“Okay. Fine. More than a jerk. A complete asshole. But I don’t think this is even about him. That night we had too many margaritas at Rosa’s, you told me the sex was sufficient. Who the hell wants to have sufficient sex? You never got stars in your eyes when you talked about him. He was cute and convenient. And safe. And he saved you the trouble of being out in the dating world. That’s what you’re mourning. Not him.”
A bitter taste crossed Cora’s tongue, and she had to take another sip of wine to clear it. She wished there was some magical app where you could just wipe a certain time in your life out of your head. One click and it went into some unrecoverable trash bin. But that trash bin would be overflowing by now. Reading too much into her hookups with Kevin had just been the final dating mistake in a long list of them.
In the end, it’d been a good thing. She’d finally accepted her place in the dating pecking order. She was and had always been a tomboy and a geek, never quite comfortable in the skin she’d been given until she’d accepted that “proper girl” trappings and behaviors were not for her. But that had set her up to be the girl to hang out with, the buddy. She was the one they’d sleep with if they had no one else better lined up. Sufficient. Nothing more. Not the woman anyone lusted over. Not the girl anyone fantasized about.
And really, after accepting that, the loss of her dating life hadn’t been all that tragic. Dating had always been painful and awkward for her. The sex . . . uninspiring. These last few months, taking that off the table completely, had been a weird kind of relief. She had friends to hang out with. She had Dmitry and Hayven. She knew how to take care of her sexual needs. Not everyone needed to pair off like little plastic pegs riding in the car in the Game of Life.
“I’m not in mourning or unhappy, Gracie,” Cora said, hoping her friend could hear sincerity in her voice. “Truly. You don’t have to fix anything. I’m fine. I don’t need a guy right now. I’m a busy girl and a wizard with a vibrator. Who needs more than that?”
Grace’s lip curled, her silver nose ring catching the light. “A wizard? Does that mean your vibrator is magical?”
“Hey, they don’t call it a wand for nothing.” Cora held up her toothpick and waved it around. “I’m working on my sex patronus. I’m thinking mine will be shaped like a naked Chris Pratt riding a T-Rex.”
That earned a laugh, but concern lingered in Grace’s eyes.
Cora sighed and dropped the toothpick onto the plate. “Look, seriously, I’m fine. Why don’t you go and circulate? Do what you came here to do. I promise I’ll finish my wine and work up some liquid courage to do the same.”
Her green eyes went catlike, skeptical. “Yeah?”
“Sure. Drunk, chorizo-breath Cora will leave great impressions wherever she goes. All introverted tendencies will transform into glittering wit and brilliant sales pitches.”
“Cora.” She said it in the tone Cora’s mother used when she’d catch her playing video games instead of doing homework.
Cora shooed her with a flick of her hand. “Go. I swear I will leave this table once I’m done with my wine and will attempt to interact with fellow humans.”
Grace considered her for another second but then pushed her chair back and stood. She jabbed a purple-nailed finger Cora’s way. “I expect a fistful of business cards to be handed out, Ms. Benning.”
She saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
Cora watched her friend go and then stared into her wine, wondering how long she could make it last. Maybe she could sneak a refill and drag this out. She took a teeny-tiny sip and let it roll around in her mouth, pretending she actually knew how to do this whole wine-tasting song and dance.
“Is this seat taken?”
Cora glanced up to find a well-dressed guy with a nice smile looking down at her. His hand was on the back of the chair Grace had vacated, and Cora was almost too surprised to speak. She swallowed the wine, half choking. “Uh, yeah, I mean, no. It’s not taken.”
His grin went wider. “Great. Thanks.”
She took a breath, mentally preparing for a conversation with a cute stranger. She was still capable. Maybe. “So, some party, huh?”
Wait. That was her opening line? Maybe she had been hanging out in her apartment too long. Why not just ask about the weather while she was at it?
But the guy didn’t hear her anyway. Because instead of sitting down, he picked up the chair and walked away, bringing it to another table that was overflowing with laughing people.
The air whooshed out of her and heat flooded her face. Oh. Right. Of course.
She stood, her chair scraping hard against the floor, and drained the rest of her wine. Sitting alone at a table with one chair in the middle of a party was just a little too high on the pathetic scale, even for her. She left her empty wineglass and looked for a wall she could decorate with her presence.
She found a contender, one where the lighting was low and she could blend into the background. She started the excuse me, pardon me dance across the room. But as she made her way through the crowd, her phone buzzed. She grabbed it from the outside pocket of her purse, thankful to have something to make her look busy and not like she was escaping.
Dmitry: I’ve been thinking about you all day.
They were just little black letters on a screen, but God, did it unknot something inside her. Warm, sweet relief filtered through her. She typed back as she walked.
