Roni Loren - Call On Me

The current song ended and one by Darkfall started. It was the one they had opened the show with. She closed her eyes and let herself fall into the rhythm of Pike’s bass drum. Thump. Thump. Thump. She could still see him there, biceps flexing, knees bouncing, confidence bleeding through every moment, could feel the sound vibrating through her bones, his music curling inside her. She pressed her thighs together, warmth building there.

Her phone dinged, interrupting the music and her daydreaming state. Her eyelids fluttered open. She hadn’t signed in to take work calls tonight since she’d needed a break. But who else would message her this late? Worry that something was wrong with Reagan was her first instinctual response, but when she lifted her phone to look at the screen, it wasn’t Reagan or a work message, it was a calendar reminder. All it said was, Open me.

What the hell?

She pressed the notification and the calendar page opened up. The words on the screen danced in her vision.

It’s bedtime for you, Oakley. Time to have some fun.

Make sure Reagan is in bed, then do the following.

Her heartbeat ticked up a notch. She scrolled down.

Find the gift of glass that I gave you and put it in a bucket of ice water. Don’t question it. Just do it. You can back out of the game at any time but don’t stop before you try. (Allotted time: 5 minutes) Go.

She stared down at the words as she sat up on the couch. What. The. Fuck. Pike had obviously been doing way more than adding songs to her playlist. The message glared at her, daring her. Just do it. The gift? Only one thing had been made of glass. She wet her lips. This was ridiculous. Pike wasn’t even texting this in real time. This was some sort of game he’d set up on her calendar. She should ignore it.

But she found herself climbing off the couch and heading to her room anyway, strangely compelled. Her fantasies had already been running rampant while listening to the music, and this felt like it was still part of that dream. Not real. A distant voice of a mystery lover telling her what to do. What could it hurt to do this one thing? He wouldn’t even know if she’d done it or not.

The locked box of toys was in the bottom corner of her closet. She grabbed the key off a high shelf and unlatched the lock. Right on top sat the clear glass dildo, an erotic piece of art daring her to touch it. She let her fingertips run over the smooth surface. What would it feel like ice cold? A shiver raised goose bumps on her skin.

Before she could talk herself out of the ridiculous move, she grabbed the thing and brought it to the kitchen. The freezer blasted her flushed cheeks with cold air and she filled a wine chiller with ice then brought it to the sink to fill it with water. She plunged the glass toy into it.

Another ding came from her phone.

Good girl. I know you did it for me. Now reward yourself with a hot, relaxing bath. Use your best stuff. Scrub your skin until it’s rosy and nothing of the day is left. But don’t touch yourself. That’s off limits. For now. (Allotted time: 30 minutes)

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the rush his words caused. She should be irritated that he was arrogant enough to think she’d follow some arbitrary instructions—especially after she’d told him they couldn’t see each other. But her body was already warm and needy, her thoughts and logic blurring from the arousal. She peered toward her bedroom. Pike was keeping his word. This wasn’t seeing him. He could be sleeping right now for all she knew or out with friends or … no, she wouldn’t let her mind go down the groupie route again.

She went into her room, set aside the bucket of ice water, and headed to the bathroom to turn on the faucet. It’d been at least a month since she’d even used the tub. A quick shower in the morning was about all she had time for these days, so she had to dig deep in her cabinet to find bubble bath. But once the tub was full, the air scented, and the mirrors steamy, she sunk into the fantasy again.

She set her phone on the edge of the tub and submerged herself in the water, the heat gliding over her skin like a lover’s touch. Was Pike thinking about her right now? Was he picturing her sinking into the tub? There was something kind of hot about him being out wherever he was, going about his business but knowing that somewhere across town, she was getting naked at his command.

A wave of arousal went through her and she groaned.

The man was a hazard.

She needed to stop.

But she was too curious to see what was next.

Pike propped his feet on the coffee table and tried to concentrate on what Gibson and Foster were discussing. His two friends had shown up at Pike’s place after the show with takeout and his favorite beer. A Rangers game was on the TV, but Pike had barely glanced at it. All he could focus on was the damn clock. Was Oakley getting his messages? Would she follow them?

“So she thought his name was Spike!” Gibson concluded, his triumphant voice breaking Pike from his obsessing for a moment.

Foster laughed and peered over at Pike. “Wow. That’s a new one. Remember that chick who kept getting our names mixed up and finally just gave up and called us both sir? I thought that was bad.”

Pike took a sip of his beer and smirked. “Not her fault. She barely knew her own name by the end of that night. I blame you and that flogger.”

Foster smiled, unrepentant. “Subspace is a beautiful thing, my friend.”

“Yeah, it is. You don’t miss that life?” Gibson asked Foster. “You two had a pretty good setup going.”

Foster leaned back, blue eyes crinkling. “Nah. Those days were fun at the time, but they’re nothing compared to what I have with Cela. Having someone play submissive to you for a night is one thing, but having the woman I love surrender all to me?” He shook his head. “Fuck, I can’t even tell you what that’s like. That absolute trust. It’s like the scariest and hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. You can’t get to that place with someone you’re just scening with for the night.”

Gibson frowned. “I’m not sure I’d want that much trust from someone, that kind of responsibility. I just like having a good time. That level seems … heavy.”

“It is.” Foster shrugged. “But it’s the ultimate drug. At least for a dom.”

Pike watched Gibson’s expression change, the downshift, the doors closing. He should ignore it. He didn’t. “Maybe you just don’t see it that way because the dominant thing isn’t really your drink of choice, Gib.”

Gibson shot him a murderous look.

But Pike had a few beers in him and wasn’t in the mood to play nice, especially after Gib had taken so much glee in telling the Spike story. “Whatever happened to that chick you were subbing for—Sam? Wasn’t she Tessa’s friend?”

“I wasn’t subbing for her. I was helping her with her training.”

“To be a domme,” Pike clarified.

“I was teaching her how to top.” Gibson’s jaw flexed and he ran a hand over his dark, curly hair. “And it didn’t go further than that. We didn’t hook up. She needed a real bottom.”

“Mmm,” Pike said noncommittally, which, based on Gibson’s expression, pissed his friend off even more.

“Nothing wrong with switching,” Foster said, either oblivious to Gib’s tension or ignoring it. He reached over to scratch a napping Monty on the head. “Or bottoming. That girl you were with was a firecracker. I saw her at The Ranch the other day. She’s been topping Julian.”

“Julian?” Gibson looked like he could gnash rocks with his teeth. He gulped his beer instead. “Fantastic.”