Page 32 of Shifted Desire

I didn’t even know she had my phone number.

Why is she telling me this? Does she want me to meet her there, or is it meant to remind me that our arrangement isn’t exclusive? I’d thought the whole point of her blowing me at the office was to help give me relief, and now she’s goading me with thoughts of her fucking someone else?

Fuck that.

I grab my keys, glad I hadn’t changed into my workout clothes yet, and head out the door. About halfway into the thirty-minute drive, my agitation cools and I realize I could’ve texted Sam back to get clarification.

Pulling over at a gas station, I let out a groan of frustration with myself and the damn curse inside me that made me petulantly run out of the house like I’m some horny twenty-something, not a sixty-year-old man.

My stomach growls. I was too agitated to eat dinner before, and it’s catching up with me. I grab some shitty snacks from the convenience store that my nutritionist is going to give me hell for, and brace myself for texting Samantha back as I tear open a chip bag.

Nathan: Do you want me to go? I can meet you there.

Nope, too needy.

Nathan: And?

Too cold.

Nathan: Maybe you could give me some fucking context so I know why you’re telling me this and I don’t drive halfway to the club because I’m agitated and want you again?

Definitely not that.

Nathan: I’m on my way there.

I hit send on that last message and close out the app.

I’m reaching for another chip when my phone screen lights up.

Samantha: You’re not going to offer to give me a ride?

This woman. I groan, even as my dick perks up at the idea of giving her a different kind of ride.

Nathan: If you want something, ask for it. I don’t play games.

I used to when I was younger, and that got me nowhere.

I huff out a laugh thinking about how Samantha would’ve destroyed me back then when I was young and full of something other than exhaustion. As it is, I can feel the tug of her bratty charisma, and if I don’t set firm boundaries, she’ll crush me under her heel.

I fully expect her to tell me nevermind, that she’s not going now, or that I shouldn’t go if I’m going to be so uptight. Or not reply at all, just leave me on read and guessing what to do next.

Certainty in my decision to be firm wavers as I wait. I finish my snacks and toss them in the gross, overflowing trash can in front of the building, stomach souring at the scent and the cheap, salty carbs and regret.

I go to change the destination in my GPS back to my apartment, only for her reply to appear finally.

Samantha: You sure you don’t want me to call you Sir, yet? Because, damn, that was some serious Dom energy. Not that I should be surprised now that I’ve read all your particular proclivities. I’ll be there in half an hour. Should be enough time for you to get a membership while you wait.

My lips twitch into a tiny smile.

She’s not mad. She’s still coming and I’ll get to see her soon.

Gods, my inner wolf is like a damn dog, wagging his tail at the idea of seeing Samantha as if she were his long-lost owner. I saw her this morning. I came down her throat this morning. I shouldn’t be so eager.

That doesn’t keep me from smiling the rest of the drive to The Vault.

Thankfully, it isn’t too much of a headache to get my membership, because Declan is there to be a character witness of sorts, and I already had to go through the basic screenings to join him as a guest the other night. When I head into the main lounge area, I’m surprised by the number of people here.

It’s a weeknight, but there’s still a decent crowd. Unlike the event I attended, which had a formal dress code on top of the required masks, outfits range from nice jeans and dark tees, to casual dresses, to full-on latex and body harnesses. There’s at least three other people who look like they came straight from the office, so I don’t stand out like a sore thumb in my slightly rumpled post-work button-down and pants.