Текст книги "Playing Hard to Master"

Автор книги: Sparrow Beckett

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

He straightened, and his hand found its way to her throat. Holding her in place, he waited until she met his gaze. “I’m putting a condom on now, and you’re going to stand there and wait like a good girl, aren’t you?”

Everly’s eyes were half-lidded, tame, waiting for his next command. He took a step back and grabbed a condom out of his pocket, trying to look suave and not fumble as he freed his aching cock from his pants and rolled the damn thing on. His heart hammered so hard his hands shook. He was at the end of his patience—he had to get his cock into her now, before he went completely mad.

When he’d fought the condom on, he grabbed her ass and lifted her, bracing her back against the wall. She squeaked and started to struggle.

“Put me down! I’m too—” Her words were cut off as the tip of his cock pressed against her entrance.

Ignoring the halfhearted protest, he drove his cock up into her tight wetness, groaning as her body spasmed around his intrusion. She shrieked in his ear as gravity did its work, helping him get all the way inside her sweet body.

“Oh God! Oh God, I can’t!” She clutched his shoulders, her eyes hazed and mouth open. She moaned long and low.

Ambrose got a better grip on her thighs and pulled his dick halfway out, then plunged back in, reveling in the feel of having her at his mercy, completely helpless.

He thrust into her like she was a ragdoll made for his lust—like he was going to fuck her through the wall. She recovered enough to brace her feet against his calves, and got a stronger grip on his shoulders, helping him move faster and harder. Her screams of pleasure were deafening, but it only spurred him on, loving every new mewl and squeak he won from her.

The tight, clutching heat of her cunt was addictive, and he fought the orgasm that was approaching, making his balls tight and his body ache for release. He kissed her again, trying to distract himself. Her fingernails clawed into his shoulders and she shrieked into his mouth, her pussy clamping down as she came all over his cock.

Unable to resist her, he let himself lose control, hammering into her as she struggled through another helpless orgasm, her muscles milking his dick until he spilled into her. For a moment his vision blurred and he was afraid he’d drop her, but she held to him, moaning and kissing his mouth, letting him take what he needed. All of it.

When he withdrew, he lowered her to the floor then threw her over his shoulder. She screeched but didn’t fight as he carried her off to his bed.

First, he’d cuddle her mercilessly. Then, he’d fuck her again.

Chapter Seven

He’d called her perfect.

Maybe it was because he was carrying her through the house, but Everly felt like she was floating. He’d called her perfect and she’d called him Master.

The Master part might have been premature, but in the moment, it fit. As long as he understood it wasn’t a permanent title. Just role-playing.

Right?

But, God, he was hot. The way he’d thrown her up against the wall, the desperate look in his eye, like he couldn’t wait another second to fuck her. Like she was the sexiest thing in the world.

Nobody had ever made her feel like that—made her feel like submitting so fully, made her feel simultaneously like a fuck toy and something beautiful to be treasured.

Something in her clicked—a deep longing satisfied. Ambrose could handle her. Even if she pushed and bratted more, he could take it. Probably with either a laugh or a stern look. Either way¸ it wouldn’t scare him away or exasperate him. The relief she felt in that shocked her. And for some reason, knowing he could handle the worst she could throw at him made her want to behave, to submit deeply to him.

Weird.

“Nonconsensual cuddling,” he announced as he entered a vast bedroom.

She arched a brow at him. “Hmm. He fucks good and cuddles?”

“It’s ‘fucks well.’”

“And he has a basic understanding of grammar!”

He tossed her on the bed, making her yelp. “Don’t move,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

She watched him stride toward the attached bathroom until he was out of sight. Suddenly tired, she leaned back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was vaulted, with a skylight. That had to be a bitch in the mornings. The room was enormous but looked empty, with only two stout, matching dressers, a mounted TV, and the bed. The latter was big enough to take up her entire bedroom at home.

Again, the decor showed Ambrose’s friend had no class. A hodgepodge of styles and colors were broken up only by paintings—most likely from his friends Banner and Rook. What a strange friend group he had. Ambrose seemed to take the success of the others in stride—maybe he wasn’t the jealous type. Trepidation snuck in. If all his friends were rich, and they got serious, he’d want her to be friends with them too. How would that work?

