Or at least getting me tied up so I could have a really good orgasm.
I’d take what I could get as long as that was part of the initial package.
Oh fuck.
My cursor was moving.
“Deep breath.” Having to explain a panic attack would be really hard if I had to type it out. “You’re going to be fine. Henry is very helpful.”
My name isn’t Henry.
“Duh.” I wasn’t dumb enough to think it was. “I needed something to call you.”
Shoot.
Reaching for the keyboard, I was dumbfounded when words started appearing on the screen again.
Don’t be snarky.
I was not going to promise that.
I was however going to worry.
“Are you supposed to be listening to me? I’m not sure that falls under the category of helpful.” It would explain why the article on making sure I didn’t have my computer in my bedroom had popped up so many times. “But thank you for making sure I left it in the kitchen.”
I was going to get a nice desk at some point but I’d put that plan on hold when the whole job problem had popped up.
You’re welcome.
When he moved the cursor down to the next line, I realized he wasn’t going to apologize for the watching me or listening to me thing.
Definitely a guy.
Are you sure finding a Dom and someone to explore restraints with is a good idea?
“No, but it’s what I’m going to do.” I wasn’t stupid…well, not that stupid. I was, however, going to overshare with my invisible friend. “I liked it until he turned out to be a dick and I’ve tried regular dating. It’s painful. So if I’m going to end up with problems in the long run, I’d rather get something out of it in the short term.”
And for some insane reason orgasms while I was tied up were a thousand times better than regular ones.
I wasn’t sure if I’d have to explain that to Not-Henry but he seemed to accept that without much pushback.
Fine. Do you want me to fix you up with one guy or do you want to meet a variety of Doms in a social setting?
What?
How was that an option?
Stop gaping like a fish. That doesn’t give me enough to go on.
Nope. Hands on the table naughty boy.
Oops.
Closing my mouth, I moved my wandering hand back up to the table and off my lap. “I wasn’t doing anything inappropriate.”
Not yet, anyway.
The picture of a laughing cat that appeared in the document said he didn’t believe me.
