Page 44 of For the Record

Frankie’s command was equally alluring and anxiety inducing, a magnetic field pulling Coy into a dangerous vortex. Even after all these years. Heat coiled in her belly as she pushed the door open, stepping silently into Frankie’s two-bedroom apartment. Coy spotted the older woman instantly, seated in the middle of the room on one of her dining room chairs. She was dressed in her trademark business attire, her halfway unbuttoned blouse flashing a swell of creamy breasts Coy’s way. Red heels completed her look, and in her hands was a black bondage rope.

“Lock the door.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Coy’s body went on autopilot, eagerly soaking in the instructions.

“Now strip, my pet.”

Coy’s mind went blank, and she froze, caught betweenneedingto strip and her earlier desire to have a proper non-submission or sex-related conversation with her Domme.

“Don’t make me tell you twice, pet. Today we’ll start out here and finish in the playroom.”

Kicking out of her Nikes, Coy scrambled to remove her shirt. Frankie looked on in anticipation, her mocha brown gaze hooded as she studied Coy. She looked beautiful and sexy and dangerous—all the things Coy had come to crave. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, why she couldn’t stand her ground, but before she knew it, she was down to her boxers and sports bra.

“Stop,” Frankie ordered when Coy dipped her fingers into the waistband of her boxers. “Leave them on. Now I want you to crawl to me.”

Coy’s pussy clenched in absolute need, and for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what she’d planned to do tonight. She sank to her knees, a soft sigh leaving her as she crawled on all fours to Frankie. She caught the heat in her mistress’s eyes as she gleefully watched Coy crawl across the floor. “Good, pet,” she crooned, bending to cup Coy’s cheek in her palm. Frankie’s nails scraped along Coy’s jaw, and she gasped, desire shooting to her core. Frankie’s hand circled Coy’s throat possessively, and when she held Coy still and roughly claimed her lips, Sawyer’s storm cloud gray eyes and sensual mouth flashed behind Coy’s eyes. It was almost like warning bells going off in her head.

Frankie stood, and with her hand still wrapped around Coy’s throat, she guided her to her feet as well. Frankie shifted their positions so that Coy was now in front of the chair. “Sit, pet,” she directed, her hand sliding to Coy’s chest and giving her a light push. Coy fell into the chair, her chest heaving as thoughts of Sawyer swirled round and round.

“Safe word—tell me it.” Frankie’s voice was low, throaty by design, but it wasn’t having the same effect on Coy as five minutes ago.

“I, uh … Frankie, I—”

“Tell me your safe word, McCoy,” Frankie repeated, reaching for Coy’s arms, the rope dangling in her opposite hand. She had about one minute before Frankie had her bound to the chair. Which was hot as fuck, but …

“Peaches,” she blurted.

“Good, pet. Now we can begin.”

“N-no I mean, peaches, Frankie. I-I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” Coy pulled her hands away from Frankie’s firm grip, twisting around in the chair to face the older woman.

Frankie was squinting at her, clearly confused. The rope fell to the floor, and she swiped her long brunette hair away from her face. “What’s wrong? What do you need? Where are you tonight? Not with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Coy whispered, bowing her head. Tears pricked her eyes, and she wasn’t at all surprised when Frankie’s hand fisted her jaw seconds later, tugging her face toward her once more.

A rueful smile appeared. “Who is she?”

Coy closed her eyes as the tears fell. She and Frankie weren’t even in love, and it was still killing Coy to do this. “Her name is Sawyer.”

“I see. Fuck.” Frankie released Coy immediately, backing up several paces.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, softer now. She glanced around for her clothes, not waiting for Frankie’s permission to redress. She was numb as she pulled her jeans back on.

Frankie was facing away from Coy, one of her hands resting on the chair for support. A pregnant pause filled the air, before she said quietly, “You’re free to go, Coy.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie. I-if it wasn’t for her—”

“Don’t apologize. You … owe me nothing. If anyone is in the wrong, it’s me. I-If only I could …” Her voice trailed off.

“Frankie?” Coy took a hesitant step forward.

“Was I not a good Domme to you?”

“What?” Coy’s jaw went slack. She took another step, and then another, until all she’d need to do was reach out and she’d touch Frankie. Coy jabbed her hands into her pockets. “You were a great Domme. That was never the problem.” Frankie had never failed in that regard. It was everything else she struggled with. Coy didn't want to be just a part-time play toy anymore. She wasn’t sure at what moment things had changed for her, but she needed to invest more than just her body into a relationship. “I’ll miss being your sub, Frankie.” The words were out before she could stop them, but that didn’t make them any less true. Coy’s throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed hard. She cut her eyes toward the door, her shirt and shoes in her arms.

She was almost over the threshold when she heard Frankie rasp, “Not as much as I will, pet.”

Chapter 22

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