But not dating a guy just because he had rich friends was a bitch move too. It wasn’t like amazing sexual chemistry came along all the time. Plus, he was sweet and thoughtful and funny—maybe there was a way to stay together without getting too close to his snobby friends.

Ambrose returned, smirking and wearing a pair of plaid boxers.

She looked at them pointedly then pouted.

Chuckling, he plopped down on the bed, making it dip under his weight. “What’s that look for?”

“You covered up.”

“You like my cock?”

“I do, Sir.” She waggled her brows, and he laughed.

“Naughty. Maybe later I’ll let you play with it again.” He leaned back, pulling her into his arms as he went, then tossed the blanket on top of them. “For now, we cuddle.”

She let her head rest on his chest, her muscles gradually relaxing with each of his breaths. The last weeks had been a flurry of stress—between the protest and extra shifts at work. The warmth of his arms, and the steady breathing, and even the smell of sex, calmed her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Is this your friend’s bedroom?” she asked, drowsy. “’Cause that’d be kind of creepy.”

“No. It’s his guest room, but I’ve been house-sitting so much I’ve kind of taken over. We both kind of consider it my room now.”

“So his room must be even bigger.” She sighed. “I can’t even imagine trying to fill a room that size. I’d need a lot of clothes or cats or something just so I didn’t feel so lonely.”

His shoulders moved under her head like he was shrugging. “It’s not so bad. You get used to it.” Sadness leaked into his voice. He wasn’t fooling her. She’d bet anything he was lonely sometimes too. “So what’s your issue with rich people anyway?”

Where to start? “They had an issue with me first.”

“What does that mean?”

“I was bullied.” It took a long time to relearn confidence and trust after those harsh years. “I had a single mom who did her best, but it was hard to make ends meet. She was young when she got pregnant with me. Her family deserted her. We were on our own and she had no education. She worked hard and went to night school for nursing, but we were poor.”

“Wow.” He squeezed her tighter, as if trying to protect her from her own story. “Good for her.”

“Kids at school were mean, especially girls. They made fun of me because I didn’t have the right clothing labels. And sometimes I wore the same clothes over and over because nothing else fit. Most of my clothes came from thrift stores, so I wasn’t exactly in fashion.”

“I’d never have guessed.” He lifted a purple streak of her hair with his index finger and smiled.

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “I kinda made up for it later on. But I don’t spend a lot of money on myself. I just got really good at making recycled things fashionable.” Staring down at the stark white sheet, she added, “But I’ve been doing what I can to help those living in poverty since.”

“You’re like a sexy female Robin Hood.”

Laughing, she grinned up at him, but his face sobered.

“So based on some snotty kids a long time ago, you judge a whole population?”

“And my extended family.” She probably should have felt guilty, but that’d never happen. The anger was too deeply rooted. “I know it sounds bad, but I just can’t stand them. They hurt me. When I was cold and afraid, sleeping on the shelter cots at seven years old, do you think anyone cared? No. People wanted the shelter shut down because it wasn’t aesthetically pleasing to the neighborhood.” Bitterness tainted her voice so she tried to lighten it up so she didn’t scare him completely. “It’s not that much of a generalization anyway. We get lots of wealthy people in the shop. They’re almost always snooty and talk down to us.”

It was quiet a moment, and she hoped she hadn’t offended him. She kept forgetting all of his friends were rich. “There are exceptions though.” A picture of Konstantin formed in her mind—his kind eyes, the way he watched over her at the club when she’d almost played with that guy Troy. Sure, there were some nice rich people, but they were few and far between.

She didn’t bother telling him her most humiliating memory. As an adult, she’d learned to love and accept her body, but high school had been hard. When a group of popular girls found out she had a crush on Zachary Baker, they took a picture of her changing after gym class and showed it to him and all his friends. And then they taped it on her locker with a note that read, You’re better off looking for a boyfriend on a farm. Moo.

Back then there was no YouTube to put said videos on, no antibullying campaigns on Facebook, no regulations in the school—at least not any that people took seriously. She’d been alone in her misery, and the torture continued all the way until adulthood.

“What if . . .” He cleared his throat. “What if you fell in love with someone who was rich?”

She snorted. Was he serious? “Not gonna happen.”

