Burn for You (8 page)

He laughed. “Not even close. Although my mother wants me to get married.”

“But you’re too much of a flirt to settle down,” Molly guessed.

He gave her a look of feigned outrage. “Me, a flirt?”

“Worse than a flirt, I bet.”

He laughed then, and Molly trembled a little inside. With fear, with power. With the novelty of a man’s appreciative laugh. “Look, I don’t buy pie for every woman I meet,” he said.

It was her turn to laugh. “Only the sad ones.”

“Yes, only the sad ones. So I can see them smile.”

Not flirting now. Sincerity. Such kind sincerity. Their eyes met, Molly’s forkful of pie arrested halfway to her lips. She’d smiled more in the last five minutes than the whole previous week. “It feels good to smile,” she said. “It really feels good. So thanks.”

He seemed embarrassed now. He tucked into his pie with renewed vigor. “So what do you do, Molly? You work?”

“No. Well...” She thought a moment. “I guess I’m searching for a position right now. Deciding what to do with my life.”

“I hope you’re okay since...since your husband died.”

“Oh, I’m fine. He left me with plenty to get by,” she said, in gross, gross understatement. “But I need to figure out where I go from here.” She didn’t want to tell Eliot the truth, with his earnest kindness and helpfulness, that she had more in her slush account than he’d probably make in a lifetime, and untold more tied up in investments and real estate.

“Well,” he said, scraping his fork across his plate, “you should definitely take the time now to consider your options. This has got to feel like a crazy time.”

“Yes, it does.” She couldn’t eat anymore. She was full. She could see across the diner that Eliot’s friends were squaring their bills and preparing to leave. “Still, pie helps,” she said.

“Pie helps everything.” He looked over his shoulder. “Well, I have to go. It was a pleasure meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you here some time again.”

She nodded. It took so little time to scarf down a piece of pie. Yes, maybe she’d see him again. Did she want to? She felt conflicted. He started to leave but then came back toward her table.

“Listen, is there a day you’re usually here?”

“I’m usually here on Fridays. Around noon.” The lie came out so easily. Eliot grinned.

“Cool. Maybe I’ll see you then.”

She watched him leave. He wasn’t her type, really. He was young, so much younger than her. Maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, for God’s sake, and she was thirty. Maybe next Friday at noon she’d be miles away from here, doing something reasonable. She hoped so. But she doubted it. She really, really adored his smile.

Mephisto watched Molly across the table from under his lids. She was fidgety, nervous. Something had happened. He was sure of it, but he wouldn’t pry. She’d been doing so well, getting back out into the world, staying busy doing healthy rather than unhealthy things.

These nightly mealtimes were a ritual he was becoming alarmingly attached to. And disturbed by. The physical pull to her was excruciating, but the emotional pull even more so. He wanted to shelter her. He wanted to improve her. God, he wanted to touch her. By this point he was losing his mind a little.

He wanted to fuck her raw.

Don’t. Don’t think about her that way.
He couldn’t let himself dwell on those kinds of thoughts or they’d start to manifest in the way he treated her. He’d start trying to manipulate her, ease her along a continuum so she was giving him what he wanted before she even realized what was up. He could do it every bit as handily as Clayton and he knew it, so he guarded against it. He’d promised Clayton to help her find the life
she
wanted. Molly. Her choice, not his.

But this was hell. Trying to help her find independence, self-actualization, when it only distanced her more from him and any possibility of them ever being together. So be it. He didn’t want to manipulate her into his service and spend every minute of every scene feeling guilt for the pleasure she brought him. If she came to him—if she ever came to him—it would be with full knowledge, free will, and want.
God, Molly, want me. Damn you.

Molly was making a mess of the Pad Thai on her plate. Mephisto tried to distract himself from the sight of her delicate fingers, her pursed lips. It was Friday night. He had to be thinking about the club. Friday night was one of Club Mephisto’s busiest nights and the staff would be arriving soon. Molly hid away on club nights, stayed in her room until Mephisto locked the door around two-thirty in the morning, after he checked on her. Then he’d fall into bed, exhausted. Sometimes, before Molly, he’d allow a slave to serve him. Now he slept alone.

