Megan Hart - Switch

forced it out.

My dad had periodicaly tossed me some money over the

years. Never enough. Never when I needed it. It would

have been better if he'd done right by my mom and given

her child support so I could've had the stylish jeans in

middle school or the warmer winter coat. I'd have

appreciated that more than the occasional twenty or even

fifty dolars, or the sudden flurry of birthday gifts three

weeks late and al in the wrong sizes.

"Do you want to go to lunch with me next week?" He

yawned again, and I started toward the front door.

"Sure, Dad. Cal me."

"I wil," he told me at the door and gave me a hug and a

kiss on the cheek. "Drive safe."

It was so fatherly it felt foreign. Driving home, my phone

vibrated against my leg again, but I didn't pul it out until I

got to the parking garage. Two messages waited for me.

In bed. Not tired. What should I cal you?

And the second, Stil not sleeping.

I hadn't forgotten how I'd looked forward to every note.

I'd imagined the sender, my secret commander, crafting

each word with the intent of forcing me one more step

along a path so curved I couldn't see the end. I'd never

thought about how difficult it would be to come up with

detailed lists every time, or how it felt to hold someone so

firmly in my command.

There were limits. There had to be. I'm sure I'd have found

them had the notes kept coming, pushing me harder, or if

they'd ordered me to do something so foreign to me I

couldn't manage it. I didn't think I'd have committed a

crime or done something against my personal code, like

have bareback sex with a stranger, or taken drugs.

I didn't know Eric's limits, or how far I wanted to push

him, but the thought sifted heat al through me. I thought for

another few moments, then got out of my car. It wasn't

terribly late, not for a Saturday, but the parking garage

was quiet. Across the street I could see a few lights on in

apartments, though many windows were dark. Most of the

Manor residents would be out and about until much later.

By the time I got to the front doors, I was already tapping

out a message. Grinning, I tucked my phone, set to silent,

back in my pocket. It was a risk that might not play out the

way I'd planned, but it was a good risk.

If you're not sleeping, you should put your time to good

use. Go to the lobby. Greet the first person you see. If it's

a man, you wil engage him in whatever conversation you

want. But if it's a woman, you wil find a way to serve her.

Not to please her, and not to please yourself. To please

me.

It was a lot of typing, but the fact it took longer meant he

had to wait longer for it. I was already in the lobby, which

was stil empty. Al I had to do was wait.

I caught sight of my face in the mirror above the fireplace

nobody ever lit. Blond hair slicked back in a high ponytail,

blue eyes smudged with gray liner. The sun had brought

out some freckles and my lips stil could've used some

gloss, but overal, it wasn't a bad picture.

I turned my face from side to side, envisioning heavier

makeup and a leather suit replacing my workout clothes. A

whip in my hand. Spike-heeled boots. None of that

appealed to me any more than being on my knees with my

appealed to me any more than being on my knees with my

hands tied had ever turned me on. I swiped a hand over

my hair to take care of the wisps faling over my face. I

didn't look like a dominatrix. Was that what I was?

It was too soon to be insulted Eric hadn't even asked for

my phone number. We'd had two pseudodates but no

indication he had any sort of sexual attraction to me. So

far, al I knew was that he got off on being ordered around

by someone he didn't know, and that I liked him very

much.

And that I could make him like me.

Chapter 25

"Paige. Hey."

I'd tried to time my "entrance" just right, grateful nobody else was coming in or out of the building so they couldn't

see me lurking by the front door trying to catch a glimpse

of the elevators. I'd managed to linger long enough I was

the only person in the lobby just as Eric came out of the

elevator. He looked around and lit up when he saw me.

Relief, maybe. Gratitude.

I wanted it to be desire.

"Eric. Hi." I'm no actress, so I didn't bother pretending I wasn't happy to see him. "What's up?"

"Oh, just…" He didn't quite stammer, but he did trail off

with a shrug and a smile. "I have the night off. Couldn't

sleep."

I looked at the big clock on the wal opposite the fireplace.

"It's only eleven-thirty. It's stil early."

"Yeah. Wel, I have to work early, so I was trying to be

good."

I'd never been afraid to go after what I wanted, and I'd

decided I wanted him. "Were you?"

I watched his throat convulse as he swalowed, and I

drank in the sudden gleam from his gaze. I knew what he'd

been told to do, but now I was watching it happen and my

body reacted. My nipples went tight and I sighed silently at

the friction of my panties against me.

"I was trying," he said.

Flirting is a dance, even when you're standing stil.

"But not succeeding?"

His smal smile caled my attention to his perfectly ful

lower lip. "I guess not."

"Bad boy." I didn't coo or purr the words. I didn't have to.

Eric's dark eyes flashed. "I guess I am."

The difference in how he looked at me was subtle, but I'd

been watching for it. I knew what he was supposed to do

and wondered how he meant to do it. But just then I also

and wondered how he meant to do it. But just then I also

wished I hadn't pushed him toward it. Me.

"Wel, it's late," I said to tease. "I'd better go upstairs. I'm starving."

Eric dogged my steps toward the elevator. "What are you

hungry for?"

