“Hence the nickname Chilly Willy?”
“I’m not done,” she growled. “He’s also really dodgy—it’s like he chickens out or something once things get steamy. Jennifer said he literally ran out the door after they started messing around.”
I had enough. “Sounds like fun,” I said. “I’ll just wear running shoes instead of fuck-me boots so I can chase him down the street.”
I joked only because I didn’t want her to know how desperate I was to find out if all this was true. I couldn’t let her know I’d be devastated if I didn’t find another sub soon. Most important, I needed to be on equal footing with her.
She was now Brent’s Domme, and I didn’t want her to get too high and mighty just because she was fucking my leftovers. I kicked Brent to the curb about four months ago. Erin played the humanitarian and took him in as her own, but they’re not completely monogamous. Anyways, we hadn’t spoken about it.
“So, what exactly are you doing here?” I asked, remembering she was happily paired.
“I’m running this event. I was the girl who did the tallies at the end.”
I poked her arm playfully. “And you didn’t tell me about it?”
“I thought you and Roy would get along.”
I frowned. “I don’t think I can ever eat salsa again without dry heaving.” I stood on my toes and tried to meet her at eye level. “And am I too short to be a Domme?”
She dismissed my non sequiturs. “Well, let me know if you need any medical assistance when you’ve got frostbite on your nips,” she said smiling. Good, at least we were still on friendly terms. “Up for some tea next Saturday, Shorty?”
I frowned and hesitated as I mentally flipped through my calendar.
“C’mon, you’re gonna need to defrost.”
I nodded. “We have a date with Earl Grey, my dear,” I said, giving her a quick hug. She spun on her heel and walked briskly to her car.
Before she opened the door to the little green coupe, I opened my window and shouted, “Tell Brent I said hi,” and peeled out.
Suck on that!
CHAPTER THREE
Cerise
Strawbery Banke was beautiful at sunset.
The old, historic homes sat on the water comfortably, the way they had for at least a century or more. The gardens glowed luminously at dusk, petals closing slowly as the sun set.
It was a great place to sit on a bench and discuss your sexual limits.
William arrived at seven o’clock on the dot, and I smiled at his punctual nature. He sat next to me and placed his hand on my shoulder and gripped it with sincerity.
“I’m so glad you wanted to meet,” he said, eyes intense and unblinking. He was a lot more confident than when we had first met.
“I just think it’s important to get through the difficult stuff before we get to the goods.”
He rolled his shoulders casually. “I wouldn’t say discussing limits is difficult,” he said smoothly, “especially since I have so few.”
My eyebrows drifted upward. “Only a few hard limits?” I asked incredulously. “You do realize a standard checklist has a few dozen questions? How long have you been in the scene?” He must not have much experience with our subculture if he thought he only had a few.
“My only hard limits are food play, blood play, and multiple partners. That’s it.”