A/N: Happy Birthday to these troublemakers: venusnv80, roplusglam, and Ian Somerhalder.

Shaken and not stirred vodka sloshed out of the martini glass I hastily grabbed off a passing tray. I ignored the sound of it splashing on the floor and hoped that I didn't get any on my dress.

Damon Salvatore's proposition was a thriving pulsation in my head. The boldness, the clarity and simplicity of it so there wouldn't be any misinterpretations made my lips twitch as I fought with everything I had not to smile. I wouldn't equate his words to the devil sitting on my shoulder trying to entice you, or even the angel doing its level best to steer you clear of the path of destruction. Merely, he was my own yearning manifested in a baritone tenor, spoken in a dulcet tone that stirred the lid that kept everything in the past contained.

Every second I replayed his infamously spoken words I grew hot as if I put my hand on a stove.

"Hey, boss," Anna approached me, her little hips swaying in the flirty black cocktail number she rocked. "I managed to schedule two lunch meetings for you with potential sponsors," she beamed proudly; her full cheeks streaked with an iridescent highlighter that caught the light and nearly blinded me.

"That's excellent, Anna," I gave her a fist bump. "Who're the potentials?"

"Roy Corrigan who is a founder of a literacy program, and Kennedy,"—that name caused me to tense—"Bandu who is a top executive at a personal care company."

I released a barely perceptible sigh of relief that the Kennedy Anna mentioned was not the same Kennedy from Tyler's firm who inquired, in a five-star restaurant bathroom, if I would be up for a dalliance. As good as it would be for anyone willing to open their wallets to ensure that Themyscira wouldn't be closing her doors, I had a strict policy on whom I borrowed from. Close acquaintances of Tyler's, absolutely not. My family, only in dire situations. Tyler's family—never.

"Point them out to me so I can introduce myself," I stretched on tip-toe to try to get a lock on who those potential benefactors might be.

Anna did and I waltzed off to do what I did moderately well. Flatter.

The gala ended at midnight more or less. I kicked off my heels the second my bum landed in the passenger seat of Dietrich's ride. "Adore You" by NAO streamed from the speakers. The lyrics sunk into my pores, cleansed the areas that had been disrupted, settled everything down. I hadn't had any more run-ins with Damon. He seemed to have vanished and I refused to feel disappointed about that.

Dietrich was speaking and I gave him my ear.

"Anna told me about the two meetings she set up with sponsors," there was censure in Dietrich's voice. I didn't need to ask that he'd been hoping for more and better prospects. "We need more than product placement if we hope to produce more work."

"I know that, but it's something and we can use every piece of 'something' we can get our hands on."

"Not arguing with that, unfortunately my expectations were not met," he palmed the steering wheel as he made a left turn. "How did things go with Milton?"

"I wasn't able to secure an exact meeting, but I have his information. He has mine. I don't think convincing him to meet for lunch to hear our sales pitch will be difficult."

"He wants to shag?" Dietrich stared at me askance.

"Probably," I muttered dryly.

Dietrich let out a snort of laughter. "The next two weeks are going to be hectic. I'm flying out day after tomorrow, and we have the conference call with the unholy trinity sometime tomorrow afternoon. I need you on top of your game."

A flare of annoyance swept through me. "You saying I haven't been?"

"I'm saying you've been distracted but putting up a good front to hide it. If you're losing interest in your own venture—"

"I'm not," I frowned.

"—you need to remember why we're doing this. What we're trying to achieve here. It's not just about you or me. There are tens of dozens of people looking to us to keep them employed. I know I can be a difficult little shit from time to time, but at the end of the day I want us to be successful."

"So do I. I haven't forgotten, Dietrich. I don't ever forget."

"Good," he paused and I could tell he was considering whether or not he should say whatever thought popped up into his head. "Where's your ring, Bonnie?"

"Misplaced," I twisted the skin of my ring finger until it started to hurt. "Everything's fine. Tyler and I are still engaged."

Dietrich tutted but said nothing else. The music streaming from the speakers filled in the cloying silence between us. I worried for a second if my business partner had caught the kiss Damon laid on me. Dietrich operated with prejudiced diplomacy, at times, but other times he didn't care if you were in the mood to hear about yourself, he was going to drag you back and forth and back again if he suspected or outright knew you didn't have your shit together.

