Indulgence (121 page)

A dark cloud obscures his smile immediately. “Yes. Some time
ago. I have no contact with her anymore. None.”

“Oh.” I wait for a few seconds to see if the mood lightens,
but it doesn’t. “So, do you have kids?”

“Yes. A daughter. She’s in school at Dartmouth. A freshman.”

Thank goodness I’ve found something that sounds a little
cheerier. “Nice! Sounds like she’s a good student.”

A gentle smile takes up residence on his lips. “She’s an
excellent student. Studying to be a political analyst. Wouldn’t have been my
choice for her, but it’s what she wants to do, so I support her in that.” After
taking another sip of wine, he says, “You have a son, correct?” When I meet his
eyes with questioning, he laughs. “Michael told me.”

Of course; leave it to Michael. “Yes. Jeffrey. He lives in
Austin, Texas. He’s in electronics. And he’s married; has been for a couple of
years. Greta. She’s a sweet girl.”

“No grandchildren?”

“Nope. We try to get together as often as possible, but I
really can’t afford to go out there, and they’re too busy to come here. She’s a
nurse.”

“Ah. Sounds like Melissa. When she’s not at school, she’s
working with some charity, or planning some kind of trip with her friends, or
something that’s more important than dear old dad, which is pretty much
everything. You know how that goes.” I nod. “So we don’t get to spend much time
together either.”

I nod again. “I know. Jeff was the same way in college.” My
wine glass is going empty. “He won’t have anything to do with his dad now,
after what Phil did.”

He gives me a knowing nod. “Melissa feels the same way about
Meredith. I don’t think she’s spoken to her mother in about five years.”

“That’s a shame.”

He snorts. “Not if you knew Meredith.” One more swallow
drains his wine glass. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.” He’s already paid the bill, so we stroll out to the
car and wander back to my place.

When he parks the car in the drive, I automatically ask,
“Would you like to . . .”

Before I can finish the sentence, he announces, “Oh, I’m
coming in. We have a lot to talk about. Might as well get started.”

Uh-oh. I’m not sure if this is going to go the way I’d like
or not. After such a pleasant evening, turning it serious seems like a mistake.
And it also looks like it’s not up to me at this point. I swallow my anxiety
and unlock the door, then make a beeline to the liquor cabinet for some liquid
courage. “Want a drink?”

“Nope. I want to be completely clear-headed for this
conversation, and I’d suggest that you remain the same way.” That little
pronouncement forces the glass in my hand back into the cabinet, and I head back
to sit down and wait for whatever is about to happen. “So I take it you’ve made
a decision about scening with me?”

Straight to the point. I suppose I should be grateful, not
only for his straightforwardness, but for the opportunity for me to practice the
same. “Well, sir, I . . .”

“Nope. Tonight you call me Jaz. We’re equals in this room
right now, discussing where we’re going from this point on.”

“Okay, si . . . Jaz. So, I was wondering, it doesn’t really
feel like we’re, I mean, are we just, um, I’m not sure . . .”

“Stop.” He leans back into the sofa and puts an arm across
the back. “Come over here and sit beside me.”

That’s what I’ve wanted all evening, but I’m just so afraid.
I don’t know if we’re thinking the same things. Once I’ve gotten settled in
beside him, my whole world spins around and gets set upright in one split
second when he says, “We’re going to discuss exactly what this is that we’re
making here and where we want it to go. So, let’s do some definitions, shall
we?” I nod. I’m afraid it’s a little too enthusiastic, but I really don’t care.
“So, first of all, can we agree that ‘scening’ is what we’re doing either in
the club or privately in play?”

“Works for me.”

“Okay. Good. That’s a foundation. Now, the question is, do
you want more than that?”

“Do you?” I counter.

“Answer the question.”

Now I’m terrified, terrified of showing too much of what I
feel, terrified of saying something that will cause him to jump up and run out
the door. What do I do? What do I say? How did I get into this spot? Then I
realize: He put me here. He asked me the question. Now I get to answer however
I like. In one blinding flash, I realize this is all in my hands. And I’m going
to tell the truth. When The Truth leaves my mouth, it sounds something like, “I
don’t know. I’m scared shitless.”

He echoes me when he says, “The truth?” I nod at him. “I’m
scared shitless too.” I’m sure he can see the shock on my face. “I mean, we’re
stepping into a new relationship. That’s scary.”

