Indulgence (122 page)

“Uhhhh. Yeah. Oh, yeah. Yeah, get ready, baby. Shit, Kimmie,
you make me so damn hard. Ohhhhh, yeahhhhhh, okay, baby, come for me. Come on,
Kimmie. Yeah – do it.”

I shudder hard and then my body turns loose, my abs in
spasms, my legs stiff as boards, my finger working madly. I can feel Jaz behind
me, his left hand gripping mine, his right one working his hardness and then
the bunching of the muscles in his shoulders as I hear him moan out, “Oh,
fuckkkkk, yeah, yeah, oh god, yeah. Oh, Kimmie, babe.”

We both still, our hands still locked together. What just
happened? Before I can process it all, he whispers, “Have you ever done that
with anyone else?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Close up your robe. Use your towel
to clean yourself up if you need to.” That’s an understatement. There’s a mess
that the towel under me caught at least, and I wipe as best I can, then tie my
robe closed. I hear something – he had a condom on and I didn’t realize it. How
neat and efficient. I start to get up, but he says, “No. Sit right there. Tell
me: How do you feel about what we just did?”

“The truth?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“The truth is . . .” If the words come out, I’ll have to
force them. “The truth is . . .”

“You want to fuck me?”

I take a deep breath and sigh deeply. “Yes. I want to fuck
you.”

I expect him to laugh at me, but instead he says, “I want to
fuck you too. But not yet. Cleaned up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Come here.” Rolling to my hands and knees, I find him
sitting cross-legged on the towel, and I give him a questioning look. And he
does the one thing I was hoping he’d do.

He opens his arms. I scurry into his lap and his arms wrap
tight around me, his face buried in my hair. I don’t quite know what to do with
my arms so I just wrap them around his waist while he hugs me to him, and
there’s something so sweet and simple about it all. I’m trying to figure out
what it is I’m feeling, and then it hits me.

Peace.

The house is silent, and his arms are warm and strong. His
heartbeat trips in my ear as I press my face to his chest, and I let out a deep
sigh. I don’t want to move, just want to sit here all night. His breath is warm
on my scalp when he whispers into my hair, “Oh, Kimmie. You’re so precious.”

Relief washes over me and I let the tears course down my
cheeks. When he feels me sob against him, he turns my face up to his and kisses
me again. There’s so much in that kiss, and I can’t understand how there’s a man
here with me to whom I could be so connected to, someone I haven’t slept with,
and yet the bond running between us is so strong that I can almost see it
shimmering in the room. I’m starting to believe he’s right, that there’s
something long and wide and deep tying us together, and I want to sit here in
it and let it warm me from the inside out. That gash in my heart, the one
that’s been bleeding for eight years, is scabbing over and starting to heal. I
can feel it. Suddenly, I have an overwhelming need to see him.

I pull back and put a hand on either side of his face, my
palms to his cheeks. Looking straight into his face, I look at those tiny laugh
lines I noticed before, the little scar in his left eyebrow, the gray patches
at his temples. Those eyes, those sweet, brown eyes, have little hazel flecks
in them, and his lashes are long and thick. Narrow nose, and those perfect
lips. Just perfect. I trail my fingers from just under his ear and down his
jawline, feeling the beginnings of that scratchiness that he must’ve kept
shaved while he was gone. When I draw my finger across his lips, he kisses the
tip as it passes right under his nose. The smile he bestows on me is gentle and
warm. “Sir?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I want to scene with you.” I can’t stop myself. The words
start to tumble out of me. “I’ll do whatever you want. I want to be with you.
You can have me; I’m yours. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself to me. I want you to
partner with me. I want this to be a partnership, something that works for both
of us. This isn’t about you giving to me; I want to owe you as much as you owe
me. I want to scene with you, and I want you as my submissive. But beneath it
all, I want us to have a real relationship, not something that’s defined by
leather or steel or rope. It needs to exist because we’re comfortable with
ourselves and each other as people, not Dom and sub. I did that for years
before I got . . . well, before. And I’m not interested in that anymore. It’s
so fucking shallow. I don’t want shallow anymore, Kimmie. I want deep and
meaningful.”