“Are you coming to the club tonight?” he asked when she pushed her plate away. He wanted her to understand the option was there. If she wanted to start playing again, even with someone other than him, he wanted her to understand it was okay. There weren’t many unattached doms of Clayton’s caliber at Club Mephisto. Most were snapped up by savvy submissives within a few weeks, but there were a few worthy ones who were still looking. If Molly wanted to get back into the fray by playing with them, it was fine with him.

Liar.
Okay, not fine with him. But if she wanted to...

To his relief, she gave her usual shrug. “I don’t think so.”

“You could, you know. Even to watch. Even to hang out.”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “No. Not yet.”

Not yet.
Interesting. A step beyond her usual flat no.

“It’s okay. Whenever you want to,” he persisted. “If you want to get back into the scene...”

“I met someone.” She looked up at him, then down again at her plate. Mephisto waited for more, but nothing came.

“You met who?”

She shrugged. Talking to Molly could be a frustrating study in shrugs and shuttered facial expressions. He longed to be able to snap at her to sit up straight and answer clearly. He drew in a breath and let it out.

“You met someone at the Family Center today? Or at the gym?”

“I went to lunch at Mack’s Diner. I met someone there. A guy.”

Mephisto waited. Stared. Felt a frisson of jealous alarm spread wide in his chest. If Molly had met someone who interested her, he would owe it to Clayton to fan the flame. Ugh.

“What kind of guy?” Mephisto felt himself boxed into the dad role, drawing her out about a new suitor. “Nice guy, I guess?”

She smiled. “Nice? What does that mean? He was some delivery guy on a lunch break. But he was...yeah. Nice. He bought me some pie. I talked to him a little about Clayton.”

Mephisto’s eyes went wide. “What about Clayton? Everything about Clayton?”

“No, just that he died.”

“You didn’t tell him who he was? Who you are? You have to be careful telling strange guys about your money.”

“I didn’t tell him anything, except that my husband died.” She put her shoulders back in a gesture of annoyance. “Anyway, it wasn’t like that. Like he was honing in on me with some ulterior motive. He was just a friendly person. We ate pie and chatted for like, five minutes.”

“You can eat pie with whoever you want. Just be careful.” Okay, Mephisto had to back off, regroup. Jealous, petty anger coated all his words. “I think... I think it’s great that you met a friendly guy who bought you some pie.” There were long minutes of silence, his fork clinking on his plate.

Molly toyed with her napkin. “He was... I don’t know. Really young though.”

“Kinky.”

“I don’t think so.”

Mephisto chuckled. “No, I meant it’s kinky that you’re going after a younger guy. But he’s not kinky, you don’t think?”

Another shrug. God, to be able to forbid those shrugs, and punish every one of them. They’d be in the dungeon for a week. “Who knows?” Molly said. “I don’t think you can always tell, but my dom radar is pretty developed and it didn’t go off. Still, it was nice to talk to someone normal. To make a friend.”

In other words, Mephisto wasn’t normal. Or her friend, in her eyes. He suddenly hated this Pie Casanova with a vengeance. He forced approving words from his lips. “I’m happy for you, Molly. Sounds like it was a good day. Do you think you’ll meet with him again?”

“I don’t know.”

She was lying to him. Mephisto stood abruptly, feeling rage which he could not,
could not
give voice to. “Help me clean up the kitchen, please. It’s almost time for the club to open.” It took everything he had to keep the words calm and casual.

“Yes, sir.”

They cleaned up in silence. Mephisto was glad. He didn’t want to think of chatty things to say when he was all tied in knots. He should be happy for her. If she met some vanilla delivery guy who bought her pie, and that kind of stuff made her happy now, that’s what Mephisto wanted for her. It just wasn’t what he wanted for himself. Why did relationships have to be about two people? Why couldn’t he just force Molly to be his slave? Make her kneel at his feet, serve him, suck his cock and do whatever other perverse sexual acts he desired? The necessity of consent made everything so goddamn complicated. He chuckled softly at that thought.

“What?” Molly asked, turning to him. “What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing,” Mephisto said. “What kind of pie was it?”

Molly gave him a look. “Cherry.”

Cherry. Of course.

