Page 3 of Crave

I focus on work, but every night, I feel James over me. Behind me. Surrounding me. Taking charge, punishing me, while I moan in embarrassment and delight. I rub myself like mad, coming on my fingers in orgasms that only leaving me wanting more.

Wanting him.

On Sunday, I get my chance. I hear a thump on my doorstep in the afternoon. When I open the door, there’s James’s Sunday paper, all neatly folded and ready for me to enjoy. I page through it feverishly.

But it’s just a newspaper. There’s no sign that anything other than good-neighborliness has passed between us.

I open to the crossword, which he always leaves blank. I’m hoping for some message. Maybe “Be a good girl, Kori” scrawled in the first few spaces. “Or else.” But there’s nothing.

His silence riles me up, even though the ball is clearly in my court.

I scribble my own message in the crossword, heedless of the spacing.

Oh Daddy James, I can’t help but be bad. I try so hard, but I keep touching my little pussy and thinking of you. I need your discipline. I need your COCK. Please, Daddy.

Holy shit. I’m not a shy girl, but I’ve never been this brazen. Before I lose my nerve, I march across the hall to his door and rip the paper apart.

Page after page of the Sunday Times flutters into the air and lands on his welcome mat. I’m so bratty, I take my own breath away. It’s an unbelievable mess.

As a crowning touch, I leave the crossword on top like a cherry for him to pick. I consider folding it, for decency’s sake, but don’t.

Then I ring his bell three times, quick, and dash into my own apartment, giggling like a madwoman.

Rap. Rap.

I open the door, all innocence. James towers in front of me, his arms folded.

“Yeeessss?” I carol.

“Kori.” His eyes are hard behind his glasses. It’s a James I’ve never seen before; the lecture last night was just a glimpse. “Did you make that spectacular mess in front of my door?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I murmur. Just saying the word makes me shiver. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Be back at my door in five minutes,” he barks, with no trace of a smile on his face. “Oh, and take off those ratty sweats and put on a pretty dress for me. Don’t even think of being late.”

He walks away and closes his door firmly.

I gasp, heat washing my cheeks. I’ve never been spoken to that way. If it were anyone else, I’d give them a verbal backhand they’d never forget.

But James’s words leave me tingling. Hot. Aching for his hands all over my body.

Off come the comfy gray sweatpants and law-school hoodie I lounge around in on the weekends. I rush to my closet and yank out my dresses for consideration. Most of them saypower. Take me seriously. No nonsense here.

Finally, I pull out a pale yellow sundress from the back — an impulse buy — and slip it over my head. It’s patterned with sunflowers. Sweet and girly, it bares my arms, hints at my cleavage, and comes to mid-thigh.

Perfect. I finger-comb my hair and whip out the lipgloss, pouting at the mirror. Then I dash to James’s apartment and knock — politely.

He opens the door. Instead of ushering me in, he stands in the doorway and lifts my chin with one finger.

“Are you sure about this, Kori?” he asks very softly. “Do you want to be punished? By me?”

Thank God the hall is empty.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“What’s your safe word?”

Excellent question. If only I could think straight right now.

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