Escalation Clause (32 page)

Kyle frowned, handed the girl some money and sent her on her way. He leaned forward, dangling his beer bottle between his large, ex-NFL player thighs, which were clothed in expensive, tailor-made silk and wool as usual. Jack waited him out.

“She is, uh, pretty amazing. No doubt about that.” Kyle finally admitted.

“And…,” Jack prompted him. “going beyond the painfully obvious, what else is she to you?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem. You know I bat for both teams, as you like to say. But this girl has me tied up in knots. After Rob left I swore off men, and it worked for a while. But even after I got over him and let myself date again, I couldn’t stop comparing men to him. I met Shannon, introduced her to you if I’m not mistaken.”

Jack nodded, sipped his beer. “Yeah, when I was being a dumbass in response to Sara’s crazed bitchiness, but whatever. Go on.”

“After you dumped her, she came back to the club, pissed off and needing a Dom. So I took it on. Like I said, something about her compelled me the second I met her. And, well, we lived a very serious lifestyle for a while. The whole shooting match and man that girl is into some serious shit, let me tell you.”

Jack chuckled. “Dude, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Oh, right. Well, I was loving it and so was she I thought. It was a buzz. Then one night she totally turned the tables on me out of the blue. She told me to meet her in our usual room, the one at the end of the hall of the club after hours. I did, prepared for our usual round of fun. But she…well…shit….”

“She fucking topped you didn’t she?” Evan asked, now paying attention. Jack raised an eyebrow. He knew this already but wanted to get Kyle’s honest take on it. “Jesus. That is one of the biggest turn-ons I swear.”

Kyle looked away, then back at Jack. “She rocked me, gentlemen, hard. I don’t even remember half of it she had me in some kind of weird subspace so fast, using all my moves on me, my words, my control. And I was a god damned puppet loving the way she yanked my strings. It fucked with my head pretty bad. I’m not that guy. Never have been.”

“Yeah, funny enough I’ll tell you that we’ve done some switching lately, too. Sara is the only woman on the planet I’d trust with it. And that’s something you gotta take into consideration. Trust. That you would let her do that. Jesus, Summerlin, you have a hundred pounds and nearly a foot on the girl. You didn’t have to “let her” do anything, but you did. Right?”

“Yeah.” Kyle shrugged. “I guess I did. But, it’s so bloody strange. That I, that you boys,” he pointed to Jack and Evan, “that any of us would let it happen. Does it mean we’ve lost it? That we can’t do our usual thing, get off and help our partners get off in the usual way? I don’t know anymore, and I’m supposed to be the expert. My shrink says I needed it. That it humanized me and makes me a better Dom. I think she’s full of shit.”

“Oh?” Jack asked.

“Yeah. I think I came so hard and so many times when little Shannon was topping me I want to do it again and that,” he poked Jack in the chest, “freaks me the fuck out. So, I kinda shut down on her, I guess.”

“Well, you should give it another shot. At least let her know all this. She is special like you said and maybe you guys could…you know….”

“There was a time in my life when my answer to that would have been a resounding ‘hell no.’ But I don’t know anymore.”

Evan stood, stretched, and held out his hand to shake. “Gentlemen, this has been enlightening. I’m going home now to plan an adults-only vacation, buy some Cialis and convince my wife to top me. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Do not delay, my man.” Jack called to his retreating back. “And you, call Shannon and at least talk about it. Jesus I sound like Oprah fucking Winfrey.”

Kyle laughed, a giant, booming thing that matched his large physical presence. “Okay, Oprah. I’ll give it a shot.”

Jack clapped Kyle on the back as they walked out. “You’re welcome. And you can pay me your shrink’s going rate as a thank you.”

“Fuck off, Gordon.”

“Not on your life. I’m saving myself for my wife.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rafe stretched out his legs ignoring the gathering frustration between his eyes. He’d been nursing a low-grade headache for over a week. For some reason, after their amazing day and evening together, Maureen kept holding him off, using excuse after excuse to avoid him. And he was damned if he was leaving the country for ten days without seeing her, kissing her. He tried not to let the anger creep into his voice. “I told you Maureen, I’m leaving in two days. I…I need to see you.”

“How about this,” she started and he prepped himself for more deflection. “Ella and Adam are both out of the house all weekend, not due back until late Sunday on a camping trip.”

“When do they leave? I’ll be there five minutes after that.”

She laughed, a low, sexy sound that had him tingling all over. “No you won’t you goof. They leave tomorrow at noon. Aren’t you working?”

“I’ll call in sick.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I am desperate to hold you in my arms again Maureen. Don’t you miss me? Or did I not please you?” He had kept a very tight hold on his temper but felt it leaking around his brain, threatening to screw up everything with ill-considered demands that she fucking get over herself.

“I’ve been counting the hours, Rafe, trust me. I just….”

“I know,
mi amor
, it’s a difficult thing with the kids. But I have to tell you something.”

“Okay, but don’t—”

“I’m going to kiss you until you see stars, then I’m going to make you come on my tongue, my fingers and my cock until you beg me for a rest. Then I’ll let you do that…for a while. Then we start again. Dear God, Maureen, I….”

“Cut it out, seriously, I’m blushing.”

“Good.” He shifted to allow room in his scrubs for his rapidly hardening cock. “It’s a date then. What time?”

“Um, I have a meeting at three….”

