Chapter Twenty-Five
Sutton
My weekend has been consumed by thoughts of him, my masked man.
My Dominant.
His touch lingers on my skin. That robotic growl of his voice interrupts my thoughts and derails anything I try to get done.
I spent the entirety of yesterday tidying up my apartment, but when I woke up this morning and went out to the kitchen to prepare the coffee, the mess indicated I actually got very little done yesterday.
All because a man I don’t know, have never seen without a mask hiding all of his identifiable features from me, sent me a good morning text yesterday and I was on pins and needles the rest of the damn day.
This morning, the good morning messages went a little further.
We discussed my plans for the day, what I would wear for my brunch date with Mo and our girlfriend Brynn.
I allowed him to pick my outfit, which I admit is absolutely bonkers, but it was also oddly calming.
I’m sure there’s a Suffragette out there turning in her grave right now, but allowing Dominus to choose my outfit took a weight off my shoulders I hadn’t realized I carried.
“Sutton,” Imogen says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Wincing because I’m a jerk, I drop the cell phone back into my purse and give her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.” The seat beside me is empty. When did Brynn get up from the table?
“You should be. We’ve been here for ten minutes and all you’ve done is nod, say huh, and check your phone.” She laughs. “What’s going on with you?”
Flicking my gaze around quickly, I lean forward. “I have to tell you something… about that kink club.”
She squeals, rubbing her hands together.
With a deep breath, I open my mouth to spill the details of my first night with Dominus, then quickly pull back when the server returns with our bottomless mimosas. She sets three small carafes of assorted juices down in the center of the table, then fills each of our glasses halfway with bubbly.
“Are you ladies ready to order? Maybe some appetizers—”
“We’re good!” Mo cringes, then looks up at the server. “Oh my god, sorry. That was… yikes. I didn’t mean to bark at you. My best friend is about to tell me something juicy.”
I snort, covering my face with my hands as my cheeks heat.
“Say less,” the server says with a laugh. “I’ll come back in a bit and check in.”
When she’s out of ear shot again, I lean forward and whisper, “I went to The Rabbit Hole Thursday night.”
Mo screeches, drawing the attention of the people brunching at the tables closest to us.
Ignoring them, she slaps both hands on the table and rears back. “You asshole. It’s Sunday!” Eyes wide, she shakes her head. “You’ve kept this from me since Thursday?”
Wincing, I cover my mouth to hide my smile. “Don’t hate me.”
“Don’t hold out on me, or maybe I’ll consider it.” She looks at our champagne glasses, then shakes her head. “Un-uh. We’re going to need homegirl to leave the whole bottle on the table for this.” She looks around for our server.
“Focus,” I say, pulling her back to me. “Before Brynn gets back.”
Mo rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine. Spill it. What did you do? What was it like? Who did you see? Was your serial killer there? Ghostface?”
For a split second, I regret saying anything to my best friend. “That wasn’t a Ghostface mask, Imogen.”
“Details, details. So it was him? You saw him again?”
“Yes.” I bite back a giggle that desperately wants to fly free. “I went in to fill out all the paperwork, and apparently Dominus sponsored me—”
“Dominus?” she barks, a bit louder than I’d like.
My gaze flicks around again, but no one seems to be listening. “Lower your voice.”
“He sounds like a Transformer,” she whispers.
“I like it,” I admit. “It sounds so… powerful.”
Mo’s eyes narrow, but she eventually shrugs. “To each their own, I guess. So what did Optimus Prime do to you? Spankings?”
I squeeze my eyes shut as my cheeks heat to a million degrees. “Yes, and…”
“Yes, and?” Mo snaps her fingers. “Lock in, girlie, I need way more than ‘yes, and’.”
My eyes catch on movement by the back door of the restaurant as Brynn steps out of the building and makes her way back to us through the patio. Biting my lip, I lean forward. “And now he’s supposed to be texting me instructions, but he’s been MIA today.”
“Instructions? Explain.”
“Like, I don’t know, he’s going to give me a task or something…”
Mo’s eyes go wide. “Like a dirty task?” she whispers.
I shrug, but before Mo inquires further, Brynn sits back down at the table.
Mo runs her tongue over her teeth as she looks back and forth between Brynn and me, frustration evident in the flare of her nostrils on each breath, but she knows me well enough to know that I’m not going to share this part of my life with anyone but her.
“What’s going on?” Brynn asks. “You two look weird.”
My cheeks are probably beet red and Mo looks ready to explode from the need to get more information out of me.
“Nothing. We’re good.” I raise my glass in the air. “Cheers to the ladies who lunch.”
Brynn is quick to bring her glass to mine. Mo, on the other hand, takes a moment, then reluctantly clinks both of our glasses, glaring daggers at me as she says, “To ladies who lunch. More than meets the eye… or something.”
