18 Lindsey
Lindsey
Sir
Hi, Lindsey. When I said to message me later, I should have been more specific. Do you have an answer for me?
The message from Sir, who I now know as Dane—a very nice name, I may add, one that suits him and his salt-and-pepper hair, square jaw, strong arms, and toned ass—stares at me as if it’s going to jump out of my phone and spank me.
Now that’s a weird image. Weird and inappropriate thoughts are floating all around, actually. Ones I’m going to blame on a lack of sleep and being overworked.
I yawn and pour myself a glass of red wine, the cheap stuff that tastes meh but does the job. It’s after seven in the evening, and Kas and I finished a dinner of frozen pizza a bit ago.
I take a sip of the wine and look down at my phone again. The screen is black now, but it’s as if I can still see Dane’s earlier message I’ve yet to respond to. Which means it’s been over twelve hours since I read it the first time and over twenty-four hours since I saw him at the park.
When his question came through five minutes after my shift ended this morning, I was too focused on wrapping up paperwork and getting home to sleep before Fox dropped Kas off to give it much thought. But I don’t have an excuse for ignoring it the rest of the day.
The truth is, I’m still unsure and guilty. The uncertainty comes from all the reasons I know I should end our dynamic and all the reasons I know I don’t want to. I need his help, and I was already starting to see the benefits of working with him.
That’s where the guilt comes in. I didn’t follow through with any of the routines or check-ins I promised. I let stress take over, and now I’m even more overwhelmed—and guilty—not just for breaking the commitments I made to myself but for ignoring Dane’s texts, too.
My phone buzzes on the counter, and my gut tells me who it is before I look at the screen. I think it’s time to face the music. I can’t ignore Dane—Sir—any longer. I don’t think I want to, either. The guilt is becoming too much to handle. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss talking with him.
I take another sip of my wine and go to the living room, snuggling up on the couch under a blanket. Kas is playing her game in her room on the condition that tomorrow, we’ll spend time together since today was a day for me to rest and play catch-up around the house.
I set my wine down on the coffee table and tap my phone screen to unlock it. Nerves swell in my stomach, and I open the message app and prepare for whatever his message says.
Sir
You’ve missed your planned check-ins, and I have not heard from you. Should I take this as your decision to not move forward, or would you like to talk?
Well, damn. I’ve made him mad. Or at least, I think I have. That’s the tone I read it in.
Before I can decide how to answer, another message pops up.
Sir
Or do you want to get in trouble, Lindsey?
I read the message again and again, and my heart races faster each and every time I read it.
Do I want to get in trouble? That’s not what I want, right?
I mean, I don’t want him to be mad at me, so I wouldn’t want to get in trouble, either.
I like it too much when he calls me good girl. Especially when he said it in person.
I’ve thought about that moment a lot in the last twenty-four hours. How the husky timbre of his voice made me feel. How the praise made my body react.
Sir
I see that you’re in the chat and have read my messages. Did you forget I have that ability? Let me know if you would prefer we talk on the phone.
I shift on the couch, not quite understanding why this is turning me on. It shouldn’t. I’m not even saying anything back to him. But maybe it’s because he’s being so attentive and because his messages make me feel wanted, even if I do feel like I’m in trouble.
His messages read as if I could be more than just a client to him, like the way he’s disappointed that he hasn’t heard from me is somehow more than just because he’s my Dom.
But that’s a silly thought, right? We hardly know each other, and we only started working together recently.
My fingers hover over the screen, and a new message comes through before I can decide what to say.
Sir
I’ll give you ten minutes to decide.
I know right away that I don’t need ten minutes.
I do feel guilty for not responding sooner, but that seems silly now.
Because if I imagine never getting a message from him again, never speaking to him again, or simply awkwardly staring at him from afar when I see him every Friday then maybe sporadically in town, it feels…
wrong. Like I’d be giving up something good, something important.
I type out my message and hit send before I can fully think it through.
Me
You’re impatient, Sir.
I nibble on the inside of my cheek, analyzing why I chose to say that instead of apologizing. The bubbles pop up, and his answer comes through without pause.
Sir
Is that what you wanted to say to me, or would you like to try again?
I sit up on the couch as if he’s here beside me or watching me through the window. In a way, I thought I was being cheeky, but now, I want to please him, and he hardly said anything at all.
