Beg Me (Dirty Desires #3)

Chapter 1

ONE

Istare at my phone screen, tapping a restless rhythm on the kitchen counter with my free hand. The sleek interface of the Desire app glowing back at me. It's not like those other dating apps with their cartoon hearts and desperate attempts at cuteness. This one knows exactly what it is.

Meet your match. It boasts a red font atop of a black background. The matching part being a kinky partner who will make my dirtiest fantasy come true.

"This is stupid," I mutter, but I don't close the app.

My thumb hovers over the first question. Basic stuff—name, age, location. I fill those out quickly, mechanically. It's when I hit the preferences section that my throat tightens.

Dominant. Submissive. Switch. Curious.

I select "Submissive" before I can talk myself out of it, then immediately lock my phone and set it face-down like it might bite me.

"Jesus Christ, Tess." I push away from the counter and pace my small apartment. Three steps one way, four steps back. The walls feel closer tonight.

My ex's voice floats through my head: That's a little much, don't you think? Why would you want me to talk to you like that?

I grab my phone again, unlocking it with more force than necessary. The app is still open, waiting patiently for me to continue my confession. The next section is labeled "interests" with a drop-down menu of possibilities that makes my skin flush hot.

Degradation.

Praise.

Control.

Worship.

I select them all, then unselect them, then select them again. My finger hovers over "humiliation" for three heartbeats before I tap it.

"Fuck it," I whisper to my empty apartment.

The bio section stares back at me, a blank canvas waiting for an explanation. What am I supposed to write? Hi, I'm Tess. I want someone to call me filthy names and make me beg for more.

I type: Looking for something real. No games.

Delete.

Professional woman seeking—

Delete.

I take a deep breath and try to type something honest.

New to the kink world, but have been fantasizing about it forever. I'd like to get to know you before I let you degrade me.

I stare at the words, feeling naked already. Too much. It's too much. I take a deep breath and move onto the next question, the one I've been dreading.

What's your dirtiest fantasy?

My finger traces the rim of my coffee mug, now cold and forgotten.

The cursor blinks patiently, waiting for a confession I've never spoken aloud.

Not to anyone. Not even to myself, really—at least not in complete sentences.

Just fragments that surface in the dark when I'm alone, that make me press my thighs together and hate myself a little in the morning.

I could lie. Write something acceptably kinky but sanitized.

But that's the whole point of Desire, isn't it? The promise in their slogan: Where your dirtiest desires come true.

If I'm honest here, someone might actually...

My stomach flips. Someone might actually do these things to me.

I set the phone down and press my palms against my eyes until I see stars. The apartment is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic. No one watching. No one judging.

Just me and the truth I've been running from.

I pick up the phone again and start typing before I can stop myself.

I want someone to completely degrade me.

Call me names that would make me cry if anyone else said them.

I want to be a toy to be used for someone else's pleasure.

I want to beg for it while he taunts me for being so desperate, so needy.

I want to be completely at his mercy, stripped of everything except what he decides I deserve.

I pause, breathing hard like I've been running. My cheeks burning.

The words stare back at me, black against white. Raw. Honest. Terrifying.

Delete, delete, delete.

No. I force my finger away from the backspace button.

This is the point. This is why I downloaded this stupid app at 2 AM after three glasses of wine and a lonely Friday night where I couldn't even get myself off because what I was imagining felt too... much.

If I can't be honest here, where can I be?

I hit "Next" before I can change my mind.

The next screen asks for photos. I scroll through my camera roll—professional headshots from work, casual selfies with friends, vacation pictures. Nothing that feels right for this. Nothing that shows who I really am.

I glance at myself in the darkened window reflection. Hair slightly messy, eyes a little too bright. Scared but determined.

I raise my phone and take a new picture. Just my face, no smile, looking directly at the camera. Daring whoever sees it to look back.

It's the most honest photo I've ever taken.

I upload it. Finally, the green "Submit" button appears at the bottom of the page. One tap and there's no going back. One tap and I've admitted to the void what I really want.

One tap and maybe, just maybe, someone out there will answer.

My finger trembles slightly as I press "Submit."

The screen changes to a simple message: Matching in progress...

Now we wait.