Yes. That was probably true. But Dale kept turning her toward her own needs and desires, and that was a volatile, far deeper well than she'd realized. It was good to take a breather, not let the bucket descend further until she was ready to explore more of that darkness. She wondered what Dale would say to that.
You won't be exploring it alone, girl. Will you?
God, she missed him. But she'd drawn her line in the sand and she was going to make herself observe the boundary, even if only for today. She decided she'd work in her garden.
She kept her phone with her, though. She received a couple of emails on her private account from Release, reminding her of the monthly munch and another rope-tying demonstration. His name wasn't featured on that one, making her think he'd told Gerald he needed to pull back entirely until . . .
Until what? Until she said it was okay? Until she agreed to do it with him? Once again, she recoiled from the idea of appearing within those walls as a submissive. She deleted the emails, though she felt a twist of guilt, thinking of Jimmy and some of the others there who'd supported her so staunchly during Roy's illness. She'd address that another week.
As she worked in her garden, she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, thinking of Dale kissing her . . . of Roy touching her hair, tugging on it. She recalled a day she'd been tending her roses and Roy brought her a wildflower he'd seen on the side of the road. He'd pulled it from the dirt, roots and all, putting it in a plastic beer cup he had left over from the day's golf outing. Kneeling next to her, he planted it in the ground among her roses.
"Those fancy, well-tended plants need to remember what it is to grow wild, to see something beautiful spring up somewhere unexpected." He'd touched her face at that, making her smile.
She'd tended his offering as carefully as her roses, so now, two years later, that little yellow wildflower was a bushy edging around their perimeter.
Her eyes were wet, she realized, pulling off her gloves to swipe at them. Dale was a new and special part of her life, but there were days she missed the man who'd been in her life for over twenty years so very much. What would he think of Dale? She thought he'd like him, tremendously. They'd probably share a beer, play pool together.
But that was the crux of all of it, wasn't it? Not just what she'd been or what she was becoming, but what she'd been all along, and how she would deal with that part of her coming to life, competing with her past, challenging her future.
Her phone buzzed and she glanced down at it, hoping it wasn't Ellen. The week after the board meeting was usually a quiet one, allowing her to handle most things from home. When she saw it was Dale, the leap in her chest was a good feeling, simple and pure. "Hi. I'm glad you called."
"Hi." He paused. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." She sniffled. "Just working in the garden. Allergies."
He stayed silent and she glanced down at her spade, resting in the dirt next to a clump of the yellow flowers. "I was just thinking about Roy. It makes me tear up a little. I didn't want you to think I cry all the time."
"Do you?"
"A lot less these days than I used to." She hoped he could hear the smile in her voice, the truth of it.
"I'm flattered."
"Oh, you thought I was talking about you? It's actually because of my new pool boy, Stuart, and my German masseuse, Gunther. We have three-ways every afternoon."
He snorted. "Didn't we go over this?"
They were teasing one another about it, which was a good sign. "I guess I just wanted to verify. The way you military types do when you're on a mission and you're checking coordinates. I've seen it in the movies."
"I'll bet." His voice became husky. "I'm not sharing you, girl. If you think I will, you're going to get well acquainted with my belt. I'm pretty damn good at corporal punishment, and I enjoy the hell out of it. That enough verification for you?"
She had to clear her throat. "Stuart and Gunther who?"
He chuckled. "Much as I like flirting with you, I did call for a different reason. I wanted to ask your advice on something, since you seem connected to a lot of the area charities."
"Anything," she said, pleased. "What do you need?"
"A couple buddies of mine had a field trip to the local Y planned for some inner-city kids, an ice cream/pool party thing. The Y had an issue come up with their pool and it's shut down for the next week. Do you know somewhere else we could take them this coming weekend? The Y was going to give us a three-hour block of private time. It's about thirty-five kids with behavior problems, mostly just rough edges from hard lives. Neil and Lawrence are trying to give them some good experiences, ease them into environments different from what they're used to."
