Page 50 of Desperate Haste

Little Fox:

What makes you so confident?

The fact that I know it’s been a minute since I’ve given you an orgasm and since I know you’re just like me, I’m sure you’re missing me something fierce right now.

Little Fox:

A woman doesn’t need a man to have an orgasm you know.

Is this your way of telling me you’ve been using your toys, princess?

I send it off and try to not be distracted by what she is alluding to as I make a few drinks and pass them off. The bar is getting busy again and it takes me a few minutes to get back to my phone. Once I do, I have two new messages from her.

Little Fox:

Maybe once or twice.

Maybe one day you’ll get lucky and I’ll use one of them in front of you. I do have a cock ring I’ve never gotten to use before…

I stare at the screen of my phone for several long seconds as my brain tries to reconnect itself. I’ve never used a cock ring either but suddenly I wanted to. My dick jumps at the thought and I clear my throat loudly before turning away from the people sitting at the stools to rub my hand down my front to try and conceal the growing issue in my jeans.

The hold this woman has on me.

Don’t do this to me. I’m at work.

Little Fox:

You were the one who asked about my toys. I’m just being a good girl and answering your questions honestly

Be a good girl and meet me Saturday at ten at this address. Maybe if you’re really good I’ll make you forget about those toys of yours.

I send her the address of the training center and wait for her to text me back. When she doesn’t, I roll my eyes and realize why she probably hasn’t.

Please.

Little Fox:

I’ll see what I can do

Have a good night at work, think dirty thoughts about me. I love the thought of you being all hot and bothered because of me while you’re working.

Pretty girl, hot and bothered would be an understatement.

* * *

When Saturday morning rolls around,I get up and head for the training center at my usual time. I’ve just finished a six day stretch at the bar and I’m looking forward to my only day off for the next five days. But more importantly, I’m looking forward to getting to see Ophelia again.

I’m in the ring going glove to glove with Harley, a six foot something behemoth of a dude—who outside of the ring is softer than a butterfly. He’s been coming to the training center for a little over a year now and is one of my favorite sparring partners. We’ve been at it for awhile and sweat is dripping down my back and collecting under my practice helmet. Marshall and Reese are set up in their usual spots, watching and barking out commands as if we’re professional athletes.

“Go for his left!”

“Aim for his soft spot!”

I land a heavy hit across Harley’s jaw and he falls, tapping the mat with his glove, indicating that he needs a break. When he looks up at me, I extend my glove for him to take to help him up. As I do, I hear someone start to slowly clap and turn my head to find her standing just behind Marshall and Reese. Her hair is down and shines in the harsh fluorescent light. She’s wearing dark, loose fitted jeans that come just above her bellybutton with a tight white T-shirt underneath a black leather jacket. The way the outfit accentuates her curves makes me wish I had any ounce of artistic ability because the shape of her body deserves to be preserved in a painting forever.

“Well who do we have here?” Marshall exclaims, craning his neck to look at her.

“You must be lost. You’re much too pretty to be in this shithole on purpose,” Reese adds after him.

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