Call on Me

  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.”

  Pike shook his head, but before he could annoy his friend more, his phone beeped. He’d included himself on the appointments he’d made for Oakley. He reached forward to grab his cell but Gibson swiped it off the coffee table first.

  “Let’s see what’s going on in Pike world.”

  “What the fuck, man?” Pike stretched toward Gib. “Give me that.”

  “Are we keeping you from something? All this beeping. Sounds like you’re real busy,” Gib said, mischief in his eyes, revenge in his grasp.

  Pike pushed himself off the couch to go for the phone but Gibson was already reading the screen. “‘Get out of the bath and put on something sexy. Allotted time: ten minutes.’”

  “Give me the goddamned phone.” He yanked it from Gib’s hand.

  Gib was already laughing. “What the hell? You reminding yourself to get pretty for us tonight?”

  Pike flipped him off and sat on the arm of the couch.

  “Or wait,” Gibson said, eyes alight. “Maybe all this talk of subbing is because you’re the one answering to a domme this evening.”

  “Fuck off, Gib. Unlike some people, I’ve got no hang-ups about playing on that side if I get the itch.”

  “No,” Foster said, leaning forward, shit-eating grin on his face. “That’s not it. You’ve been distracted all night. You’re the one telling someone else to do that, aren’t you?”

  Pike didn’t respond.

  “Is it that woman we saw at Wicked?”

  “Wait, what woman?” Gib asked.

  Foster’s smile went smug. “Pike’s got the hots for a mom at Bluebonnet Place. Sent her a big box of sex toys for a how-ya-doin’ gift.”

  “Wait, what? You’re sleeping with someone who works for Tessa? Dude. Not cool.”

  Pike scowled. “Hey, weren’t you the one who told me to find a normal woman?”

  Gibson gave him the are-you-kidding-me glare. “Not one at the charity, idiot. I told Kade you’d be—”

  “Look, I’m not sleeping with her, all right? Haven’t even kissed her. I’m just …”

  “Telling her what to do and when to do it,” Foster said, his mouth tilting up at the corner. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

  He didn’t either. Though he’d topped women at The Ranch on occasion, it was all just fun and games, not the real dominance people like Foster wielded in the bedroom. That always seemed like too much work. Why waste all the energy on building trust with someone you’d only be with one night? But he couldn’t deny that the thought of Oakley doing exactly as he instructed had left him fighting a hard-on all night. “I have my moments.”

  Gibson looked back and forth between the two of them. “So you’re seeing her tonight?”

  “No. She—Look, I’m not going to talk about this with you two dickheads. It’s between me and her. All you need to know is that it’s late and it’s time for you to leave.” He stood.

  They followed him, but as they moved out of the living room, Foster’s eyebrows were up near his hairline and Gibson didn’t look at all ready to let the conversation go. Probably because Pike had called him out about his crush on Sam the feisty domme. Luckily, Foster stepped up and clapped Gibson on th
e back before Gib could say anything else. “Come on, man. I need to get back home anyway and I think I’ve had one too many. You can drop me off.”

  Gibson frowned and met Pike’s gaze as he grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter. “Look, you know I’m not going to get up in your business. But don’t fuck up anything at Tessa’s place. My brother will kill me if you cause Tessa or any of her employees grief.”

  Pike tucked his hands in his pockets. “Understood.”

  Gibson seemed appeased by that. He walked by Pike and thumped him on the back. “Break hearts somewhere else, brother. I’m sure there’s a line of willing victims waiting somewhere.”

  Pike knew he was supposed to laugh, but the jab dug into his ribs and twisted.

  Gibson didn’t notice but Foster did. They’d been friends too long for him to miss much. Foster let Gibson head out the door before he said to Pike. “You good, man?”

  Pike’s hands curled in his pockets. “I’m fine.”

  “You into her?”

  He shrugged. “She doesn’t do casual. She’s got a kid. Not my type.”

  “That wasn’t my question.”

  “Too bad, ’cause it’s the only answer you’re getting.”

  A knowing smirk touched Foster’s lips. “Don’t forget to give her a safe word.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  Pike’s phone beeped in his hand.

  “Uh-huh.” Foster nodded at the phone. “Sounds like the girl you’re not seeing is done with her bath and dressed for you. Your move, Master Pike.”

  “Good night, asshole.”

  Foster gave him another clap on the back and slipped out the door.

  Pike sagged against the counter once the door shut and lifted the phone. He knew the next instruction that would be on his screen. Get in bed and turn the lights low. Now it’s your turn. To get your next instruction you have to call. (Allotted time: 5 minutes.)

  He rubbed his hand over his eyes. Was she there? Was she between her sheets, thinking of him? Or had she blown off the whole thing?

  She’d told him today that this couldn’t go any further. She’d told him and he hadn’t accepted it. She’d probably gotten the first message and blocked his number.

  He punched in five minutes on the microwave timer and hit Start.

  The time seemed to slow as he watched the numbers count down, and the silence of the kitchen turned oppressive. Four minutes. Three minutes. Two minutes.

  Monty wandered in, tiny nails clicking on the wood floors, and stared at up at Pike, a question in his eyes. What the hell are you doing standing here?

  He was wondering the same thing. He punched Clear on the timer, the last thirty seconds disappearing, and turned to go to the bedroom.

  “Come on, Monts. We’re done here.”

  Twenty minutes later, the phone sat silent on the bedside table. Pike crawled into bed and turned out the lights.

  He told Oakley he’d always respect a no.

  Now he just needed to learn how to accept one.

  THIRTEEN

  Oakley stared at the ceiling, her body on fire and her mind on high-speed blend. She’d followed Pike’s instructions word for word, had tried hard not to think too much but to act instead. It had worked until he’d turned the tables. Now she was lying in bed in a silk cami and lace panties and panicking.