"You would tell me if something was wrong, yeah?" he asked eventually.

I traced the hills and curves of his profile. "Yes, Dietrich, I would."

He seemed pleased and satisfied with that, and then launched into how his night culminated in finding himself having to mediate a quarrel between two rival ballet dancers. Twenty minutes later he pulled up in front of my building.

"Right, then. I'll see you in the office."

"See you, Dietrich. And thank you again for the dress."

He nodded and finally graced me with that award-winning smile of his.

It took me an additional fifteen minutes to actually step out of Dietrich's car as we finalized some last minute details for the upcoming work week.

Naturally my stomach would start growling the second I waltzed through the doors of my high rise. I had only managed to nibble on a few of the tiny little morsels of finger foods at the gala, and probably drank more glasses of champagne than I should have. Whatever buzz I had going had fizzled and I was once again too wired to head straight upstairs. Plus, in five minute intervals that kiss replayed in my thoughts like a commercial. The phantom sensation of Damon's lips ebbed and flowed like the changing tide. He had left an indelible mark. A mark I wasn't so ready to erase with soap and water.

I headed for the in-house deli that stayed open until 2 a.m. to pick up a late-night snack.

It was unsurprisingly busy. It was Friday night after all. Some were probably on their way to the clubs and needed something on their stomach to soak up the incoming alcohol, many more were food junkies. My heels clicked noisily on the slippery tile as I surveyed the food stations trying to decide what I had a taste for. Since it was late I didn't want anything too heavy but I also wanted to feel full. So I went with a safe choice and caught sight of a familiar figure.

Figures.

With his back somewhat to me I gave him a long, leisurely look. Taking liberties. He had impeccable posture, chest up, shoulders straight, arms bent at the elbow, hands in his pockets. He didn't fidget or sway from side to side to stave off nervous energy, and I wondered if he had any military training because of how still he was. He was rooted like a palm tree, like a sun and everything else revolved around him. I discarded the notion of him serving in the military. He wouldn't have had time since he entered the pros before graduating college. No. His strong, still and silent stance was indicative of his submissive training.

Absently I licked my lips.

People flitted around casting him surreptitious glances doing their best to pretend they weren't in the same place as a local hockey legend. Maybe legend was overkill, but he was famous, and any proximity to fame no matter the level gave us simple mortals a boost, a small taste of the divine.

Damon waited patiently for his homemade pizza to bake in an actual wood burning oven. The smell of melted mozzarella, marina sauce, peppers, onions, and thinly sliced pieces of Italian sausage if I were scenting properly made my mouth gush as I petulantly stared down at the cobb salad and turkey club sandwich I picked up.

I paid cash, thanked the cashier and bustled over to a table to enjoy my food. My ears twitched when he said 'thank you' to the chef who boxed up his meal. Then I heard him apologize for bumping into someone. Unable to help myself, I looked. Of course it would be a woman who more than likely put herself in a position to be bumped into. Not that I could blame her. My heart spiked when Damon, in the snap of the fingers, went from staring at the woman to gazing at me. Intently. I quickly turned back to my food knowing it was far too late.

Robotically I ate, inserting food into my mouth, chewed, swallowed. I did that all the while anticipating his approach.

Every footstep drawing nearer was like a klaxon blaring. Seek shelter. Get to some place safe. Do not linger because if you do you'll be blown to bits.

His crotch filled my peripheral and I lost interest in feeding my dietary appetite.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Slowly, I met his stare. "Sit…or kneel?"

A corner of his mouth twitched. "I'd like to sit…for now. If it's all right with you?" the octave of his voice dropped, boarded on suggestive.

Tense silence followed as he awaited my verdict, my permission.

I kicked out the chair across from me. "Park it so we can talk."

He smothered a laugh by biting into his upper lip, folded his tall figure into the chair as he placed his pizza box that was staining with grease and a tall bottle of S. Pellegrino on the table. Damon scooted the chair close enough his knees brushed against mine. I didn't move or shift them out of the way. Contact built connection.

"Thank you for letting me join you."

I inclined my head, daintily shoveling more food into my mouth.

Damon flipped the lid of the box, picked up a slice of heavenly smelling pizza. "How was the rest of your night?"

I said nothing. Just watched as he folded the slice into a U shape and bit off more than half of it in one go. My eyes lowered to absorb the way his jaw worked as he chewed. His eyes drifted away.

