what he was into and what worked for him. He never questioned it and accepted it as soon as he recognized that he was only sexually satisfied when he dominated his partners. He loved giving orders and he loved the control. He craved the release promised at the end of every session. BDSM provided another outlet for his domineering personality and love for inventive positions. The toys, the accompaniments, all of it combined allowed him freedom, a freedom he’d never expected when he’d first started down the path. Twelve years later, he couldn’t imagine returning to vanilla sex. For Calleigh, would he have an opportunity to make an exception? Could he?
Or would she be willing to explore her darker side with him at the reins?
§ § §
Calleigh loved to sweat, loved feeling the physical impact of her vigorous workouts, but was happily contemplating an upcoming shower following her long, sweaty soccer game, when her buzzer zinged letting her know someone was waiting downstairs to see her. It was probably Lauren who she’d been actively avoiding for the last couple of weeks for no real reason other than the fact it took a lot out of her to withstand Lauren. On any level. Walking over to her security pad, she pressed the key, asking “Who’s there?”
The deep voice that haunted her dreams since their last encounter carried through the intercom system loud and proud.
“It’s me.”
During the game, she’d steadfastly ignored him every time he’d tried to capture her attention, a relatively easy feat given their respective positions on the team and the number of their teammates. Despite the way their dinner had ended, she was happy to hear him and even happier that he’d followed her back to her loft after the game.
Not entirely caving to her enjoyment, she smiled to herself and decided to fuck with him a little. After their dinner, he deserved it.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know any ‘me.’ Do you go by any other names? Aliases perhaps,” she taunted.
“Knock it off, Calleigh and let me up. Otherwise, you’re never going to get to see the presents I brought you.”
His words rendered her momentarily speechless. He’d brought her a present? Something for her?
“Presents as in plural?”
“You’re never going to find out if you continue to play twenty questions. Let me up now or I’m leaving.”
Her curiosity overtook her and she buzzed him up. Figured he’d come over to see her when she was damp with sweat, still in her sweat pants and sweaty t-shirt with armpit rings.
David’s heavy knock rattled her walls. Those of her loft, too.
Opening the door, she checked him out to see what the presents were, only to realize his hands held a single, small, brown paper bag.
“Is that it?” she accused, her lips turning up in disappointment as she checked the rest of him out. He still sported his soccer gear, his navy Adidas pullover looking like he’d used it for more than just window dressing, the cuffs worn and frayed. Matching warm-up pants completed the athletic ensemble.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you you’re not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth?” he chided, coming into her loft without waiting for an invitation, orienting himself around until he found the kitchen.
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie to you.” He opened up her drawers and cupboards like he owned the place, as though it was his kitchen.
“Is there something I can help you find?” she asked, watching him while he continued his assault on her kitchen drawers and cupboards.
“No. Why don’t you go ahead and open up your presents?”
“My presents are in there?” she grimaced, pointing towards the plain paper bag.
“For all you know, it could be a Tiffany’s pendant,” he rebuked.
“Ha! Last I looked, Tiffany’s didn’t use brown paper to wrap up its esteemed gifts.” She waited a beat before continuing. “Are my presents really from Tiffany’s?”
He laughed and removed two bowls from
Or would she be willing to explore her darker side with him at the reins?
§ § §
Calleigh loved to sweat, loved feeling the physical impact of her vigorous workouts, but was happily contemplating an upcoming shower following her long, sweaty soccer game, when her buzzer zinged letting her know someone was waiting downstairs to see her. It was probably Lauren who she’d been actively avoiding for the last couple of weeks for no real reason other than the fact it took a lot out of her to withstand Lauren. On any level. Walking over to her security pad, she pressed the key, asking “Who’s there?”
The deep voice that haunted her dreams since their last encounter carried through the intercom system loud and proud.
“It’s me.”
During the game, she’d steadfastly ignored him every time he’d tried to capture her attention, a relatively easy feat given their respective positions on the team and the number of their teammates. Despite the way their dinner had ended, she was happy to hear him and even happier that he’d followed her back to her loft after the game.
Not entirely caving to her enjoyment, she smiled to herself and decided to fuck with him a little. After their dinner, he deserved it.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know any ‘me.’ Do you go by any other names? Aliases perhaps,” she taunted.
“Knock it off, Calleigh and let me up. Otherwise, you’re never going to get to see the presents I brought you.”
His words rendered her momentarily speechless. He’d brought her a present? Something for her?
“Presents as in plural?”
“You’re never going to find out if you continue to play twenty questions. Let me up now or I’m leaving.”
Her curiosity overtook her and she buzzed him up. Figured he’d come over to see her when she was damp with sweat, still in her sweat pants and sweaty t-shirt with armpit rings.
David’s heavy knock rattled her walls. Those of her loft, too.
Opening the door, she checked him out to see what the presents were, only to realize his hands held a single, small, brown paper bag.
“Is that it?” she accused, her lips turning up in disappointment as she checked the rest of him out. He still sported his soccer gear, his navy Adidas pullover looking like he’d used it for more than just window dressing, the cuffs worn and frayed. Matching warm-up pants completed the athletic ensemble.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you you’re not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth?” he chided, coming into her loft without waiting for an invitation, orienting himself around until he found the kitchen.
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie to you.” He opened up her drawers and cupboards like he owned the place, as though it was his kitchen.
“Is there something I can help you find?” she asked, watching him while he continued his assault on her kitchen drawers and cupboards.
“No. Why don’t you go ahead and open up your presents?”
“My presents are in there?” she grimaced, pointing towards the plain paper bag.
“For all you know, it could be a Tiffany’s pendant,” he rebuked.
“Ha! Last I looked, Tiffany’s didn’t use brown paper to wrap up its esteemed gifts.” She waited a beat before continuing. “Are my presents really from Tiffany’s?”
He laughed and removed two bowls from
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