I nearly choke on my champagne, but Brynn’s too caught up in the menu to wonder why our friend just made a Transformers reference for no apparent reason.
“What are we doing for apps?” Brynn asks, and I use the distraction to pull my phone out of my purse once more.
My eyes widen at the notification from Dominus.
Mo kicks me beneath the table and I yelp.
Pushing my chair back, I look at Brynn, pointedly ignoring my annoying best friend. “I’m sorry. I have to take this work call. Um, I’m down for the burrata if you are?”
“Always down for burrata. And maybe the sourdough loaf?”
“Perfect.” Without a backward glance, I hurry through the patio, then the restaurant itself, until I can slip into the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
Heart beating rapidly, I open the texting app and read the latest message from Dominus, who I’ve named MMM—my masked man—in my phone.
MMM: Are you ready to be a good girl for me?
A shiver skitters up my spine. Licking my lips, I type a quick reply.
Me: Yes
MMM: …
MMM: Yes, what?
I curse beneath my breath.
Me: Yes, Sir.
MMM: Good girl. Are you wearing panties?
Me: Yes, Sir.
MMM: I want them around your ankles.
My pulse speeds as my gaze flicks around the small space. I’m in a single person bathroom. No one will see this. No one will know.
What I wasn’t able to explain to Mo before Brynn returned to the table was that we discussed over text earlier that Dominus would like to engage in the same power dynamics outside of the club, so even when I’m not at The Rabbit Hole with him, he is still in charge.
I’m guessing this little request might have something to do with that, though it’s still a bit jarring.
I am just a newbie, after all.
But I committed. Eagerly.
So what am I waiting for?
I blow out a breath. “To hell with it.”
Without allowing myself the chance to talk myself out of this, I set the phone down on the vanity countertop and work my skirt up around my hips, then wiggle my underwear down my hips until they fall the rest of the way on their own, pooling around my heeled sandals.
Me: Done, Sir.
MMM: Do you feel comfortable sending me photographic proof?
I suck in a breath. No. Not even a little bit.
Me: No, Sir. I do not send nudes.
MMM: Apologies, pet, I’d like to see the panties themselves, wrapped around your ankles.
“Oh,” I say, considering the question. Hmm.
I mean, what’s the harm in that, right? There’s nothing about them that will tell anyone whose they are. Just a plain, black thong, simple black sandals, and unpainted toes. Boring and nondescript.
“Oh my god,” I whisper as I send another text, surprising even myself.
Me: One moment, please.
Me: Sir
I position the camera and take a few pics, moving from in front of my legs to between them to try to find the best angle, then I select one, hold my breath, and send the photo before I can think better of it.
I squeal as the message arrives and the phone tells me it’s been delivered.
The three dots pop up as my Dominant types a quick reply.
MMM: Good girl. Now get rid of them. I want to know you’re bare for me for the rest of your afternoon with your friends. Every time you move, you’ll remember there is nothing covering that sweet cunt, and you’ll think of me.
I shiver as his words send heat rushing south. As if I’m not thinking of him every second already.
I left my purse at the table, so I can’t shove my panties into the bottom of that, and I have no pockets, so I can’t hide them that way…
My gaze lands on the trashcan, overflowing with paper towels.
Taking a deep breath, I huff out a laugh.
At least they’re not my favorite pair.
Stepping out of them, I toss them into the trashcan and snap another picture. Grabbing some paper towels, I place them on top of my underwear, then shove them down into the bin as far as I can, hiding the evidence of what I’m leaving behind.
Someone knocks on the door and I jump, then giggle at myself.
“Just a minute!” I call out.
After I’ve washed my hands, I send a follow-up text.
Me: Done, Sir.
I attach the pic of my panties in the trashcan, send it, then wait for his reply.
MMM: You’re such a good girl for me. I expect you at the club tonight by seven o’clock. Enjoy yourself with your friends, but go easy on those mimosas.
I frown as I stare at the screen. It’s one thing to ask me to do silly things with my underwear, but telling me what I can do at brunch is another thing entirely. Maybe I’ve given him the wrong impression about me—
MMM: Don’t pout. Intoxicated women cannot consent. Do you understand?
I giggle, then roll my eyes at myself. Yes, sir.
I send Dominus a final text, agree to see him tonight, then look at the woman in the mirror, this surprising, completely unfamiliar woman with bright eyes and rosy cheeks.
She looks a little frazzled, a little excited, and a lot like someone who’s finally chasing after the things she wants.
Not for her company, not for her father, but for herself.
So I give her a little wink, then leave the restroom. Without my underwear, yes, but with something incredible to look forward to.
How I’ll make it through the next—I glance at the time on my phone—seven and a half hours is anyone’s guess. By the time I walk through the doors of The Rabbit Hole, I’m going to be primed for his taking.
A shiver shakes my shoulders as I stride back into the warmth of this early October, Los Angeles sunshine.