“Cancel it. I’ll be there at two-thirty. Eat your Wheaties.”

He rushed through his Friday morning therapy patients, his mind only half on the tasks. By the time it hit one-thirty he was nearly leaping out of his skin in anticipation of the weekend ahead.

“Hey, Rafe,” his office mate and one time fuck-buddy Melanie caught his eye as he finished some paperwork.

“Yeah,” he ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t regret the time they’d spent messing around. She’d been trying to get over a boyfriend, and he’d been bored and horny. “Sorry, distracted.”

“Uh-huh.” She wheeled her chair around to his cubicle and spun him around to face her. “Listen, babe, you are obviously smitten, and I get it but don’t go overboard.”

“Um, what?” He stared at her. “Overboard?”

“Yeah, remember you claimed to love me once, too?” She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t believe you. But, don’t come on too strong. You can be a little…overbearing.”

“Oh.” He tried to listen and take on what his friend was saying. “It’s a Latino thing I think. I can’t help it. And this woman is, well, I do love her.”

“Good. You deserve some happiness. But, if what you told me about her kids is true she has a lot to sort through and you up in her face being all…macho on her may not help. It might push her away. You know?” She patted his knee. “I’m good. Jeff and I are back together so I’m not trying to sabotage you.”

“Okay.” He let her words sink in. “Maybe you’re right.” He started to doubt himself. Perhaps he should give her more space, but she’d been scarce for nearly three weeks now. They’d talked every night, but he had not actually seen her since that evening at his place. He shuddered at the memory, his need for her nearly making him wince. Why he felt so compelled to be with her was a total mystery that he simply didn’t feel like exploring. He’d waited for her, they’d been together. What the hell was she being so standoffish about?

Why are you being such a whining wimp, Inez? Jesus, you are acting like some loser with a crush. Chalking it up to Latin emotion—maybe you should take a step back.

“Just trying to be helpful.” Melanie rolled back around to her desk, but poked her head around the cubicle divider. “Do whatever you want, but I’m just sort of filtering it for you, you know, as a female.”

“Thanks,” he shook his head to clear it. He punched in her number, prepared to “back off” even though it was the very last thing he wanted to do.

“Hey,” Maureen answered, her voice low and intimate.

Rafe put his head in his hands. “Um, something’s come up. I…ah, I won’t make it until, I guess, Saturday?” He groaned inwardly at the silence on the other end of the line.

“That’s fine, Rafe. I’ll see you then.” She hung up before he could sputter out “just kidding, see in you a few hours.”

“I fucking hope you are right,” he growled to Melanie as he tossed his reports into the receiving basket and headed out cursing her and himself for listening to her.

Even after a punishing ten-mile run to distract himself and a shower he was no calmer. He even felt worse, if that were possible, more revved up and horny and pissed off than before. He leapt up, and got in the car, pointed it towards Maureen’s house and prayed to all he held holy that she’d be home.

He pulled into her driveway, climbed out, and tapped on the front door, his nerves zinging with energy he refused to contain. He wanted her. And he would have her. It was a pure, simple equation, and he was not being a wimp admitting it. American “go slow” bullshit be damned. He would not dance around this another minute. It went against everything in him and the effort to be something else was making him insane.

 He knocked again, and the door creaked open as if it were not completely closed. The detritus of a busy household met him in the foyer—backpacks, trainers, soccer cleats, shin guards, and various schoolbooks lay in piles. He crept in, hoping not to startle her. “Maureen?” The kitchen was spread out along the back of the house. It showed signs of recent use with half-empty cereal bowls and juice glasses piled in the sink. He put his hand on the cool black granite counter. Surely, she would not have left the door half open and the house empty. But then again, this was Ann Arbor. Crime was limited at worst to opportunists around the campus housing areas.

He stood, listening, but mostly soaking up the atmosphere of her space. Somewhere in the recesses of the house he heard it—a sniffle, hiccup, then a soft sob. He walked through the family room, stepped over a sleeping cat and opened the French doors to the deck. Maureen was huddled on a large chaise lounge, sobbing her heart out into the sleeve of a ratty sweatshirt. Rafe’s throat constricted and his inner protector rose nearly too fast for him to tamp down. He gulped and just stood, watching her for a few seconds. The sleek, coal-black curtain of hair covered the side of her face. Her legs were bare, bent at the knee as she hugged them close to her chest as if trying to make herself smaller. She sucked in a huge breath and kept staring out over the lawn.

“Mi amor
,” he whispered. She turned her head and the deep blue of her eyes shot straight to his gut, but she didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. He hesitated, Melanie’s warnings about being “overbearingly overboard” passing across his consciousness for about a half second before he took the four steps between them in two long strides. He pulled her to her feet, sat, then tugged her into his lap. He made soothing noises, kissed her hair, then her face and tried to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Stop it,” she squirmed half-heartedly. “You don’t want to be here. Why the hell did you come over?”

“To prove that I know I was being an idiot. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. To seem too, I don’t know, um, overwhelming?” He laid back and she stretched out beside him, their bodies fitting perfectly side-by-side in the large lounge chair. “Am I,
mi amor
?” He stroked her arm, put her hand to his lips.

The crisp autumn evening darkened, and they watched the lightning bugs peter out and the bats start swooping around the giant silver maple tree in her backyard. “No,” she said, finally. He tilted her chin up, brushed his lips over hers while his brain screamed at him to do more.