Lenore: Same here. Long, long day.
Dmitry: Plans tonight? Your dance card looks crowded.
She smiled. In Hayven, she never had a shortage of offers, especially since others knew she was now actively playing with the mysterious Dmitry. But she rarely watched anyone else’s scenes anymore. Since that first night with Dmitry, she’d developed a bit of an addiction for the man. He’d gone easy on her the first night, had led her through a scene where he told her exactly how to touch herself and for how long. He’d teased her for an hour before letting her come. It’d been simple. But it’d been one of the best orgasms off her life. And it’d made her forget all about being alone on Valentine’s Day.
After that, the boundaries had nudged farther out. He’d sometimes give her instructions. They’d be waiting for her on her phone when she woke up in the morning. No panties today. No touching yourself until you talk to me again. Somehow he could set her off balance with the simplest commands. There was something about having a secret that only the two of them shared that was intensely sexual. So even when she was alone during the day, she knew he was out there, pulling those invisible strings, maybe thinking about her like she was thinking of him. There was an odd sort of comfort in that. An intimate connection without the angst. Someone waiting for her to get home even though he wasn’t there physically. In a short few months, Dmitry had become a touchstone for her in her day.
Not that he still didn’t intimidate the hell out of her sometimes. Her instincts about him being dangerous still flared up. When he went into full dom mode, he was formidable as hell. But in the conversations in between, she’d found him to be smart and interesting and funny. They could play the game and push limits. But they could also have a normal conversation outside of the game. They’d become . . . friends.
And he used full English instead of text speak, which was odd and surprisingly refreshing. No FWB Kevin anymore.
Lenore: You’re the only one I want on my dance card. But I’m trapped at a boring work thing right now. Short of a zombie invasion, I’m stuck for a while. Will be home later, though.
Dmitry: Boring work thing? Since when is international espionage boring?
She laughed as she squeezed through a group of people and then coughed over it when she realized how loud the laugh had come out.
Lenore: That’s your guess? International spy? That’s what I had you pegged for. Well, after I ruled out Batman.
It was a game they played, guessing each other’s job. They
knew neither would ever tell the truth. The beauty of the thing was in the anonymity. They didn’t want to know. Neither wanted the illusion shattered.
Dmitry: You got me. I’m currently hiding in the coat closet of a drug kingpin, gathering intel. *Types quietly*
She could almost picture that. She had no idea what Dmitry looked like in person, but his game persona would be fit for a spy.
Lenore: *looks at closet* Shit. You found me! Sorry that I have to kill you now. It’s been fun. *bang*
Dmitry: *catches the bullet between my teeth and spits it out*
Lenore: Oh no! You ARE Batman.
Dmitry: *captures you, strips you naked, and ties you to the bed*
Her stomach dipped, the scene turning vivid in her head. This was how things went with Dmitry. Their conversations could go from playful to hot in a few short exchanges. She reached the wall she’d been planning to park herself against. If she stayed there, she’d have a nice view out the picture windows that lined the left side of the room. She could make the excuse that she wasn’t avoiding the party but was enjoying the moonlit rows of grapevines and admiring the looming, cedar-and-stone building in the distance, presumably Grant Waters’s massive ranch home. But her face felt warm, and she was afraid that if Dmitry continued down this texting path, it would show all over her expression.
So instead of stopping, she slipped into a darkened hallway off the main room. The noise of the party softened instantly. Two doors labeled STORAGE were on the left, but no was around and nothing looked to be in active use. The quiet was more than a little welcome, and she let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
She glanced down at her phone.
Dmitry: *spends all night touching you and not letting you come*
She licked her lips, her temperature kicking up a few notches more, the words and the wine blending together in her blood. She should probably go back to the party, tell Dmitry she’d talk to him later. She’d made a promise to Grace and was supposed to be mingling. Instead, she moved deeper into the dark and stepped between two stacks of plastic storage crates. Only the dim blue light of her phone screen filled the space.
Lenore: *struggles but secretly likes having your hands on me*
Dmitry: You like the idea of being captured?
The question wound through her like sweet temptation. Never before would she have considered that a desirable scenario. She’d spent half her life being scared someone would grab her. Her mother and the cases she’d worked had put that fear in Cora. It was a legitimate fear. But playing that kind of game with someone she could trust? Facing that nightmare scenario and twisting it into something sexy? She’d never be able to trust someone that implicitly, but virtually, she could go there in her head.
Lenore: Only if you’re the captor.
Dmitry: Mmm. I’d like to watch you struggle for my touch. I’d make you ride your edge until you beg. I bet your beautiful when you beg. I know you sound sexy when you do it.
