Page 21

Chapter 21

McCoy

Sawyer hadn’t been exaggerating—the unknown was terrifying. It had Coy tossing and turning for the next two nights. On Tuesday, she crawled out of bed at a quarter to five in the morning, finally giving up on any sort of rest. Her limbs were dead weights, and she staggered from the bathroom to the kitchen like she’d binged watched The Walking Dead for a week straight.

Sloane was still passed out in her bedroom, having worked the night before, so Coy tried her best to be quiet as she rummaged around the kitchen for the new pack of coffee filters. She couldn’t stop rubbing her eyes as she spooned the coffee into the maker, and when she reached for the jug of milk for her cereal, it slipped out of her hands and dropped on her foot.

Coy inhaled sharply, muttering curse words as she hopped around on one foot until the throbbing pain passed. Today was going to be a shit show—she just knew it. It was like she was blessed with knowing the future. To make matters worse, she hobbled to where her bowl of Fruit Loops sat beside the coffee maker to witness the hot liquid percolating all over the counter. “Why? Just why?” she hissed, throwing her hands in the air and glaring at her ceiling like she was asking some higher power.

How was she supposed to go through with tonight when she couldn’t even brew a cup of fucking coffee? Frankie was going to chew her up and spit her out.

Groaning, Coy unplugged the maker and tossed a towel over the mess. She poured milk into her cereal and left the uncapped jug on the counter, wandering into the living room to claim the recliner that had been meant for her dad. It was comfortable, with overstuffed armrests and a cup holder on either side. She didn’t know why her father hadn’t wanted it; it was perfect for watching the game. Coy dug into her cereal, unlocking her phone and setting it on the armrest. She scrolled Instagram as she ate, softening as she saw the new posts Abi had put up of her and Tess. They really were a remarkable couple, and so in love, Coy bet a blind person would be able to feel their chemistry. Coy had spent most of her life determined she didn’t want that. Now, she wasn’t certain of anything but how being around Sawyer made her feel.

And Sloane can’t even see it, see that this is different.

In the two days since their lunch, Coy had successfully chipped away a little more of Sawyer’s armor. Even minuscule amounts were wins in Coy’s eyes. They had texted periodically throughout the day yesterday, and then when she’d gone to Sawyer’s house in the evening to work, Sawyer had come out to the garage. She’d brought with her the supper Bree had cooked, and then they’d just … talked. About work on the McLaren, but also about personal stuff. Sawyer seemed to prefer learning about Coy rather than talking about herself, but Coy got the feeling she was lonely. Sawyer seemed different since she’d come home from the hospital. Not depressed exactly, but almost like she didn’t know what to do with herself if she wasn’t working.

A direct message from Abi popped up on her Instagram, and Coy was already grinning as she clicked into it.

Abi: Miss your face! Can’t sleep?

Coy: Miss yours more, beautiful. And no. AND I ruined my coffee. FML.

Abi: That’s the worst! One day I’ll upgrade you to De'Longhi. It’s an espresso machine, and like, sex in caffeine form.

Coy: LOL. Not sure what that says about Tess’s skills, but I’ll be sure to bring it up when I see you guys next.

Abi: Don’t you dare. Tess is AMAZING in bed.

Coy: Haha. Srsly miss you Abs. You coming to the party this weekend?

It was hers and Sloane’s annual summer celebration this weekend. They hosted at their apartment and invited way more people than was probably up to code, but so far, they’d only been shut down once by the police. Usually, the few neighbors in their building were understanding, and it wasn’t like they partied every weekend.

Abi: You bet. I’ve even convinced Tess to come, so long as she doesn’t back out at the last minute.

Coy smirked at that. Tess was so shy, it surprised Coy that the barber had the guts to pull off organizing her sister’s pre-wedding, weeklong activities the year before. Not to mention sneaking around with Abi in the middle of it all.

Coy: Remind her how sexy you thought she was when she helped you over the bridge at the waterfall. Boost her confidence.

Abi: That was sexy. Shit, I think she’s awake. I wanted to give her a special wake up call. Gotta run, playgirl xxo

Coy laughed, shaking her head but typed out her exit message as well before closing the app. Abi’s happiness had been a long time coming. Glancing across the apartment at the mess on the kitchen counter, Coy groaned at the thought of having to clean it up. She’d no doubt need to brace herself for the day ahead.

When Coy stepped into the pub late that evening, her hands were already shaky as she headed straight to the bar. Sloane and another worker, Andy, were working, and as Coy approached, her twin’s all-knowing gaze was already turning away to reach for the bottle of Jacks. “She’s upstairs waiting. Still think you’re gonna win the bet?”

“Damn straight I do.” Coy nodded, believing it. She had to win, or else it meant she hadn’t changed. And for once, she truly wanted that not to be true. More than ever, she wanted what so many of her friends had.

Sloane poured out two shots and slid one to Coy. “Well, I’m proud of you.”

“If you were proud of me, you wouldn’t have made that fucking bet,” Coy muttered, raising the shot glass.

Sloane raised hers as well, arching one eyebrow as she clinked the glass against Coy’s. “Being proud of you for trying isn’t the same as accepting that you’ll probably never change, Coy.”

“To me it is, but that’s okay. I’ll prove it to you.” Coy tossed the shot back the same time as Sloane, and the liquor burned going down. She absently rolled the rim of the shot glass between her thumb and forefinger before setting it down on the counter. Taking a breath and then another, as if the extra oxygen and puffing of her chest would give her the courage she needed, Coy added, “See you soon, Sloane.”

