Staring around her bedroom, she could hardly believe that a cyclone hadn’t blown through it. She ran a hand through her already tangled hair.
“I won’t,” she said staring at one outfit on the bed.
“No. Just. No.” Her gaze had fallen on the curtain hook where yet another outfit hung dejected…and rejected.
“I will not dress ‘sexy’for him,” she snarled out loud, using her hands to describe the :sexy: in air quotes. She stalked around her bed, stepping over piles of bra’s and panties, cami’s and one very sexy corset.
“No, no, NO!”
Pausing, chest heaving, she slid to the floor.
“What the fuckity fuck have I gotten myself into?” She moaned, her back to the destruction of what had been a tidy and organized closet.
He made the arrangements himself, since he didn’t have an assistant today. He’d correct that shortly, but he could make do for one day. He glanced over at the tie he’d draped over the back of the chair from yesterday’s…discussion. It was as good a word as any, he reasoned. He doubted he’d smiled so much in such a short time since he was a kid and got a bike for Christmas. Every time he looked at that tie, he felt ebullient. Christ, he might just have it framed.
Tearing his eyes from the pizza-soiled strip of silk, he turned back to the pile of papers on his desk, resisting the urge to glance at his wristwatch again. Had a Friday ever lasted so long? He opened his drawer, and withdrew a pen. Then opened the drawer again to marvel at its contents, all so neatly organized. It made him think of her. Not just the amazing ways she made his days easier, though she had. But the look of her, her curvy figure and sweet face. And the sound of her voice, from that slightly snippy tone she took when she was annoyed with him, to the sweet sound of her giggles when he managed to amuse her. The way she poked and prodded him to do things she felt he needed to do. She was funny, too. She made great coffee, and she put people at ease, even if she was not going to let them see him. She was strict, and demanding in her own right, but when he used his Boss Voice, she was also sweetly subservient. Such a dichotomy of a woman. By damn he wanted her back in his office.
And by damn he wanted her in his bed.
“I don’t know,” she moaned into the phone.
“Kat.” There was the no-nonsense voice she needed. “You just need to choose an outfit. One. Fucking. Outfit. Why are you making such a thing out of this?”
“It’s a revenge date! Not a date-date. It’s a “you fucked up my tie and now I’m going to mess with your head” date. For gosh sake, Savannah, he TOLD me to dress sexy for him. Why on Earth would I obey?”
“Uh, gee, I dunno,” her friend replied in her best brain-dead voice. “Maybe because you’re a submissive? Maybe because you like to dress sexy?”
“Well, yeah I get that, but I don’t want him to know that!”
“No, you don’t want him to win! her friend retorted quickly.
“Fuck you!” Kat growled into the phone.
“You wish,” Savannah giggled.
The two erupted in laughter.
“Wear the sexah dress,” Savannah intoned in her funeral parlor mortician voice.
“I DOAN WANNA…” Kat moaned. “Doan waaaaannnnnnaaaa….”, though she walked over and picked up the sexy thing.
“Put that on right now and take a picture to prove to me that you did.” Her friend switched to Domme voice.
“I’m always fair. Just sometimes unkind. Do it.”
Her friend knew how to make Katherine respond, and just now she needed a push.
“I’ve got my black boots, on,” Savannah said firmly. Her friend moaned.
“Damn you. Fine. Just…you’re not the boss of me.”
“No, I’m not the boss of you. But I am a boss. Be ready…soon. It’s nearly 8 where you are, you know.”
There was a sound of rustling fabric.
“Okay, I’ll send the fucking picture to you soon. Like 5 minutes.” She clicked off, and all but leapt into the dress. It looked like bandages wrapped around her, silky black fabric covering the important bits, with sheer black lace inserted in interesting places. A hint of side boob, a flash of hip, the curve of her bottom. Oh, it hid everything it needed to, but it alluded to so much more.
This might just kill him, she mused to herself, posing in the mirror. Quickly she snapped the pic, and sent it to her BFF. The reply text came back just as the doorbell chimed. She looked at it quickly, then gave a quick cheep of alarm.
I sure hope he takes you someplace to fuck you, because he might faint from the shock of seeing how you keep your bedroom…!
Looking again at the pic she’d sent, she realized just what she’d captured in the background. Turning, hands on hips, she looked around at the disaster she dubbed “First Date Dressing Syndrome”. Surely there was a chapter or two allotted to this problem in the Psychological Journal, right? Because this whole first date thing was definitely fucking with her psyche. Shaking her head, she heard the chime again. It sounded impatient, just like him.
“Keep yer pants on” she yelled at the door, certain he couldn’t hear her.
She opened the door, to find him leaning negligently against the jamb, fingers busy at his belt.
“Oh, hi Katherine, I was getting impatient about you not answering your door so I thought I’d take my pants off and try again.”
She rolled her eyes at him, and he laughed.
“You’re beautiful.” She shook her head, gestured him inside her apartment, praying that she’d remembered to shut her bedroom door.
He took her arm, swinging her around as she closed the apartment door.
“Oh!” she said, before his mouth came down on hers, kissing her firmly. His mouth was not gentle, but exploring. Lips pressing hers, then moving to the corner of her mouth, the top lip, the bottom lip, before parting hers. His tongue slipped between them, and when she would have pulled away, his hand came up and cupped her head, holding her steady as he plundered her mouth.
When he broke from her, she was panting, head swimming, lips trembling.
“I wanted to get that out of the way so you wouldn’t be worrying about it all night. Now you only need to wonder if it’s going to happen again.”
He leaned towards her, then whispered in her ear.