3. April 11th

APRIL 11TH

Sylvan

PING!

Sylvan clutched her silk robe closed at her neck. Heart racing, she sat in the dark of her sanctuary, curled up in her window bed and staring at her laptop screen.

LOBO:Finally home. Hello, little Flame.

Uncertain, she curled up even tighter into a ball.

What if it's HIM? What if he's been posing as Lobo all this while?

Her stomach felt like it dropped to her feet.

LOBO:Flame? I know you're there.

She let go of the breath she was holding.

LOBO:What's wrong?

FLAME:Nothing. I'm here.

She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight. She was so scared. He was the only thing that made her feel safe.

How sad is that? A man you've never met. Never seen a picture of. Only ever talked to over chat and text. How can you trust someone you've never met?

Self-confidence had never been a characteristic of Sylvan's. Every day of her life had been one that either ripped apart what few feelings of success she began to build for herself or prevented any such feelings from forming. Her latest situation had pretty much destroyed her joy in her work. The only thing that seemed to keep her going was her chats with Master Lobo.

His arrival tonight had kept the panic attack at bay.

She curled even tighter against the bookcase headboard, staring at the laptop screen, silently begging him to say something.

After three minutes of nothing, bubbles began to appear, letting her know he was typing. Then they disappeared but immediately started back up.

LOBO:I'm sorry I didn't have time to check in the last few days. We had some excitement here, and I had to focus.

FLAME: Are you ok?

LOBO:Worried for me, princess? Yeah, I'm fine.

LOBO:Another co-worker is, personally, in a tough spot, and we left a friend of his in a bit of a lurch. Hopefully, it will smooth itself out.

FLAME:How's your friend's butt? No more snakes, I hope.

LOBO:No more snakes.

LOBO:How did your writing go the past few days?

Smiling, she unconsciously uncurled from her protective position. He always asked. Like he actually cared. Even if it was just out of politeness or even as a means to move on to why they really chatted, she liked to think he actually cared. Foolish, perhaps, but she had so few people in her life.

Well, that's a lie. You have thousands of fans who love your books and care about your stories.

FLAME: Not great. My deadline is looming, and while I've written, it feels like garbage.

FLAME:I can't seem to think of any new ideas. I feel like I'm repeating what I've already written.

LOBO: Hmm.

LOBO:Have you been incorporating your research?

The writer's block was odd. It wasn't as if she didn't have plenty of inspiration. Fantasy after fantasy of a mystery man who up and disappeared for days at a time.

FLAME: Yes, but it feels weird to write about the things you've told me about.

LOBO: I thought that was the whole point of this?

LOBO:You wanted to learn about BDSM so that you could write a book that was accurate.

FLAME:Yes, but…

She left the text hanging, unsure how to phrase what she wanted to say without giving away her silly crush.

LOBO:Yes, but what?

Jeepers, how do I get out of this?

LOBO: There's no getting out of answering me.

"Yikes! How did he know what I was thinking?" She started to type a response. Erased it. Started again. Erased again. "Oh, Frankenstein! Why is this so difficult?" She bit her lip and scrunched up her face. "Oh, what the heck'um, just do it."

FLAME:It's begun to feel personal. Especially since you started texting me.

FLAME:It shouldn't.

FLAME:You're there, I'm here. It's not like we'll ever meet.

FLAME: But, let's face it, sex is personal. It feels like I'm writing about you and me, and it feels like an invasion of something private. But it shouldn't because we're not really doing anything.

The screen sat blank for a minute. Then two.

"Way to go," she muttered to herself.

FLAME:I'm sorry.

FLAME:I've made this weird now, and I didn't mean to.

FLAME: You just always tell me to be honest, but maybe there is such a thing as too honest.

FLAME:I should just go.

His answer was immediate.

LOBO: No.

She huffed in exasperation. "‘No,' what? No, don't write about what we talk about? No, don't get personal? No, it's not personal? No, it's not an invasion? Give me a clue!"

LOBO:Don't go.

Huh. Well. That I was not expecting.

LOBO: Maybe it's time it did get personal.

"Jinkies," she whispered. "What the bleep does that mean?"

LOBO:You're not wrong.

