Worth The Wait: A Nature Of Desire Series Novel (19 page)

“I can’t feel that way about you?”

“You don’t need to feel that way about me.”

She screwed up her face and crossed her eyes at him. “You know that’s crazy thinking, right? Being in a relationship is caring about each other. It’s not one-sided. That’s part of you trusting me.”

He rolled that over in his mind, obvious from the introspection, the slight gold glint to his irises when he was giving something real thought. His jaw had a light layer of afternoon stubble on it and she reached across the table to trail her fingertips over the sandpaper feel, just because she wanted to do so. He had told her she could be open and honest about all her feelings, and she hoped that included when she wanted to touch him.

“That idea will take me a little time,” he said, closing his fingers around her wrist and pressing his lips to the heel of her hand. She liked the feel of that, especially as he gave her that look that said he liked knowing he had her caught.

“Okay,” she said. She feigned indifference, despite her pulse speeding up against his hold. “But it’s kind of Relationship 101.”

“A lot of things are Relationship 101. Doesn’t mean they’re easy skills to master.”

“Isn’t that the definition of 101? Entry level, beginner stuff?”

“Eat your food, woman.” He released her with a smile. “Else you’ll find out how we Southern boys handle mouthy females.”

H
e was drawing
her away from more serious topics, and she took the hint. She caught him up to speed on what was happening with
Consent
, the successes and setbacks, routine for a theater’s first production.

“I’m grateful to Madison for being so hands-off and yet so accessible at once. Sometimes a producer can really get underfoot, but in all fairness that usually happens when there’s a clash between budget and art and the producer has to remind the directors they can only work within the resources they have. She and I don’t have that problem. I’ve done enough of the fundraising side I know you have to squeeze the most out of every dime. And she loves and appreciates the creative process. She’s worked with any changes I’ve suggested to help the show and the theater succeed. She’s a managing and artistic director’s dream.”

“So you’re both?”

“I’ll wear a lot of hats for this first performance. We already have great volunteers. They just don’t have the expertise a paid staff would be expected to have, so I’m doing a lot of teaching. Thank God Harris has a strong background in technical direction, and the students Madison recruited have been a godsend.”

They continued their meal with more conversation along the same lines. She appreciated how keenly Des listened, and the useful insights he offered, but she couldn’t forget the weight of that kiss by her car, the words they’d exchanged here. Or the question she hadn’t yet answered for him.

She watched his hand, tapping the table to make specific points, and how his fingers spread out loosely when he was listening. Like a resting spider. Yet there was a waiting tension to them.

He finished his meal first and when the waitress took his plate away, he took the salt and pepper shakers out of their holders and absently twisted them around one another.

“I wasn’t entirely honest the other day, about why I was so pissed with myself about Pablo,” he said. “Or rather, I was, but since then I realized there was another reason. Maybe the main reason. It went back to the first rope session I did with you.”

Making the salt and pepper shakers the pillars on either side, he started stacking the jelly packs into a brick wall. “I give
every
sub I work with the safety lecture, to make sure she knows how to take care of herself when it comes to rope bondage.”

When his gaze flickered up to hers, Julie was caught by the russet shades, the golds, rusts and browns in his vivid irises. “I didn’t do that with you. I didn’t want to think about you seeking out similar experiences with other Doms. I figured your next rope session, if you had one, would be with me.”

“Oh.” That night, her first sub situation, she’d thought what had happened had only happened to her. She’d thought it was nothing unusual for him. Yes, it could be special and hot, as he’d said, but it was like cake. Cake was always wonderful, but a man could have lots of different pieces of cake.

“Can you say right out what you’re saying?” she asked slowly. “I have a bad habit of assuming feelings that aren’t there.”

“I didn’t want you doing that with anyone else,” he said bluntly, making her heart jump. “That was a new feeling for me, so I didn’t really get it until I walked in and saw you in the middle of another rigger’s set up. So I’m sorry that my testosterone surge was what kept me from protecting you better.”

“Ironic.” She attempted to keep her tone nonchalant. “Testosterone is what usually triggers the ‘get behind me and I’ll take the hail of bullets’ vibe.”

