Starting Over (Blossom Ridge Book 1) Page 3

  “Good girl. I’ll wait until you’re safely inside before I leave.” He takes a step back.

  I don’t look at him as I open the door with trembling fingers and slip inside. I lock the door, flatten my back to it, and slide down the hard surface until I’m sitting on my butt, my forehead against my knees.

  I can’t catch my breath. It seems like I walked ten miles instead of a few yards. It feels like I’ve been gone an hour instead of ten minutes.

  It’s hard for me to internalize the magnetic pull Foster has on me. I’m beyond rattled. Did he really just order me not to read my book and not to masturbate? Did I really consent to that?

  I lower my book to the floor and stare at the front. Submissive Confessions: A Year of Exploration by Jennifer Shepperd. It’s a true story about a woman who spends an entire year trying out many different aspects of submission with her amazing Dom. It was his idea. Some of the lifestyle choices they explore are more challenging than others. All of them intrigue me. It’s why I’ve read it over and over. It’s not fiction. It’s a real woman’s experiences. They ring true for me. I feel like I step into Jennifer’s shoes when I read each chapter.

  I wonder if Foster saw the front of the book or if he just assumed I was reading something smutty enough to lead me to masturbate. He’s not wrong. I would have pulled out my vibrator tonight and pleasured myself. I can’t believe I agreed not to.

  I need a head exam. I’ve known this man for one day. Not even that long. Three separate strange conversations. Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been hard to read. His emotions have been all over the board.

  I get the feeling he wasn’t expecting his reaction to me, so he’s spent most of the day tripping over himself trying to rationalize what he’s felt. Tonight, he made it pretty clear. He claimed me. I let him. Ugh.

  I’m not sure how long I sit on the floor, but eventually I decide I need to talk to someone. I could talk to Leah, but she’s undoubtedly busy. It’s late enough she’s probably already sleeping. From what I’ve seen of Craig so far, he’s a pretty strict Daddy. Besides, I don’t want my bosses to know about my dilemma.

  I shouldn’t be considering any sort of relationship with Foster. We have to work together. If things went south, I could lose my job.

  I rub my forehead. Leah and Craig never mentioned any workplace romance rules, but I doubt they expected the only two other employees on the property to start fucking the day their new chef arrived.

  It doesn’t matter what Leah and Craig would approve of. I can’t get involved with Foster for a dozen reasons. It’s ludicrous. This is my dream job. I can’t jeopardize it. I’ve been excited about this transition for weeks. Giddy. I ended my lease, put a few things in storage, sold the larger furniture, and moved here indefinitely.

  Hooking up with the groundskeeper is a horrible idea. I must have lost several brain cells when I let him dominate me the way he did outside. Now that I’m thinking clearer, I realize I need to nip this in the bud.

  Besides the fact that I have to work with the man, cross paths with him every single day, he’s also a Daddy. I’m not a Little. I tried to tell him that, but he wouldn’t listen.

  On top of all that, I’ve sworn off men. For good. I enjoy a scene at the club in a controlled environment as much as the next gal, but I’m not looking for anything more.

  I’m smart enough to realize Brock did a number on me and left me shattered, but I’m also smart enough not to let something like that happen again. That means keeping myself at arm’s length when it comes to relationships.

  I’ve successfully blown off every man who’s approached me for several years. I don’t intend to stop now and let my guard down.

  I shove off the floor, feeling stronger and more resolved. I drop my book on the end table and head for the cordless phone on the kitchen counter. It’s not hard to locate. This cabin is small. The living room and kitchen area are really one space. There’s a small table, two chairs, a loveseat, and an armchair.

  Along the wall next to the front door is a fireplace. It will be welcomed and cozy in the winter. Along the opposite wall is a refrigerator, oven/stove combo, and a microwave on the counter. It barely fits next to the sink. There’s no dishwasher, but I won’t be eating my meals here anyway. I’ll do all the cooking for the guests in the main house and eat there myself.