I pushed the romaine lettuce around with my fork. "My night was productive. Business wise."

"Right-right, you own your own production company. Have any movies coming out?"

"One is close to wrapping and going into post-production. We're hopeful for an October release, November by the latest. Another is in pre-production. I want to get two more projects off the ground, but unfortunately I don't have the manpower or capital to do it. Yet."

Damon wiped his mouth and then…began unknotting his tie. "I don't know much about the movie business, but if you need anything," as he unknotted the tie, the longer end he wrapped around his fist, "I'd be more than happy to help."

I sat straighter, never once looking away from his fist now wrapped in black silk. Damon lifted his bound hand and let the tie unravel like an orange peel soundlessly to the Formica surface of the table. Suddenly I pictured taking that tie and bounding his wrists to his ankles leaving his tight little puckered rosebud hole open for anything. A fist. Beads. My fave strap on cock.

I picked up my juice and chugged. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you," I answered after hydrating my parched mouth. "But I think you've made enough offers to me tonight."

He popped the top button of his shirt open, "I don't."

I glanced at the hint of collarbone before looking him directly in the eye once more, "Not afraid about things becoming one-sided?"

Damon demolished another slice of pizza. "You get taken for a ride a couple of times, you slowly start to learn how to discern who to trust and who the fuck to stay away from. Makes life easier when you learn to listen to your gut."

"Hmm, and how many years did it take you to master that?"

That crescent line appeared near his mouth which he licked clean of any wayward crumbs of food. "A couple of decades," he replied wryly. I chuckled in kind. "Some say we learn from experience. I believe its part of it, but I also think we learn mostly through observation."

His knee pressed into mine, deliberately, after he said that. I knew what he was hinting at. He observed me and came to the conclusion I was a dominate. I observed him and saw the submissiveness permeating from his pores in just enough doses there'd be no mistaking it if you knew what to look for. Even now we were feeling one another out, reaffirming what we learned and knew about each other thus far. It was a game. The game of attraction and I needed it to stop.

But…

"Wouldn't you say," I countered, "that our observation can be skewered by our perception of what we think is occurring not necessarily by what actually is?"

"Of course. I never said that learning made anyone infallible."

"And I never implied that you had. See?" I winked at him.

He guffawed and took a sip of his drink.

"So how do you figure you can trust me with something like your…money?" I placed my elbows on the table, using the back of my hands to prop my chin. "I could be running a scam, claiming to run my own business when what I really do is clean out the pockets of those gullible enough to believe me."

"You could, but you're too honest to lie."

"You think I'm honest?"

Damon leaned over the table, coming closer, "You're honest because you want people to trust you with the parts they can't reveal to anyone else."

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose sky high. There we were again, superimposing our visages on one another until there was no telling us apart. But I couldn't let Damon know he was on to me. I cleared my throat, "Are you sure you're not projecting?"

"Maybe I am," one dark brow arched. "Maybe…what I see in you, Bonnie I see in myself."

Those goose bumps were encompassing my shoulders and arms now. "Maybe you want to."

"Or just maybe we want the same things in life but we're getting them from the wrong people."

Our breathing changed, synchronizing as we appraised each other. The longer I stared at him, the rosier his cheeks became and it was a fascinating thing to behold. This virile and powerful man coming undone by the mere thought of me giving him what he craved. Inappropriate thoughts fluttered through my head at such a rate I could barely swallow. Damon seemed to be suffering the same, as his chest rose higher and higher with each breath, and his pupils dilated like a cat's right before they were ready to pounce on their prey. I refused to let it have any outward effect on me, ignored my pounding heart and the corresponding beat in my clit. Betrayal. Traitor.

Damon wiped his mouth. "I know it's far too early but…have you thought any about what I said to you tonight?"

"I think you're dangerously close to crossing a line. Actually, I take that back. You did cross a line tonight. Several. You know my situation."

"I do. Trust me. I'm doing everything in my power to be respectful."

My head tilted as I eyed him skeptically. "Are you really?"

I shoved my food aside. Damon followed suit. His ridiculously blue eyes dipped to my left hand. It had been more than popular tonight. Damon had the perfect opportunity to make light of the fact I wasn't wearing my ring. He could launch into a cross examination, butcher me with question after question to eek out its whereabouts, suss out the meaning. For whatever reason he didn't take the bait.

