Worth The Wait: A Nature Of Desire Series Novel (3 page)

“Why do you have the attitude about erotic performance art?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to come off that way.” His flash of chagrin showed he was sincere. “I don’t mind people watching what I do, like in a club or dungeon, or doing a demo for them in that environment, but the focus has to be on the connection between me and my sub. I want her to be lost in things, caught up in the power of the restraint, my control of her. Knowing she’s safe and yet subject to my desires in all ways. You put too many props into it, fireworks and crap, you lose that music.”

His gaze slid to hers. And held.

In the BDSM world, there were differences between a top and a Dom. She’d assumed, incorrectly, he was only a top. A top might enjoy taking the upper hand during BDSM play, and get into the mechanics of it, like the rope work. It didn’t mean he was a Dominant, a nature and distinction hard to describe but felt by those who reacted to it. Like her.

The way he held eye contact told her he’d detected the involuntary tells of her body language, the response to his words. That confirmed he was a Dom, as did the shift in his body language, the tone of his voice and the laser look from his eyes.

It flummoxed and intrigued her, because up until recently, her primary experience with a Dom, and therefore her mental picture of one, was Marcus. A nun who’d been in a convent since the age of six and didn’t know what sex was, let alone BDSM, would still recognize Marcus as a Master. His Dom-ness was that out front.

Desmond Hayes, on the other hand… As crazy as it sounded, it was as if he’d sent her an exclusive message. A message delivered to a place inside she’d only recently opened up to find what secrets she’d been keeping from herself, too busy dealing with the regular pitfalls of her unoriginally tragic love life.

Or maybe that was why that door had remained closed. To keep the treasures hidden in those chambers from being spoiled by her other failures. It was best that something special never be taken out and used, if the alternative was it becoming the same ruined, stinking mess as the rest.

Wow. She needed a rope to pull her out of that pig wallow of self-pity. Fortunately, she was sitting next to a rigger. She hid a smile as she tuned back in to the feast he’d been laying out before her.

The sandwiches, all quartered, sat on neatly unwrapped squares of waxed paper. A generous tub of carrot sticks was open next to them with a squat jar of peanut butter. He was loosening the tops on two bottles of water and placing one by her.

“Hummus, chicken salad, PB&J and grilled cheese.” He pointed to each. “Help yourself.” Pulling a small palm-sized device like a stopwatch out of the pack, he fitted it with a slim needle, swabbed his finger with a postage-sized alcohol wipe and did a quick stick, glancing at the screen. Appearing satisfied with the number, he detached the needle, put it in a container and tucked those things back into the pack.

She had Type II diabetic friends who checked their blood sugar in such a matter-of-fact way before meals. Seeing him do it was another surprise, since most of her friends who were Type II had weight problems and an aversion to strenuous exercise, but she expected every condition had exceptions.

The efficient, swift way he did it and put it away again without comment told her it was routine enough that he barely thought about doing it in front of a stranger. But his lack of comment also suggested he wasn’t inviting questions. Fair enough. A ten-minute acquaintance hardly opened the door to personal health inquiries, so she sat on her natural curiosity. For now.

As she picked up a square of the chicken salad sandwich, she noticed he went for the PB&J first. Biting into her sandwich, she was surprised at the taste and freshness. “This is excellent. What deli did you get this from? I’m still new in town. I’ll have to stock up.”

“I made it. I make most my food from scratch. Ingredients come from the farmers’ market near me.” He bit into a carrot stick and gestured at her with the other half, his heels drumming lightly against the stage front as he shifted. “If you’re not into cooking, there are ladies who bring home cooked meals for sale. You can stock up and reheat them. They have the market once a week during the seasonal months. I’ll take you to it sometime if you like and introduce you to the folks who bring the best stuff.”

“Oh. Well…hmm.”

“We won’t call it a date. Just being neighborly, since you said you’re new in town.” He winked. “If we end up getting naked after, that’ll be because of my irresistible charisma. Like dinner and sex, only we’ll do farmers’ market and sex.”