“How do you know? Maybe you wouldn’t know he’s rich at first . . .”

“I can smell rich people a mile away in a rainstorm.” She gave him a cocky look. “Nothing slips by me.”

A strangled laugh escaped him. She turned her head and bit his skin playfully.

“Watch it, girl,” he rumbled, making a thrill rush through her.

“Mmm.” She almost purred. Down, girl. “Anyway, I believe you choose who you love. It’s very controlled, very calculated.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Then why does everyone call it ‘falling’?”

She froze, keeping her gaze carefully set on the ceiling. If she looked at him now, he’d see the doubt in her eyes. There was no way she was going to fall for him first. When this happened—if it happened—she would be in control. Maybe a Dom could master her orgasms, but no one could master her heart.

*   *   *

Frustration made her grind her teeth as she typed into her phone.

Hello? You can’t just stop talking to me because you don’t have an answer.

When nothing came back right away, she grunted and shoved the phone into her purse. She took a minute pretending to check her hair in the break room mirror just to give her time to calm down.

“Everly!” Alison, the receptionist, shouted from the front. “Your next appointment is here.”

“Be right there!” Slowly, she inhaled then exhaled a deep breath, watching the stress leave her face. Next, she put on a cheery smile, satisfied that it looked real.

It’d been five days since she’d last seen Ambrose. Four days of texting. Three days of suspicion. He was stalling, which meant he was lying. But why would he lie about where he lived? Why wouldn’t he let her see his place? Something wasn’t adding up, and she was starting to worry he was hiding something. Was he seeing somebody else? Flashes of catching Scott with Mindy entered her mind, making her panic. The worst part wasn’t catching them together—it was how stupid she’d felt because she’d assumed they were exclusive.

But Ambrose had seemed sincere about their relationship. He wouldn’t break their agreement already, would he? He wasn’t living with someone, or married?

She had to clear those questions from her mind now, though, or she’d let her anger out while styling her client’s hair. That never turned out well.

“Hi, Genevieve!” she crooned as she walked toward one of her regulars in the front. “How are you today?”

“Fabulous.” They hugged, then Genevieve stepped back and looked her over. “You went back to pink?”

Everly led her client to her chair. “Yeah. I got bored.” She’d gradually exchanged the purple streaks for pink panels throughout the week. Changing the purple to pink or pink to blue or brown to blonde or black to red was commonplace for her, and for most hairdressers. Coloring her hair was like playing dress-up, only it lasted a little longer.

She’d never cared what anyone thought of her wild hair before, but since she’d done it, her stomach had been twisted into knots, worrying what Ambrose would think. Silly, because she still answered only to herself. She didn’t want a Master who controlled how she looked. But like any girl, she wanted him to be attracted to her. He’d passed a lot of tests so far—was he up for the hair challenge?

Ugh. She wished he’d just text back so she knew he was even alive!

“It’s cute,” Genevieve said.

“Thanks.” She stood behind her client, adjusting the chair to the right height. “So what can I do for you today?”

By the time she finished Genevieve’s foil highlights, her feet felt like someone had stuffed two inflated balloons in her shoes.

“Fucking heels,” she muttered in the break room, prying them off of her sweaty feet. After nearly throwing them into her locker, she slipped on her flats, sighing in comfort, grabbed her coat and purse, then headed for the door. “I’ll be back after lunch,” she told Alison.

Just outside, she bumped into a familiar chest. She squeaked and almost toppled over but he caught her. Without heels, she had to crane her neck to see his face.

His head blocked the sun and shadowed his face. Still, she’d know that body and that scent anywhere. Memories—so vivid and alive, she was instantly horny—surfaced.

Then she shoved him. “Ugh. What are you doing here?”

“Hey.” He wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her closer. “What’s wrong? Bad day?”

She couldn’t stop herself from melting into him, even though it was him she was irritated with. But the gentle pressure of his arms on her lower back, and her body pressed up against his calmed her in a way that felt almost nonconsensual. She snorted at herself. Nonconsensual cuddling again.

Giving her head a shake, she peered back up at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping to slip in for a haircut. Do you have time?”

She looked at his still relatively short hair then sighed. “Yeah. I was about to go to lunch, but I’ll squeeze you in now.” Stepping away, she turned back for the door. Why was she giving in? Did his hair really look that bad?