"If you honestly knew me, you'd know that I've been on my best behavior with you."

"Really? What are you normally like when you're not trying to be respectful? Controlling? A bully? An arrogant jerk who feels entitled to something simply because you exist?"

He shrugged an insouciant shoulder, tapped his blunt nails on the table before cracking his knuckles. "Humans are a complex species. We can be all three, none of the above, interchange based on the situation. I'm a red-blooded retired athlete. Never claimed to be a saint. But no, I don't think I deserve something just because I exist. No. I think I deserve something if I put in the work to earn it."

"Good answer, but I can't help but be confused. You want me, a woman engaged to another man to degrade and humiliate you. Why do you want me?"

Perhaps having this conversation in a residential deli wasn't the best place to hash it out, but going behind either of our respective doors could lead to potential disaster. At least on my end. I was in no position to offer or accept anything outside the bounds of platonic friendship. But this man was testing my resolve. He was pushing without laying a hand on me. He was bending the straw. He was opening a door and welcoming me in with a cinematic smile.

"Let's go upstairs to talk about this," Damon bartered.

"No. We're going to express ourselves right here," I tapped the table with my index finger to emphasize my point.

He swallowed and surveyed our surroundings probably checking to see who was in range of overhearing. Knowing him, Damon was more than likely hoping an enthusiastic fan would interrupt to gush and plea for an autograph and a selfie.

With him partially distracted I picked up his tie, admired the quality of the silk, caught a whiff of his aftershave. It was the kind that would linger on your skin a solid hour or two from a steamy embrace. Damon did a sort of double take when he saw his tie in my possession. Riveted, he was absolutely riveted. I pulled a section of it between my fists to assess its durability, strength, let it whisper between my fingers. His expression did all the talking when I slid that section of fabric between my teeth and bit down. He groaned a sound that rumbled with need. One hand snaked under the table and I knew he adjusted himself. He wasn't alone. My panties weren't bone dry, either.

"Let's go upstairs, please," he urged.

"You will sit there and you will answer my question…pet."

His cheeks flushed fire engine red. His nostrils flared and his chest expanded. Even his molars clenched. I could tell from the muscle at the corner of his jaw that flexed. Damon was a bowstring and I was tuning him just right. Sweat began to accumulate above my upper lip, and I squeezed my thighs together knowing it would cause the right amount of pressure on my clit.

I moistened the seam of my mouth. His eyes dipped momentarily to watch the movement of my tongue lapping from one corner to the next.

"Ohmygod are you Damon Salvatore!"

Both of our heads whipped toward the soprano voice. A girl probably no older than sixteen with braces hopped from foot to foot grinning.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt but are you him?"

Like a switch had been flipped he went from a seducer to a charming public figure happy to give five minutes to an adoring fan. His smile was slow as molasses, void of any flirty undertones. I was happy about that or else I would have lost respect for him.

"Guilty as charged," he answered.

The girl squealed and launched into a dissertation about how she followed his career since she was inch high to a grasshopper, and lamented that he no longer played. Damon patiently listened, provided a soundbite here and there. It was very much afterschool special, but it was touching to watch.

"I don't have anything for you to sign but would you mind taking a selfie with me? Please?"

"I'd love to."

The girl squealed again and giggled nervously as she dug her phone out of the pocket of her hoodie. She futilely tried to tame the flyaway hairs that escaped her ponytail, and pinched her cheeks which she didn't need to do since they were plenty rosy. Damon stood and tossed an arm around her shoulders, delivering a half-smirk I was beginning to think was his moniker.

"Thank you! I can't believe this. That troll Lisbeth is going to have a friggin' meltdown when I post this! You don't mind if I post this, do you?"

"You gotta keep your haters employed," Damon counseled.

Agreeing enthusiastically, the girl flung her arms around Damon who stiffened and patted her gently on the back until she let go. He retook her seat as she glided out of the deli seemingly forgetting to purchase what she came here to buy.

"Sorry about that."

"No need to apologize," I massaged my neck, avoided his eyes that were busy searching me expectantly. That brief intermission was enough for me to screw my head back on straight. The conversation we were embarking on boarded on treason to my relationship. I shouldn't care why a man wanted me out of the tens of thousands of women who would happily step into my shoes to give Damon Salvatore the kind of relationship he wanted.