Relationship.
That’s
what I was wondering about. So
it
is
a relationship. Before I can voice that, he says, “Any time two
people determine they want to spend time together, it’s a relationship. But as
a Dominant, it’s my responsibility to set the tone for that, and I want this to
be an honest, truthful situation.”

Tremors wrack my voice when I ask, “So you want to have a
relationship with me?”

Leaning toward me, he stares into my eyes as he says,
“Actually, I think I already do.” He waits. “Well? Do I?”

“Yes, sir. Um, Jaz,” I correct myself.

“Good. There for a minute I thought I was in it alone.” He
gives me a grin that warms everything from the roots of my hair to the tips of
my toes. “Now, to the original question – more?”

I nod slowly. “Yes.”

“How much more?”

Everything between my legs goes hot. “Much more. What about
you?”

With a finger under my chin, he tips my head up to look into
my eyes. “Everything. I want it all.” A gasp leaves my mouth when he whispers,
“Kimmie, I haven’t been this turned on in a long, long time. My cock’s so hard
that it aches, and I want to get to know the woman who’s done that to me.” An
overwhelming urge passes over me to rip down his zipper and take that length
straight into my throat. My clit is pulsing. My nipples are throbbing. It’s
like my brain is going to explode if I don’t have him in the next ten minutes,
and all I can do is sit there and stare into his eyes. I feel like I’m melting.

Just about the time those thoughts all register in my mind,
he drops his hand and smiles. “We’re not going to get any discussing done if we
keep going like this. But I know this: I want to get this show on the road.
I’ve been attracted to you since the first second I saw you, and I hope you
feel the same way about me.”

“Yessss,” I manage to hiss out.

“Good. Can I make a suggestion?”

“Sure,” I wheeze.

“Let’s make out.”

“Wha . . .”

He starts to laugh. “Yeah. Let’s make out like a couple of
teenagers. I think that’ll be fun. Deep kissing, touching over our clothes, dry
humping, the whole bit. We’ve got a chance here to make this relationship
whatever we want it to be, and we should want it to be, above all, fun. So
let’s do it. Whaddya say?”

Mercurial doesn’t even begin to describe this man, and I’m
so enthralled that I don’t know what to say or do. Where does someone like him
come from? I feel like I’m sixteen again, going out for the first time with a
guy my mom and dad would never approve of. And then I realize something very,
very important.

Except for the time I spent with Leona, I haven’t thought
about Phil a half dozen times during the week. And that’s pretty amazing. But
the minute I realize that, I feel a twinge of something. Guilt? That’s not it.
I’m not sure what it is, but it must show on my face somehow because Jaz
immediately says, “What? What’s going on in your head? I know it’s something.”
When I don’t respond, he repeats, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I was just thinking about Phil.”

The look in his eyes turns to something fierce before he
snarls, “I’m going to drive him right out of your head, starting right now.”

Like magic, I find myself on my back on the sofa and Jaz
above me, my hands pinned above my head by his. Gazes locked, he licks his
lips. “Think about me. Don’t think about any man but me.” Grip tightening on my
wrists, he drops onto me and presses his lips to mine.

I see stars and hear bells, and I offer no resistance when
his tongue presses my lips open and finds mine, stroking it, curling around it,
dancing with it, while my body struggles to coerce his into an act of intense
intimacy. He draws my hands down from above my head and around behind his neck,
encouraging me to hang on, to pull him in, while he runs his hands down my
sides until he scoops them around my ass and pulls my lower body against him. I
can feel the length of his hardness against my belly, insistent and pulsing,
and the sex rises off of us like fog above the water on a cold morning. I’m
immersed in the gnawing desire that consumes me and threatens to take me down,
and I’m lost in that kiss. That scent he wears, cedar and citrus all mixed into
a warm breeze, surrounds us, and the weight of his body makes me wonder if he
can feel the thrumming of my blood through my veins as my heart rate increases.
God, he’s so much man in such an alarmingly handsome package that I’m not sure
I can handle this, handle him, handle a relationship with him. He works his way
from my mouth down the side of my jaw and on down to my neck, nipping, licking,
and sucking, and I writhe with need. I manage to groan out, “Oh, god, Jaz,
please?”

“Please what, babe?”