She thought it over. "I do have somewhere, but I don't know how you'll feel about it. My place."
"What?"
"We didn't visit our extended recreation wing the night you were here. We have an Olympic-sized pool, with a playroom annex. Roy put arcade games in there. Foosball, Ping-Pong, a pool table . . . you name it. He was a big kid about things like that, and our adult guests loved the parties we hosted there. We've held a couple events for the Louisiana children's home we support, so it's not the first time it's been used for something like what you're proposing. I should do even more things like that with it, because I mainly use the pool for my daily laps now."
"Which explains that hot body of yours, Mrs. Summers."
Her nerves prickled pleasantly at that, but she could sense his hesitation. "I'm not doing . . . what I was doing, right? Trying to control things?"
"No, not at all. I just don't want anything to happen to your property. Some of these kids are a bit rough."
"They're just things. They can be replaced. How can they learn to appreciate nice things if they're never given access to them?"
"Sounds like something I said to my prom date."
She chuckled. "Did it work?"
"Not as much as I thought it should have. Look, are you serious about this?"
"Yes. This Saturday?"
"Yeah. Is three hours too long?"
"Well, if you're going to bring them all the way out here, why don't we make a day of it? I can have a lunch prepared for them, and they can watch a movie in the theater room after they get tired of swimming."
"You have your own theater."
"Of course," she informed him loftily. "That's where I watch Ben-Hur."
"You're scary rich, aren't you?"
"One of the evil one-percenters, if you believe anticapitalist propagandists. One that employs thousands of people in eleven nonunionized plants across the country. Plants that provide excellent health care, day care benefits, scholarships . . . Oh, and jobs. Dumb stuff like that."
"Careful, Mrs. Reagan. Your teeth are showing."
She grinned at that, confirming it. "You don't seem scared."
"I like your teeth. And everything else. Okay, I'll tell Lawrence and Neil it's a go."
"Will you be coming with them?"
"Two single SEALs in their sexual prime coming to your house? You bet your sweet ass I'll be there."
"Sexual prime, hmm?" She laughed. "Don't trust me?"
"Just taking precautions. A smart man protects what's his."
A heated weight took up space in her chest, resting low in her stomach, spreading to the sensitive place between her legs. She swallowed. "Would you . . ."
"Would I what?"
"I wanted . . . I just want to be around you." So much for her resolve, but he was enough of a gentleman not to point out her "breathing room" had only taken the space of a night. He merely sounded pleased she'd changed her mind.
"Come over today, have Chinese takeout with me and spend the night. No expectations, one way or another. Maybe we'll watch a movie, like we were talking about. We can see how it goes."
"So you don't do that kind of thing often."
"No, Athena. I don't."
She gripped the phone, holding it as if she were holding on to him. "Yes, I'd love to
do that. Can I pick up the takeout?"
"Nope. They deliver. Just bring yourself and your toothbrush. No PJs. I'll keep you warm."
He'd already managed that, raising her core temperature by about ten degrees. "I'll see you in an hour or so."
ELEVEN
He had the gate open. Figuring it might be that way for the takeout guy, she left it open, drove up to the office and apartment building. He was sitting on the bottom step, a pair of dogs at his feet. The canines, who looked like a blend of shepherd, chow and lab, were watching him cut up an apple. He was offering pieces to them between bites for himself. He also had an open bottle of wine behind him, with an extra glass. He'd filled one with a rich red and had apparently been sipping on it, a change from his normal beer.
He looked so good. His blue-and-white-striped button-down was worn to that softness which had the fabric molding his upper torso, the tails loose over jeans. His booted feet were braced out wide to accommodate the dogs. Men really didn't have to futz much with the details and accessories. A handsome man could wear the same outfit every day, observe decent hygiene and still turn heads wherever he went. It was his attitude, his charisma, that made the man. It could make a woman hate the entire gender, if she hadn't had the experience of being in love with one. She saw many similar qualities in Dale. As well as some very vital--and appreciated--different ones.
