Tymber Dalton - The Denim Dom

I’m sorry for what I did and wish I could take it all back. I lost the best thing to ever come into my life and I’m going to regret it for the rest of my days with every breath I take.

Love,

James.

She held the check in trembling fingers and looked at it. Another five hundred dollars.

Her knees unhinged. Unable to hold herself up, she slid down the door and cried.

* * *

She pulled herself together and went to retrieve her stuff from the car. She’d already downed her first beer when she remembered she’d wanted to go to the store.

Too late now. She never drove after drinking, even if it was only a little bit.

Now, all she felt like doing as she stared at the envelope, letter, and check on her counter was drink and cry.

Fuck it.

She pulled another beer out of the fridge, and a turkey pot pie from the freezer. She’d go to the store tomorrow after work.

By the time she was settled on her couch with her notebook and laptop on the coffee table in front of her and beer number three ready to consume, and a steaming pot pie on a paper plate, she’d nearly managed to forget about James.

Although the third beer more than anything was the catalyst for that.

She put the TV on Cartoon Network and stared at her notes as she worked on the pot pie. She needed a good opening hook for her lede. That was what she was focused on when her cell phone rang.

Dammit.

She’d left it on the counter. She reached it before it kicked over to voice mail, but her eye caught sight of the envelope from James on her counter as she answered. “Hello?” She spun around and returned to the couch.

“Shayla? It’s Loren.”

“Hi.” She drew her legs up under her on the couch. “How are you?”

“I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing after the other night.”

“Good. I’m good. I actually had a sit-down with Tony Sunday night.”

“Oh? How’d it go?”

“He seems like a really nice guy. Very patient with my questions. Thank you for introducing me to him.”

“Awesome. Listen, I know you work, but Leah, Tilly, and I usually get together on Thursday mornings for a girls’ day. We’re going up to visit Clarisse this week to take her out to brunch to celebrate the baby. We wanted to know if maybe you could get the time off to come with us?”

It was on the tip of Shayla’s tongue to say no. That she had too much to do, too many things on her plate. But it would be a lie because she knew Bill Melling encouraged his staff to take exactly these kinds of opportunities if it meant their assignments would benefit.

“Let me check with my boss in the morning, but I think I can make it.”

“Great! Just send me a text and I’ll let you know when and where to meet up with us. You can ride with us if you want.”

Something about Loren’s hopeful tone stayed any hesitation on Shayla’s part. “Sure. That’d be great. Thanks.”

Shayla got off the phone and stared at her laptop, where she’d opened a blank document. With the pot pie growing cold, she leaned forward and typed.

Last weekend, a group of friends gathered around a table at a local restaurant and discussed their week, their jobs, their lives, graciously inviting this writer into their inner circle. Nothing distinguished them from anyone else in the restaurant.

Except that an hour later, after dinner ended, they all met up at a local private BDSM dungeon club to continue their evening.

She grabbed her beer and took a long swallow as she reread the opening. Slowly nodding, she set her beer aside and started typing again.

Two hours later she had a thousand words, a cold pot pie, and her beer buzz was a thing of the past. Happy with the rough draft, she carried the plate and empty beer bottle to the kitchen.

Her feet stopped cold at the sight of the letter on her counter.

Dammit. I really need to get the fuck over that.

She dumped the trash and scooped the letter and check up. The check she stuck in her checkbook after filling out a deposit slip for it. She’d drop it by the bank in the morning. The envelope she ripped into tiny pieces and threw away.

The letter…

She left it folded but couldn’t bring herself to rip it up.

Instead, she shoved it in her kitchen junk drawer and slammed it closed before heading to her bedroom.

Maybe it was the beer, or perhaps James’ letter had triggered it, but Shayla found her sleep plagued by sexy, seductive dreams.