  My hours will be odd at this job. I’m responsible for all the meals, which means technically I have to be in the kitchen morning, noon, and night. However, I’ll also have free time between meals. I can nap or enjoy the amenities or hike or swim or any number of things after the lunch rush and before I need to start dinner.

  I’m grateful my mind has strayed to something more reasonable. The best way to get my head screwed the rest of the way on is to call Stella.

  I have Stella’s number memorized thankfully because there’s no cell service at Blossom Ridge. Any calls I make will be on a landline. After I dial, I listen to it ring, hoping she answers.

  “Amy,” she exclaims. “I’ve been thinking about you. How’s the new job? Tell me everything.”

  I relax at the sound of her voice and pad into the attached bedroom and straight through to the bathroom. I put the phone on speaker and set it on the vanity. “It’s been an interesting first day,” I begin.

  “Oh. That sounds intriguing. Tell me more.”

  I remove my clothes and drop them in the hamper as I continue. “There’s a man here.”

  Stella giggles. “You’ve been there one day and already there’s a man? I didn’t think guests were arriving for another week.”

  “They aren’t. He works here. He’s been here for five years. His name is Foster Stimson.”

  “And?” I can hear the eagerness in her voice.

  I groan as I pull a T-shirt over my head and tug the ponytail holder out of my hair. My mop falls in a cascade of messy waves all around my shoulders. “He’s intense. He’s a Daddy. And he has this wild idea I’m not only Little, but his. He’s basically laid claim to me, and I’ve only been here one day. He won’t listen when I tell him I’m not Little. He just smirks as if I don’t know my own mind. Plus, I have to work with him, so it would be crazy for me to start up something with a man I have to see every day. I mean, what if things went bad between us? This is my dream job. I’d be devastated. I don’t even know if Leah and Craig have dating rules or anything. On top of that, the man makes me melt every time he comes near me. Melt as in turn into a rambling pile of goo so badly my brain misfires. Can you believe I actually agreed not to masturbate in my own cabin tonight?”

  Stella starts laughing.

  I groan again. “Don’t laugh. This isn’t funny.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that you rattled off so many details I couldn’t keep up. Let’s start with the last sentence. He told you not to masturbate?”

  “Yes.” I turn off all the lights and pad over to my bed. It’s a queen, and it nearly fills the entire room.

  “And you agreed?” she asks incredulously.

  “I was tongue-tied at the time. My brain was mushy from him standing so close to me. He’s so damn dominant. When he’s not near me, I can almost reason why I should stay away from him, but the moment he’s back in my personal space, I can’t think.”

  “Has he kissed you?”

  “No. He hasn’t touched me.” I shiver as I climb under the covers. “Though I feel like he stroked my entire body. He did in his mind. I’m pretty sure he stripped me naked on the front porch and licked my pussy before leaving me trembling and unfulfilled.” I sigh as I set the phone on my chest and stare at the ceiling.

  “Wow. I don’t remember the last time a man had you this flustered.”

  “Me neither. That’s the problem. Help me out here.”

  Stella chuckles. “If he affects you the way you’re describing, why not go for it?”

  “Because he’s going to Daddy me, and I’m not…ready for that.”

  “A friend of mine once said, ‘never say never.’” She giggles again.

  “Ugh. What’s wrong with your friends?” I joke.

  I wonder if she’s right, but I refuse to let myself consider submitting to Foster in any fashion. “I have to work with the man.”

  “Even better. You’re so far out of town now it’s going to be hard to meet new people, especially kinky people. Maybe you should count your blessings that you have a spark with the only other single person around.”

  “Mmm. I’m not sure I’m ready to date, let alone enter into a relationship as intense as Foster seems inclined toward.” I roll onto my side and curl into a ball.

  Stella’s voice is soft as she responds, “It’s been three years since you left Brock. He was a dick, but like I’ve told you dozens of times, not all men are assholes.”

  “I know.” At least in theory. “But I’ve been happy on my own. I don’t have to answer to anyone. It’s refreshing.”

  “You’ve also been busy, and you’re not getting any younger, girlfriend,” she teases. “Maybe now’s the time to let someone into your heart.”