She laughed and he grinned. He leaned in and touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb, taking off a bit of the chicken salad. She reached self-consciously for her napkin, but noticed he put the tiny piece of salad to his lips, licking it away, which made her mouth tingle as if he’d done it to hers. Suddenly she remembered that weeks-ago fantasy of rubbing chocolate off her lover’s lips, only to have him grasp her wrist and taste it from her fingertips himself.

“I’d love to see you in my rope and nothing else,” he said thoughtfully. “Have you done any scening in the local group yet? Or did you have a regular Dom or hangout in New York? Logan said you’d come from there. What’s your situation?”

She’d blanched at the forwardness of the first statement, but as he continued, she put it together. “Oh no. I’m just a theater manager. I’m just… I don’t… I mean, I’m flattered, but I haven’t…” She stopped and shot him a narrow look. “You’re laughing at me.”

“No. I’m pleased with you. You’re flustered. Which heightens my interest in ways you can’t even imagine.” He’d drawn up one knee and had his work shoe propped on the edge of the stage, balancing that way with his elbow on his knee as he chewed his sandwich and studied her. Thanks to the short sleeves of the T-shirt, she noticed he had well-developed biceps.

She should be holding her own better in this conversation, using amusement and her tart tongue to put him in his place. Except he didn’t seem to be joking, just considering his own reaction to her. He acted like someone who spent a good amount of time in his own head, which she supposed he probably did as a roofer. However, he didn’t seem introverted, quite comfortable in the company of a stranger.

“I don’t pigeon hole people to get them to fit my fantasies,” he said. “But I’m getting the vibe that you are interested in all of this. Personally. Yet you haven’t explored it a whole lot, have you?”

No, she hadn’t. Having Marcus and Thomas show her around the scene in New York hadn’t appealed to her. Ironic, since one long ago significant event with them had been the trigger to her dormant interests, but she’d felt self-conscious pursuing it further in their company. She’d done a lot of online looking, though. Followed by and integrated with some serious fantasizing, which she’d assumed ever since would be like most of her relationships: better as vibrator material than reality.

After the initial meetings with the cast members, Julie had done more specific Internet research on what she’d learned from them. Suspension, fire, liquid nitrogen, whips, knives, rope. Role play—everything from interrogation and Victorian drawing room scenes, to puppy and pony play. It kicked off her own personal and professional imaginings, though she kept the former firmly channeled into the latter.

“Logan’s great at mentoring people who are curious,” Desmond suggested. “If it’s easier for you to take those first steps by calling it work, he’d do it under the guise of supporting what you’re doing here.”

“Don’t do that.” Her tone sharpened. “Passive aggressive jabs annoy me.”

The genuine surprise in his face reassured and shamed her at once. “Easy, New York,” he said. “It wasn’t a judgment. Plenty of people interested in this like to approach it in a more detached way at first. It’s a smart way of playing it safe, keeping it a little arm’s length. Only an idiot jumps into the deep end without being able to swim. Or even knowing if they’re going to like swimming.”

“Yeah. True. Sorry. Weird trigger.”

He picked up the tub and offered her some carrot sticks, taking a handful himself. “Let me guess. You had a boyfriend who liked to do that patronizing, ‘I’m only telling you this for your own good, even though it suits my purpose to emotionally manipulate you the way I want you to be’ thing. In the meantime, he made you feel like what wasn’t working for your relationship was all your fault.”

His wry humor made it difficult to hold onto offense at being so accurately read. She cocked her head, more sure of her footing, especially when he smiled at her. It went deep into his eyes and made a woman feel special.
Danger, Will Robinson.

“So are you the reformed asshole who did the manipulating, or the recipient of the female version of it?” she asked. “Is that how you recognize the signs?”

“If I tell you that, I’ll ruin the fog of sexual mystery that clings to me.”

“I think you’re safe. It’s the carrot sticks that are keeping me enthralled.” She smiled and his own broadened.

At a buzz, she looked for her phone, but he’d already shifted onto one hip and reached behind him to withdraw his own.