Mostly of Tony Daniels tying her to a bench and using a flogger and his hands on her bare ass before forcing a vibrator between her legs to make her orgasm. Knowing it was a dream didn’t lessen the impact on her. Various scenarios flashed through her brain at warp speed. One minute he had her spread out, naked, on the suspension bar while he used a singletail to raise welts on her ass. The next, she was spread-eagle on her back while he used a large dildo to fuck her dripping cunt.

She awoke Wednesday morning dazed and horny and without enough time to try to get herself off before she had to get ready for work.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

“But you know, if you don’t think I should be out of the office that long—”

“Nonsense,” Bill said. “I think it’s a great idea. They obviously like and trust you or they wouldn’t have invited you along.” He stared at Shayla. She’d snagged his attention upon arriving at the office that morning, wanting to get it out of the way as soon as possible. “You’re a big girl. You don’t need me to make your decisions for you. As your boss, I’m fine with you taking the day to go with them. If you’re looking for a reason not to go, that’s on your shoulders.”

Shayla swallowed. In the sober light of day, that was exactly what she was looking for. The journalist in her rationalized spending a day candidly talking with the women would likely bring insights for several articles.

Some deep part of her hesitated. She knew her dreams the night before played no small role in her newfound reticence.

Her alarm had awakened her just as her dream-self began to scream with pleasure, and she wondered as disorientation faded if she’d actually started to climax in her sleep.

The fact that she’d discovered her panties were soaked contributed to that possibility.

The dream unsettled her on a number of levels. That she’d yearned for the freedom to let go to someone she trusted with her health and safety. That she felt viscerally attracted to the hard edge in the man’s green eyes as he pointed at the floor and she sank to her knees.

That her heart raced at the feel of a heavy leather collar being buckled around her throat.

Unfortunately, the dream wouldn’t vanish by the time she finished her first cup of coffee, as most of her dreams usually did. This dream tenaciously hung on, solidifying in her mind the more she tried not to think about it.

“Shay?”

Bill Melling stared at her from the other side of his desk.

“Oh, sorry.”

“You look lost.”

She slowly nodded. “I’m beginning to feel a little that way.”

“The offer to reassign is still open.”

Despite her dreams the night before, she shook her head. “No. I’m going to see this through to the end. They’re nice people who’ve agreed to open up to me and share an intimate part of their lives. I’d rather not pawn it off on someone else at this point.”

He smiled. “Then have a good day tomorrow.”

Shayla returned to her desk and texted Loren. Within a minute, she had a reply text from Loren with the time and address.

Accompanied by a smiley face.

* * *

Dream Tony returned to her that night. She knelt on the floor at his feet as he buckled a black leather collar around her neck and snapped a leash to it.

“Come.”

Without hesitation, she crawled on all fours behind him, feeling her pussy tingling with anticipation at what was to come.

Hopefully, her.

He led her to a bench like the one at the club and bound her to it, hand and foot. A blindfold slipped over her eyes.

As her pulse spiked, she felt a hand between her legs, fingers unerringly finding and stroking her clit, working harder, faster.

“Why don’t you come for me?” he whispered into her ear.

The fingers wouldn’t stop, relentlessly pushing her toward the edge of climax until, finally, her body arched…

And she awoke to find her hand buried inside her panties as the last vestiges of her orgasm waned.

Gasping for breath, she tried to swim out of the hold of sleep on her system. As what happened finally sank home, she let out a harsh laugh. It was still four o’clock in the morning and she suspected she wouldn’t get back to sleep.

Damn, I need to get laid.

* * *

After her restless night, Shayla was anxious for a distraction. Any distraction. She was grateful for the chance to spend the day with the women. They met at Loren’s house before piling into Tilly’s SUV to make the trek north to Pinellas County, where Clarisse lived.

Shayla, sitting in the backseat with Loren, had a chance to get to see some of her adopted state as they headed north on I-75. When they reached the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, Shayla sucked in a breath. “Wow. That’s beautiful.”

“Want me to pull over for a minute?” Tilly asked. “There are rest stops at either end. Great views.”