  “Mmm. Why does he have to be a brooding Daddy type?” I groan.

  “Just think about it. Don’t do anything rash.”

  “Yeah…”

  “Hey, have Craig and Leah hired everyone they need yet?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think they’ve hired housekeeping yet.”

  “Oh good. That’s exactly what I have in mind,” Stella says.

  “You have someone in mind?”

  “Yes, Brea.”

  “Brea Hopson?” Brea has been working for Stella for about a month waiting tables and helping in the kitchen. She’s quiet and shy but efficient. “Why does Brea need a new job? She’s working for you.”

  Stella sighs. “Brea is an amazing, conscientious employee, but what she needs is to get out of Seattle and away from her parents. They suck the life out of her.”

  “Yeah, I figured something was not cool in her personal life.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. I’ve slowly gotten her to open up to me, and I don’t like how she lives. I figured if Leah and Craig hired her, she could move there and spread her wings. I’ll contact Craig or Leah and see if they’d be willing to interview her.”

  “Good idea. I’m pretty sure they haven’t found anyone yet. They’re just planning on doing all the work themselves when we open until they can find the right person,” I tell her. My heart aches for whatever Brea has been through. I won’t ask though. I wouldn’t want Stella to break her confidence.

  “Well, I have to get to bed. Early day tomorrow. But I’m going to call you in a few days and check on you,” she tells me in a firm voice.

  I smile. Stella is a great friend. “Thank you.”

  “Later, sweetie.”

  “Later.” I end the call, grab the spare pillow on my bed, and pull it in to hug. It’s comforting. What if this pillow were a stuffie instead? How would that be different?

  I glance at my closed closet door. I have a box in there. It’s my Little-exploration box. I ordered most of the contents on a whim one day while I was reading about the week Jennifer Shepperd spent living as a Little. My box contains a stuffed teddy bear—named Teddy, of course—footed pajamas covered with bears, colorful leggings, T-shirts with youthful patterns and slogans, hair ribbons, a coloring book with crayons, cartoon movie DVDs, and a sippy cup. I also have a set of three YA books about the imaginary adventures of two tweens who meet at a treehouse after school and pretend to go on fantastic adventures to faraway places.

  One weekend, after a long week that ended with a catering job that extended well into Friday night, I was so exhausted and done adulting that I pulled out that box and spent forty-eight hours playing and lounging around. I slept in the PJs, held the teddy bear against my chest for comfort, put my hair in pigtails with ribbons, and watched cartoons all weekend. I ate sugary cereal, boxed mac and cheese, and frozen pizza.

  I grin as I remember the indulgence. I returned to work Monday morning refreshed and ready to go. I didn’t even know what had happened in the real world because I never changed from the cartoon channel.

  Just because I’ve dabbled doesn’t mean I could be someone’s Little. Not even close. It doesn’t mean I’d want or need a Daddy. I made my own rules that weekend—mostly that there weren’t any. I ate horribly and had way too much screen time. I don’t think I’d like the structure an age play arrangement would include.

  I’ve watched the interactions between Lucy and Master Roman for years. I’ve also watched the dynamic between other Daddies and Littles. In every one of those relationships, the Little has given her power to the Daddy. Let him make all the decisions. I’m sure it’s amazing if you like that sort of thing. It’s not for me.

  I was both the director and the actress the weekend I experimented. I chose when and what I did. I shudder at the thought of someone else making those choices. Telling me what to do all day? No.

  Sometimes I’ve wondered if I’m even submissive. Sure, I enjoy a few hours at Surrender twice a month. I like scheduling a time with a well-vetted Dom. I’m happy to be secured to a bench and spanked or flogged. It’s soothing. It clears my head of the clutter.

  Some people get massages twice a month. I get flogged. Stress release. It works.

  The problem with Foster is I’m under no illusion he wants to scene with me. The man’s intense. He’s looking for a serious submissive who can give him more than I have to offer.

