After a few years, I’d come to the realization that bisexuality as a label for myself didn’t fit anymore. It had felt too restrictive. Even thinking of bisexuality as an attraction to people of my gender and everyone not my gender hadn’t helped. In the end, I’d settled on pansexual and had called it a day.
I liked people. Period.
I liked Quentin.
“Fuck,” I whispered, dropping my head to rest on the surface of my desk.
When Spencer had told me that Marshall had found himself a submissive boyfriend, I’d wondered aloud if maybe the reason I was still single was that I was subconsciously waiting for something different. Spencer had always had healthy relationships, even if they’d never lasted very long. Marshall was someone who’d shied away from anything kinky or BDSM related. If both of them had found something meaningful in it, maybe I was the one missing out.
Of course, Spencer had jumped on that. He was a bit excitable, and bringing me into the kinky club was something he’d tried to do for years. When I’d mentioned it to Marshall, he hadn’t reacted to it but hadn’t dissuaded me either.
In fact, when Spencer had invited me to The Church, his BDSM club, and their next open night, I’d accepted. In five days, I was going to his club for the first time. Spencer had sounded downright giddy at the thought.
I hoped to get a lay of the land and talk to some people, maybe discover something I wanted to explore.
“I want to explore Quentin,” I whispered and then banged my head against the hardwood desk, hoping to knock some sense into myself.
It didn’t work.
I was fortunate that my phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. Lifting my head, I waited for the screen to display the name and number of the person calling me. The office was closing in twenty minutes, and nothing pressing was happening with any of my clients. Who was calling so late?
I smiled as Quentin’s name appeared on the screen. Lifting the receiver, I pressed the answer button and lifted the phone to my ear. “Hello, Quentin.”
I loved saying his name and took every chance I could to use it. Every time I did, he got this pleased look in his eye and a tiny shiver would race through his body. I couldn’t help wondering what other reactions I could get out of him.
“Hello, sir.”
I frowned. His voice sounded small, something I’d never associated with him.
“Are you alright?” I stood and rounded my desk. I was a few feet from the door when his words stopped me in my tracks.
“Sir, there’s a Sophia King here to see you?”
Fuck me sideways. I’d completely forgotten about her. We’d gone out once a couple of weeks ago. Like an idiot, I’d agreed to a second date even though there hadn’t been enough chemistry between the two of us to light a match that was already on fire. Don’t get me wrong; she was perfectly lovely, just not for me.
The stupid things you did when you were lonely.
I’d had to reschedule once because of work. That I couldn’t remember the date I’d set up a few days before Quentin had started working for me said it all.
“I see,” I said to the man I was lusting after about the woman that I had a date with.
My first instinct was to cancel. I didn’t want to go out with her, but I couldn’t make her leave after she’d gone through the trouble of showing up. I wasn’t that heartless.
“Send her in, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
There was that tone again. It was awful and made me feel about two feet tall. It was ridiculous that I was feeling that way. We hadn’t exchanged a single word that had indicated any understanding between the two of us. I was his boss, and he was my secretary. That was the extent of our relationship and how it was going to stay.
I wanted something more than lust and hollow feelings. I knew if I started anything with Quentin, it would follow the same patterns I was trying to break out of.
“Thank you, Quentin.” I hung up the phone and reached for my coat, preparing myself to walk past Quentin with Sophia on my arm as if she belonged there and not him.
I sincerely hoped Spencer knew what he was talking about.
Climbing the stairs to Spencer’s house, I knocked, feeling impatient. The past week had been a nightmare of pent-up lust and growing tenderness toward Quentin. Everything he did for me seemed amplified in my mind. Every cup of coffee he delivered and every lunch he made felt special.
Then there were the fantasies that kept blindsiding me every time I had a moment to think.
Whenever I passed by the empty conference room next to my office, I imagined pulling him inside and locking out the rest of the world. I’d push him against the wall, trapping him with my body. I’d lean down and whisper all the dirty things I planned to do to him on the table behind us in his ear.
Alone in my office, I’d imagined calling him in and telling him to shut the door behind him. He would know from the look on my face what I wanted from him. He’d cross the room and stand by my side, waiting for me to pull back my chair before he dropped to his knees.
Scene after scene played out in my head. Worse, my second date with Sophia had only highlighted what he did to me. Needing to get Quentin out of my mind, I’d focused on my impending night at Spencer’s club. It was the only thing I’d found that worked.
“Slight change of plans,” Spencer said as he opened the door and waved me inside. “Marshall called. He said he and Oliver were going to come tonight and asked if we wanted to meet up beforehand for dinner. He thought it would make things less awkward than if we met at the club for the first time. Now, where did I put my phone?”
I followed him into the living room as he searched for his phone. How a man so disorganized could become a first-rate dominant was foreign to me. Marshall and I both knew to arrive thirty minutes early to his house if we were taking Spencer anywhere because it took him that long to leave. I suppressed a groan as he located his phone and started his next search.
“Where are we eating?” I called out as he left the room, knowing he’d hear me from wherever he was in the house.
“This pizza place that’s not too far from here. Marshall said it was Oliver’s favorite,” he yelled from the direction of his bedroom.
Nodding in agreement even though he couldn’t see me, I sat on his couch and settled in to wait.
“I wonder what kind of submissive Oliver is,” he said, keeping up the conversation as he moved around his house looking for who knew what. “Knowing Marshall, he’s not a masochist or a brat. I bet he’s a little or a pet, you know, something soft and sweet.” Spencer walked back into the living room as he buckled his watch around his wrist.
Thankfully, after hanging out with Spencer so much, I had a vague idea of what he was talking about.
Pets were people who liked to become animals. They got off on the dehumanizing aspects of it and the control they gave over to their Masters. Dogs, cats, and ponies were the most popular types, but I remembered Spencer mentioning a fox and a pig a time or two. I knew they had special tails, hoods, and gear that helped them fall into their role.
Littles, on the other hand, were typically submissives who liked to act younger than their actual age, like children. Instead of Masters, they had Mommies and Daddies who cared for them in every way a parent would care for their child. They had bottles, pacifiers, and wore diapers or childish underwear.