That unpleasantness out of the way, we focus on our food as we catch up on small talk like men often do. Sports, politics, and women. I keep waiting for Reece to announce he’s collared a sub, that he’s finally found his match, but so far it hasn’t happened. He seems content to dabble in the lifestyle, but deep down, I know he’s seeking something more.
During lunch, I find myself smiling, thinking about Brielle and planning our next lesson. Balancing my work and social calendar with my mentoring is often difficult, but I’ve always preferred it that way. Staying busy keeps my mind from wandering, which has always been a good thing.
So why am I hesitant to get involved with another client right now? I have two other women I’ve just wrapped up with, but last night while scanning the e-mails in my gentleman mentor in-box, I was unsure if I wanted to get involved with anyone else right now.
I tell myself it’s not due to Brielle, but part of me knows it is.
Chapter Eleven
Brielle
“Push your bottom back and press your heels into the floor.”
I glance up at the yoga instructor and mimic her pose, pushing back into a downward-facing-dog position.
Frustrated, I glance at Julie beside me. She’s so tall and graceful with her long limbs and perfect posture; her downward dog looks nothing like my awkward, shaking attempt. Yet week after week, I let her drag me here to this yoga studio and twist my body into shapes it isn’t meant to do, following it up with a wheat-grass shot that I can barely stomach, all in the name of good health. Oh, joy.
I glance at the clock and see that it’s only been seven minutes. Shit. I’m doomed.
“I still need the details about the other night,” Julie hisses at me.
“And yet you bring me to yoga, which I hate.” I narrow my eyes. I’d be much more inclined to give her all the juicy details over, say, margaritas.
“It’s a free country, Brie. You didn’t have to come. I think you secretly like it.” She winks.
I shoot her a scowl and blow a lock of hair from my face.
“Besides, I think that Dom of yours will appreciate how limber you are,” she adds.
“He’s not mine,” I tell her. Apparently, I’m one of many.
His phone call last night with Chrissy springs to mind again. The soft, calming tone of his voice, the anguish in his features as he spoke to her. It was like catching a glimpse of a whole different side to him, one that I never imagined existed.
“And rise up into warrior pose. Arms gracefully extend out from your body,” the instructor says from the front of the room. “Brielle, lengthen your spine, chin up. Good.”
I roll my eyes and inhale deeply. My brain is still spinning over my arrangement with Hale. I hope I’m doing the right thing.
This is all for Kirby, I remind myself. I can do this.
• • •
When Friday rolls around, I’m distracted and edgy. I didn’t hear from Hale all week, aside from his text this morning.
Hale: Are you ready for your lesson tonight?
Brielle: Of course. Are we meeting for a drink again?
Hale: No. Not this time. When I fuck you, I want you stone-cold sober and one hundred percent sure this is what you want.
Needless to say, I found myself speechless and still haven’t responded. After my second cup of coffee, I finally summon the courage.
Brielle: Do you want to meet at my place?
Hale: Yes. I’ll be there at 7 p.m. Make sure you eat something beforehand. You’ll need your energy.
When darkness falls, I finally force myself to leave the office. It’s Friday, which means all of my coworkers took off early, looking forward to their weekends and asking me if I had any plans. I mumbled something noncommittal about seeing a friend.
If they knew the truth, my professional reputation would be at stake, and I can’t have that. I may still be new to my career, but I’m a damn good real estate agent, and I won’t risk it.
I gather up my laptop bag, my purse, and the remnants of the lunch I was too nervous to eat, then head out to the parking lot. I knew staying at the office and keeping myself busy with listings and e-mails would be a better decision than pacing my quiet apartment, waiting for Hale. The anticipation of seeing him makes my belly flip. I have no idea what he has in store for me tonight, aside from his hint that we’d be fucking.
Once home, I only have an hour until Hale’s due to arrive. I secure my hair into a bun, strip down, and wash off in the shower. Then I stand naked in front of my dresser, peering down into my underwear drawer. Both times we met up, I’ve worn sexy G-strings, and both times he’s kept my panties as some type of intimate souvenir.
My eyes flash on my most nondescript pair of white cotton briefs. I wonder what he’ll say if I wear those?
A streak of defiance flares within me and an impish grin curls my mouth. Wanting to force a reaction from him, I grab the panties and step into them, then add a plain white bra, a pair of jeans, and a comfy long-sleeved pink tee. We’re staying in, after all. What’s the point in dressing up?
Once I’m ready, I munch on a handful of pretzels as I tidy up my apartment. I know Hale told me to eat, but the idea of sitting down to a full, heavy meal is not appealing. A glass of wine sounds fantastic right about now, but I won’t indulge. Hale wants me completely sober, and there’s something ironically intoxicating about that.
The buzz of the intercom catches me off guard.
He’s here.
I press the button and tell him to come on up. Moments later, feeling breathless and excited, I answer the door and find the tall, striking man I’m coming to know as my Dom standing in the hall. He’s dressed down tonight in dark-washed jeans and a slim-cut Henley in navy blue.