Getting out of the car, she was struck by a wave of longing for him so strong it almost made her dizzy. She'd left so abruptly at the club, and the last time she'd seen him before that had been in her office. He'd said no expectations, no planned session, just Chinese takeout and being together, but when she came toward him, her body felt tight all over, her throat thick with things she couldn't say.
He set the wineglass aside and reached for her, nudging the dogs to the side with his boot. That was all it took. He'd pulled her into his arms and she was straddling him on the stairs, the dogs nosing her ankles in greeting as she put her mouth on his; hot, open and delving deep. His arm went around her waist, his other hand taking a firm, proprietary grip on her ass. She made a needy noise, pressing herself against him.
When she came up for air, she didn't speak, just stared down at him, wanting him to see it all, understand it all.
"I need to put the dogs up."
"Okay."
"The takeout guy should be here in the next ten minutes. Go upstairs and get in my bed. I expect you to be naked under my sheets." His eyes held hers. "Play with yourself. I want you even more hot and bothered than you are now. Get yourself as close to coming as you can without doing it."
Holding on to her waist, he rose and put her on her feet with the strength of one arm. Then he sent her on her way with a healthy, stinging slap to her ass that reminded her of the marks he'd put there earlier in the week. She felt like she floated up the stairs, which was kind of a miracle given that her body was weighed down with lust.
Pivoting at the top, she saw he was halfway across the open area, the dogs at his heels. She let herself into the apartment and went right to his bedroom. She took off everything, folded it to the side, and then savored his sheets against her bare flesh. She lay on her back, but turned her head, pressing her nose into his pillow. She moved it on top of her body, hugging it to her, sliding it across her breasts and then down, the weight of it against her wet pussy. She wanted him to have her scent there.
Turning on her stomach, she pushed the pillow beneath her so she could use the pressure of it against her body to do as he demanded. Slipping her fingers in between the pillow and herself, she began to slowly rub her clit, work herself against the pillow, the movements of her body creating friction between the mattress and her nipples. He'd said not to let herself come, and yet she might come from merely thinking about him. She hoped the takeout wasn't late.
It was a nice day, so the windows were cracked. In no time she was gasping, such that there was a chance the delivery guy would overhear her. He might think it was the wind, but she imagined his male instincts would hone in on the erotic quality of it. If Dale was as territorial as he seemed, he'd cover it with casual conversation and send the guy packing.
The pleasures of male possessiveness weren't new to her. It was a myth that a male sub wasn't as testosterone driven as any other man when he thought someone was sniffing around what he thought of as his female. Roy had wanted her to be his Mistress, and definitely considered her his wife. She liked that feeling of belonging, liked the shape of it with Dale, the sharper sense of it as his sub. But she had to agree with Roy's viewpoint as well. She felt just as possessive toward Dale as her Master, which her reaction at the club had proven. Now that she'd confirmed Dale's feelings agreed with hers, she didn't feel as foolish about it.
She heard the vehicle arrive, the male voices. She worked herself harder against the pillow, reveling in the sound of Dale's voice. He'd follow the guy back to the entrance and lock the gate, because he was careful that way. She stroked her breast, tweaked the nipple, which made her hips jerk. She'd be leaving more than her scent on his pillow at this rate. She might end up having to wash it for him. She wouldn't mind that, either.
She heard his feet on the steps, the slightly uneven tread. Her heart went from pounding to racing. When he came in, she couldn't see him, because her head was turned toward the window, cheek pressed to the bed. Cool air touched her as he drew back the sheet, watched the undulation of her slightly perspiring body, the rise and fall of her hips against the manipulation of her hand.
He slid his fingers down the line of her spine, over the curve of her buttocks. "Keep doing that, girl. Christ, you're a picture." He pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades as he slipped his hands between her body and above the pillow to cup both her breasts. She cried out at the intimate contact, lifting her bottom higher, such that she brushed his hip in the rough denim. She wanted to make circles against the front of his jeans, dampen them with her arousal, but he was at the wrong angle. He was staying out of range. She was performing for him, all of it for his pleasure. Keying into that, she spread her knees even wider, teasing him with the sight of her fingers working her pussy. Never in her whole life had she been so blatant and shameless with a man.
