The Unicorn

by Delphine Dryden

  Behind her, Daniel moaned. “Beautiful.” He held her hips tightly, pushing deeper with each thrust. And she felt Mara’s fingers on her hair, stroking delicately. Such contrast. Hot need seared her, and she latched on to Mara’s clit and sucked, her tongue racing, her fingers clutching up to press on the sensitive front wall, on the spot she knew was there.

  There.

  “Master, I need to come!” Mara sounded almost panicked, and Delia nearly stopped. She had forgotten, she had pushed too fast, she was going to spoil it—

  “Yesss,” hissed Daniel. His hand reached under her body with the familiarity only a lover of many years could have, finding her clit and applying the right amount of pressure instantly. “Do it, Dee. Make her come. And then I’ll let you come. Do it, now!”

  It was as good as done. Mara was already flying, and Delia’s tongue helped her stay aloft, keening and bucking through what sounded like an apocalyptic orgasm.

  She was coming down when Delia realized she was past her own point of no return, had headed off the cliff without intending to. Brush fire, raging from the outside in, sweeping over every nerve and scorching her to a crisp. From the sweetly agonizing vibrations in her ass, to the more rhythmic pounding in her cunt, to the flavor and feel of sex in her mouth, she was consumed. Completely used up, nothing left of her by the time the climax had its way and ebbed from her body. Daniel grunted, the orgasm noise she’d recognize anywhere, but she noted it only dimly. Oh, that’s nice. Good for him. Good job, everyone.

  Then . . . the vibrator was off. And Daniel was not inside her anymore. The memory of the vibration and the friction echoed, twangs of remembered pleasure spasming through her clit every few seconds. But she could have been in outer space for all the rest she could tell. She could have been floating.

  “Take a sip, Dee.”

  Cold. A straw, pressed to her lips. She opened her mouth to take a sip, and only then realized how dry her mouth and throat were. The water tasted sweet, and she would have gulped it all down if he’d let her.

  But he didn’t. He took the straw away after a few seconds, pressed a kiss on her forehead, and went away again.

  She told herself she would open her eyes and watch him, see where he’d gone. In a minute. When she had enough energy to open her eyes again.

  Pillows.

  Mara was aware of pillows, softer than those on her bed, stacked up behind her. She opened her eyes and blinked at the candlelight, the pink and red and golden shades that slowly resolved into a room.

  She was on the Roman orgy couch, propped up at one end with a mound of the multicolored throw pillows. And she had one leg wrapped over one of Delia’s legs. Delia was lying next to her, looking as sound asleep as any fairy-tale princess. A few long strands of blonde hair had worked loose from her braid and now clung to the pillow her cheek was resting on. Pink pillow, pink cheek, golden hair.

  Mara carefully tucked the errant hair behind Delia’s ear. Then she was taken over by a stretch that she gave into completely, catlike. Bones and muscles grumbled companionably and then felt as if they were popping back into place.

  “Mmm.”

  Her hand flew to her heart at the sound. But it was only Master Daniel. He was perched on the opposite arm of the long lounge, his feet on the seat, his elbows resting on his knees. It looked as if he’d been watching them sleep.

  She took a few seconds to drink him in. Jeans with faded spots worn into them by use rather than fashion. No shoes. No shirt. He’d put his glasses back on, which made her realize she couldn’t remember exactly when he’d taken them off. Only that when she’d watched him come earlier—his long face transformed into something almost frightening but beautiful in its extremity—he hadn’t been wearing them.

  His hair was a mess. Even his beard somehow looked rumpled. She’d rarely seen a guy look quite so freshly fucked.

  “You can keep stretching if you want.”

  “I’m good, thanks.” The scene was over. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but it was. He was no lifestyle Dom. He no longer had his master hat on.

  “We missed you last night.”

  It took Mara aback. “You saw me last night. Remember?”

  “No, I mean afterward. In the car, at home. It felt strange. Like . . . like we were leaving you behind.”

  She didn’t know what to say. A hope she didn’t feel entitled to raged sudden and fierce in her heart.

  “Ngggh.” Delia lifted her head and looked around her with all the clarity of a college kid the morning after a three-day-weekend bender. Her eyes took in Daniel, then Mara. After a moment she let her head fall back down, closed her eyes, and snuggled closer to Mara’s side.

  “We’re keeping the magic pixie, right?” she murmured.

  Mara cracked up. Daniel displayed a bit more control.

  “She’s not a puppy, sweetheart. We can’t take her home like we found her in a parking lot.”

  “Parking lot, bondage club. You say potato . . .” Apparently Delia wasn’t one to quibble over details like that.

