There’s Mike, already at the restaurant as I suspected he would be, pacing up and down in front of the bar. I wave through the window and he waves back and goes to sit down at a table against the wall. I am just about to push open the door, when my phone makes that sound:
“You realise you haven’t sent me a picture of your little vibrator. I will have to punish you if you don’t send it NOW.”
Crap, I forgot about it. It’s still on the bed. There’s nothing I can do except tell the truth. Well, most of it:
“I can’t send it now. I’m in a meeting with a client.”
Immediately there’s a reply: “Oh dear, my little love slave. Then you will be punished.” And then—nothing. I breathe in deeply, watching Mike, smiling and flapping his hand to hurry me in. I drag a smile from the depths of my professionalism, put my phone away, and wave back.
I get my two-cheeked kiss, as always. And, as always, the second one lingers just a little longer, his lips brushing my cheek a little closer than strictly necessary to my mouth as he pulls away.