  He wanted her to make the next move. To call. But she knew what would happen then. They’d do what they’d done the other night. She wouldn’t be able to resist. Her libido would steamroll her good sense. It already had.

  No. She couldn’t call. She would take care of this herself. Beyond the stuff she’d bought at Wicked, she now had an arsenal of things to satisfy her needs. She would shut her phone off and test a few out. As soon as she got an orgasm out of the way, this insanity would abate. This was simply hormones. They made her daring, reckless, stupid.

  She glanced at the clock. The five-minute time limit had long passed. If Pike had been waiting, he wouldn’t be anymore. This would effectively end their—well, whatever this was. Nice and clear message. Thanks but no thanks.

  She let her hand drift down to the band of her panties. Her skin was fever hot beneath her fingertips and her clit pulsed, her entire body growing more and more impatient. But when she touched where she most needed, instead of providing relief, it only sent a frisson of restlessness through her. Frustrated, she grabbed the little bullet vibrator from her bedside drawer and flicked it on. At the first touch of it, she flinched, the stimulation almost too much. She eased back, trying to find the right speed and angle. She sighed into the pleasure of it. Okay, this would work. She closed her eyes and tried to fall into the sensations. But she couldn’t keep her focus, and after a few minutes, she felt stuck at the same plateau—feeling pleasant but too distracted to get to where she needed to go. She stroked a little harder and closed her eyes. But it was useless. If anything, she felt the release sliding further away from her. Dammit.

  What would Pike have given as the next step? What would he have had her do? And how much different would all this feel with his voice in her ear?

  “Fuck it.” She turned off the vibrator and tossed it to the side. Her other hand closed around her phone. She flipped it over and pressed what her thumb had been hovering over for almost an hour.

  He picked up on the second ring and cleared his throat. But no greeting.

  “Pike?”

  “You’re late,” he said. No accusation there, just observation and sleep-softened words.

  “I’m confused.”

  He made a sound under his breath. “Join the club.”

  “Yeah?” She splayed her hand over her stomach, reveling in the sound of his voice in the dark, enjoying the way her breath automatically quickened. Somehow when they were like this it seemed okay. A fantasy in the night. Only a dream. “I’m not interrupting some wild night with a groupie?”

  “Always thinking the worst of me, huh?” he asked, his tone teasing. “For the record, I turned down three different offers after the show because all I wanted to do was come home and imagine you following my instructions.”

  “Rock-star fail.”

  He laughed, low and soft. “So was I wasting those thoughts?”

  She closed her eyes. “Meaning?”

  “Did you follow my instructions?”

  She wet her lips and took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have.”

  She could almost hear his slow smile over the phone. “Ah, but you did.”

  “If I died of a heart attack right now, the paramedics would find a glass dildo chilling in a wine bucket. The papers would have a field day.”

  “Mmm, is it bad that imagining that is making me hard?”

  “My death turns you on. Noted.”

  “I’m kinky like that.”

  “Are you?” she blurted, then cringed when she realized how it sounded. “I mean, not the death thing, but, in general?”

  His bed springs creaked. “I’m not vanilla.”

  “Right. I was just wondering. With all the instructions, you know. I’ve done some calls with people into BDSM stuff.”

  He didn’t respond for a few seconds, and she realized she hadn’t technically asked a question, but then his voice came through the line again. “Some of my friends are deep into the lifestyle. The guys you met at the store are two of them. I’m only telling you that because I know they don’t care who knows.”

  “And you?” she asked, unsure of what answer she was hoping for.

  “I belong to a kink resort where BDSM is the primary focus. But I don’t label myself a dom or a submissive if that’s what you’re asking. I like to experiment, push limits. That kind of thing.”

  She digested that. A kink resort? “Gotcha.”

  “That bother you?”

  She considered the question before answering. “No. I can actually see the appeal in the power-exchange part. Following your instructions tonight has made things … interesting. But I guess I asked the question
because I just had a caller the other night who asked me to verbally humiliate him. I was able to do it, but I felt drained afterward. I don’t think I’d get into doing that in real life. And to be honest, I’ve had enough guys call me ugly names to last me a lifetime. So I can’t see enjoying the reverse either.”

  He blew out a breath. “Humiliation isn’t my kink. And it seriously stresses me out that you have to do that shit if you don’t want to. I mean, if that’s what gets you going, that’s one thing. But to be forced into it …”

  “I’m not forced,” she said, rolling onto her side. “I could make money other ways, I’m sure. Just not as fast. And not from home. I’d rather be called a dirty slut a few times a night than have to clean grease traps at a fast-food restaurant and leave Rae with a babysitter.”

  He was quiet for a few long moments. “I get it. Believe me. I’ve always been of the do-what-you-need-to-do school of getting through life. But if you get that promotion from Tessa, would you be able to quit the night job?”

  “It would depend on how much she offered me, but yeah, I think so.”

  “All right, we’ll make that happen. But until then, how about I just call you every night and pay for all those minutes?”

  He made it sound like a joke, but she had a feeling he wasn’t kidding. “I’d kill you.”

  “Oh, really?”

  She sighed and flipped onto her back. “I can be everyone else’s hired whore. I don’t want to be yours, too.”

  “You’re nobody’s whore, Oakley,” he said, a quiet firmness in his voice. “Don’t ever let yourself think that. You’re acting in a role just like I am on stage. They can’t touch you unless you let them in.”

  “Do you? Let them in?”

  “No.”

  “Ever?”

  He sighed. “You saw what it’s like backstage. They want the rock-star drummer. That’s what they get.”

  “Is that who you are right now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She pulled the sheets around her. “Tell me something about you that isn’t part of that image.”