“Me too, sir.”

“Will you do something for me?”

I nod. “Anything. Anything at all.”

There’s an innocence in his eyes that takes my breath away.
“Just once, call me ‘baby.’ Please?”

My heart breaks for him, but the fissure left behind opens
my heart to his, and I know that without even having to ask. “Yes, baby. I’ll
call you baby all night if you want, Jaz. Will you stay tonight? Please?”

“I can’t. I’ve got to go home. I’ve got to be up early
tomorrow morning to go back to the plant and I don’t have clean clothes with
me. But soon, I promise. I’ve got something I want you to do.”

“What?” Hell, I’ll do anything he asks.

“I want you to come over to my place this weekend. I’ve been
here. You should see where I live. That’s how you really get to know someone,
by being in their living space and seeing what they’re really like. Want to do
that?”

“Yes! Oh, yeah, I’d love to!”

“Good. Okay, so tomorrow is Friday. How about we meet at the
club tomorrow night, see if we can negotiate some little scene, and then we’ll
make arrangements for you to come over on Saturday?”

“Sounds good! Oh, and your leathers are finished.”

“Can you bring them to the club tomorrow night?”

“Sure!” Now I’m getting excited. This is going to be
amazing, I’m certain of it.

“Good. I think it’s fitting that I wear the leathers you
made for me the first time we scene together. Very fitting. So I’m going in the
bathroom to get dressed and then we’ll do goodnights, okay?”

“Okay.” I decide to really go out on a limb. “I’m so glad
you’re back, baby. I missed you this week.”

His smile is a mile wide, and he grabs me around my waist,
his hands wide and strong, dropping his forehead to mine. “I missed you too. I’m
glad I’m back. And when you come over, I’ll cook. Think of something you’d like
to have and I’ll go get everything Saturday afternoon. How’s that?”

“That’s great.” There are so many things I want to say to
him, to tell him how I feel. My heart’s crashing into his at breakneck speed,
and I want it. I’ve only known this guy two weeks, and I feel safer with him
than with anyone I’ve ever known. I can’t wait for tomorrow night.

When he comes out of the bathroom, he takes my hand and
leads me to the front door. The overnight bag hits the floor again, and he
scoops me up and kisses me. Then he picks up the bag, gives me a peck on the
cheek, and murmurs, “Bye, baby. See you tomorrow night. Six o’clock. Don’t be
late.”

“I’ll be early.” And I’m sure I will be.

Apparently I am indeed early, because he’s not here yet. I
wait for a few minutes, kind of stand around by the bar, and he still doesn’t
come in, so I head to the locker room and change.

When I move back toward the bar, he’s sitting there, and I’m
pretty sure he’s waiting for me. He gives me a sexy little smile when I get
closer, and my knees feel weak. My outfit isn’t horribly revealing, a bustier
top and a pair of matching panties, and I wonder if it meets with his approval.
I don’t have to wait long to find out when he whispers in my ear, “You look
delicious,” and nips my earlobe.

“Thank you. You look pretty damn fine yourself.” I hand him
the bag I carried in with his new leathers inside. “You’ll look even finer when
you put these on.”

“Ah! Thanks! And by the way, next time, don’t go into the
locker room until I get here. The idea that I’m going to leave you sitting here
while I disappear in there doesn’t sit well with me.” I check his face to find
that he’s telling the truth. There’s some stress there that wasn’t before. “I’d
really like for you to go back into the dressing room and give me time to
change. Probably five minutes is all it’ll take at most. That way at least I
know where you’ll be.”

“Yes, sir. No problem. I’m sorry.” Now I feel bad. I’ve
already messed up and I haven’t even done anything yet.

“No, it’s okay. Just a thing for me, that’s all. Come on. I
want to get to it.” With that, he sets his glass down on the bar and leads me
back toward the locker rooms. He points to the doorway for the ladies’ lockers
and I stroll back in and sit down on one of the benches. While I wait, I count
the tiles on the floor, then try to imagine showering in one of the little
shower cabinets with him, soap all over both of us, his body slipping and sliding
up and down mine. I look at the clock again – three minutes.