"Your energy is different and that's my fault. I made you uncomfortable," he said.

"Yeah, well it's late and I need to go." I slid my chair away from the table, which caused Damon to practically leap across it for my wrist to detain me.

"Can we see each other again?"

"Damon…"

"Strictly platonic. I swear."

"Yeah, the fuck right. Why do I get the impression you don't know how to do platonic?"

Damon stood to his full height. Even with a table between us he towered over me. "For everyone else in my life it's a requisite. For my domme, I have few limits."

I sucked in a massive breath as my pertinent parts tightened with arousal. "I'm not your domme."

The gleam in his eyes said: not yet.

We dumped our unfinished food in the trash, nodded goodnight to the cashier who sighed wistfully as she blatantly ogled Damon. I shook my head. Our strides matched as we meandered to the elevator, the sleeve of Damon's blazer lightly brushing my arm.

He pressed the up arrow for the lift and boarded when it arrived. My finger hovered at the number seven but then pale fingers wrapped around my hand, moved it up and pushed the PH button. I felt him right behind me, so close if I leaned back, his chest would support my weight. So close his jaw tickled the hair on the crown of my head. Butterflies and vultures ravaged my belly. I shouldn't feel like this for another man. I shouldn't feel my blood rage, scream, cry out.

"Whatever this is, it's not going to go away, Bonnie."

As politely as I could I slipped my hand away from Damon and pushed the button for my floor. I swiveled around to face him. "It will."

"It won't." Damon moved to the opposite side of the elevator. When it arrived on my floor he kept his gaze locked on his shoes. "Good night, Bonnie."

I didn't say good night until I swept through the hydraulic doors. And it wasn't until I bolted the door shut of my apartment and sauntered to my bedroom that I noticed the caress of silk around my fist.

I had Damon's tie.

Fingering the silk tie I plopped down on the bed. Thoughts whizzed to and fro like a puck across ice. Thinking of ice made me think of Damon dressed in nothing but his hockey pants and Bauers, drenched in sweat.

Groaning, my eyes closed and when they opened I had unknowingly shed the gown and lied in my knickers as Dietrich would say. Sprawled in the middle of my bed, taking the tie, I manipulated its shape, feathered it across my neck, my arms, my ribs, made the pointed end fondle my navel. Whispered it across my nipples, watched as they pebbled into hard little columns of erect and tender flesh, traced it down the center of my stomach, lower still, until it glided down my slit.

I got off. Soaked his tie with my juices. Added it to my collection.

"It's just a cyst!"

My head flew up from the accounting reports I had been reviewing. M had burst inside my office, cheeks ruddy, red hair aflame in riotous curls with the widest smile on her face. She plopped down in the visitor chair opposite of my desk and blew out a breath like she literally ran all the way from her home to the office.

"What's just a cyst?"

She sat up, "Zander! It's not cancer! He had a cyst growing on his liver if you can believe it. He had surgery a few days ago and he's going to be fine."

"That's amazing! I know he has to be so relieved it wasn't something more serious."

M nodded enthusiastically and slumped against the chair as if all her bubbling energy escaped her at once. "His brother is already planning a party for him when he gets released. Maybe a week or two after. That'll give Z time to recuperate. I was so scared for him, Bonnie."

"I know you were. Now there's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah." She looked at me quizzically. "Aren't you supposed to be in Virginia? Sheldon is just about to wrap."

"I'll get there eventually," I hedged and flipped through a few pages of the report.

M knew I didn't like going home but I never clarified the reason. Tension locked my muscles and I massaged the nape of my neck to get them to relax. Her mentioning Virginia made me think of Tessa who had been absent in my thoughts until something small made me think of her. Tessa, Tyler, Damon, work, obligation, lies, and love. All of it whirled nonstop.

"Oh well…" M nibbled her lip. "I'm planning on stopping by to see Zander after work, and I do remember a certain someone promising to go with me."

"Yes, I'm a keeper of my word. Just come get me when you're ready to head out. Otherwise I'll be cooped up in this office all night."

M wrinkled her nose before studying me for a moment. "Are you okay, Bon? You look tired."

"Because I am."