“Hold on, my butt’s vibrating.” He glanced at the message and grimaced. “Well, shit. Gotta get back to another job.” He slid off the stage to face her. “I did go up on the roof before I came in. I can do you a decent patch job that will buy you another year until you get the theater up and earning some income. After that, Madison’ll want to do the full replacement it needed five years ago.”

He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “You’ve had leaks in here during the recent rains, haven’t you?”

“Yes. And two or three in the back rooms.”

He nodded, unsurprised. “You’ll want that patch job before we have any hard summer showers. I can do it next week, as long as weather cooperates. Sound good?”

He fished out a card and handed it over, his fingers brushing hers. His hands were callused, knuckles chapped and nails painfully short, cuticles predictably ragged. A working man’s hands, the skin brown as oak bark. She found herself wanting to hold onto one of them, turn it over and explore his fingers, the lines on his palms. He smelled like male sweat and cinnamon gum, since he’d taken out a piece and was chewing it. He offered her a piece, which she took for later.

“The patch job will cost about a thousand,” he added. “Logan’s done some work for me, so I can cut Madison a discount and drop that amount off the full price when it’s time to do the replacement. I’m going to tell her all that, but I figure she’ll be asking you what you think.”

Madison would be pleased to get the break. A stage and auditorium had already been part of the building, a big selling point when Madison was considering her options. The private school had built it for student performances. But it had no backstage, so a wall had to be removed and the classrooms behind the auditorium renovated to become the backstage area. Other rooms had been converted into a dressing area and storage. The auditorium had stepped seating in a crescent around the stage, and they expanded that, knocking out additional walls so it could now seat a highly optimistic four hundred. Until the theater provided itself with ticket sales, further major expenses were out of the question.

Des had packed up the remaining sandwiches as he spoke, though he left one block of wax paper holding the remaining square of the chicken salad sandwich and two squares of PB&J, as well as three carrot sticks. “You kept looking at the PB&J,” he said with a wink, “so I figured you might want those two for dessert.”

The PB&J was what she’d really wanted to eat, but had thought she might look childish for liking it.

“Finish the chicken salad and carrots before dessert,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Be a good girl.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and he tsked. Shouldering his pack, he offered his hand. “It’ll be a pleasure working with you, Miss Ramirez.”

“Julie is fine.”

“Yes, she is. In every way.” His exaggerated ogle had her stifling a laugh, unsuccessfully.

“You’re a terrible flirt.”

“Actually, I’m very good at it. Your eyes are dancing, you’re smiling and you look less tired and stressed now.” His smile morphed into something else. “Seriously, don’t hesitate to give me a call about the rigging. I’m sure Logan will have recommended good people for your cast members, but there are a lot of good guys out there who dabble in rope, and don’t get enough training before taking it to more advanced levels. It’s important to me that people do what I do safely.”

Now his expression was as uncompromising as a police officer, which gave her all sorts of distracting fantasies. He was a fascinating mix. She’d taken his hand, and he was still holding it in a firm grip. As she met his penetrating look, she let the warmth that his hand spread through her take her a step away from sanity. “I’ve researched some of it online,” she said with forced casualness, “but I don’t have a real grasp of what it’s like. From the inside, so to speak. Would you be willing to show me what you do? Using me as a subject, I mean?”

She was astounded she’d said such a thing. Maybe it was being immersed in this environment that had propelled her to a tentative readiness to dip her toe into a submissive experience. Or maybe it was Des. He was the first Dom she’d met, in person or online, who’d made her feel she could take that step.

Yes, she’d met him only a few moments ago, so it should be ludicrous, but she didn’t feel that way toward the other performers, with whom she’d been working for several weeks now. It wasn’t that they gave her the creeps. Far from it. They’d been recommended by Logan and Madison, and, as Des had said, their choices emitted nothing but good vibes. A couple weren’t as experienced as the others, but they still had the right stuff for what they needed in this production.

Beginning and end of story, she felt like she could trust Des. His personality complemented hers, and she could double check things with Logan and back out if she was wrong. But she was already fairly certain Des was a pro at what he did. She was used to being around performers, and knew the real deal when she met them. He exuded a quiet confidence in his abilities. The overabundance of honest charm also didn’t hurt.