“Nooo.” He grabbed her arm, stopping her and pulling her back to him. “No way. Not until you eat. If you can’t fit me in today, I’ll come back another day. I’m not taking up your lunch break.”

“But—”

“I said no.” Then he arched a brow in only a look a Master could give, and her resolve fell away.

Ugh. So annoying that he could use that against her. Curse her stupid hormones!

“Come on,” he said, linking their arms together. “I’ll take you to lunch. There’s a nice little Italian place just around the block.”

Her arm went slack in his, and it hit her just how tired she was. The work day was only halfway over too. She needed coffee, stat.

“So what’s with the hair?” he asked.

“Oh!” Self-consciously, she fiddled with it. “I just get bored sometimes and change it up. Why? You don’t like it?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t know you planned on changing it. Why didn’t you tell me?”

It felt like a rejection, which stung. Her heart sagged, along with her tired body. Emotions welled up, but she let irritation mask the hurt.

“You’re not in charge of my hair,” she snapped. “Look, I know some Masters like having a say in everything their slaves do, but I’m not one of those people. I need my freedom. It’s just part of my personality.” Her voice escalated as she rambled. “You’re not even my Master anyway. We never agreed to—”

“Shh.” He pulled her between two buildings, where there was some privacy, then pushed her gently up against the brick wall. Putting his hands on either side of her face, he leaned down and kissed her lips gently.

She let him, too tired to protest anyway. Plus, he smelled so damned good.

After he slowly teased her mouth, making her pant and want more, he stopped but only pulled back a few inches. “Why are you getting so upset, sweet thing?”

She realized she was letting her frustration influence everything, and it wasn’t fair. He didn’t exactly say he didn’t like her hair, or that she couldn’t color it without permission. Now that she’d calmed down, he didn’t seem like that type.

“Why do you keep stalling when I ask about seeing your place?” she asked, her voice smaller than she’d meant. “And why haven’t you answered any of my texts today?” She’d spent all day wondering if he was running away again. “I’ve been worried all day, thinking you were . . . done with me. Or seeing someone else . . .” Her voice hitched, embarrassing her. The last thing she wanted him to see was how much it hurt, how vulnerable he made her feel. She also didn’t want to come off as clingy.

“Is that what this is about?” He chuckled. “No. I am absolutely not seeing anyone else. I promised you we’d be exclusive, and I take that seriously. Also, I came today to invite you to my apartment for dinner tonight. I just wanted to get it cleaned up a little so I didn’t embarrass myself.”

“Okaaaay.” She sized him up, narrowing her eyes so he’d know she was using her bullshit detector. “What about texting? Why have you been ignoring me?”

“I dropped my phone down the stairs last night.”

“Oh no!”

“Yeah. So I have to pick up a new one today.” He sighed. “I was planning to go after the haircut.”

“Ugh. I hope you had a warranty. Morgan had to replace her iPhone after her toddler broke it, and it cost six hundred dollars outside of a plan.” She looked up at him. “Want me to ask around if someone has an old one they’re not using?”

“No.” Smiling, he ran a finger down her cheek. “That’s sweet, but I’ll be fine. I got an end-of-the-year bonus from work, so I’ll just use that.”

She nodded, getting lost in the way he looked at her, like she was his next meal. His finger left a trail of heat down her cheek. Pictures of the last time he’d touched her flashed through her mind, sending tingles down her spine and to naughty places. Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry for food anymore.

“Are you okay now?” he asked, concern on his face. “I didn’t mean to make you worry so much. And I do love your hair. I was just surprised you didn’t tell me. I’m not the kind of Dom to dictate what color my sub’s hair is.”

“It’s not your fault.” Now she felt guilty for assuming the worst. “Work has been tiring, so I’m not exactly at my most stable right now.” Chuckling humorlessly, she added, “I guess it’s good you see just how crazy I can be.”

He pushed away from the wall, turned back to the street, and took her hand. “Everyone is crazy now and then. Come on. Food will make everything better.”

“That really sucks about your phone.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll pay for lunch today.”

“Not a chance.”

By the tone of his voice, she knew there was no point in arguing. “Stubborn.”