When he withdrew, she turned her head to the opposite cheek, in time to see him reaching inside the night table drawer for a condom. "Can you . . . not use that? There hasn't been anyone for me, since Roy. And I had my tubes tied a while ago."
He paused. She knew how careful he was. Even if he'd had other partners recently--something she didn't really want to know--she expected the risk would be nonexistent. She trusted him.
When he nodded, closed the drawer, she let out a sweet, soft sigh. He came back to the bed and grasped her arm to turn her over. He removed the pillow, putting her on her back in the center of his bed.
"If it's the first time we're doing it that way, then we do it different," he said. "Stay like that for me."
She watched him remove his shirt, that glorious ripple of muscle across his abdomen. Opening his jeans, he sat down on the edge of the mattress. He removed one boot, setting it aside, then he pushed the pants to his knees, reaching in to lift his left leg out of the socket of the prosthesis. He peeled off the stump sock, letting it disappear down the leg of the jeans, and then pushed the denim all the way off both legs, leaving the clothes crumpled around the prosthesis and other boot. Now he turned to her, as bare as she was. He slid his fingers down her stomach, making her quiver. So many things were going through her mind now, images of Dale and Roy twisted together, a lot of emotion with them. He shifted onto the bed, put himself on his knees between hers, and lay down upon her.
His upper body strength had him managing it all smoothly, and though a worry passed through her mind about his knee, she was going to trust what he'd said. He considered that issue his to handle, a part of who he was.
When he settled between her legs, his cock nudging at her entrance, she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and lifted her hips, m
aking a guttural noise of pleasure as the head pushed inside her. He stopped there, a blissful, anticipatory pause until she looked up into his face, met his eyes.
He slid in deep, stretching her with his size, a snug fit she loved. "Yeesss . . ." she whispered, and earned an answering glint of pleasure from the blue-green irises, a tightening of that firm mouth.
"All mine," he said, pushing in a little deeper to emphasize it. "My girl."
She nodded, giving him a tremulous smile as he bent, covered her lips with his, a swirling, long kiss as he moved inside her. Slowly, easily, like floating on waves. She'd been so worked up, so hot. Now, though her body was still intensely aroused, the emotional weight countered it such that everything became slow and languid. It was a surreal, perfect, isolated moment. They were the only ones in this world, their bodies moving together toward that crest when the wave would surge and crash, rush them over the edge.
Her fingernails bit into his back. "Don't be afraid to mark me, girl," he growled. "I'd love to carry your scratches."
She was glad of that, because he left her no choice. That slow, blissful spin started to change to sharp, demanding spikes. He captured a breast in one hand, his back curving so he could seal his mouth over a nipple, suckle. She worked herself even harder along his length, clasping him tight, wanting to feel every delicious inch of him.
It wasn't kinky, acrobatic, or exceptionally original. It was a perfect coming together, totally driven by instinct and the need for intimacy, and she loved it. In some way it cauterized and closed the wounds opened at the club. This underscored once and for all that what they were experiencing together wasn't just a series of defined sessions between Master and sub. What they were sharing, building together, wasn't defined or limited at all. It might crash and burn. On the first day, that possibility had scared her, but now she liked that the flight was open-ended. It made her want to soar.
She loved the way it felt, her legs spread for him, heels locked over his back and flexing buttocks, his arms caging her on either side, the rough scratch of his jaw on her tender flesh. The sound of his breath, getting harsher, tighter, as his arousal built with her own. Even as her body's responses accelerated, her mind braked further, taking in all of it. Did anyone ever appreciate such intimacy until it was gone? The pleasure of having a man lying upon you, holding you, breathing with you through the long, dark night? Not just any man, but one with a strong thread of connection to your heart and soul?