“But—”
“Good night, Jenna.”
Before she could say another word, he hung up.
She pushed up onto her elbows as her head whipped around. She stared openmouthed at her phone, still plugged into the charger. Had he just hung up on her? Again?
A moment later, the music she’d been playing before his call resumed.
She had hoped he would talk her through another orgasm, but instead, he’d ended their call as if she’d had no choice in the matter.
Well, he was a Dom. Ending their conversation without giving her a chance to get in another word was a Dom move, so she shouldn’t have been surprised.
But in no way was this the last she had heard from him. Warren would call her again. And when he did, she needed to be ready to answer his question.
Chapter Five
Warren did call her again the following Wednesday night, then again on Friday, and twice more the following week.
That’s how things went for the next month, but he never asked her again how far she wanted things to go.
It was just as well, because she still didn’t know. She knew she didn’t want the calls to stop, and while each call fed her curiosity a little bit more about what it would be like to meet him in the flesh, she still wasn’t sure if she wanted to take her fantasies about being dominated into the real world.
Four weeks after that first phone call, on Thursday night around nine thirty, he called her again.
“This is a surprise,” she said.
He always called her on Wednesdays and Fridays, never on Thursdays.
“I’m busy tomorrow night and won’t be able to call,” he said, “so I took a chance that you’d have time to talk tonight.”
She’d become so addicted to the low timbre and casual confidence of his voice talking her to orgasm that she instantly went wet. It was like she’d been conditioned—or even hypnotized—to respond to his voice with the highest level of sexual excitement.
“I’m glad you did,” she said. “I’m busy tomorrow night too.”
While they had talked several times since that first night, they had agreed not to share any identifying information beyond what they already knew about each other. They still hadn’t exchanged last names, where they worked, or much about their jobs beyond vague references regarding things that had happened at work. Warren knew she was Lillian Bangs, erotic romance author, but that was as personal as it got. Which meant it didn’t surprise Jenna when he didn’t give her more details about his Friday night plans and didn’t ask about hers.
“I finished your books today,” he said.
“You did? You really read them? All of them?” She had almost forgotten that he’d bought them. He hadn’t mentioned them after that first night, and their conversations usually steered down BDSM Boulevard or Phone Sex Lane pretty quickly, so she’d put it out of her mind.
“Every word,” he said.
“And . . .?” She was both anxious and excited to hear what he thought.
“Have you ever been to a sex club?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“No. Why?”
“Because you write like you have.”
It was the greatest compliment he could have given her. Her head was filled with fantasies about the BDSM lifestyle, but having never set foot inside a sex club, she’d had to use what she’d read about them online or in books to construct the clubs her characters were members of. Of course, a few dirty movies and image searches had helped too.
“I’ve done my research,” she said, forcing back the desire to pump her fist.
“Yes, you have.”
“It’s amazing how much can be learned from the internet.”
Until now, she had resisted asking him what it was like inside a club, but with him bringing it up, she felt the time was right.
“What about you?” she asked. “When was the last time you were in a sex club? Or do you belong to more than one?”
“Last Saturday night,” he answered. “And only one. But I used to belong to three.”
“Back when you were younger and full of hormones?” she teased.
“Something like that.”
“And now you’re not?”
“Oh, I’m still full of hormones. I’m just more selective.”
“Meaning . . .?”
“My tastes have become more refined in my old age.” He emphasized the words with an air of sarcastic humor. “I also know what I want now. The club I belong to suits my needs.”
“And the other two didn’t? Which is why you left?”
“Something like that.”
Something like that was a favorite answer of his. Noncommittal. Vague. Mysterious. She couldn’t help wondering if that was on purpose.
“Do you normally go to the club on Saturdays?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Every Saturday?”
“Not always.”
“But more often than not, right?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t help feeling jealous of the nameless, faceless woman—or women—who got to experience the pleasure of his company when he made an appearance. Did he take whatever pleasure Jenna gave him during their twice-a-week phone calls and give it to his true submissive on those coveted Saturday nights when he exercised his special talents in the real world?
“Do you have just one submissive?” she asked.
“No.” He spoke quietly, almost sympathetically.
“More than one?”
“No.”
She frowned. He didn’t have just one, but didn’t have more than one?
“I haven’t had a submissive for almost a year,” he said, ending the suspense before she could inquire further.
“Why? What happened?”
“It was time for her to move on.”
“Move on?” She had thought that once a Dominant and a submissive were together, that was more or less it. They were together.
“Dom/sub relationships are like all other types of relationships,” he said.
“Meaning . . .?”
“Meaning some last longer than others.” He made a quiet sound, like he was thinking back to his former submissive and how the relationship had ended. “I brought my last sub into the lifestyle and trained her, knowing I would never collar her. Then she struck up a friendship with one of the other Doms I introduced her to, and that friendship grew into love, and now she’s his sub and not mine. In fact, they’re engaged.”
Okay, that had taken an unexpected turn.
“And losing her to him didn’t make you angry?”
In all her research, she’d never
