Command (32 page)
Her hand shook as she hit Send.
Myka spent the next hour alternately wishing she’d never sent the email and obsessively checking for a response.
She was on the way out of the door, a to-go cup of coffee in hand, when her cell phone signalled an incoming email. She juggled the cup, her purse, and her tote onto the hallway table. There was no way she could tolerate the suspense of not knowing if the message was from
him.
Her heart momentarily stopped then raced on madly.
The subject line read, “Call me.” There was no message, just a phone number. She collapsed against the wall and stared at the screen. She only had to touch the number to dial him.
Dare she?
Finally she took a deep breath and touched the number. The phone gave her the option to confirm her choice.
This time she didn’t hesitate. She’d made up her mind.
“Dettmer,” he said.
Oh, God. She’d forgotten how rich his voice was, how compelling. With a single word, he made her damp. “Hello…” She paused, uncertain how to address him. Sir? Phillip? Mr Dettmer?
He waited. Even through the phone lines, she sensed his patience. “It’s Myka Monroe. We met yesterday in the elevator.”
“How was the book?” he asked.
“You don’t waste time on small talk, do you?”
“Do you want me to?”
“It might make it a bit easier.”
“Is that what you really want, Myka? For me to make things easier for you? Or do you want to confess to me that you played with yourself last night while you thought of me?”
She gasped.
Before she could formulate an answer, he spoke again. “How many times did you come, Myka?”
The dialogue in the novel had been one of the things that had turned her on most, but now that Phillip Dettmer,
the
Phillip Dettmer, was being so blunt, she found herself flustered. “Just once,” she said.
“Did you use a toy, or just your hand?”
“Uhm… A toy.” The word sir was on the tip of her tongue, and she almost, almost, used it. She’d never had that kind of inclination with any man before, but then she’d never met a man this powerful, this self-assured, this unyielding.
“Tell me more. Where were you? What were you thinking of?”
Thank God she hadn’t returned his call from the office. “Last night I took a bath.” She paused, but he didn’t fill the silence. She sensed he’d wait her out, no matter how long it took. Nervously she continued, “I had a glass of wine and I read for about an hour in the tub. You know, the book I had in the elevator.”
Again he said nothing.
“Then I went to bed with my vibrator.”
“Continue.”
With her free hand she pushed hair back from her face. “I was thinking about scenes I’d just read, but my imagination took over.” Admitting all this was embarrassing. Part of her wondered what she was doing. Myka reminded herself that she’d sought him out. “I was tied up.” Before courage could completely desert her, “I imagined a sharp slap between my legs.”
“On your pussy?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I imagined being slapped
hard
on my pussy.”
“And then you came?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Has anyone ever done that to you?”
“No. Never.”
“And would you like to have your pussy spanked hard, Myka?”
Oh. God. She could barely breathe. There was something about the tone of his voice—seductive
and
firm—that undid her, seeming to send a bolt of electricity through her.
“Answer the question, Myka.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Speak a little louder, please.”
This man would never let her hide. Was she brave enough to face him? “Yes,” she repeated, a little more loudly. “Yes, I’d like to have my pussy spanked.”
“Good girl.”
His approval made her heart race.
“What kind of real experience do you have with BDSM?” he asked.
“Uhm… None.”
“But you want your pussy spanked. And you want me to be the one to do it.” He waited a moment, and then added, “Ask me, Myka.”
Her knees felt weak and terror vanquished her voice.
With that seemingly infinite patience, he waited.
Finally she cleared her throat. Hoping she was using the correct words, she asked, “Will you please spank my pussy?”
“I’d be honoured to spank your pussy, as hard as you want. When?”
She almost repeated the question before realising how inane that would sound. “Whenever you’re available.”
“We have a few options. You can come to my home. We can go to a club. Or I can come to you. Or you can continue to wonder what it might be like to have your needs met.”
She hadn’t considered the practicalities. If she went to him, she had the option of leaving if things spiralled out of control. At her place, she would feel more secure. She wasn’t sure about the idea of playing in public, but that was probably the safest option, at least until she knew him better. “I think a club would be best.”
“Would you like me to send a car?”
She paused for a moment. There were constant reminders of who she was dealing with. She was pretty sure he didn’t mean he’d send a taxi. “Yes, thank you.” Not needing to figure out where to park was the decision-maker for her.
“Monday night?”
Suddenly it all seemed too real. “Yes.”
“Wear a short skirt and heels. The shirt should be a button-down. I’ll leave the choice of undergarments up to you. They won’t stay on long, anyway.”
Her hand was shaking as he ended the call. She pressed the phone nervously against her chest. What had she just agreed to?
About the Author
Born in northern England and raised in the Wild West, Sierra Cartwright pens books that are as untamed as the Rockies she calls home.
She’s an award-winning, multi-published writer who wrote her first book at age nine and hasn’t stopped since.
Sierra invites you to share the complex journey of love and desire, of surrender and commitment. Her own journey has taught her that trusting takes guts and courage, and her work is a celebration for everyone who is willing to take that risk.
Email:
[email protected]
Sierra
loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
.
Also by Sierra Cartwright
Mastered: For the Sub
Halloween Heart Throbs: Walk on the Wild Side
Totally Bound Publishing
