Tested by Her Web Master (Web Master #2) (14 page)

I had no idea how long this was going to be so I hurriedly worked myself into an aroused state—fingering, stroking, rubbing until I was nice and wet. Ready for whatever else he wanted me to do.

BA: Stop.

Sophie: Yes, Sir.

BA: Now, I want you to spank that pussy with that spatula. Do it ten times, thank me after each one. Let me know when you are finished.

I took a deep breath and began. It took me a few swats to get the right angle and the right amount of pressure. I knew it should hurt, but not too badly. Each strike felt hot against my pussy. It smarted, but there was something arousing about it as well.

BA: Spank that little clit. Do it!

I smacked my crotch again and again until I got to number ten, saying, “Thank you, Sir” after each one.

Sophie: Done. Thank you, Sir.

BA: You are such a good girl, Sophie. What color is your pussy now?

Sophie: Pink.

BA: I love that. Smack it again three times and see if you can make it red for me.

I whimpered, but did as he asked, swatting myself harder and deepening the color of my skin several shades.

Sophie: Yes, Sir. Done. Thank you, Sir.

BA: Is it nice and red?

Sophie: Yes, Sir.

BA: Good girl. Now you’ve earned your pleasure. Unclamp those nipples then shove that vibrator in your cunt. Turn it on. Use whatever speed you choose. Play with your nipples, your clit, your ass, whatever you want. But make yourself come.

Sophie: Thank you, Sir.

I turned my vibrator to my favorite setting and soon lost myself in the rhythmic sensations of my battery-operated mate. It only took a few minutes for me to climax.

Sophie: Thank you for the task. I came hard for you, Sir.

It was a quick session. But I loved every minute of it, and it did the trick. When I lay panting on my bed afterward, my mind was cleared of all the things that had been bothering me.

Sophie: Thank you, Sir.

BA: You’re welcome, Sophie.

Sophie: Did you come?

I felt a little shy asking, but since we’d done it through chat I wasn’t sure and I wanted to know.

BA: Yes. You do that to me.

I blushed.

Sophie: Thank you, Sir.

BA: You’re welcome. Goodnight, Sophie. Sweet Dreams.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

In the middle of the following week, my ex-husband Spencer called and asked me to have lunch with him.

I balked. Why the hell would I want to break bread with him? We didn’t stay in touch. We weren’t “friends.”

“
How about we make it a quick drink instead?” I was proud of myself for setting boundaries. For years I had no idea how to do that, and I’d let Spencer walk all over me. But that girl was gone. I’d grown up since then.

“
That’s fine. I just have some news that I’d like to talk with you about in person.”

“
Okay.” Maybe he was moving away. That would be ideal. I hated going to parties and seeing Spencer there with some wet-behind-the-ears bimbo. For the most part we were civil to each other, but he was an unpleasant reminder of a very unhappy time in my life. He’d cheated on me with a revolving door of young paralegals and various assistants and I preferred to keep all that in my rearview mirror.

We met at a bar called Vic’s the next evening. I ordered a glass of red wine and he asked for an Old Fashioned.

I had to give Spencer credit, he looked good. His curly chestnut hair fell alluringly over his right brow, and I felt a tinge of reminiscence of when I used to think he was the sexiest man alive. My heart was too scarred to let those feelings rise to the surface, but they remained in the back of my consciousness, the way a phantom limb remains.

“
Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” he said, fidgeting with a plastic sword that had accompanied his drink.

“
Sure,” I answered benevolently. “What’s up?”

“
I guess there’s no easy way to say this.” He sighed deeply before continuing. “I’m getting married.”

The sip of wine I’d just taken went down the wrong way with a hard gulp and I began a coughing jag that lasted several minutes. I guess it was better than spitting it all over the front of my blouse, but it hurt.

“
You okay?” Spencer’s hand was on my back.

I nodded vigorously, shaking away his touch.

When I finally returned to some semblance of normal, I croaked, “Sorry.”

“
No, I’m the one who’s sorry.”

God, spare me this bullshit. “What the hell are you sorry for?” I snapped.

“
Well, I’m sorry to spring that on you like this. I just didn’t want you to hear it from someone else first.”

“
Aw thanks. You’re such a prince.” Sarcasm dripped from my words like rancid honey.

He hung his head. “Look, Sophie, I know I was a shitty husband, but I’m trying to be better. I’m trying to be a decent person. I just thought you should know.”

I rolled my eyes. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

“
You don’t know her.”

“
That’s fine. What’s her name, Spencer?”

“
Julie. Julie Hightower.”

“
Oh, and how did you meet Julie Hightower?” I wished I could control the acid in my tone, but I was having no such luck. It was all I could do not to punch him in the face.

