Deliciously Obedient (10 page)

Michael
Bournham didn’t lose.

Michael
Bournham didn’t walk away.

Ironic,
though, that this was exactly what he’d done this morning, paddling
off as Jeremy and Lydia walked back to camp, carefully avoiding them
and her family as he’d grabbed a backpack for the long kayak and
hike through the uninhabited island. Being around no one except
himself was what he needed, to clear his mind and figure out what to
do next.

Ten
miles later, he had no more of a plan than when he’d started.

How
could he be left so confused by her? Nothing about Lydia made sense.
No strategy he normally used to navigate life worked with her. She
was confounding and mysterious, feisty and incorrigible, exciting and
passionate, and now he had none of that.

While
Jeremy had it all.

Weary
legs pushed him up, the slow walk home fueled by urgency that built
in him step by step. The big reveal had been taken completely out of
his hands when he had been Matt.

Now
he had a new reveal, and it would be done on his terms.

And
his terms alone.

Jeremy
checked his phone, alone in his cabin and without Lydia for a few
hours. Pete had invited him to come over to drink beer, shoot the
shit and pretend to repair stuff in his little work shed, but Jeremy
had demurred, citing a handful of work matters. His little MacBook
Air was all he needed to check investments, but what he really wanted
was time to try to track Mike down.

He’d
gone completely underground for weeks now, and aside from being told
by Mike’s mom that he was fine and in contact with her by phone
every week, Jeremy had no fucking clue what had happened.

Mike
didn’t do this. Disappearing off the face of the earth wasn’t his
thing.

That
was Jeremy’s thing, actually. Swapping places felt unreal.

As
he opened his email, answered a few urgent questions about some
micro-loan programs he’d invested in and checked his brokerage
accounts, he found a trend in Bitcoin that made him log in and
perform some trades. Virtual currency was an enigma that he wished he
understood better. Programmers who were hungrier and less financially
settled could take it and run with it. He had cash. That was his
contribution to the crypto-currency movement. And so far, with some
basic analytics and a few investment protocols tweaked by hunch and
good timing, he’d made a killing.

If
Mike were here he’d be surprised to see Jeremy looking at money.
Brokerage accounts. Trades and markets and financial issues that Mike
considered his province. The illusion that Jeremy fucked around all
day on the beach in Thailand was one that was remarkably easy to
maintain, and it served him well. If no one takes you seriously, then
when you do delve into serious matters you get one of the most
valuable treasures on earth at a very cheap price.

Privacy.

All
it costs you is your reputation.

A
fair trade.

Careful
investments over the past ten years had made him a very wealthy man.
With low expenses and travel tastes that happened to coincide with
cheap parts of the world, Jeremy didn’t spend nearly as much as he
earned, and when he reinvested it was in a mixture of index funds,
social programs and wild risks at the fringy edge of money—like
Bitcoin.

Massive
risks could pay off if enough of your life was secure, allowing for a
kind of freedom that gave you permission to fail.

Too
bad his heart wasn’t as easy to manage as his bank balance.

Accounts
were up about 5.2 percent, a gain he was happy to see, and one that
was more than the average American family made in a year. This kind
of wealth gave him the ability to drop $50,000 on an autism charity,
to spend $25,000 to send a hundred women in Asia to boarding high
school, to give freely when the whim struck him.

Whim.
It had been his compass all these years, guiding him in directions
unknown, yet always leading him to a conclusion that seemed to make
sense in retrospect.

Was
Lydia just a whim?

“
Hi!”
Speaking of her, Lydia bounded into the cabin, surprised by the
computer. “You’re…gaming? Surfing the web?”

He
shut the silver laptop quietly. “Something like that.” Funny how
she didn’t even think to mention business.

“
Anything
interesting?”

Nothing
more interesting than you.
“Nope. What’s going on?”

“
Dad
won’t stop about the damn talent show.”

“
Maybe
you and I should try that marshmallow thing.”

“
I’ll
be the thrower, not the catcher.”

“
Hold
on, now…”

“
Then
again,” she said in that throaty voice that gave his cock a zing,
“I’ve put worse things in my mouth.”

“
You’re
comparing my cock to snot?”

She
shrugged. “You ever taste cum? It’s pretty close.” He stayed
silent as she became increasingly uncomfortable. “You’ve
never…tasted cum…have you?”

He
laughed. “No, Lydia. I’ve had some wild adventures, but
swallowing is one thing I haven’t done. Not on a man.”