I stand and contemplate peeking out the door, and that’s
when I pass the big mirror. Something catches my eyes and I turn to see myself
there, just a slip of the woman I had been a few years earlier. I’ve always
looked in the mirror and seen the Kimberly I remembered, but reality hits me in
this moment and I see what I’ve become. What little body mass I have is
stretched out on my five foot five frame, and I’m angular and thin, the dark circles
under my eyes accentuating their blueness as they stare out from my pale, slack
face. Even though my hair is thick and full with almost no gray in its forlorn
shade of light brown, it’s unremarkable. It’s been a long time since I’ve done
anything with it or really paid it any attention. That leaves me to wonder:
What the hell does he see in me? I make up my mind that even though I don’t
know what’s caught his attention, maybe I should at least take a passing
interest in my appearance, maybe get a new hairstyle – highlight or color or
something – and some new makeup, possibly even have a manicure and pedicure. I
could at least go to the mall and have my eyebrows threaded so they wouldn’t be
so dark and thick. If he’s kind enough to want to be seen with me, I should be
kind enough to not embarrass him with my disinterest in myself. I look like I
just escaped from a refugee camp, for god’s sake.

Five minutes. Surely he’s done. When I sneak a look out the
door, I gasp.

He’s standing there, leaning up against a post in the room.
My god, he’s something. There’s not an ounce of fat on that body, and he’s
shirtless. Yeah. Heat starts to pool low in my belly, and it’s hard to breathe.
It’s all I can do to get back to him with my legs shaking and knees practically
giving way. The only thing running through my mind is the idea of his hands on
my body. That’s what I want more than anything.

I’m finding it hard to speak when I make it to him, and all
I can get out is a strained, “Sir?”

When he turns, he smiles. In that smile there’s want and
arousal, but there’s also something else too, that thing I can’t quite put a
finger on. His eyes don’t leave mine as he says, “Let’s go find a place to sit
down and negotiate.”

That same sofa we sat on before is empty, so we commandeer
it and sit down, and I turn sideways to face him. He sits casually, knees apart
and a hand resting on each; he doesn’t put his arm across the back of the sofa
like before, or lean in toward me, or anything even remotely that intimate. He
just sits there for a second before he speaks. “So. What do you need? What do
you want?”

I almost say
I need pain
, but for some reason, that’s
not what I’m thinking. It seems odd but it’s also encouraging. All I manage is,
“I-I-I-I’m not sure.”

His eyebrows drop into a low “V.” “You mean to tell me
you’ve known since last night that we were going to do this, and you haven’t
given any thought to what you need?”

“Well, I have . . . sort of.”

“And?”

There’s a fumbling around in my brain as I look for the
words to articulate what it is I feel deep down inside. “I usually need pain.
Now, I still need pain. I’m just not sure what kind.”

“Let me see if I can help. Do you need the kind of pain that
makes you forget, or just the kind of pain that makes you aroused?”

What is it with this guy? How can he read me so well? It’s a
relief, and yet, it’s a huge curiosity. But what he’s said helps me collect my
thoughts. “I need the kind that arouses, but I need it to have enough of an
edge that I concentrate on the here and now. Does that make sense?”

He nods and I’m so relieved I could cry. “Makes perfect
sense. I think I can accommodate you. So may I suggest that we start with a
warmup? I’ll make sure you’re ready and your skin is very sensitive, and then
I’ll do some things that help you to focus while still delivering some pain.
How’s that?”

“That’s perfect!”

“And then?”

“That will be my needs met. What about yours? What do you
want, sir?”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of that.”
As he speaks, he doesn’t look at me, and I suddenly have this horrible anxiety
rising in my chest. He doesn’t want me. Now I’m feeling very, very foolish and
stupid. It occurs to me that maybe he’s just a caretaker, that he’s really not
interested in anything except caring for me like one would a pet or a small
child. “Kimmie? What’s wrong, baby?”

I guess my face must give me away, but I’m not sure what
kind of expression I’m wearing. I just know there are so many things I want to
do with him, but it doesn’t look like he really wants me. “I don’t know, I
guess I thought maybe you’d want to, maybe, oh, never mind.” Heat engulfs my
face and I’m pretty sure I’m blood red.