Right. Phone number. Ellie could do that.

She nodded, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against his shoulder so she didn’t have to look at him. Instead, she concentrated on the pleasant aching between her thighs, the way her breasts, pussy, and anus still tingled, the slight throbbing of her breasts from their strapping, and the warmth of Michael’s arms around her in a protective hold. A club contract would mean doing this regularly.

Yeah. She could definitely do that.

7

What had she been thinking? She couldn’t do this. Ellie paced around her coffee table, whatever confidence she’d had before being shaken by her doubts. Although the television was on, she hadn’t been able to pay attention to anything she put on.

It was now Wednesday, Michael was calling in an hour, and Ellie was falling apart. Ever since their scene, she’d been flip-flopping back and forth on whether or not she could be in any kind of relationship, even one with contracted boundaries and which only existed in a club. Especially with someone who was going to push her, not just physically, but emotionally.

They’d been talking over text every day since she gave him her number. Not long conversations or anything, but just... checking in. Seeing how she felt the day after the scene, asking if she had any bad after effects from the oils. Texts just saying hi. She’d sent him several pictures of Watson being particularly cute, and instead of being put off by cat photos, Michael had encouraged her to send more. He’d sent her photos of the space where the new club would be going. Told her about his impatience with working through the last two weeks at his current job when all he could think about was what he wanted to be doing with the club.

It felt remarkably like high school again, but with higher stakes. In high school she’d never hoped her crush would be reciprocated. Now, the tables seemed to have turned.

Ellie wasn’t dumb. She knew he liked her. She just wasn’t sure how much of her issues he’d be willing to tolerate.

Hope warred with fear, optimism with anxiety, and she vacillated back and forth on an hourly basis whether or not it was really worth risking getting involved with him, even in this minor way. Not because she thought she would be satisfied with a club relationship, but because she thought she wouldn’t. She was pretty sure she was going to want more.

But she was really scared to want more.

Her phone buzzed, making her jump. Text message. She glanced at the clock. Shouldn’t be Michael. Unless he was texting to say he wasn’t going to be able to call.

Ceasing her pacing, she picked up her phone from the coffee table. Text from Angel.