As I drifted off to sleep in his freezing embrace, a thought occurred to me. I had been harsh about the boyfriend thing, but I could give him a little encouragement. “Outside of scenes I want you to call me Cerise,” I said, then dozed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cerise
Okay, so here’s where if I had a BFF, she’d smack some sense into me and tell me I was crazy.
That I’d be a fool to even THINK of abandoning something so rare, and so good.
Then she’d borrow my lipstick and I’d call her my favorite bitch, and we’d go shoe shopping.
But I don’t have a BFF—aside from Erin, who totally doesn’t count—and so therefore there was nobody to talk me down from the ledge I had considered scaling.
Why the hell was I approaching a ledge in the first place?
There was a man out there in the world that literally lived just to please me. Whose every action catered to all my needs. What kind of sicko would reject that kind of adoration?
Me.
This didn’t feel right. For the past few weeks, I didn’t know what to do with myself. When I looked in the mirror after a night with William, I thought I’d see Kate Hudson in the mirror and not me—some bubbly romantic comedy actress who was in love.
All I saw back was a really confused and frightened Domme.
How was I supposed to do this? I knew how to dish out punishment and please the fuck out of a man. I knew how to grade algorithms and how to tie a proper harness. I didn’t know how to love someone.
I didn’t know how to wake up in the arms of a man who now said my name with near-religious reverence, as though the physical act of speaking the name Cerise brought him closer to God.
A man who deserved worship himself.
William.
Feeling his cool hands brush down my back as I woke up and stretched happily. Nuzzling into his chest as I yawned. Strapping his wrists to the headboard to grab a quickie before school. The past few weeks with William had been both spectacular and new, but all these things were so foreign to me.
And according to my late father, who was a Republican, things that are foreign are wrong.
I couldn’t possibly give William everything he needed. I could give him the thrill of my dominance . . . but aside from that, the man clearly needed love. What the hell did I know about that? I had no family now that my dad had passed, and no friends to speak of other than a cranky girl who fucked my ex.
No matter. I had to grade someone else’s tests, so I headed to the office, sullenly contemplating potentially stupid and self-destructive decisions.
Today was a surprise day, a William original, and already I was anxious about opening his e-mail. Would it be something that drew me closer to him, heightening my confusion, or would it be just a clever way to fuck me? Either way, I was screwed on several levels.
With trepidation, I opened my inbox to a peculiar sight. William’s e-mail itself had no subject line, and no contents other than a link to a website. When I clicked on it, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Add web designer to my list of things William does superbly.
The website was entitled Last Man on Earth. It was a blog.
The pictures in the sidebar were of William in an abandoned house, with other photographs of street signs and maps. There were links to survival websites along with a brief bio. I shook my head at the screen, not really knowing what to make of it.
There was a big red block of text in the middle of the screen—screaming for attention. “I am seeking survivors—anyone. It’s safe where I live and I promise I have food and provisions for survival. I have staved off several waves of zombies over the past year and have the scars to prove it. If you are still unaffected by the sickness and need a safe place to live, I am actively looking to build a small community. Right now, there is just me. I haven’t seen another healthy human in several months, but I remain hopeful. I’ve posted enough information on this website for any human survivor to find me. Please, come. As treacherous as the journey may be, I promise I can make it worthwhile. We owe it to humanity to continue on.”