Sloane fist-bumped her without hesitation, then left to take care of another patron. Coy turned toward the back stairs that led to Frankie’s apartment above the bar. As she made her way up, the significance of what she was doing wasn’t lost on Coy. She was about to cut off her only tie into the BDSM lifestyle. Not even Naz was into the more involved kink, and Naz was usually game for anything. Coy had always been too insecure to attend the kink parties in the city by herself, and then she’d lucked out finding Frankie.

Coy reached the door to Frankie’s apartment and, not for the first time that night, she hesitated. What if she never felt the fulfillment she got as a sub again? What if chasing Sawyer turned out to be pointless, and Coy was busily rearranging her life for nothing?

What if Sloane is right and I come crawling back to Frankie a week, a month from now?

“Come in.”

Frankie’s command was equally alluring and anxiety inducing, a magnetic field pulling Coy into a dangerous vortex. Even after all these years. Heat coiled in her belly as she pushed the door open, stepping silently into Frankie’s two-bedroom apartment. Coy spotted the older woman instantly, seated in the middle of the room on one of her dining room chairs. She was dressed in her trademark business attire, her halfway unbuttoned blouse flashing a swell of creamy breasts Coy’s way. Red heels completed her look, and in her hands was a black bondage rope.

“Lock the door.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Coy’s body went on autopilot, eagerly soaking in the instructions.

“Now strip, my pet.”

Coy’s mind went blank, and she froze, caught between needing to strip and her earlier desire to have a proper non-submission or sex-related conversation with her Domme.

“Don’t make me tell you twice, pet. Today we’ll start out here and finish in the playroom.”

Kicking out of her Nikes, Coy scrambled to remove her shirt. Frankie looked on in anticipation, her mocha brown gaze hooded as she studied Coy. She looked beautiful and sexy and dangerous—all the things Coy had come to crave. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, why she couldn’t stand her ground, but before she knew it, she was down to her boxers and sports bra.

“Stop,” Frankie ordered when Coy dipped her fingers into the waistband of her boxers. “Leave them on. Now I want you to crawl to me.”

Coy’s pussy clenched in absolute need, and for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what she’d planned to do tonight. She sank to her knees, a soft sigh leaving her as she crawled on all fours to Frankie. She caught the heat in her mistress’s eyes as she gleefully watched Coy crawl across the floor. “Good, pet,” she crooned, bending to cup Coy’s cheek in her palm. Frankie’s nails scraped along Coy’s jaw, and she gasped, desire shooting to her core. Frankie’s hand circled Coy’s throat possessively, and when she held Coy still and roughly claimed her lips, Sawyer’s storm cloud gray eyes and sensual mouth flashed behind Coy’s eyes. It was almost like warning bells going off in her head.

Frankie stood, and with her hand still wrapped around Coy’s throat, she guided her to her feet as well. Frankie shifted their positions so that Coy was now in front of the chair. “Sit, pet,” she directed, her hand sliding to Coy’s chest and giving her a light push. Coy fell into the chair, her chest heaving as thoughts of Sawyer swirled round and round.

“Safe word—tell me it.” Frankie’s voice was low, throaty by design, but it wasn’t having the same effect on Coy as five minutes ago.

“I, uh … Frankie, I—”

“Tell me your safe word, McCoy,” Frankie repeated, reaching for Coy’s arms, the rope dangling in her opposite hand. She had about one minute before Frankie had her bound to the chair. Which was hot as fuck, but …

“Peaches,” she blurted.

“Good, pet. Now we can begin.”

“N-no I mean, peaches, Frankie. I-I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” Coy pulled her hands away from Frankie’s firm grip, twisting around in the chair to face the older woman.

Frankie was squinting at her, clearly confused. The rope fell to the floor, and she swiped her long brunette hair away from her face. “What’s wrong? What do you need? Where are you tonight? Not with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Coy whispered, bowing her head. Tears pricked her eyes, and she wasn’t at all surprised when Frankie’s hand fisted her jaw seconds later, tugging her face toward her once more.

A rueful smile appeared. “Who is she?”

Coy closed her eyes as the tears fell. She and Frankie weren’t even in love, and it was still killing Coy to do this. “Her name is Sawyer.”

“I see. Fuck.” Frankie released Coy immediately, backing up several paces.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, softer now. She glanced around for her clothes, not waiting for Frankie’s permission to redress. She was numb as she pulled her jeans back on.

Frankie was facing away from Coy, one of her hands resting on the chair for support. A pregnant pause filled the air, before she said quietly, “You’re free to go, Coy.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie. I-if it wasn’t for her—”

“Don’t apologize. You … owe me nothing. If anyone is in the wrong, it’s me. I-If only I could …” Her voice trailed off.

“Frankie?” Coy took a hesitant step forward.

“Was I not a good Domme to you?”

“What?” Coy’s jaw went slack. She took another step, and then another, until all she’d need to do was reach out and she’d touch Frankie. Coy jabbed her hands into her pockets. “You were a great Domme. That was never the problem.” Frankie had never failed in that regard. It was everything else she struggled with. Coy didn't want to be just a part-time play toy anymore. She wasn’t sure at what moment things had changed for her, but she needed to invest more than just her body into a relationship. “I’ll miss being your sub, Frankie.” The words were out before she could stop them, but that didn’t make them any less true. Coy’s throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed hard. She cut her eyes toward the door, her shirt and shoes in her arms.

She was almost over the threshold when she heard Frankie rasp, “Not as much as I will, pet.”