He asked, “Am I going to give people the wrong idea that I’m a sub by doing this?”

“Dominance is care taking. It’s not unheard of for a dom to take care of his sub like this. After an intense scene, subs need aftercare. A massage can be a good way to check in, reassure, and reward a sub.”

He eventually switched to the other foot, and as he slid his thumbs along the arch for the first time, I couldn’t help groaning contentedly, hearing how sexual it sounded and not caring.

“Do you have a foot fetish, Mr. Chase?” I watched his face for a reaction.

“I didn’t before tonight, but anything that makes you moan like that is my new fetish.”

I laughed quietly. “Well, don’t expect me to do it on command. You’ll have to earn it.”

He slid a fraction higher than my ankle, looking me in the eye as he kneaded my calf, eliciting another breathlessly soft moan.

“If we weren’t in public, would you let me keep going?” he asked, inching his fingers higher on my calf to show me what he was asking. The low growl of his voice did nothing to dispel the heat that was building between my thighs.

“What makes you think I don’t like an audience? Aren’t we supposed to be killing your wholesome image?”

He huffed a laugh. “I believe we were instructed to ‘roughen it up,’ not kill it beyond revival. But I’ll be damned if I can remember why it matters when all I want to know is whether you’re wearing panties.”

“You could always use that question you’re hoarding. Or…you could check and see,” I dared him, parting my thighs slightly in invitation.

He called my bluff, sliding his hand up and under my skirt. As his fingers inched slowly higher, I snapped my thighs together, effectively trapping his hand before it reached its destination.

I pulled it away, dropping it like a dead insect, and straightened my skirt, slipping my feet back into my shoes. I was smiling without meaning to at the expression on his face. He looked fully prepared to bend me over the bench and punish me for it, and my husky voice betrayed how into it I was. “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

He chuckled darkly and shook his head in dismay. “Temptress.”

“Professionally, yes. Don’t forget it.”

“That was fun,” I told him honestly as he drove me home.

“Don’t sound so shocked! What do you do for fun normally?”

I paused to consider what he meant. “I read.”

“No. Something that involves other humans.”

“I teach workshops or mentor people. Or I work or train for work or read about work? I’ve become a little consumed by my job. But I love what I do.”

“So you don’t do anything for fun then?” he asked.

“You’ve clearly never punched anyone in the balls…”