again, I didn’t have a reputation to protect the way she did.
Any music career I might have had was probably fucked now, though. One, I doubted she’d text me. Two, I also doubted I’d ever hear from Rosethorn again.
I sighed. I thought that being with her would satiate the craving, but I’d been wrong. Selfishly, I just wanted more, more, more. More of her riding my cock, more leaving marks on her, more claiming her as mine.
The sadistic part of me screamed for her submission.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. My heart jumped to my throat as I pulled it out. Would it be her?
Hey Salt, it’s Tommy! Hope it’s okay I grabbed your contact info from Adam. Do you have time to schedule a meeting next week?
“What the fuck?” I whispered.
He was really persistent. I had to give him that.
But did that mean Pepper had already reached out to him? I’d left her sleeping in her bed, sheets tangled around her, dark hair splayed out. Her expression while sleeping was so damn peaceful.
Fuck. I bit my bottom lip hard enough for the pain to snap me out of thinking about her again, but only for a split second.
This was one of my problems. The moment someone showed even the slightest genuine interest in me, I attached myself to them like a damn vampire. And it didn’t help that the chemistry between us was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. It also didn’t help that she was so new to exploring her kinks.
I liked teaching.
I liked corrupting.
I blinked, staring at Tommy’s text. I didn't know what to think. What was I supposed to do?
I’d been playing guitar since I was a kid, and it was one of the only things my father would ever do with me. In moments of rare parental attention, he’d teach me how to play a few chords. Probably out of guilt for beating the shit out of me other times. But those moments still sat with me, shiny pennies gleaming on a muddy street.
Playing music made me enough money to survive until Nancy and Beth adopted me into their lives. It had been a lifeline over the years.
I wasn’t sure any of the songs I’d written were actually good, but people seemed to like them. And being on stage was maybe the closest to paradise I’d ever be.
I needed to think about my career, and if this was something I really wanted. Did I want my music to become a product they could sell?
Was I going to let other people in my home?
Having a band was a start. I loved the sound we created together, even if I didn’t necessarily like working with other people. Jack, Eric, and Tyler had made a difference in live shows though. A good difference.
I wanted to be on the stage.
I wanted to be seen by the whole damn world.
If my father were still alive, I’d show him what I’d done. What I’d built. I wasn’t worthless and cursed, I was good and talented. Right ?
All of my emotions piled together into a big, ugly, erratic ball—but then there was last night. There was Pepper. And all I could think about was that setting up a meeting with Tommy would give me another reason to see her.
My fingers moved rapidly and I typed out a message, pressing send before I second guessed myself.
Hey! I have time early next Friday
His reply was almost immediate.
Yep, I’ll make that work. 10 a.m.? Send me an email address, and I’ll send an official invite with everything
I didn’t even have an official email for my music. I mean, I had the one I used to sign up for all my social media accounts, but it was a personal one.
“Damn it,” I muttered.
It didn’t matter, right?
saltybitch01110 @ gmail.com
Nice
The pressure at the back of my head eased. I exhaled and relaxed into my seat, looking out the window. I watched Nashville pass by, and tried not to get my hopes up.
This was just a meeting. It didn’t actually mean anything—I knew how the music industry was.
Pepper was just another shark. And I was throwing myself into the deep end while bathed in blood.
I liked that type of power exchange. It made her submission last night that much sweeter.
I scrolled away from Tommy’s text and hummed to myself, checking my other messages. Jack texted me a couple times about setlist notes. I’d forgotten to pay all of them out last night, so I did that quickly before opening up Instagram. I instantly regretted it—too many notifications, not enough coffee. Still, I started scrolling anyway.
Before the show, I’d posted a video of a riff from one of my songs. I’d gotten pretty good at lighting and creating a mood in my videos, and it was finally paying off. I chuckled as I read the comments, smirking at the thirsty ones and rolling my eyes at the nastier ones. I posted a couple of pictures I’d taken backstage before the show last night and then closed the app again.
I needed a hot shower. I needed to purge Pepper from my rotten soul, and head over to Nancy and Beth’s to finish building a couple pieces of furniture.
And decide if I was actually going to show up for that meeting with Rosethorn.