CHAPTER 5 #3
For the past couple of days, I’d been looking forward to what these two men had in store for me, but I’d admit I was nervous.
Domination and submission were something I found fascinating, wanted to explore further, but I understood what Edge and Cav had told me.
This was real. This was their lifestyle. They weren’t playing games.
And though they were considering my request, it wasn’t a guarantee that they would see it through.
That was the first issue. The other was the fact that, at some point, I’d started thinking about this on a more personal level. Not merely a chance to delve deeper for my dissertation. In fact, most of the time I didn’t think about the extensive essay I was required to write at all.
Which did not bode well for me, considering Edge had been adamant about the rules he’d assigned to this endeavor. I had to keep it on a professional level at all times, to remember the reasons behind my actions.
With that in mind, I grabbed my phone, pulled up Cav’s number, and started a text message.
Me: Thank you so much for the flowers. They’re beautiful. I look forward to tonight as well.
I didn’t hit send. I deleted the entire thing, then tried again only to come up with the exact same wording. When I realized I was being a chicken about this, I opted to tack on: And I am very interested in your additional instructions.
Boom. I did it.
I hit send and then I waited, holding my breath, both terrified and excited about what Cav might send back.
A good half hour passed before I decided I needed to get in the shower.
Perhaps he was busy. Maybe in a meeting.
I wasn’t even sure what Cav did for a living.
I’d heard he was interviewing with Zeke, but I wasn’t sure if that was going to pan out.
I tried my best not to stick my nose into my brother’s business.
Work business, actually. When it came to his personal life, I did not have any qualms about voicing my opinion, and he’d be the first to admit it.
By the time I got out of the shower, I was even more wound up than before.
The hot water hadn’t done anything to relax me, nor had the mandarin-orange-scented body wash.
After checking my phone to see there were no messages, I pressed on.
I did my makeup, dried and straightened my hair, then grabbed a glass of water.
I glanced at the clock and noticed I had twenty minutes before Cav arrived.
I did not want to be wearing only my robe when he showed up.
But I also didn’t want to wear something he didn’t want me to.
After all, his note had specifically mentioned clothing.
“Why is this so hard?” I muttered as I started back toward my bedroom.
As I was opening my closet door, my cell phone chimed with a text message. My heart nearly leapt right out of my chest. I was breathing hard as I touched the screen to bring up the text message.
Cav: You agreed, so I expect you to follow my instructions precisely, cupcake.
I held my breath as I waited for the next text message to come.
Cav: The only things you’re allowed to wear tonight: a little black dress that falls no lower than mid-thigh, black bra, black strappy sandals with heels, a small amount of jewelry, and I love your hair, so keep it down.
Hmm. He seemed to have forgotten panties.
Or had he?
I stared at the screen for a second longer, then carried my phone into my closet.
The jewelry was no problem. I didn’t tend to wear much.
When I was at school, I usually wore a watch, but that was it.
Tonight I had on a pair of small diamond studs that my brother had given me for Christmas two years ago.
I flipped through the hangers until I found a cute little black number that I’d bought for a night out with my friends.
I’d only worn it once, so I figured it would be perfect for tonight.
It wasn’t too tight, and the flared skirt was flattering.
Since it was relatively cool out, I had a pea coat that would go nicely with it.
I rummaged through the drawer where I kept my sexy lingerie sets. I found a black lace bra and matching thong. With a frown, I left the thong but snatched the bra. I’d never not worn panties before. Never. It seemed weird, but then again, it seemed to be a fairly popular thing in BDSM novels.
I grabbed the pencil and notepad I kept with me and jotted down a note: Does a Dominant take pleasure in dictating how a submissive should dress? Is it a sign of possession or simply a way to exert their power? What does it say for the power exchange when a submissive follows the rules precisely?
I dropped the pencil, then went over to the bed, where I’d tossed my clothes.
As I dressed, I pretended not to notice the draft that passed beneath the dress. It wasn’t like anyone would know that I didn’t have on panties. How would Cav even know? I doubted he was going to ask me to prove it.
Or maybe he would.
Shit.
Realizing I was now obsessing about it, I marched into the closet, grabbed my favorite black heels and a small black clutch.