"You've traveled a lot these last few weeks but it's for work. Even when you abandoned us to play house for two weeks in Germany, you still held conference calls, stressed over every single production detail. You need a real vacation."

"My honeymoon will have to do. I can't afford to take any time off."

"And where exactly will you be honeymooning? Come to think of it, have you even started planning your wedding? I know you haven't because you haven't even asked me," M folded her arms and sniffed.

I was about to say: ask you what, when it clicked. My jaw dropped, eyes widened. "Ohmygod, I haven't asked you to be my maid of honor." Shame burned my cheeks.

"No, you haven't! I've been trying not to be dick about it by bringing it up, but we made promises in college to be in each other's weddings. To stand up for one another."

"You're right. I'm so sorry, M. There's no excuse for me forgetting that."

She pointedly stared at my bare ring finger that involuntarily twitched. "I guess the question I should be asking is, are you still engaged? You're not having doubts are you?"

"I lost my ring." It sounded so irresponsible when spoken aloud.

M tutted and shook her head.

"Stop judging me," I snapped.

M barked a laugh. "I'm not judging you but I am…concerned."

"You don't have to be. Tyler and I are still engaged. He's even agreed to be the one to wear the engagement ring, but since I can't afford the expensive right now…" I let that admittance hang.

"Guess I can't ever accuse him of being traditional or antiquated," M mused ruefully.

"Trust me, Tyler has his moments."

"Are you sure everything's cool though?"

"For the most part."

She stared at me speculatively. "You don't sound too sure about that."

M was leaving the floor open for me to spill my guts. I wanted to confess, breakdown and tell her about the argument I had with Tyler about Tessa (I'd have to explain who she was, which I was so not in the mood to do), and how it made me doubt my trust in him. I wanted to tell my best friend about Damon kissing me and asking me to be his domme. And again, I'd have to admit that he and I kept up steady enough contact for things to have escalated, thus owning up to being part of the reason he never asked her out on another date. Guilt kicked in. Possession and defense. However, none of those subjects was conducive to the workplace, and I refused to talk about them where anyone could overhear.

So I deflected.

"You know what I need? What we both need?"

"What?" M pulled her riotous curls from her face and let them spring free a moment later.

"A girls' night out. We haven't had one since early June and it's almost August."

"Okay," M said carefully.

I'd have to give more than just a proposal of going out and getting sloshed. That was how we used to solve our problems in college, by drinking and dancing them away, burying them until we convinced ourselves they weren't there any more or they no longer mattered. We were older now, and it was time to actually use communication and conductive reasoning to get ourselves out of shit.

"Tyler and I didn't part on the best of terms when he left," I rolled my pen between my fingers. "We haven't talked all week."

"That's not unusual, right?"

I shrugged. "We typically don't go more than two or three days without speaking or at the very least shooting one another a text. This rough patch with Ty will blow over. In the mean time I need a night out with my maid of honor. So what do you say, M? Will you be my number one wingwoman on my big day?"

"Hells yeah!" M squealed in little girl delight before laughing maniacally. Nope, not scary at all. "This is going to be awesome! I've been in a wedding before. A junior bridesmaid but never maid of honor." Stars danced in her eyes and I wondered and worried about what was already zipping through her mind. M was not the most organized person on the planet, or that great at multitasking. But give her a project and watch her tire herself out to complete it.

"I'm stoked, can you tell?" she giggled and sobered. "Thank you, Bonnie," she sprang out of her chair, rounded my desk and wrapped her thinly muscular arms around me. She might be petite in size but my fiery redhead was strong as hell. "You and me this weekend," she shook her finger at me, "we're getting shitfaced."

"Not this weekend. I'll be out on location," I reminded.

M poked her lips out yet brightened a moment later. "When you get back it's on. Ooh, I'm making our night out my first official act as maid of honor. Don't worry about anything, Bon," she grinned wickedly. "You're in capable hands."

Joy.

I returned to the office after accompanying M to visit Zander who had been in good spirits, and more than happy to see his ex. Perhaps too happy because M spent almost the entire time blushing and ducking behind her curls. Reconciliation didn't seem to be out of the cards with those two.

Toeing off my shoes, I cracked open the venetian blinds letting moonlight bounce off the black and white damask wallpaper, made myself a cup of coffee and settled behind my desk wiggling my toes on the fluffy white Persian rug. I got back into reviewing expenditures and invoices to make sure the expenses had been necessary, and that everyone had been paid and on time.