“
How
could you swallow on a woman?” she asked rhetorically.

He
answered as if it were a real question. “When a woman ejaculates.”

“
Women…isn’t
that a myth?”

An
arched eyebrow was his reply.

“
You
mean…” she stumbled, clearly rattled.

“I
consider this a challenge.” Pulling her into his arms, he sank into
her with a long, slow kiss. They took their time, hands roaming and
appreciating, tongues dancing, his mouth reveling in the warm
softness of her. Those curves were abundant and strong, breasts
swollen, with pert nipples at attention for his attention. Their
bodies were so primed by having time together, the luxury of
open-ended days an invitation to enjoy each other’s bodies as much
as they explored getting to know each other.

It
was divine.

She
pulled away, wiping her mouth with a look of regret he wanted to take
away with a few hours naked under the sheets. “Can’t. Not now.
Dad and Mom want to talk to us.”

Alarm
spread through him. “They do?”

“
Jesus,
Jeremy, you look like I told you my dad found his shotgun and is
hunting you down.” Her laughter stung. She wasn’t far off.

“
Oh.”

“
I’m
sorry. You’ve only been here for two days. I should be more
sensitive. My family can be…overwhelming.”

“
They’re
wonderful, actually,” he said with a deep sense of truth.

“
Even
Miles?”

“
Even
Miles. And besides, so far all he really does is make snarky comments
and drive around in that little red thing of his, helping people. He
hasn’t set a single bathroom on fire since I’ve been here,
either.”

Ooof
.
She elbowed him in the gut as she marched out, laughing.

What
the hell did Pete and Sandy want to talk to him about? Following that
luscious ass down the stairs and on the path to the office, he caught
up to Lydia and grabbed a handful. A yelp was his reward.

“
You’re
so grabby!”

“
Quit
making me want to grab!”

“
Do
I grab your crotch in public?”

“
Not
nearly enough.” He halted. “Go ahead. You have my permission to
touch me whenever you like. You called me the North Pole yesterday.
Come sit on Santa’s lap anytime, my dear.”

She
rolled her eyes and resumed her walk. “Men.”

“
I’ll
take that as a
yes
.” With that he goosed her again, and she
took off at a sprint toward the rec hall, hair flying in the wind.
Even his long legs couldn’t compensate easily for her speed, and he
found himself breathless when they bounded up the steps to find Pete
and Sandy resting on well-worn chairs around a lovely wood stove
nestled in the corner of the giant hall, the pool table empty behind
them.

Breathing
hard, he tried to get his bearings. Her parents seemed happy and
composed, so why the summons? Curling against the edge of a loveseat,
Lydia patted the seat next to her and he bent into it, knees high and
hands awkward. Why did he turn into a teenager around her mom?

Because
you care what she thinks.

“
Don’t
look so glum,” Pete said to him, pointing to a small cooler next to
his chair. “Want a beer?”

“
Sure.”
Jeremy reached in, found one, popped the top and took a swig. Sour
and sweet at once, it was dark and intense, like cherries on top of
coffee.

“
What
is this?”

“
It’s
called Westvleteren. Like it? People either have the palate for it or
they don’t. It’s not to everyone’s liking.”

Another
taste and Jeremy weighed it out. “I like it.”

Pete’s
smile widened. “I thought you might. Sour ales aren’t an acquired
taste. You know right away whether you’re in the club or not.”
Another smile, this one completely reaching his eyes.

“
I
can’t stand that stuff,” Lydia said, crinkling her nose.

“
Me
neither,” Sandy added.

“
You
got the bad genes,” Pete muttered, making Jeremy choke.

“
Don’t
make me waste the good stuff,” he hacked, coughing through
laughter. Sandy reached over to pound him on the back as Lydia shot
her dad an eye roll identical to the one she’d given Jeremy on the
way there.

“
We
just wanted to take a few minutes before the craziness of the talent
show kicks in—”

“
Two
days!” Sandy interjected, interrupting Pete. “In two days!”

Pete
rested a calm hand on her knee. “—to ask how you’re doing and
to enjoy a drink with you two.” Pete reached into the cooler and
pulled out a lemon-flavored wine cooler, which Lydia grabbed with
glee.

“
Thanks,
Dad!”

Sandy
reached for a cup of tea on the end table next to her as Pete held
the neck of his beer forward, initiating a toast. The rest joined in.

“
To
the talent show, and old traditions. And to new friends,” he added,
looking pointedly at Jeremy, then Lydia.

“
To
no flaming cats!” Sandy added.