I flipped off the light, stopped by the bathroom to brush my hair one more time and check my face.
I offered my reflection a coy grin, then picked up my shoes and purse and headed into the living room to wait.
I had just slipped on my shoes when there was a knock on my door. Once again, my heart tried to launch itself right out of my chest via my throat this time. My nerves were shot, and when I got to my feet, I realized I was trembling. Nerves, definitely.
Not wanting to leave Cav waiting, I hurried to open the door and instantly smiled. The man looked devastatingly handsome in a very nice suit. All black—jacket, pants, shirt—with a crimson tie. The dark suit was in direct contrast to his light hair and baby-blue eyes, which only made him hotter.
“You look stunning,” he said softly, leaning down and pressing his lips to my cheek.
I might’ve swooned a little.
“Thank you. You do, too.”
That earned a smile from him, and I was suddenly unsure of myself once again.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
I nodded and tried to keep my grin planted firmly on my face.
Cav stepped up to me. “Is something wrong?”
I shook my head, met his gaze. “No. Not at all.”
His head cocked to the side and there was a small smirk playing at his mouth. “Are you sure?”
Figuring he was going to realize it anyway, I decided to go with the truth. “Okay, fine.” I fought the urge to laugh nervously as I stared directly into his eyes. “I feel as though I’ve forgotten to put on something.”
He offered a full-fledged smirk and a dimple winked in his cheek. “Somethin’?”
“Panties,” I explained, my cheeks heating.
“Well, I don’t think you forgot ’em. I think you’ve purposely chosen not to wear ’em.”
“True.” I shook out my hands. “Plus, I’m nervous. I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”
Cav took my hand and stepped back. “Well, I assure you, there’s nothin’ to be nervous about. We’re gonna have dinner, enjoy some conversation, maybe a little wine. I’ll have you home before curfew.”
I chuckled at that.
“After all,” he added, “it is a school night.”
And just like that, the majority of my nerves dissipated.
Mostly.
CAV
Jamie Lautner was a woman who drew a man’s attention no matter who else was in the room.
From the moment I arrived at her doorstep, it had been damn near impossible to look away.
When we stepped into the restaurant, I realized that plenty of others were having the same problem I was.
The way she walked, the way she talked, the way she carried herself.
And that smile… she was a breathtaking woman.
Not only that, but she was intelligent and witty.
Unlike some of the women I’d dated who tended to answer simply, eager to get onto another topic, Jamie had a unique outlook on everything, and she seemed to have something to say.
She was very much there in the moment, not mentally drifting ahead or behind.
I found that fascinating. Hell, I found her fascinating.
Throughout dinner, we’d bounced from one topic to the next, laughing, joking, sometimes even serious, but never boring.
The food had been fabulous, as many people boasted, the wine equally so.
As each of the ten courses was delivered, Jamie’s eyes had widened, pure pleasure written on her face.
I had silently cheered, grateful she wasn’t one of those dates who nibbled on a little salad and then went home and raided her refrigerator afterward.
“This may sound a bit like stereotyping,” Jamie said softly as the waiter cleared the most recent course. “I wouldn’t’ve chosen this as one of your top places to go.”
I glanced around. It was an upscale, elegant place. Modern decor, contemporary food. I sipped my wine, turned back to Jamie. “I’ve never been here,” I admitted. “But I like to explore new things, broaden my horizons.”
“I like that outlook,” she said with a sweet smile, her eyes glittering in the soft light from above.
“When you get your degree, what are your plans?” I asked, wanting to hear more of her soft, husky voice.
“Originally, I wanted to open my own practice,” she said simply. “However, in the past couple of years, I’ve been thinking it would be interesting to be an FBI profiler.”
“FBI, huh?”
“I know it’s glamorized on television, but the idea of coming up with a profile based on someone’s basic psychology and actions … it intrigues me.”
“What drew you to psychology in the first place? Or was it television?”
She chuckled. “No, not television. It was a myriad of things. Mostly my upbringing, I think.”
The waiter returned with more wine. Jamie paused while he filled the glasses. After a soft, “thank you,” she continued. “When my parents died, it was rough on all of us. Zeke was sixteen, and I was only six. The loss was enormous.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did they die?”