My cell rang. I didn't recognize the number and let it ring until whoever was calling hung up or left a voicemail. They went with option two. I listened and my heart raced.

I called the number back.

"Calling me from my fiancé's phone he conveniently left at your place was one thing," I began without preamble. "Storing my number and calling it without my expressed permission is another."

"That's why I called. For permission. How are you, Bonnie?"

"Annoyed."

He chuckled darkly. "Are you busy?"

"I'm working."

"At home or at the office?"

"The office."

"It's late. Its summer and crime always goes up when it's hot. You're not there alone are you?"

I was pretty sure one or two of my dedicated employees still loitered around the place. Where they were I couldn't exactly say. The office was deserted to the point I could actually be completely alone.

"Are you alone, Bonnie?" he reiterated when I took too long to answer.

"Damon, I'll be all right."

"I won't be until I know you're safe. How much longer do you plan to stay?"

I rubbed my forehead. "I don't know. A few more hours at the most." I've stayed overnight in my office. There was a couch, as small and stiff as it was. I had spent a couple of nights curled up on it while using everything I had to make sure we reached our deadlines.

"I'll stay on the line with you until you make it home."

My toes curled. "You don't have to do that. Surely you have more important things to do."

"I don't," there was no mistaking the finality in his declaration. "My business is finished for the day. I have all the time in the world for you."

All right, that coaxed a semi-blush out of me. "You're laying it on a little thick."

"I'm auditioning." I could hear the smile in his voice. "Do I get a call back? Or have I gotten the part?"

"Cute," I muttered unimpressed even though I was. A little. I did realize what was happening. The bantering, the flirting, Damon checking up on me…things I was supposed to be doing with Tyler and things Tyler was supposed to do for me.

I heard him moving around and I wondered what he was doing. Shedding his clothes, pouring himself a drink?

"I've mastered all my lines, Bonnie. Let me show you. Can I?"

"Absolutely not," a giggle may have escaped.

He laughed again. A throaty sound. "Want to know what I realized as I was standing in front of a crowd of about three hundred today talking about the merits of youth getting involved in organized sports…I thought, 'Damon you shithead you haven't made it up to Bonnie for kissing her.' And I'm right. I haven't atoned for kissing you."

You don't want atonement. You want punishment.

"So here's what I'm proposing. Tell me something you love that you haven't gotten in a very long time, and I'll get it for you."

"Damon…"

"What do you have to lose?"

I didn't answer right away. What could I really say? I had nothing to lose. Ideas came one right after the other, but only one stood out the most.

"All right. Here's what you can do…call M."

Dead. Silence.

"Call her and apologize for not contacting her sooner. If she forgives you, which she probably will, whatever happens next I'm leaving that in your very capable hands. I don't want to know any details, what was said or done. When our paths cross again, which they inevitably will, I just want you to nod that you did what I asked. Is that clear?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't hear that."

"Yes, it's clear. Crystal clear."

I stifled a laugh at his petulant tone. "Good boy." And with that I hung up.

A few days later, pulling my rolling suitcase behind me as I was Virginia bound, stepping into the lobby, I caught sight of Damon. He was coming, I was going. I stared at him pointedly and just as we were about to pass one another, he nodded. I smirked but my smirk turned into a little gasp when I felt the brush of his thumb across the back of my hand. I had to force myself not to look behind me, look over my shoulder.

Outside, perched on the curb waiting for my Uber, my phone buzzed. I had a text message from a number. His number. I read the message.

Will I ever see my tie again?

Laughter bubbled out of me. Ah, yes. That now infamous tie I used to get off. I had thought about sealing it in an envelope and delivering it to his door. I thought about making Damon wear it so he could smell me all day and know that may be the only part of me he'd ever get to have. No. That would be a reward. He'd have to carry out tasks, perform little duties to get that privilege. But I'd dangle it in his face while he was down on his knees, chest red and baring the markings of the cane I'd take to him. I'd let him get a whiff, maybe even a taste right on the tip of his tongue, snatch it away before stuffing my nine inch strap on down his throat. Purring menacingly at him he wouldn't get to eat my pussy until he sucked my cock nice and good.

I cleared my throat and typed one simple word. Maybe.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review, kittens.