One of the ways I’d dealt with Spencer’s betrayal and our breakup was by telling myself that his man-whore ways would only ensure a lifetime of empty sexual conquests that would eventually lead to Spencer living alone, miserably regretting the fact that he’d thrown away the wonderful life he could have had if only he hadn’t been such a dick to me. This new piece of information flew in the face of that eventuality, and it knocked the wind out of me.

“
She’s a nurse. We met when she was taking care of my grandmother.”

Florence Nightingale to boot.

“
What? Is she pregnant?”

“
No. Why would you ask that?”

“
Seriously? It seemed like the most logical explanation. I figured as soon as we split, you’d have years of sowing your wild oats to do. Oh wait, I guess you don’t since you never had a problem doing that
while we were married
.”

“
I deserve that.”

I didn’t like this “new” Spencer. It was like he was almost taking responsibility for himself. Now he was going to become a good guy? Great timing. Why the hell couldn’t he have decided to be a good guy while we’d been married? “What’s wrong with you?” I scoffed.

He grinned like a fool. “I’m in love.”

I wanted to vomit, but I managed to say, “Good for you, Spencer. Good for you.”

I could have spent the next hour lecturing him on infidelity, questioning him on how why he thought this time would be different, but I didn’t. He was Julie Hightower’s problem now.

Plus, I didn’t have the energy.

As soon as I finished my drink, I set the empty glass on the bar and slung my bag over my shoulder. “Good luck, Spencer. You’re going to need it,” I said and walked out the door, leaving him with the tab.

With everyone I knew getting engaged, I felt like the only single person in Ft. Worth. I knew that was ridiculous, but it was how I felt. As soon as I reached Quentin by phone, I started venting my frustrations.

“
Not only is Shelby getting married, but now so is Spencer,” I whined.

“
Why do you care what he does?” Quentin asked, the voice of reason.

“
I don’t, really. It just feels like everyone else is getting their happy ending and I’m not.”

“
We’re not happy?” he asked, and suddenly I felt foolish.

“
It’s not that…”

“
Well, what is it?”

“
I don’t know. I just feel like things are hard, with us having to be long distance.”

“
You’re right. That part sucks. I’m sorry. Hopefully we can rectify that at some point.”

Vague, but at least he said the right things.

“
Hey, I have some news and a proposition.”

That sounded promising. “What’s that?”

“
I just found out this morning that I’ve been nominated for an Academy Award.”

“
Oh my God! Quentin! For
Winged
?”

“
Yes.”

“
That’s incredible! Congratulations! I’m so happy for you.”

“
Thank you, pet. Now for the proposition. How would you like to go with me to Hollywood to the ceremony?”

“
Oh my Gosh, I’d love that. You mean like go to the Academy Awards? The actual one like they have on TV with all the celebrities and the red carpet and everything?”

“
The very one. The movie people are putting me up at the Beverly Hills Hotel, and I’d love nothing more than for you to join me. We can talk about it more this weekend when you come to Seattle.”

“
Oh, Quentin, this is so exciting. I’m so proud of you!”

“
Thanks, pet. It is a rather big honor.”

The minute I hung up with him, I dialed Shelby’s number to tell her.

What in the world was I going to wear?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A few days later, Quentin and I strolled between aisles of produce, flowers, and most of all fish. The Seattle Fish Market was the main attraction at the outdoor Pacific Northwestern version of a farmer’s market. Quentin had asked if I’d wanted to have breakfast at the market this brisk Saturday morning and I’d eagerly taken him up on the invitation.

When he took my hand, all my doubts about us flew away. His big, strong fingers curled around mine, warming my small hand and making me feel protected. Secure. That morning things between us seemed perfect.

Since we didn’t see each other frequently, the time we did have together was usually spent naked, making up for lost time. But it was nice, going out into the world like a regular couple. We could forget about the strain of the long distance between us and the kinky proclivities that were often the central focus of our relationship, and simply be together.

The smell of ground coffee beans wafted past as we walked along the rows of colorful fruits and vegetables. I squinted into the early morning light to admire the chiseled features of his profile, and I squeezed his hand.

When we got to the section where the fish market guys were throwing fish, I grew a bit nervous. I was afraid they’d pluck me out of the passersby, and I’d get roped into touching a fish. I enjoyed a good fish on my table, but I didn’t relish the smell getting on me and having to wear it the whole rest of the day.

I needn’t have worried. Two of the fish guys were putting on a show. They yelled some fish jokes back and forth and threw a huge fish between each other.

“
My goodness!” I whispered to Quentin. “How much do you think that thing weighs?”

“
At least twenty pounds,” he answered. “Maybe thirty.”

“
Heavens!” At that moment a little girl of about four came barreling into me, knocking herself down in the process. I bent over her. “Are you all right?”

A pair of troubled, big brown eyes peeked out from behind a fringe of dark bangs. “You’re not my mommy.”

“
No. No, I’m not.” I offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. “Have you lost track of your mom?”