Monday
10:30 AM
May 12th
SLOANE
Sloane stared at the screen in front of her, but her mind wasn't on the contents. It was on the girl she had run into the prior weekend. That girl had been plaguing her thoughts for the past forty-eight hours. Usually, nothing could pull her away from work, but here she was, sitting behind her desk, yearning to put a mysterious stranger in her place.
She had to figure out who she was. If the girl were someone's sub, she would know.
Then it hit her: the BDSM club was private. To gain entry, you had to hold a membership. And Sloane, as a board member in good standing, had the power to find this brat. Her fingers trembled slightly as she drafted the email.
It had been a while since she'd had a sub. Her last arrangement had ended sourly and publicly, and since then, she had been extremely strict about her privacy. Yet now she entertained the thought of making this chaotic woman her sub, at the very least she wanted the chance to dominate her, because clearly no one had shown her structure.
Sloane noticed the tension in her shoulders and the tightness in her forehead. She exhaled and leaned back in her chair, allowing herself a rare moment to relax. Running a hand over her face, she sighed. She could not let this woman get to her. No one had challenged her control like this in a long time.
Punishing this girl was like an itch she longed to scratch.
She leaned forward, elbows on her desk, fingers drumming lightly. She could imagine the possibilities: correcting her posture, enforcing boundaries, testing limits, seeing exactly how far the girl would push before giving in. Every scenario tightened something in her chest and made her pulse quicken in a way she both hated and craved.
She pictured it all: the confrontation, the discipline, the way she would command, and the way the girl would react, defiant at first, then yielding, slowly learning that structure could be intoxicating. The thought was thrilling.
The tension in her shoulders eased slightly as she typed, her mind finally channeling the obsession into action. Punishing this girl, bending her rules, showing her limits, this was no longer just a thought. It was a plan. And Sloane, as always, would execute it with precision.
–
SEVEN
Seven wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a smear of engine grease she couldn't be bothered to care about. The garage was already sweltering, the kind of sticky heat that clung to her skin and made her tank top feel too tight. The wir of tools, the clank of metal, the low music from the back radio, normally, it all helped her focus.
Not today.
Because that woman kept sliding back into her mind like a damn ghost.
Seven grabbed a wrench a little too hard, jaw clenching as she thought about the woman's stare. Cold. Like she could see right through Seven and didn't even flinch. The memory sent an irritating shiver up her spine. She hated that. Hated how the woman had spoken to her, low, steady, like she owned the air between them.
And Seven had liked it. Way too much.
She dropped the wrench onto the cart, the metal clattering louder than she meant. Malik, across the shop, glanced over.
"You good?" he asked, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Yeah," Seven lied. "Just thinking."
He smirked. "Must be some girl."
Seven clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes, immediately annoyed at how right he was. "Mind your business."
But God, she couldn't stop replaying the moment she bumped into the woman. The way Sloane's hand steadied her waist just long enough to make heat crawl up her neck. The way she didn't smile, didn't apologize, didn't do anything but look Seven dead in the eyes like she was assessing her... studying her... deciding something.
Seven hated people like that. The ones who thought they could cage her with a look.
She hated it even more that she'd frozen for half a second. That never happened. Seven was the mouthy one, the one who pushed just because she could. But something about Sloane's calm, sharp presence hit her like a slap to the ego she definitely deserved.
Seven took a deep breath and leaned over the car she was working on, trying to focus on the engine instead of the memory.
But the truth sat heavy in her chest:
She wanted to see that woman again.
She wanted to push her... and maybe she wanted to be pushed back.
That realization annoyed the hell out of her.
She tightened a bolt with a little more force than necessary. The radio crackled. Sweat slid down her spine. And still, that woman's eyes lingered in her mind like a bruise she couldn't stop pressing.
--
i suck at pacing so i hope this was good filler !