“Yup.” He held open the door, and the smell of fresh sauce filled the air.

Her stomach growled. “Mmm. I wasn’t hungry a minute ago, but now . . .”

He laughed. “Me too. Come on. I know the owner. There’s a special table in the back we can sit at. Marcelo!”

Someone from the kitchen peeked out and waved. “Hey, Ambrose! Table’s free if you want it.”

“Excellent. Thank you!”

“Hey, tell your mom thanks for the polenta bread recipe.”

“Will do.” He pulled her through the busy but small restaurant, then around the corner, where it split off to the kitchen and bathrooms. There, by the window, one little table sat in a private nook.

Wow. Star treatment for Ambrose. She was surprised, and maybe impressed. With a hand on her lower back, he guided her to one side and held her chair for her. After she sat down, he took the seat on the other side.

He gazed at her a moment, wearing a lopsided smile. Then he seemed to snap to attention. “Is this okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask.”

“It’s fine.” She laughed nervously. How could this be more awkward than everything else they’d done? “Um.” She fiddled with the menu on the table. “You have a lot of friends.”

He shrugged. “I like to eat. You get to know people that way.” He took the menu out of her hands and shook his head. “My parents own a bakery, remember? So they know all the foodies in town too.”

Frowning, she looked at the menu he’d stolen away. “But . . .”

“The good stuff isn’t on the menu, gorgeous. Trust me.” He winked.

At first it seemed like he was being controlling, insisting he order for her, but now she realized this was his version of fun. With a smile, she sat back and relaxed, letting worry go for once, and trusted him.

There didn’t seem to be a waiter serving their table, so Ambrose went to the kitchen and spoke directly with the chef. She tried to tell him this was lunch and she wouldn’t eat that much, but he seemed to be on a mission. Considering the size of him, he’d probably eat what she didn’t anyway.

He turned from the kitchen and asked, “Red wine or white?”

“Actually, coffee, please.”

After a curt nod, he spoke to the chef for another minute then turned back to the table, grinning like a kid in a candy shop. It was fucking adorable. Here was Ambrose, in his element.

“You really like food, huh?”

“Yes.” His forehead creased, the grin fading away. “Is . . . that bad? Anytime I date a girl who only eats salad or whose idea of eating out is Taco Bell, things never seem to last long.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” She giggled. “I hate salad. Unless it’s drenched in ranch, but then it’s not really a salad, so much as dressing with salad as the garnish. I should probably eat more salad—I mean, look at me—but I just like real food too much. I’ve never made a very good herbivore . . .” She trailed off, realizing she was rambling.

When she lifted her eyes to look at Ambrose, he was giving her that silly grin again.

“What?”

“You’re perfect the way you are. And I love when you talk food.”

Smirking, she said, “Just food? Or are you thinking about other things I put in my mouth?”

“Don’t tease, little brat. You have to go back to work after this. You don’t want me to muss you up in the bathroom, do you?”

That didn’t sound like a bad idea at all. She shrugged and looked at him coyly.

He chuckled. “Bad girl.”

The chef appeared, carrying a glass of wine and a mug. She thanked him, then, after adding cream and sugar, she sipped her coffee, hoping it would make her come to her senses. No matter how private the table, they were still in a public restaurant. And she did have to go back to work after this. Now was not the time to tempt the demon.

“So you’ll come over tonight?” he asked. “I’ll text you the address after I get my phone.”

“Sure.” She arched a brow. “What are we gonna do? Watch a movie? Play a board game?”

He leaned back, letting his arms span the back of the chair, reminding her just how large he was.

A shudder swept through her. Fuck, how was she going to last until tonight when she was getting horny already?

“We’ll play some games all right,” he said. “I liked the one we played last time. I’m the Sultan and you’re my little slave girl.”

She thought of the slave bells he’d given her and the fact that she sometimes wore them around her apartment. Wearing them made her feel like she was his property, which was a crazy turn-on. She’d fantasized about belonging to somebody for so long it seemed almost too good to be true.

Time to test a theory. “Oh. Here I was just thinking maybe I’d wear my new schoolgirl skirt.”

His body seemed to freeze in place, then he swallowed hard. “I . . . uh . . . I’d be okay with that.”