  Damn, but he makes my blood pump. Just the thought of him possibly lurking around outside keeping an eye on me makes me squirm. The way he furrows his brow in condemnation… Ugh.

  It’s a horrible idea. Submitting to him can’t happen. I just moved here. I’m trying to make a good impression on my new bosses, people I know and love. I don’t want to let them down by creating workplace tension.

  I hug the pillow tighter as my mind wanders places it should not. Foster is so damn large. My feet wouldn’t even touch the floor if he took me over his knees. I squirm as I visualize myself in such a position. My nipples stiffen at the thought of them pressing against Foster’s thigh while he rubs my bottom.

  I’ve been spanked plenty of times at Surrender, but never over someone’s lap. It shouldn’t titillate me, but there’s something more intimate about the thought of so much of my body touching Foster’s while he spanks me.

  Would he lower my pants and panties and spank my bare bottom? Probably. I remind myself I’ve also been spanked bare before. So, why the hell does it seem like it would be so different?

  Jesus. I squeeze my eyes tight, unable to escape the video playing in my mind. Foster is looking at me sternly, reprimanding me for being naughty. For walking alone in the dark. He has a hold of my biceps as he meets my gaze and tells me how dangerous it is to wander around alone. He tells me I need to be disciplined for not following the rules.

  My panties are completely soaked as I picture him unbuttoning my jeans and easing them and my panties down to my knees before leaning me over his lap and palming my bottom.

  I gasp, jolting back to reality, realizing I’m close to orgasm from the daydream. How absurd. Would he spread my thighs? Reach between my legs and rub my clit? Thrust a finger into me?

  I groan, gasping as if I’ve just come. I release the pillow as if it were to blame and roll to my back to pant while staring at the ceiling. I part my knees because the pressure is serious enough to make me come.

  I can’t imagine what in tarnation is wrong with me. I slide my hands to my small breasts and cup them before thumbing my nipples through my T-shirt. Arching my chest, my mouth falls open and I whimper so loudly it echoes in the room.

  I’m not sure I’ve ever needed to come as badly as I do right now, and the need for release is heightened by the fact that Foster forbade me from doing so. How could he possibly know if I had an orgasm or not?

  I release my nipples and flip onto my stomach, punching the pillow. Somehow the infuriating man would know. I can’t imagine why I care, but part of me wants every bit of my daydream to become reality.

  I can’t let that happen. It’s irresponsible. If I submitted to him, we might both get something out of it, but he’d expect me to do it again. And that’s not in my nature.

  It had been fun taking a weekend to be privately Little. I’d returned to work rejuvenated. I’ve even done it again two other weekends. But I didn’t tell anyone. Sure, Stella knows the gist of it. She’s my closest friend. She knows more about me than anyone. She knows I have a few things in a box and I’ve dabbled and read up on age play. That’s about it.

  There’s no way I could submit to anyone the way I imagine Foster expects from his submissives. Not as intensely nor as frequently.

  Nope. It’s not going to happen. No matter how horny I am thinking about it. No matter how badly I’d like to masturbate right now. If I took out my vibrator, I would come the moment it touched my clit.

  Then why don’t I?

  CHAPTER 4

  Foster

  I know I pushed Amelia last night. I couldn’t stop myself. She responded so beautifully that I just kept going until she was a quivering ball of nerves as she entered her cabin.

  I tossed and turned all night, wondering if I made the right decisions. There’s no second-guessing myself though. It’s too late.

  My cock was hard when I went to bed and it’s hard again now. I haven’t given my dick the satisfaction it’s begging for, partly because it seems unfair to demand Amelia not masturbate and then do so myself.

  I’ve intentionally not left my cabin until later in the morning. I know today is the first day Amelia is serving three meals, but I’ve missed breakfast. Even though there are just the four of us at Blossom Ridge right now, Amelia wants to establish a routine she intends to follow at all times, no matter how many guests there are.

  She served breakfast from eight to ten. I’m sure she arrived earlier than that to get everything ready. I didn’t want to be a hiccup in her day, so I’ve remained out of sight.