I can’t believe I shaved my legs for this.

He’d wined and dined her. He was charming and funny and freakin’ hot. The first couple weeks, he’d taken her through his rules and the positions he preferred for his subs. She’d done exactly what Banner had taught her—complied with minimal resistance, acted submissive, asked what she should wear. But then things just stalled. Ambrose wasn’t as controlling as Banner, which was exactly what she wanted. Or so she’d thought.

But now she craved dominance. And not in the form of how many inches apart her knees should be when kneeling. She wanted a rough hand in her hair. She wanted to be bent over something and threatened. She even wanted to hear the sound of a belt being pulled from its loops. She could almost smell the leather, hear Banner’s ominous footsteps as he walked toward her.

Ambrose felt more like her teacher than her Dom. He didn’t take control like Banner did. He didn’t demand her submission. And he definitely didn’t take ownership of her.

God, she was losing her mind. Being owned was exactly what she’d been protesting—the whole reason she and Banner could never work. Maybe it was sexual frustration making her yearn for a Master. For Banner’s mastery. For the click of the leash onto the collar around her neck. His collar.

Her chest tightened. She felt so lost. She wanted to make things work with Ambrose. He had so much potential. Why was he avoiding playing with her? Did he find her ugly? Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them back.

In a last-ditch effort to save the night, she blurted, “Do you have a dungeon?”

“Huh?” Ambrose muted the TV show.

“Do you have a dungeon like Banner’s?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You think you’re ready for that? It’s only been a month.”

She grunted. “I’m getting older every second. A month is long enough. Take me to your dungeon.” With a leer, she added, “Unless you’re scared.”

He laughed. “Banner warned me about your bratty streak. Lucky for you, I happen to like brats.” Sighing, he put the soda down, shut off the TV, and stood up. “Come on then, girl. Let’s go to the dungeon.”

For once, she wished he’d make her eat her words. A rush of excitement tore through her. Now she’d see what he was really like. They could test their connection and maybe, finally, she could get Banner out of her mind.

Ambrose’s house wasn’t as artsy as Banner’s. She could tell he lived comfortably by his giant TV and sound system, but he didn’t have style like Banner did. He took her through his dining room and into a room at the back she hadn’t seen yet. It was set up like an office, but there was an area off to the side with furniture she recognized. A coffee table with restraints dangling down and an O-ring hanging from the ceiling. A cabinet stood against one wall and an oversized couch was on the other wall.

“My dungeon is more like a playroom,” he said. “And it doubles as an office. I don’t have a big basement like Banner.”

She peered around, taking inventory of the items she liked. “It’ll do.”

Ambrose laughed. “It’ll do? Don’t you know talking about a man’s dungeon is like talking about his cock? We’re prideful folk, even in the kink world.”

“Well, I have yet to see your cock or maybe I’d have more compliments.”

He barked a laugh. “Sassy girl.”

Then do something about it, she wanted to scream.

She sashayed across the room, hoping to entice him with what Banner had thought was her best asset—her ass. Was Ambrose an ass man? It was hard to tell, since he hardly ever touched her.

“So, have I been naughty enough?” she purred.

“For what?”

Really? Playing coy, she shrugged. “A punishment.”

“Nah. You’d have to be much worse for that.”

Ugh! The man was impossible. What would he do if she just stripped right there, right then. If she stood here naked, then bent over the couch, showing off her clean shaven legs and pussy? Would he be able to resist?

She was almost brave enough to do it. Except that if he didn’t touch her, if he ignored her, it would hurt her already fragile ego. It made her wonder about Banner. He’d rejected her too. He didn’t want what she had to offer, which wasn’t twenty-four-seven slavery, but it was submission and devotion and maybe even love.

Her eyes watered. What was she doing there? Why was she putting herself through this hurt and humiliation just for some kinky sex? She could find a nice vanilla guy who never made her feel this way—unwanted. Rejected. Maybe the kink world wasn’t for her.

Her eyes stung from trying to hold back her tears. Feeling as though she might burst into deep sobs that left her even more humiliated, she looked for a quick escape.

Ambrose watched her, hands in his pockets, looking no more interested than when he had been watching the documentary about ants.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she choked out.

He nodded, and she barely managed to leave the room before the first tear fell. In the bathroom, she cleaned her face then texted Janine.

I need death by ice cream, posthaste.

She texted back right away. I’ll meet you at your place in 30 minutes.

Thank you.

Now she had to find a way to end her date with Ambrose.

***

Faking cramps worked to get out of the rest of their night together. He hadn’t even seemed that broken up about it, which only made it sting more.

At her place, she rubbed Pixie’s belly until Janine arrived, armed with her favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry’s.

“What happened?” Janine said after they doled out huge bowlfuls of ice cream. “Why the sudden crisis?”

Kate shook her head. “Nobody likes me, and I think I’m going to die childless and single with a vibrator as my only sex partner.”

Janine choked on a bite of ice cream and half coughed, half laughed for a minute. “That’s ridiculous. What would make you think that?”

“Ambrose won’t fuck me. I put out so many signals. The last step is a flashing sign above my vagina that says ‘For a good time, stick your cock in here.’”

Janine choked again, laughing at the same time. “Seriously. Stop it. I’m trying to help you wallow in ice cream here.”

Kate sighed. Even Cherry Garcia wasn’t making her feel better.

“Don’t be sad, Kate,” she said, sobering. “There’s someone out there for you. If Ambrose can’t see how hot you are, and how kinky, and maybe a little desperate . . .”

Kate tossed her a glare.

“Then he’s an idiot and not meant for you. Personally, I think you had more of a shot with Banner. At least you didn’t need a vagina sign for him to satisfy your slutty urges.” She winked.

“You know why that ended.” Though lately, she’d been questioning that. But it was too late. Banner had probably moved on. Plus, even if she did want the Master/slave thing, did he even want her? From the way he insisted on foisting her off on Ambrose, it seemed unlikely. He could have anyone. He was loving and sexy and a damn good Dom, and there were so many submissive girls out there who would do anything to be his. And what did she have to offer except a big ass and a hell of a lot of work when it came to submission? Maybe if she hadn’t challenged him so much, she’d have stood a better chance.

“Yeah, that was a bunch of bullshit,” Janine said, catching her attention. “You’re both being stupid.”

“What?” Janine was the one person she could count on for support. They bitched about men, vented about work, and watched trashy reality TV to make themselves feel better about their lives. They definitely didn’t call each other out on stuff.

“You two are good together. You just don’t see it.”

“I’m not what he wants.”

“Bullshit!”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“I’d spank you myself if I had an ounce of dominance in me,” she scolded.