Me
I’d like to try again.
Sir
Please do, Lindsey.
Me
Can I call you in five minutes, Sir? I’d like to talk to you.
Sir
If you promise to be on your best behavior for me.
I itch to say I can try, but I know that will only make things worse for me. Maybe he’s right; maybe I do want to get in trouble. But again, I ask myself why. I’ve never liked being in trouble before.
I shake that thought away.
Me
I promise, Sir.
Sir
Very well. My clock is set for five minutes.
I sit up from the couch, grab my wine, and run up the steps to my room, fluffing my pillows and sitting on the bed, placing my glass on my side table and grabbing my earbuds so our conversation will be private.
I left the door open a crack, but it’s mostly closed to muffle any sounds of my voice.
Not that Kas will hear with her headphones on.
With less than a minute left, I hit the call button, finding out too late I hit the video chat.
When my Sir’s, Dane’s, face fills the screen, I’m shocked for a moment before I realize there’s no reason to hide now.
We’ve met. We know what the other looks like.
The walls are gone, and it’s just us now.
It should be impossible for a man like him to get more beautiful, especially when looking at him via a screen, but somehow, he manages it. Unlike last time, where he had a plain black background, he hasn’t hidden his surroundings.
He’s outside, from the looks of the back of an Adirondack chair in a deep green.
The July sun won’t go down completely for another hour, but the golden light of the impending sunset only makes him look like some lumberjack god, lighting the planes of his sharp features and black-and-silver hair that’s trimmed tight at the sides and styled on top.
“Lindsey.” His voice rumbles. “Thank you for being on time.”
“Hi, Dane. Thank you for giving me another chance.”
He cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his lip curling up. “I was feeling lenient.”
Heat pools in my belly, and despite myself, I pretend as if he only smiles like that for me and not for every person he’s ever said that to. I suppose I’m the only one who’s seen it, however, and I can’t help but feel a bit smug about that.
I dip my chin so our eyes lose connection, and Dane clears his throat.
“Look at me, Lindsey.”
My head snaps up, and my brown eyes meet his beautiful hazel ones.
“Now that we can see each other, keep your eyes on me unless I tell you otherwise,” he says sternly.
“Yes, Sir.” I say the Sir part quietly, nervous with Kas being in the house.
Dane’s eyes flick behind me as if he’s looking for someone. “If you’re worried about Kas hearing us, you can call me Dane unless we’re alone or messaging.”
Relief washes over me. Not only because I won’t have to be worried about Kas hearing me call someone Sir but also that I get to use his real name.
It suits him, and I like the way it feels to say it.
I’ve gotten used to Sir already, but it will be easy to get used to Dane now that we’ve officially met and I know every part of his face.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The gentle sound of crickets comes through my earbuds, and it soothes my nerves. Dane stares at me, and while I was hoping he’d start the conversation, I know he’s waiting for me to begin.
“I’m sorry for not getting back to you and for breaking my commitments again.
” I pause for a second and look down, but when he clears his throat, my eyes snap to his.
He doesn’t look angry, but his gaze holds mine as if he’s letting me know he’s here to support me, urging me to continue.
I swallow to wet my dry mouth. “I’m sorry for not responding to your messages, and I’m sorry for sassing off. ”
“That is a lot of sorries,” he purrs, the natural hum of his voice making my toes curl in my socks.
I continue to hold his gaze, my cheeks heating. “Should I not be sorry?”
“Yes, if you truly are. But I’d prefer if the apologies came with a way to hold yourself accountable so you don’t continue this behavior.”
I bristle. “I think my behavior was warranted though, wasn’t it?”
Dane doesn’t flinch, and his gaze remains even. “I don’t know, Lindsey. You tell me. Was avoiding me the way you truly wanted to respond? Or did you respond that way because of how you were feeling?”
“Are you going to respond to everything I say with a question?”
“Are you going to continue to deflect or be honest with me?”
I huff, frustration building in my core. “You weren’t honest with me, Dane.”
“If you want to go tit for tat, we can do that.” He pauses, the planes of his face softening slightly.
“But maybe take a breath and ask yourself why you’re so eager to argue with me.
Why do you need to steer the ship when you know you prefer letting me take the lead? That’s why you came to me, yes or no?”