Goose bumps chased over her skin. Since she couldn’t picture the real man, she pictured the version of him from the game. She imagined him knotting the ropes around her wrists and ankles, touching her everywhere, searching fingers and hot skin, making her want all the things he could give her.
Dmitry: Are you struggling now, L? Are you getting wet at this boring work thing?
She shifted in her heels. Her blood was pumping, the place between her thighs growing warm. The dark felt like a cloak around her. Safe. Secret.
Lenore: Yes. It’s not feeling so boring now.
Dmitry: Where are you? Meeting? Your desk?
Lenore: At an event, stepped into a hallway.
Dmitry: Are you wearing a skirt?
She frowned. Never. She’d never felt comfortable in the things, despite her mother’s repeated attempts to get her to wear them. She glanced down at her pinstripe dress pants and white silk tank top. Grace had given her a thumbs up on the outfit, but Cora doubted Lenore would wear such a thing.
Lenore: Dress
Dmitry: Perfect. Part your knees. Pretend I’m there with you running my hand up your thigh.
Despite the fact that she wasn’t really wearing a dress, she stepped a little wider, imagining his hand gliding up her legs and along her overheated skin, causing her to shiver. Her nipples became obvious points beneath her shirt.
Dmitry: Did you do it?
Lenore: Yes.
Dmitry: Picture my fingers beneath your dress, trailing up your thigh, pulling your panties to the side. Can you feel them, teasing you, not quite giving you what you want yet?
Sensation traced over her skin and she tilted her head back against the wall. God, she longed for that feeling, wished she could will him into existence right in front of her.
Lenore: Yes
Dmitry: Tell me what you need.
Lenore: You. Your touch.
Dmitry: I bet you do. You’ve been good for me, so I won’t make you wait. I can feel how slippery you are against my fingertips. I slide my finger lower and push inside.
Cora shuddered, her breath quickening.
Dmitry: You’re so wet for me, L, and I can feel you tighten around me. You need this so badly. You want to beg for more, but you have to be quiet. No one would know what I was doing to you. The event would just go on around you. You’d wear a nice polite smile while I fucked you with my fingers and made you come all over my hand.
A gasp slipped past her lips as her inner muscles clenched hard. She was steps away from a crowded party, but she could almost feel his hand on her, thick fingertips finding her sex and pushing inside her. She closed her eyes and pressed her thighs together, trying to put pressure where she needed it most. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her nipples turned sensitive against her bra. She wanted to touch, to get relief. Her fingers curled against her thigh. Maybe she could just press the heel of her hand . . .
“So I think it’s time for our very important business meeting.”
Cora’s eyes popped open, and her breath caught at the sound of the unfamiliar male voice. She automatically clutched her phone screen to her chest, blocking the light.
A woman laughed. “Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”
Two shadowed forms came into view and passed by Cora as they headed toward the back of the hallway. The fine hairs that had escaped the twist in Cora’s hair fluttered against her face as the couple kicked up a breeze in their wake, but neither noticed her. She was just another shadow.
Cora squinted. There was enough light that she could make out the height of the man, the petiteness of the woman, but not much else. They were walking close together, obviously sneaking away for something and in a hurry. Cora glanced toward the entrance and the rectangle of light that led back to the party. She needed to bail.
“Keep it up with the laughing,” the man said, his voice low but ringing with authority. “See how long it takes me to shut you up.”
Cora stiffened and her attention swung back to the couple.
But the woman made a sound like she’d just taken a bite of the best chocolate. “Look forward to it, sir.”
Sir. The word rang through Cora. Reverberated. Sir. It meant a very specific thing to Cora. But this couldn’t be that. Her mind was just stuck on Dmitry and the game. This was probably some assistant and her boss sneaking off to make out. She needed to leave, make it known that they weren’t alone. Hello, innocent bystander here! I was just leaving. Don’t mind me!
And she was all prepared to do that until she heard the sound of a zipper and shift of fabric. She turned her head automatically toward the noise, the harsh zipper sound like a beacon.
The woman’s breaths were sharp in the darkness—quick, anticipatory. Sexual.
Cora tried to turn her head, tried to make her feet work.
Look away, Cora. Look away!
The man’s voice cut through the silence like a bullet. “Suck it.”
Cora froze.
And she didn’t look away.
Roni Loren is the New York Times bestselling author of the Loving on the Edge novels, which include Call on Me, Nothing Between Us, and Need You Tonight, and the Pleasure Principle series, including Off the Clock. She lives in Dallas with her husband and son. If she’s not working on her latest sexy story, you can find her reading, watching reality television, or indulging in her unhealthy addiction to rockstars, er, rock concerts—yeah, that’s it.
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