Page 22 of The Dom with a Safeword

The challenge in his eyes made her gaze drop to her hands. He was not going to be an easy one to shock. That pleased her.

They rose and walked to the door. “Would Friday night work for the séance?”

“That gives me a few days to talk to her. The séance she’ll go for. As far as anything else is concerned, you might have to take my lead at first.”

He smiled down at her. “Okay, little brat. Just don’t get used to being in charge.”

***

Sabrina handed Q a plate of stir-fry as she walked in the door. Q kicked off her shoes and followed her into the living room. “You’ve got this timing thing down to a science. Smells great!”

Her friend grinned and sat down on the other end of the couch after grabbing the remote. “At least I have you eating something other than popcorn for supper now.”

“Unfair! Sometimes I had cereal.” Q laughed.

“When you bothered eating at all,” Sabrina grumbled, flipping through the channel guide. Q had the chance to watch her for awhile. Boxers and a t-shirt with no bra. So very almost naked. The worst part was knowing that Sabrina would probably let Q strip her, but that she’d act like an innocent victim.

Sabrina arched her back, her nipples visible under her t-shirt. She knew Q was watching – the little tease. Q forced herself to eat, but it wasn’t food she was hungry for.

Soon Sabrina lost interest in their silent game and settled on watching a comedy movie she knew backward and forward. Every so often she would laugh and mumble a line of dialogue as they said it. She nibbled at her food, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Such tiny ears. Q sighed, wishing she could pull Sabrina into her lap and cuddle with her. She was a lost cause where this girl was concerned. They needed to talk.

“Guess who I ran into at lunch today?” She tried to keep her tone light.

Sabrina said the next line of the movie before the actor did then turned to Q, looking smug. “Who? Not Nico, I hope. He left a message for you to call him back. Why are you still talking to that jerk anyway?”

Second call from him in a week. Odd. “He just wants to be friends, Sabrina. It’s the polite, adult thing to do after a break-up.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes and put aside her plate. “Back in a sec.” She padded barefoot into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of wine and two water glasses. “We really need to get wine glasses at some point.”

“I hate wine.” Q made a face. “You don’t have to be fancy on my account.”

She scoffed then poured two glasses anyway. “You will not be drinking whiskey with my stir-fry, young lady. Now be good and drink your wine.”

After taking a sip, Q wrinkled her nose. The wine was sour and made her tongue feel funny. She chugged the whole glass and banged it on the coffee table, hoping she’d done her duty. To her bemusement, Sabrina refilled it. By the time they were done eating, Q had a mild buzz going.

“Oh, I forgot. Who did you see?” Sabrina asked.

“I saw Jude. We had coffee together.” Q watched Sabrina’s face in profile. Her mouth tightened for a fraction of a second, but then she smiled, turning to look at Q.

“That’s good! I like him. You should totally date him.”

The words hurt. She knew Sabrina didn’t love her back, but she wished she’d be less eager to pawn her off sometimes. It was like Sabrina didn’t care if she dated other people. But then, why would she? That made her heart sink. Q tossed back the rest of her wine. Best if it got past her tongue as quickly as possible.

Sabrina poured her another glass. Q stared at her incredulously. “You think I should have a third? These hold more than wine glasses, you know.” She tapped the side of the tumbler with her fingernail. “You trying to get me drunk?”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll get you drunk and have my way with you.” The words were glib, but there was an edge to them.

If only there was some way to get inside the girl’s head. When Sabrina finished her third glass of wine, Q shut off the TV.

Sabrina’s gaze snapped to her. “Hey! I was watching that!”

“You can recite it to yourself later, beautiful. We need to talk.” This discussion was her idea, but it didn’t mean that the butterflies in her chest would settle – although the wine was making her braver. “Come here.”

Sabrina pouted. “I don’t want to.”

“Come here, little girl,” Q commanded.

Her friend smiled a little and slid closer on the couch, stopping just out of reach. Brat.