“Yeah, but it’s not known for triggering brain cells at the same time. Just for the record, I’d find us both a place to hide from a hail of bullets.”

“Smart and sensible.” She put the grape jelly at the apex of his structure of jelly packs. “I have some marmalade left over here. Who likes marmalade? The name doesn’t even sound appetizing.”

“It’s okay.” He kept his hand still as she curved hers over it, tracing his chapped knuckles. Beneath the table, their feet still touched, pressed, stroked.

There wasn’t as much noise in her head as there’d been earlier. Hearing that Des was interested in more with her had shut down her litany of defenses.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
That damn Will Shakespeare.

"Give me another bite of your pancakes." He reached to pinch off a piece. She fended him off with her fork.

“Rude man. Don't even say please."

"You're supposed to get hot and bothered by my commanding tone, not criticize my manners."

"That sounded more like a whine. Madison warned me there’s a fine line between a Dom and a guy being obnoxious. Or avoiding household chores."

"Who said there has to be a line at all?" He gave her a look of triumph when she cut off another hunk of pancake and passed it to him. She hadn’t put syrup on this one, so he ate it like a piece of bread, then sat back. He pulled the band from his hair to let the thick strands fall on his shoulders and rumpled his hand briefly through it, as if to ease the pull on his scalp. He slid the band around his wrist.

She’d put down her fork, having eaten the last bite, and he gestured to her. “Come over here.”

She complied, scooching into the booth next to him. He stretched his arm out behind her and turned her so she hooked her leg over his knee.

"So, the other day, the James Garner thing,” he said. “If you could—without guilt—request anyone to die with you so you'd have them for company on that journey, who would it be? First person who jumps into your head."

“Will you tell me yours if I tell you mine?”

“Maybe.”

She sniffed and pretended she was going back to her side of the table, but he put a hand on her knee, keeping her still. He played with her ponytail, twining his fingers in it. “So spill. Who would it be?”

“I guess it would be Marcus and Thomas. If something isn't right, Marcus steps in and makes it right.” She deepened her voice and imitated her friend. “'Hey, what the hell is this Pearly Gates shit? Heaven’s a gated community? Really? Who's in charge here?' Thomas would calm him down and be the pure soul that gets Marcus and me in despite all our flaws.” Who would your person be? Or persons?"

His expression was thoughtful, but his eyes dwelled upon her in a way that held her still. Like a bird in his hand, as he’d described at the lake.

"I'll tell you another day," he said.

Since he didn’t say anything further and seemed lost in thought, she chose to remain quiet. Thinking he’d want to put his hair back up before he returned to the job site, she took the band from his wrist and scooted closer to comb her fingers through his hair and pull it back from his face, working the band over the thick tail in a double wrap. He dipped his head down to accommodate her and, when she finished, she let her fingers linger on his rough jaw.

He looked up, their faces close. “You’ve eaten, so there’s another answer you owe me.”

The increase in tension in his fingers on her shoulder, in his leg beneath hers, told her the answer mattered. She wanted to give him the answer he wanted, but it was how much she wanted to give him that answer that worried her. But he’d said this took courage, didn’t it? She was far less courageous than he thought, but maybe, just this one last time…

"You’ve told me what I need to know, Des. If you mean it, I want to keep going forward. I want to be with you, keep figuring things out with you. I think we've already passed the point where I'd choose anything different, anyway. But watching you do a session with another woman…that's going to be a tough one for me. I'm a traditional girl, all in all, and this world is new to me. I'm going to have some out of sync moments about it."

His fingers dropped to stroke the valley of her spine beneath her shirt. Her answer had changed his eyes to that copper intensity. If there’d been room in the booth, she suspected he would have pulled her onto his lap then and there. She wondered how late he could be back to work and if either of their vehicles would accommodate two grappling adults. Were there any isolated parks nearby?

Fortunately—or not so fortunately—he helped distract her. “Maybe when you see me perform with Missive, it will help. And you can ask me anything you want about that, before or after."

“Not during?”

