Page 27 of Dash

“I don’t have a date,” the biker answered, and glanced in Liz’s direction. “But I plan on going.”

Rolling her shoulders back, Liz grinned. “Me too.” Might as well jump in with both feet. Isn’t that what Anemone had told her to do? Wasn’t that the whole reason she went there? Time to get back up on that horse—or maybe it was a spanking bench.

As she glanced over at PRK, she recalled that image of the woman on the spanking bench with the wooden paddle that she’d looked at weeks ago. The one that she’d bookmarked. The one that she’d been looking at far too much lately. Yeah, that one. Her gaze drifted to his hands and she could practically see him holding that thick wooden paddle.

Doing her best not to be obvious, she swallowed hard, and shifted in her seat, crossing her legs. Did it get hotter in there?

Chapter 14

Gingersnap

It’s not stalking if it’s public information. At least, that’s what she told herself. Liz pulled up PRK’s profile on the fetish website after she found him on the event page for the munch. His profile was witty, and his pictures were sparse.

His display image was his motorcycle, which is called a Road King and was the color purple, thus Purple Road King. He was not actually calling himself a king. So, she disregarded her earlier attempt at a red flag.

He wasn’t from Ohio, and from his profile, she couldn’t tell how long he’d be in the area. Odd. He wasn’t looking for anything serious. That was fine with her. She didn’t know if she could do serious anyway. She scoffed at herself, realizing she didn’t know what she wanted.

Scrolling down the profile, she skimmed through his list of likes and dislikes. There seemed to be a decent amount of overlap, though he leaned heavily on the side of impact play. She didn’t have much experience with that, just dabbled, but wasn’t opposed to it. At this point, she mostly possessed a curiosity.

It’d been about eight months since she’d played, and longer since she’d been satisfied with play. Her relationship with Richard went south long before it ended. The white arrow of her mouse hovered over the add friend button on the site.

“What do I have to lose?” she asked herself as she clicked it.

A box came up, asking if she knew him, or if she wanted to send him a message. Pursing her lips, she figured a message might go over better than a random friend request. She hated getting that herself.

Hi,

Not sure if you remember, but we met at the munch the other day. I think I forgot everything we were supposed to learn about leather. I might need a refresher. Can I borrow your notes?

~Gingersnap

As soon as she hit send, she opened her sent folder and stared at the message. She had wanted to go for charming and funny, but feared she’d come across as dorky. Too late now, it had gone out. Only time would tell.

Three hours later

* * *

Hey,

You weren’t paying attention? Tsk tsk tsk.

I’ll have to find myself another bootblack.

PRK

Flirty. She hadn’t expected that. She didn’t know why. He’d been flirty at the munch. Why wouldn’t he be flirty over their little email system? Smiling despite herself, she tapped her fingers over the keys, trying to figure out something snappy to write back. It felt cheap to write back something about him spanking her or disciplining her for her transgression. She needed something better, something more authentic.

She felt like a teenager passing notes in history class again. She rolled her eyes at herself. She couldn’t be more lame if she tried. She was a grown ass woman hitting on a man in emails. Then it came to her, and she chuckled as her fingers danced over the keys.

You’ll have to forgive me. The fluorescent lighting seemed to reflect off the shininess of someone’s head, blinding me. I was distracted. I do have other skills, though. Even if I can’t care for leather.

~ Gingersnap

Once she hit send, she sat back on her couch and brought her thumb to her mouth. Pressing her teeth around the nail, she considered her words. She’d taken a chance in assuming he’d chosen baldness rather than succumbing to a genetic condition. Some guys were more sensitive about their lack of hair than others. She hoped PRK had a sense of humor. From the bit of interaction she’d had with him, he’d shown one.

Biting her nail, she waited, debating whether she’d read him wrong. She hadn’t openly flirted in a while. It was entirely possible that she could be rusty.

Ding.

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