“Please. I need you. Please?”

Grinding his pelvis against mine, he nips my lower lip. “I
need you too. But we’re not going there tonight. We’re going to do something a
lot more intimate.” What could be more intimate than what I want to do? His
lips press into mine again, and we kiss for what has to be twenty minutes,
hands roaming each other’s clothes, fingers in each other’s hair. The kisses
finally turn into sweet, shallow, quick ones, and then he looks down at me and
grins. “Come on. We’re going to do something that will teach us a lot about
each other.” He grabs his overnight bag and then takes my hand to retreat
toward the bedroom.

Yeah. This is going where I want to go. At least I think it
is.

“You got a robe?” I nod. “I want you to take off everything
and put the robe on. I’m going into the bathroom to do the same.”

What the hell is he planning? He disappears into the
bathroom and I strip off everything, then put the robe on. I think about
leaving it gaping open, but I’m fairly certain that’s not what he has in mind.
He comes out in his robe, three bath towels in his hands. “Come on.” I follow
him as he starts back to the living room. Once there, he takes one of the
towels and spreads it out in the middle of the room on the big rug. He points
to it. “Have a seat.” I sit right square in the middle, but he says, “No. On
one end. Facing out.” I move to the end and turn.

Once I’m situated, he sits on the other end with his back to
mine, and then he hands me a towel. “You may need this. I know I will. Untie
your robe and open it.” The cool air hits my nipples and they go even harder
than they already were. “Now, you’re right handed, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Put your left hand behind your back and grip mine.”
When I do, I find his left hand behind his back and our fingers hook together.
“Lean back into me and I’ll lean back into you. We prop each other up. Got it?”

“Got it.” And there we sit. What next?

“Listen to me, baby. Here’s the way it works. I tell you
what I’m doing to myself, and you tell me what you’re doing to yourself. If
we’re lucky, we’ll come at the same time.” Oh my god. He wants me to masturbate
again. Seriously? I lean over just a little and he barks, “No. Don’t look at
me. Just listen to my voice.”

I can’t help it. I want to see that cock. I’ve felt it against
my belly, and I want to touch it so badly that I can hardly stand it. But I can
feel his body moving, and I know he’s stroking himself. Then he growls out,
“Kimmie, I’m so damn hard. I’ve missed seeing you this week.”

There’s a inferno setting up in my pussy that can’t be
ignored. I’m really going to do this. Before I can decide what to do first, he
moans, “Play with your nipples, babe. Get ‘em really, really hard.”

They’re already so hard they ache. I pinch one and then the
other, and then I get a little brave and twist one. Even though I don’t realize
it, I must let out a little moan because I hear him murmur, “That’s it, baby.
Get into it. God, my cock’s hurting. How do they feel, baby? Aching for me?”

“Yes, sir. They are.”

“Kimmie, tell me how they feel.”

Shit. I’ve never done this before. “Um, they’re really hard
and, um . . .”

“What happens when you twist them? How does that feel? Tell
me, Kimmie. I want to hear you say it.”

“Um, it makes my clit tingle.”

“Yeah.” There’s a little tiny grunt and he lets out a long
whoosh of breath. “Tingle and burn?”

“Yeah. Oh, yeah, it does.” There’s something growing,
churning, twisting in my belly, and I want to do something about it. “Can I
touch myself, sir? Please?”

“Yes, girl. Do it. Run your fingers down into your slit and
find that hard little button. It’s hard, isn’t it?” He’s starting to sound a
little stressed, and I hope I don’t disappoint him.

“Yes, sir. It’s hard.” Fingers grazing across my clit,
everything in my body goes on red alert and I groan, “Oh, god, sir, yeah.”

“Wet, angel?”

“Yes, sir. Dripping wet. Oh, god, yeah.” It’s swelling and
expanding, my finger working even more feverishly. “God, sir, I want to come,
please?”

“In just a little bit. Torture yourself a couple more
minutes. I’ll tell you when, babe. Okay? Oh god yeah, baby. Yeah. Your hips
want to buck, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir.” Oh, god. This is crazy and yet it feels so damn
good. I can feel every stroke he’s giving himself, and all I can think about is
having him inside me. Want is eating me alive, and I don’t know how much longer
I can hold off. “Oh, god, Jaz, please? Please, I need to come. Please?”