“Well, Miss Director, I have no problem with you walking out on stage and making it a Q&A, but I think your audience might.” He became more serious, hand returning to her leg, gliding up and down her thigh. “It does get intense. So if you do end up feeling unhappy about it, promise me something. Don’t walk away. Let’s talk it out. I think it will be easier to talk about it afterward, after you’ve watched it first, rather than trying to hash out all your possible reactions beforehand. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Hey.” He tapped her forearm. “In case I haven’t stated it clearly enough, if we’re walking this path together, I’m not planning on having sex with someone else in a session. Or out.”

It was reassuring to hear, though a BDSM scene was sexual by nature, whether actual sex happened or not. But it was something. She wasn’t going to be a baby about it or quiz him about particulars. Not right now. It was like he’d said. They’d just wait and see how she reacted to his stage performance.

She closed her hands around his on her thigh. “All right. Is it okay if we keep it kind of light until opening night? That still feels like a turning point to me, a starting line, if that makes sense.”

He didn’t say anything for a few moments, studying her as if he was considering variables beyond her comprehension. When she was about to shift uncomfortably, he spoke.

“I think you might be right. I’ll plan accordingly.”

He didn’t explain that further, shifting topics. “But I want to see you between now and then, Julie, and not just when I come in to do my part for the performance. How about a couple normal dates, when you can fit it in?”

“That sounds good.” Perversely, she was caught between happiness that he wanted to keep pursuing this like a real relationship and disappointment he wasn’t overriding her caution and taking her to a dungeon lair where he could shatter her mind.

He muttered something under his breath and leaned in to speak against her ear, teasing it with his mouth and his tongue as he did so.

“You don’t have a poker face at all, love.” The suggestion he subsequently planted in her mind was enough to push away any worries and send erotic shivers through her body. Her fingers tightened around his hand, the one that had been inching up her thigh. As he drew back enough to stare into her eyes, she realized Des could be pushed beyond civilized behavior, even in a public place.

“When will
that
date be?” she managed in a breathy voice.

“Sometime after that starting line. Sooner rather than later.” His voice dropped to a whisper, sending shivers down the side of her throat and tingling through her body. “Though it may happen sooner than that. All sorts of things can happen on a ‘normal’ date.”

His eyes glowed with the promise of it.

* * *

D
espite sexual frustration
and what she’d decided to dub sub-anxiety, a state where a submissive personality wanted more, more, more, now, now, now, she was in a good mood when she returned to the theater. She was ready to sing some more Taylor Swift. She ignored Harris’s snicker and finished out the rest of the day with a million thoughts in her head.

When he and the scattering of stage hands went for a dinner break before the dry tech run, and she had the theater mostly to herself for the next half hour, she knew it was at last time to make a call. She’d done the texting thing the last few weeks as promised, and Marcus and Thomas had both responded regularly. They’d also emailed and posted things on social media to let her know they were no farther away than she needed them to be.

She felt guilty she’d pushed them away as she sorted things out for herself, but they were the type of friends who would understand. Well, Thomas would, and he would help Marcus to understand. Marcus just liked to control everything. She grinned and took a seat on the empty stage, punching the button on her phone that would connect her to Marcus.

It wasn’t purely a social call. She needed to understand a few things that only Marcus could explain from the Dom, aka Des, perspective. What he couldn’t, Thomas would, but she generally went to Marcus first. Must be the sub in her.

She smiled again, the gesture broadening at Marcus’s opening line.

“She
did
remember how to dial a phone. I was beginning to think being beneath the Mason Dixon line had made you forget about technology all together.”

Thomas had once said that Marcus had Lucifer’s voice, a purring masculine timbre that could bring the deadest libido to life, male or female. She wasn’t immune, but she’d been exposed to it enough not to become brain dead from its influence. She sniffed.

“Typical Northerner. Assuming anyone in the South is an ignorant hick.”

“Hey, I married one of those hicks. I should know.”

She laughed. “He’d punch you in the gut for that.”

“Fortunately I have abs of steel.”

“To match your head of solid rock. How are you guys?”