LOBO:It stopped being about strictly research a while ago. Now, we're just using that as an excuse.

LOBO:Are you in bed, princess?

Holy jeepers! Next thing he'll be asking me what I'm wearing.

LOBO:Princess?

FLAME: Yes.

LOBO: Yes, what?

FLAME: Yes, I'm in bed.

LOBO: Good to know, but not what I meant.

LOBO: Yes…?

"Sweet sassafras!" Sylvan sat straight up in her window bed, her back coming off the propped-up pillows. "Does he want what I think he wants?"

LOBO:Flame, I'm waiting. It's never good to make your Master wait.

"Double sassafras," she whispered. "This is either going to be super hot or super embarrassing." She gulped. "Or both."

Here goes nothing.

FLAME:Yes, Sir.

LOBO: There's my good girl.

Sylvan's heart soared. Why was that praise making her so tingly?

LOBO:Tell me what you're wearing.

Flippity-flip-flip! I knew it!

LOBO:Remember. Be honest. A D/s relationship only works when there's honesty and trust.

FLAME:But we're not in a D/s relationship.

LOBO: Oh, princess. We so are. The minute you agreed to my terms for information, it became one.

LOBO:What did I teach you?

FLAME: That it's a Master's job to know their submissive's needs.

LOBO:And?

FLAME:The submissive must trust that the Master will pay absolute attention so that a safe word never needs to be used.

LOBO: Excellent, little Flame.

LOBO: Now. Tell me what you're wearing.

Could she do this?

It's not like you're ever going to meet the man. Just do it! You know you want to.

FLAME:A long nightgown and matching robe.

LOBO:Very nice. What color?

FLAME:Light blue.

LOBO:Is it silk?

FLAME:Yes. And lace.

LOBO: Describe it.

LOBO: In detail.

FLAME:It touches the floor, so I can't see my feet. The top has thin spaghetti straps that connect to a lace torso. That part is very fitted, and the front is very deeply cut.

LOBO: Are your breasts completely covered? Or do they swell beyond the material?

FLAME:I'm covered, but the cleavage makes it appear like I might spill out of it.

LOBO:Go on.

FLAME: The lace continues down the front of the skirt from the waist on a diagonal from my right hip to my left foot. The gown flares from just below my waist to the floor, but the skirt is still narrow.

FLAME: The robe matches. And the sleeves go to the wrist where they button tight, like a man's dress shirt.

FLAME:The top of the robe has a deep V to it that matches the neckline of the nightgown, but it flares down, like the skirt, where they meet at the floor.

LOBO: And underneath?

Sister Mary Francis!

LOBO: Flame? What are you wearing underneath?

FLAME:Silk panties. The same color.

LOBO:Is this something you normally sleep in?

LOBO:Or are you wearing it just to meet with me?

FLAME:I love pretty lingerie. It makes me feel beautiful.

FLAME: There wasn't really any clue you would be back tonight.

LOBO:No. It was a surprise to me, too.

LOBO: Do you always wear pretty lingerie when you meet with me?

She hesitated.

FLAME: Yes.

LOBO:If you'd known I would be here, would you have worn this one?

FLAME: No.

FLAME:I would have chosen a different one.

FLAME: I have one that's black.

LOBO: Why black?

FLAME: It reminds me of a wolf. A black wolf.

There was a pause after her admission.

Finally, a message appeared again.

LOBO: What color hair do you have?

FLAME:Red.

LOBO:Ah. The name. I should have guessed.

LOBO: How are you wearing it?

FLAME:It's all piled on top of my head.

LOBO: Pins?

FLAME:Yes.

LOBO:How long?

FLAME: Past my waist. I've never cut it.

LOBO: Very nice.

LOBO: Dare I hope for green eyes and porcelain skin?

FLAME: Yes.

LOBO: Kryptonite.

LOBO:Take it down.

As if hypnotized, Sylvan began to pull the pins from her hair, the long tresses falling to her shoulders and down her back.

LOBO: Is it down?

FLAME: Yes, Sir.

LOBO: Such a good girl. Put your computer off to the side, but where you can still see the screen.

LOBO: Remove your robe.

Oh, freakin' Frankenstein!