She chuckled, feeling cocky and powerful. “Maybe it’s too soon for that. I’ll just wear a T-shirt and jeans.”

Abruptly, he sat forward. “No, I like your idea better.”

“Nah.”

“Wear the fucking skirt, little brat, or you’ll be sorry.”

“Mmm.” Warmth slid from her belly down to her pussy. “What if I like being sorry?” She nibbled her lip.

“There are better reasons to be sorry than for disobeying me.”

She leaned in, her breath shallow and her voice husky. “Like what?”

He sat up straighter. “You’ve been very bratty today. I have a desk and a strap with your name on them.”

A whimper escaped her and she fought the urge to slide her hand down between her legs. If she pressed on her clit, just for a second, she could possibly come right there in the restaurant.

“So you’re going to wear that pretty skirt for me, right?”

“Yes,” she said on an exhale.

He quirked a brow.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

Ugh. How was she supposed to finish the day like this? Needy and wet and ready to hump her own hand? She was just about to ask about the mussing-up-in-the-bathroom idea, but Ambrose cut in.

“Here comes the food.”

The chef placed two plates in front of them with heaping piles of pasta that looked and smelled delicious. Still, she was distracted.

Ambrose scooped a bite then stopped and looked at her. “Why are you pouting?

The chef had left, and no one was within earshot.

“I’m horny, Sir.”

He laughed. “Poor girl. That’s what you get for teasing me.”

Obviously, she wasn’t going to get any mercy from him. She growled and stared at her food.

“Eat. The chef made it just for you. You still have a long day. I’m not letting you leave until you eat.”

“Yes, Sir,” she grumbled with a mock salute.

His eyes narrowed. “We’ll address that over my desk later.”

Her stomach thunked and her whole body felt like it turned to Jell-O. Slowly, she picked up her fork, trying to clear her mind of all the dirty thoughts flipping through it. Fuuuuuck. Why did she have to open her big, bratty mouth? Now she’d be thinking about that desk for the rest of the day.

They fell into silence as they ate the cheesy pasta mix on their plates. Though she stayed horny, her thoughts drifted from sex to food. The dish was amazing. Each ingredient blended perfectly with the others. She found most cheese dishes to be greasy, but this was just perfect.

It wasn’t long before she’d finished more than half of the heaping portion on her plate.

“How do you like it?” Ambrose asked, polishing off his.

“It’s really good!”

He smiled genuinely.

“But I’ll pay for my half. It’s only fair, especially since you have to replace your phone.”

Rolling his eyes, he placed his fork by his plate. “This is a date. You’re not even paying for your water. Now shut up and keep eating.”

“Rude!” she teased. “I’m full though.” At his glare, she said, “Seriously. It’s too much. I’ll take it home for tomorrow.”

He seemed satisfied with that and took it upon himself to get to a to-go box from the back. After working out some kind of arrangement with the chef, he told her everything was paid for and walked her to the door.

“I think I’m booked solid from one to four,” she told him as they headed back to the salon. “But you can come after and I’ll do your hair.”

“Nah. Not today. Just let me know when you have an open spot later this week.”

“It’s no big deal. I can take you at four.”

“No.” He playfully nudged her. “I need you well-rested for tonight.”

“Oh really?” Chuckling, she said, “What if I need you well-groomed for tonight?”

He frowned at her. “Heyyy. You’re not attracted to me with shaggy hair?”

She sighed wistfully. “You’re hot no matter what. It’s not fair.”

When they reached the salon, he yanked her up against him, leaned down and kissed her, hard and long, until she couldn’t breathe. When he stopped, she turned and realized they were right in front of the big window and all her coworkers were watching.

She scowled up at him.

He didn’t look sorry. In fact, he smirked and said, “I had to claim what’s mine.”

Sighing, she rolled her eyes and pushed away from him, hiding a smile at the word “mine.”

“Men!” she shouted over her shoulder.

His cocky chuckle followed her inside, making it harder to hide that smile. But right when she stepped through the doorway, about nine women squealed and grinned at her. A few coworkers even clapped and jumped up and down.

Oh my God.

Sometimes working with a bunch of women in such a close environment really sucked. For the rest of the day, she played Dodge the Twenty Questions, counting down until their date tonight. And her date with his desk and strap.