*** *** ***

Molly tried to put Eliot out of her mind, but he crept back in at the least opportune moments. She was being so stupid. It was so stupid to get obsessed over someone just because she liked his looks. Because he was nice to her. Still, she took twice as long to get dressed and ready on Friday as she usually did, to the point where the other volunteers at the Family Center noticed and asked if she had a hot date. They were teasing her, sweet natured teasing, but she felt mortified. If they noticed, then Eliot would, and he would know...

Know what? That she was interested in him? Why was that so bad? Why was she so scared?

She dragged her feet all the way down the street to the diner, thinking every moment that she still had time to turn around and flee. She also thought he might not show up at all. That would be embarrassing after the way she’d built this up in her head. It wasn’t like they’d set up an official date. She thought back to their parting conversation.
I’m usually here on Fridays. Around noon.

Cool. Maybe I’ll see you then.

Oh God, maybe he’d be there but not actually talk to her. He’d nudge his work buddies. “Look, she actually came back.” All of them would give her the side eye and snicker and she’d feel that shame again, kicking her, punching her. She stopped on the sidewalk a few steps from the door, her hands in fists. She couldn’t bear something like that. She was too afraid to even try this, this friendly, nice relationship, because a betrayal from a nice person was so much worse than a betrayal from someone you knew you couldn’t trust.

Molly spun and fled headfirst into a brick wall. No, not a brick wall. A solid, smiling man in a brown UPS uniform. He steadied her with his hands.

“Good golly, Miss Molly. How are you?”

She ducked her head, trying to pull herself together.
Act normal.
She stepped back and forced a laugh. “I’m fine. Sorry. I thought maybe I forgot something back at—where I work—but now I remember I didn’t.”

“Oh, you got a job!” He looked overjoyed for her. “Where?”

“The Family Center around the corner. I work there part time.” It wasn’t a total lie. She pointed at his uniform. “I guess you still work for UPS.”

“Packages gotta get delivered. You know how it is.” There was the smile, radiant and miraculously free of judgment. “You want to get some lunch? Do you have time?”

She nodded and walked with him into the diner. “So, where are your friends?”

He made a face. “They’re not my friends, exactly. I work with them. They didn’t want to come here today and I didn’t argue. It’s nice to have a break from them, not that they aren’t great guys. They just... When you’re around the same people all the time, they start to grate on you.”

They sat at a table in the corner, amidst the usual mixed crowd. He leaned close as she stared down at her menu. “You look nice.”

They were just casual words, a polite comment, but she felt ridiculously pleased.

“So what do you do at the Family Center? Are you a counselor? A nurse?”

“Oh, God, no. I just help with filing and talk to the people who come in. A lot of them are...nervous.” A lot of them were desperate and borderline hysterical, but it seemed too dramatic to tell him that. Just that morning, she’d sat with a bruised and battered woman while the people at the Center helped her get a restraining order against her husband. What was the most dramatic thing that happened down at the UPS hub? A misdirected package? Molly shrugged and made little rips in the edges of her napkin. “Actually, I’m only volunteering there for now. I’ve been volunteering at a lot of different places, trying to figure out where I belong. What I want to do now.” God, why did she keep repeating that like an idiot?

“Well, what did you do before he died?” Eliot asked.

“I stayed at home. I guess I really didn’t do anything.”
Except wear his collar for eight years, and try to be perfect for him.

“So, you were one of those trophy wives, huh?” Eliot raised a brow and smiled at her over his menu.

Molly coughed. “Uh. Not exactly. Sort of. My M— My husband was older, yes.” She’d come so close to slipping up and calling him her Master in front of Eliot. “He was older, but I didn’t marry him for money or security or anything. I loved him. I didn’t just shop and soak in the tub and eat bon bons.”

“You just described my dream life.”

Molly burst out laughing as the waitress came by to take their orders. They both ordered BLTs, and Eliot asked for extra tomato, winking at Molly, so she laughed again as the waitress bustled away. He ran a hand through his chestnut mop of hair and flashed her another of his wonderful smiles.

“I would make a great trophy husband for some rich woman. What do you think? Know any rich old ladies looking for some young lovin’?”