Chronicles of a Serial Dater - Book 2: A New Adult Romantic Comedy (5 page)

I took a few steps forward, standing just over his legs. He ground his hips into the foam pillows, dry humping his cock against them.

“Stop that.”

And he did.

I glanced at the whip in my hand, tightening my fingers around the handle and running my fingers through the fringe. I had no idea how hard or soft you’re supposed to whip a person. My first attempt was laughable. With a weak wrist, I did little more than tickle him.
Maybe if I role play a little bit more.

“You’ve been so… naughty,” I said, the last word coming out in an odd English accent. I actually laughed a bit, but his groan drowned out the sound.

With a little bit more force, I slapped his back with the whip again but still not hard enough to leave a mark. He writhed under the contact and for a moment, I thought he might cum on the spot.

“You like that, don’t you?” I was no longer in control of my mouth. I was essentially hearing myself speak, my dialogue sounding like every bad porn ever created.

Forrest looked over his shoulder, his lips spread open by the red ball in his mouth, and nodded vigorously. “Mmmmph, mmmffph!”

I gave him another whip, this time thin red marks rising on his skin. I waited to feel powerful, for the spirit of a true Dominatrix to enter my body and take over. But in the end, I was completely turned off, embarrassed, and so out of my depth I was drowning.

Nothing in my life had ever prepared me for a moment like this. What’s the etiquette for politely exiting mid-one-night-stand-turned-surprise-BDSM scene without seeming rude? I thought about unbuckling his ball gag and calmly explaining this wasn’t something I wanted to participate in, but that moment had long passed. There was no coming back from this, no traditional sex with the up-till-now perfect Forrest.

As I retreated into the inner sanctum of my mind to find a way out of this mess, I continued to idly whip him, muttering things I thought a person with a whip should say. I misjudged one particular swing and brought the straps down across the back of his thighs with a loud
snap.

I watched in horror as he creamed his pants in front of me. His fingers dug into the thick foam as he dry-fucked the cushion. Groans and moans echoed throughout the room, rumbling through his chest with the building orgasm. He shuddered, shivered, and looked more possessed than in the throes of pleasure.

I’d like to say I handled it maturely, but instead I simply dropped the whip, turned on my heel, and made a quick move for the door. Just as my hand landed on the doorknob, I heard his panting voice behind me.

“Thank you, Mistress Talia.”

I was still in shock as I walked up the stairs to my apartment. Running almost on autopilot, I opened the door before considering how I would begin to explain my evening. Anette and Zach glanced up from the TV as I entered, not immediately seeing my expression as I stooped to pet Pluto.

“You’re home early,” Anette commented absentmindedly.

“Uh-huh.”

“Another dud?” Zach chuckled, his attention back on the movie.

“Something like that.”

My voice sounded robotic, numb. I was not only reeling from the evening but also from the whole world I’d found myself thrust into. With every date, I slipped deeper and deeper into a life I didn’t recognize. I kicked off my shoes and tried to walk quietly by the TV to my bedroom, but the pair wouldn’t let me off that easy.

“You okay?” Anette asked, a twinge of genuine concern in her voice. “Was it a bad date?”

His voice echoed in my head.
I’ve been a bad boy…
“Yeah, I…”

Zach apparently saw something worrying in my expression. He was on his feet and by my side in an instant, turning me gently by the shoulder. “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

I patted his chest, idly aware of the hard, comforting muscle beneath the thin shirt. “No, no, nothing like that. It was…” Strands of shaggy hair hung in his eyes as he intently studied my face.

Anette scooted to the front of the sofa, poised to jump into action. With one word, I had no doubt she would scour the streets for my date and put him in a headlock if I said he’d hurt me.

I opened my mouth to recount the evening, but I hadn’t even made sense of it myself. Something inside stopped me from diving into my regular confessional. I wasn’t embarrassed or anything, but I also wasn’t in the mood to deal with their jokes. These bad dates brought out a weird relationship between us all, like I was a naïve girl and they were the world-weary adults laughing over my head at every misstep. No thanks. This whole experience was feeling like a bad sitcom. I couldn’t do it, not after the night I’d had.

Forcing a smile on my face, I squeezed Zach’s bicep and shook my head. “It just wasn’t a good match. I’m tired guys, so I’m gonna head to…”

“Talia,” he almost whispered, taking another step closer.

“I’m good, really. See you tomorrow.”

Once I was safely behind the closed door of my bedroom, I took a few minutes to run through the series of events that night. Writing always helped clear my head, so it stood to reason the blog would be the best place to work through some of this stuff.

“Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m a terrible judge of character. I can only go on so many horrible dates before I have to start looking at myself. There’s that old saying. If everywhere you go smells like shit, maybe you should check your shoes.”

It was one of those days where everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. From little things like knocking over a glass of water on my nightstand and dropping half my bagel on the train, to huge things like Lisa angrily calling me into her office.

Apparently late the night before, she’d received a message from Mr. English’s team regarding the edits I’d made on his manuscript. They weren’t happy with the direction I’d decided to go and had requested a different editor on the project. Since our team was so small, there were only two other people she could shift it to… one of whom was Abi. Lisa hadn’t shouted. She hadn’t even raised her voice, which made me even more nervous.

“I have to take time to look over the changes you suggested. It’s important my editors reflect the quality of work I promise. I blame myself for not checking your work before you returned it to his team.”

That happened an hour into the day and things had only gone downhill from there. To her credit, Abi sensed not to antagonize me too badly. In her own kind way, she was taking it easy on me. The day was so messed up and backwards, I actually took my lunch break with her at the deli downstairs.

“Ugh, I can’t wait to get out of the city this weekend,” she said around a big bite of pastrami. “I really need the respite.”

“No one says respite.”

“Smart people do.”

I rolled my eyes. “Going out to your little family cottage in the Hamptons?” It’d been meant as a dig but she either missed that or chose to ignore it.

“Not this time. We have a house Upstate on a private lake. It’s the perfect place to get away from all of this.” She sneered, looking around the crowded deli packed with people just like us trying to cram lunch into a half hour window.

“Sounds great,” I muttered, staring out of the window.

“I’d show you photos, but I don’t want you getting too jealous.”

“I totally understand how hard living on your own must be. It’s difficult wiping your own ass, isn’t it? Good thing Mommy and Daddy are still around to take care of that for you.”

“I’ll have you know my parents have summered in Europe every year since I was little,” she snapped. “I’ll be alone at the cabin.”

A soft silence fell between us as I realized what that really implied. Every summer she and her brother were abandoned while her parents got to adventure around the world. She realized she’d inadvertently shared a little too much information. Abi shoved another mouthful of food into her face to hide the shift in her expression.

It was the first real hint of humanity behind the mask. With a pulse of sympathy, I made a gentle gibe.

“On the next episode of Lifestyles of the Rich for No Damn Reason, we watch Abi struggle with the agonizing decision of which diamond-encrusted phone cover best matches the feng shui of the private pool area.”

Abi snorted and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “That’s ridiculous. None of my covers have diamonds. One would invariably pop out and ruin the whole design. I’d have to throw the thing away and get a new one every time it happened.”

I frowned at her, unsure if she was being serious or not until she chuckled. It was a brief moment of calm in an otherwise rocky relationship.

After lunch, I checked my personal email for the first time as we rode the elevator up to our floor. I blinked at the screen in shock for a moment, seeing ten new comments waiting to be approved on my blog. The post I’d written about Mr. Ball and Chain had apparently resonated with a few readers. All the shit from the day lifted from my shoulders as I realized people were reading my writing.
I have readers!
I was so excited, I nearly turned to Abi to share my news, but the doors opened before I could make that mistake.

My fleeting happiness was washed away when we stepped onto the floor. Lisa’s raised voice echoed down the hall, the heated conversation taking place around the corner.

“I’m sure we can work something out. These are merely comments and suggestions. Of course your manuscript has received the utmost attention,” she said, irritation thinly masked by politeness.

“Ms. Greene, I’m not looking for my ego to be fluffed. I was told your agency is…”

I stopped dead in my tracks as I recognized the deep accented voice.
Clint.

Abi apparently placed the conversation as fast as I did, her face lighting up at the impending drama of it all. With a spreading grin of joy, she stared at me as we continued to eavesdrop.

“Unlike most, I didn’t hire a ghostwriter to write this. These words are about my own blood and sweat, written with blood and sweat. I wouldn’t trust anyone to write it nor will I tolerate someone tearing it apart. She needs to explain herself.”

My stomach sank as I frantically ran through the edits I’d made. They’d been rushed, but I’d looked over everything as closely as I could. The editing was solid.
But what did I say in the comments?

“Of course, I understand. I will speak to the editor assigned to your project as soon as she’s back from lunch,” Lisa replied.

Abi’s eyes went wide as she spoke in an exaggerated loud voice. “Talia, aren’t you the funniest?” She gave me a wink and strode around the corner, turning as if we were in the middle of speaking. I had no choice but to follow, internally plotting how I would shave her eyebrows off with a rusty spoon the next time she fell asleep at her desk.