Page 23 of The List
“Was it what you thought it would be?”
I smile at the sweetness of the question. He’s not fishing for an ego stroke the way some guys would be. He really wants to know how the reality matched my fantasy. “Kinda,” I reply. “I like the contrast of pleasure and pain. I don’t think I would have been into it if you’d just paddled me raw without all those soothing little touches.”
“Good. I’m glad you liked it.” He draws back a little to look at me. “You still up for this? The rest of The List, I mean?”
I nod, grateful he’s checking in with me. That he thinks to make sure my brain is on the same page as the rest of my body. “Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m having fun.”
“Fun,” he repeats. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”
“Me, too.”
He pulls me in for another hug, and I slide my arms around his waist once more. As I tighten my hold on him, I remind myself to keep a firm grip on my heart.
Chapter 7
Simon
I don’t call Cassie the next day. Or the day after that.
It’s not that I don’t want to. Frankly, I want to call her so badly I have to kick my own ass to keep myself from dialing her number.
Which is a problem, in my mind. We established the boundaries pretty clearly. This is about sex and nothing more. We both get to scratch an itch without any attachments being formed.
So, I’m doing my part to make sure that happens.
That doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t leap into my throat when I see her number pop up on my phone around ten on Sunday morning.
“Hey there,” she says, sending a jolt of dopamine from my brain through my body. “Hadn’t heard from you for a couple days, so I wanted to make sure you’re still on board for helping me with The List.”
Her tone is breezy and casual, and I can’t tell if she genuinely doesn’t care or if she’s playing that card so I don’t think she’s desperate or too available. I know the latter isn’t true, since Cassie Michaels is a far, far cry from desperate.
That leaves me to assume she might not care, which makes me feel shittier than it ought to.
As far as her list goes, a cock is a cock. Whether it’s mine or someone else’s, she’ll have no trouble crossing off the rest of the items.
My brain flashes on the image of Cassie with someone else. Screaming his name as he performs the Post Hole Digger, whatever the hell that is. I picture the bliss-dazed look on her face as another woman grazes those beautiful breasts with soft fingertips as they lean close and share a kiss.
I suddenly feel hollow and angry and jealous and I don’t know why, but I do know one thing. I need to see Cassie again.
“Sorry I’ve been out of touch,” I tell her as I settle back onto my black leather sofa. “I’m definitely still in. If you want me, I mean.”
“I want you.”
I can hear the smile in her voice, and it reroutes all the blood in my brain straight to my groin. “Well okay, then,” I say. “What’s next?”
Cassie clears her throat, all business now. “I was doing a little research for item number three.”
“Number three?”
“The pokey wheelie thing,” she says. “The Wartenberg wheel? I found a ton of them for sale online.”
Her focus on this device is charming to me. There’s something oddly sweet about Cassie’s interest in it. The fact that it stems from her own science background, or maybe it’s the fact that she’s eager to follow through with something she admits she wrote down on a drunken whim. In any case, I love the idea of her browsing sex toys on Amazon.
“Did you find something you like?” I stroke a hand over the arm of my sofa and wonder what it would be like to have her sitting here next to me. Would it feel natural to put my hand on her knee, to have her tuck her feet up under her and lean in close?
I like that mental picture a lot more than I wish I did.
“That’s the thing,” she says. “There are some Wartenberg wheels that have seven rows of pins, and some with three, and some that have just one. And some that advertise really sharp pins, and some that boast about the quantity of pins. How do I know what I need?”
