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“Hmm. Are you coming back to work afterward, or is lunch just a prelude to happy hour?”
He opened the message on his phone, surprised to see who it was.
This is Kate. I met you at Janine’s party the other night. Sorry to be a pain in the ass, but I need your help.
Immediately, he texted back. Yes, I remember. What’s wrong?
A guy just messaged me on KinkWorld and asked me if I was into figging. Am I into figging?
“Uh oh. I know that expression. New girl?”
Ba
“His opening line is figging? What is the world coming to?” Ambrose shook his head and clucked in disapproval. “What’s wrong with asking someone out for a coffee, or a simple getting-to-know-you flogging?” He paused. “So is she into figging?”
“I doubt she even knows if she’s into flogging. She’s that new.”
“Wow. You could train her right from scratch. No bad habits. No preconceived notions of what a Dom/sub dynamic is.”
“Shut up. She needs a protector, not a predator.”
Predator. With her, he felt like just that. He thought about her long brown hair and expressive green eyes and felt the same conflict he had at the party. Although he’d said otherwise, the girl was exactly his type—beautiful bone structure, full lips, strong but rounded in all the best places, legs that would make a model weep with envy. She inspired in him a strong desire both to protect her and to shock her. He’d shocked himself when he’d offered to be her BDSM tour guide, but walking away from that party without trying to see her again had been impossible.
He’d already thought of training her himself, but it wouldn’t be fair to her. She didn’t want to be a slave. Trying to mold her into one would be a disaster for both of them. His friend’s eyes narrowed as though he could read his thoughts. “What big, sharp teeth you have, Mr. Wolf.” Ambrose chuckled and rose, then walked out.
Ba
The guy sounds like a dickhead. Just ignore him. I’m not explaining what figging is. If you really want to know, Google.
He hit SEND then banged his shin hard on the planter by the administrative assistant’s desk and swore under his breath.
Belle snickered. “Don’t walk and text. Are you coming back later, or are you gone for the day?”
Another text alert summoned Ba
“Nah, take the rest of the day off. You came in early.”
The new administrative assistant, Tanja, sputtered and started to cough. Belle had been with him so long she could get away with almost anything.
“You’re the nicest employee, ever.”
“I know.”
Both men walked to the elevator and Ambrose grimaced. “The new paint job in here makes me claustrophobic.”
Ba
“Belle said it was cozy and soothing.”
“It’s dingy.”
“It’s cappuccino with an ecru pinstripe. Classy.”
“Baby poop smeared on the wall is classy? Who knew?” Ambrose picked up three of the balls and started to juggle them. While he was busy, Ba
Oh jeez. I just looked it up. I’m not sure if I’m more embarrassed about having asked you or having seen it. Mental note: never Google pictures if you don’t know what to expect.
He couldn’t help but be a smartass. So I take it you’re not into figging?
The elevator door opened, and he walked in, stumbling over the crack between floor and elevator.
“You’re not coordinated enough to text and walk. And your tongue sticks out when you text, idiot.”
His phone buzzed.
I don’t know. For the right guy I might try anything.
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Didn’t she know she was playing with fire? His mind took her insinuation and ran with it, picturing her collared, leashed, and crawling to him. Crying from a caning. Begging to come.
If Ambrose hadn’t pushed the button he might have stood in the motionless elevator all day. He thought through his answer before responding.
You might want to be careful who you say that to. There are a lot of bad men out there.
There was a pause. Are you one of them?
Ambrose gripped his elbow and guided him off the elevator and through the lobby.
I wouldn’t trust me, if I were a pretty little girl like you. Remember that you don’t like what I like.
How was a text conversation turning him on?
LOL I think you’re the first guy that’s ever said, “Don’t trust me.”
Though it nearly killed him to rein himself in, he had to think of what was best for her. He typed back, I’ll find someone to play nicely with you, before you and I get ourselves into trouble.
There was a lengthy pause as his phone informed him she was writing. Was she writing him a bratty book?
Yes, Sir.
How many responses had she deleted before settling on that? And Sir? She didn’t even know him.
They walked the short way to the restaurant on the corner with Ba
Ambrose shoved him into a seat. “You want her.”
“She’d be better off with you. She doesn’t want a guy like me.”
“I’ll wait until you’re done with her.”
“Don’t tempt me. It’s not supposed to be like that.” Ba
Ambrose flicked a sugar packet at him, hitting him square in the chest. “You need to do something for yourself once in a while. You’re getting to be a boring old man way ahead of your time. Just because you’re having trouble finding the right girl doesn’t mean you should give up.”
“Okay, Dr. Phil.” He flipped Ambrose the bird good naturedly.
I’m going to arrange for you to meet a few Doms that I know well, who might be more your speed. Are you free on Saturday afternoon?
Was she brave enough to jump in like this? Did she trust him that much already?
Sure. You’re not going to bring them all by and line them up, are you?
“I’m not going to lure this sweet thing to the dark side. Do you want to meet her?” he asked Ambrose.
“Not yet. Break her heart first.”
“Fuck you.”
“You wish.”
He thought about who his next choice would be for her after Ambrose. No, I’ll just introduce you to one this time. My friend Trev, I think. Meet us at the coffee shop on Marcus Street at 1pm?
Ba
Okay. But how do you know he wants to meet me?
I haven’t asked him yet, but I doubt he’ll say no. He’s a good guy. If he’s not available, there are others. If it’s just me, I’ll just come by with a BDSM checklist so you can think about things.
There’s actually a checklist? He pictured her eyes wide.
Yes, several.
Figging is off the table, by the way.
Then I’ll leave ginger root off of my grocery list.
Thank you, Sir.
He winced and scrubbed at his forehead in frustration. At some point he should tell her that calling him Sir wasn’t necessary. Worse, though, he wanted to hear that sexy voice of hers say the word “Master.”
Just once.
***
Trev walked into the trendy, upscale coffee shop looking like a douchebag. Between the ratty old T-shirt and the backward baseball cap, he looked thirty going on fifteen. Idiot. He’d been going through a midlife crisis or something since he and his wife split, but Ba