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“Then make him.”
“How?”
“Tie him up. Let him think you want to be all freaky and then bam.” I snap my fingers. “Make him talk and reward him when he does.”
“Is that what you do with Smoke?”
“No, it's what he does with me.” I smirk.
“And,” her voice drops to a whisper, “you like that sort of thing?”
“We have a lot of fun testing my boundaries and his.”
“What sort of boundaries?”
“He likes to keep me on the edge.”
“Edge of what?”
“An orgasm. He teases me until I’m ready to blow, then holds off from giving me what I want. He loves the power, and I love the thrill of wondering when he’ll let me.”
“Jimmy would be so mad if I did that to him.” She sucks down the rest of her soda through the straw, puckering her lips. I can practically hear the cogs turning in her head.
“What are you thinking about so intensely?”
“Kidnapping Jimmy and torturing the truth out of him with blow jobs.”
I burst out laughing. “I don’t think he’d need to be taken hostage for that. He’d be a willing volunteer.”
“I wish. We’ve not been having sex. Not like we used to. He says he’s tired all the time. He doesn’t even kiss me before he leaves unless I make a big deal about it. And then because I make a fuss, he gets mad and refuses or does it out of guilt.”
“You know you don’t have to stay with him just because you might be pregnant or because you’ve always been a couple. Maybe you need to dose him with his own medicine. Turn the tables. Make him wonder where you are for a change.”
“Where would I even go? Walmart isn’t even open late anymore.”
“Good point. We could go back to the clubhouse.”
“You just want to go back to Smoooke,” she draws his name out.
“Maybe, but we can also drink and dance without worrying about our safety.”
“We could go to that dance club in Huntington. We just can’t drink unless we can flirt our way into some dudes buying them for us.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Please.” My bestie pouts, giving me sad puppy dog eyes. “I’d do it for you.” She’s got me there. I know if the situation were reversed, Sabrina would do anything I asked.
I know I’m going to regret this. “Fine.”
“Yippee.” She claps.
“You’ve been spending way too much time with three-year-olds,” I tease.
“Okie dokie artichokie,” she pauses, then squeaks out an, “oh my God.” Her hand slaps over her mouth. “See. This is why we need to go out.”
After going home to change into what Sabrina says qualifies as club clothes, I have an immediate sensation of dread the closer we get to our destination. I didn’t lie to Smoke. Our plans changed after I stopped by the clubhouse. That doesn’t stop the guilt gnawing on my insides. Like this is a huge mistake. Not because I think Smoke will be mad that I’m out. He’d want to know that I’m protected. I’m his woman now and know the drill. Ol’ Ladies don’t go out to another town without someone having your back.
The club has enemies. You never know when someone is lurking, waiting for an opportune moment to make their move.