I let his question turn me. "Ice-cream sundaes."

"I have ice cream. And hot fudge. And I even have those

disgusting cherries."

I smiled at the good luck. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Eric nodded slowly, his glance going over my

shoulder when the elevator doors opened. "Want to come

up to my place? I'l make you one."

I back-stepped toward the elevator and he folowed as

though I puled him on a string. Or a leash. "Now, why

would I do that?"

"Because ice cream's more fun when eaten in pairs?"

I laughed at his answer. "Al right. Al I have is diet fudge

I laughed at his answer. "Al right. Al I have is diet fudge

bars, anyway. I'd rather have a real sundae."

He folowed me into the elevator and watched me push the

button for his floor. The elevator could hold and had held

ten people at a time. We had plenty of room but he stood

next to and slightly behind me, so I was aware of his body

heat and the soft sound of his breath.

We barely had time to talk on the short ride to his floor

and down the hal to his apartment, and I didn't bother

with smal talk. Eric, to my relief, didn't try to force the

chatter, either. In five minutes he was unlocking his door

and ushering me inside by stepping back to alow me to go

through first.

"Such a gentleman," I said.

He paused after he shut the door. "I try."

Again, we stared at each other. I was used to men who

made the first move. Eric didn't move, so we stayed stil,

both of us looking.

"Ice cream?" I prompted over my urge to taste his mouth.

"In the kitchen."

He puled out a chair for me and settled me in it like a

queen before bustling around to pul out a couple cartons

of ice cream from the freezer. He set them on the counter,

then grabbed a jar of fudge from the cupboard and put it in

the microwave. From another cupboard he puled real ice-

cream-sundae glasses, and from the drawer two long-

handled spoons.

"I had no idea," I said as he turned. I waved at his

preparations, searching for the words that would keep me

on top, but found none.

He grinned. "I like ice cream. What can I get for you?

Chocolate, vanila or mint chip?"

"A scoop of each?" It had been ages since I'd eaten ice

cream. "Extra hot fudge."

"Whatever you want." Eric's simple words felt anything but simple.

He brought two sundaes, heaped high with ice cream and

oozing with hot fudge, to the table. True to what I'd come

to expect from him, he served me first before taking the

to expect from him, he served me first before taking the

chair across from mine. He waited until I'd tasted my ice

cream before he even lifted his spoon.

"Good?" he asked.

I could only make a murmuring happy noise as my taste

buds, so long denied, practicaly sang. When I scooped a

mouthful of hot fudge, my low, throaty moan was louder

than I'd intended. Eric stopped with his spoon halfway to

his mouth.

I swalowed sweetness. "It's good."

He finished his bite, and I watched his lips close over the

spoon. I watched, too, as his tongue came out to lick

away the drops of ice cream that had dripped onto his

hand. Caught up in my lustful fantasy of what he could do

to me with that tongue, I dropped my spoon.

Both of us looked to where it had clattered to the floor. I

didn't move. Eric looked at the spoon on the floor, then up

at me. And then slowly, carefuly, he slid from his chair to

his knees in front of me. The spoon clicked on the tile

when he reached for it, and I saw his hand was shaking,

just barely.

just barely.

He looked up at me. "Let me get that for you."

This was the second time since we'd met he'd been at my

feet. This time he was there because I'd put him there,

though he didn't know it was me. My heart leaped, the

thudding almost painful under my ribs. My breath lodged in

my throat, and though a thousand words swirled around in

my brain, not one of them would come out of my mouth.

When the heat of his hands cuffed my ankles, I drew in

another breath on top of the one I hadn't yet released. I'd

changed into a summer-weight black skirt, the cut loose

and fabric soft on my bare legs. It hung just past my knees,

but sitting had puled the cloth tighter and higher on my

thighs. The pressure of Eric's breath shouldn't have been

strong enough to move the fabric of my skirt, but I felt it

move on my shins as he exhaled.

He didn't look at me as he slid his long fingers slowly up

my calves. They reached the soft skin behind my knees

and I let out another slow sigh. When he reached the hem

of my skirt I thought he'd stop, but Eric, head stil bent, his

eyes on only he knew what, pushed the material up and

over my knees. He leaned forward to press his cheek to

the inside of my knee. I froze. Our breathing sounded very

the inside of my knee. I froze. Our breathing sounded very

loud in the silence.

When I didn't move or protest, Eric gave his head a half

turn. His breath blew hot on my skin. I tensed, my hands

clutching the arms of the chair, but my knees opened for

him and my head tipped back just a little.

He kissed the inside of my knee with parted lips, and the

brief wet press of his tongue teased my flesh. I looked

down at his thick dark hair and wanted to sink my fingers

into it. Instead, I clutched the chair arms tighter as Eric

nuzzled higher onto my thigh.

He would be able to smel my arousal, I knew it, could feel

my panties getting damp. His mouth moved higher as his

hands moved up over my knees and rested there. My next

breath turned to syrup in my lungs and gave me no air.

I could see his eyes, closed, the dark lashes so long they

cast shadows on his cheeks. Each feathery kiss folowed

the next, a micron's distance apart. He would never reach

my pussy at that pace.