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FulfillingDominance: Yes, boy. How are you feeling? Still okay?

CravingMore: Yes, Sir. I’m just sleepy now.

FulfillingDominance: I want you to go to sleep. Get a good night’s rest. I’ll stay on for a little while, and if you need me, message me again. I don’t like that I’m not there to provide the proper aftercare. Are you free to talk at the same time Monday?

I feel a stab of disappointment that we won’t be chatting tomorrow.

CravingMore: I work. Can we do nine instead?

FulfillingDominance: Yes. I’ll talk to you then. Thank you for giving yourself to me tonight.

CravingMore: Thank you, Sir, for giving me an escape and helping me be myself.

I go to sleep with the biggest smile on my face.

CHAPTER SIX

Marshall

“Thank you, Sir,for giving me an escape and helping me be myself.”

Two days later, I can’t stop thinking about that one sentence. The whole scene was memorable in a lot of ways. I felt very connected to CravingMore, to the moment, and knew that even though I couldn’t see him, he was obeying everything I told him. That’s not easy to do in a situation like ours—typing messages back and forth—and hell, maybe I’m wrong and he was playing me, but I don’t believe that for a moment.

“Thank you, Sir, for giving me an escape and helping me be myself.”

Still, that statement is the main one on repeat in my brain, and it’s so entwined with why this lifestyle is a part of me, of who I am, and a part of who CravingMore is too. It’s not something we can be everywhere, not something we can show everyone, and if we do, we open ourselves up to being judged about it. We have to find safe spaces to authentically be ourselves, and that single line from CravingMore tells me we’re on the same wavelength. That he sees it and feels it the way I do…and that calls out to the Dom in me on a whole new level I hadn’t anticipated.

There’s an unfamiliar tingle beneath my skin while working, the hours counting down much too slowly, edging me toward nine. I’m not suregiddyis the right word—I would never describe myself as giddy in any situation in my whole life—but it’s the closest one I can think of. It’s…odd, and I’m not surehow I feel about it, especially when I consider the age difference. I’ve never played with someone fifteen years younger. It’s not something I intended or have really thought much about, but my tastes have always veered toward men close to my age. What could I possibly have in common with a twenty-five-year-old?

“Thank you, Sir, for giving me an escape and helping me be myself.”

Well, other than that.

I finish out my workday. Just as I’m leaving my office, Burt, a coworker, waves me over. “A few of us are going out for dinner tonight if you want to come. Some spouses will be meeting up with us, so if you’d like, feel free to bring the wife.”

That says how much my coworkers and I have gotten to know each other since I’ve moved here. A little voice in the back of my head tells me I should go with them, that if I plan to make friends here again, this is a good way, but even before I speak, I know what my answer will be. “No wife, and I’ll have to take a rain check. Thank you, though.”

“No problem,” Burt replies. “Definitely next time.” He continues down the hallway, and I go for the elevators, getting off at the parking garage. My car is waiting in my assigned spot, and now that I’m in it, I realize I don’t want to go home.

I pull out of the spot but don’t head toward my house. Instead, I find myself going to Black Salt. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard the food is good. With it being a Monday, I should be able to get in without a reservation. Ever since the barbecue on Saturday, I’ve been wondering how JT is. Maybe he’ll be there.

Black Salt is in a well-populated area of North Hills, where people sit outside on the patio, drink cocktails, eat, and watch foot traffic go by. People shop and dine in North Hills, go on their evening walks, and on a Friday or Saturday night, it’s insanely busy.

A couple is walking out just as I reach the door, and the gentleman holds it open for me. “Thank you,” I say, slipping inside. Most tables are full, but from the look of it, I chose a good night to come. They aren’t packed.

The hostess greets me and smiles. “Just one?”

“Yeah. A friend of the family works here. I’m not sure if he’s on shift tonight.”

“What’s his name?”

“JT.”

“Yes! He’s here. I’ll put you in his section.”

She leads me through the restaurant, which has black tables and chairs and white tablecloths. There’s a bar along the right side, bottles decoratively displayed on the walls.

“How’s this?” she asks.

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