  “Mara, we would both really like it if you came home with us tonight.”

  Holy shit. What, no dinner and a movie first?

  She tried to picture their home, their cute-suburban-couple house, and found she couldn’t. Cute suburban couples didn’t bring home girls they met at bondage clubs. Unicorns weren’t real; that’s why people called them unicorns. What would she do once she got there? How would she know when she was supposed to leave? Or should she just assume she had to be gone before the neighbors got up to fetch the papers off their lawns? A little more information from Delia and Daniel might have made a difference, but with only their hopeful expressions to go by . . . the fear of an awkward walk of shame spoke louder.

  “I’d like that too, but it’s Sunday night.” It wasn’t the answer she really wanted to give. But it wasn’t exactly a lie. “I have to be at an eight thirty staff meeting, and it’s already pretty late, so . . .”

  Convince me. Talk me into it. C’mon. But of course they didn’t. Because they weren’t assholes. They weren’t about to try to persuade her if she wasn’t into it. Still, Mara felt as disappointed as they both looked.

  “Good point.” Daniel sighed and stood up, pulling his shirt back on. “I have to be at a build site at nine.”

  “Contractor?”

  He gave a self-effacing shrug Mara didn’t quite believe. “Architect. Delia’s the lucky one, she works from home.”

  Delia huffed. “I still have to wake up and do the work.”

  Smiling, Mara patted Delia’s hip. “Naked if you want, though. Nice fringe benefit.”

  “Eh, it’s too distracting, I usually wear at least yoga pants and a T-shirt.” Delia gave her a quick squeeze before rolling off the couch and going in search of her own clothes. “So what do you do? If it’s okay to ask. If not just tell me to fuck off.”

  “I’m a technical writer.” Mara sighed. Her clothes were so far away, and she was so tired. And after this, she would have to drive herself home and go to bed alone. “For a software company.” She hauled herself up and fetched her skirt.

  “Seriously?” Delia started fastening her shirt buttons off by one, and had to fumble to realign them before starting over. “I’m a technical editor. Well, right now I’m doing mostly nontechnical editing for an online curriculum company. It’s kind of a content farm. But I started out on the software side, too, back when I had a regular office job.”

  “Wild. The coincidence, I mean.” It really was. What were the odds? If they started talking about past coworkers, they’d probably hit common ground pretty quickly. St. Andrews was mostly a bedroom community, but it wasn’t that big. All the more reason to avoid a sex scandal. “We should exchange contact info. For networking purposes, I mean. If you want to.”

  Delia was already reaching for her purse, pulling out her phone. They traded emails and phone numbers. They took their trust to the next level, even as they said good-bye for the evening.


  Daniel and Delia Foster. Even their matching names sounded cute and suburban. A perfect, self-contained unit. Probably one day the unit would be expanded by two adorable blond tykes and a goofy Labrador. Or no, one of those designer hybrid dogs. A Schnoozle or something.

  Going home alone was the smart thing to do.

  Why did the smart thing have to be the hard thing?

  The house felt lonely.

  Delia picked a crumb of zucchini bread off her keyboard and stretched her neck from side to side, trying to clear her head. Shifting her body only reminded her of the lingering aches and pains from the weekend.

  What delicious aches and pains. What a long, strange weekend.

  A bird started singing in the backyard.

  Stupid bird. This isn’t a goddamn Disney cartoon. Person trying to work in here.

  Coming home without Mara just hadn’t seemed right. Not to Delia, not to Daniel. And unless Delia was mistaken, Mara hadn’t felt great about it either. The excuse about the early meeting had been exactly that—an excuse.

  She tried to shrug it off. It had been a fantastic experience, but the party had to end sometime.

  Another bird answered the first. It was fucking charming. The window by her desk faced the backyard, looking directly over the big oak tree where the birds seemed to be holding their sing-off; if she opened the blinds a fraction wider, she could probably watch them. And watch the killer squirrel who would probably be along any minute to chase them away. The squirrel was pretty territorial about the tree and his nut cache in a hollow between two forks of the broad trunk. The birds may have coveted the nuts, but it always seemed more like they just enjoyed fucking with the squirrel.

  It was fun to watch sometimes, but also distracting. Literal squirrel, right outside the window.

  Back on task. She stared at the computer screen until the words swam together. Her phone sat next to the keyboard, silent but impossible to ignore forever.

  One email wouldn’t hurt. It might even be the polite thing to do. Checking up on Mara, making sure she was okay after the scene. Delia wasn’t sure about the etiquette but that seemed like a good, responsible course of action.

  Probably it was a course of action Daniel should take. She could call him and suggest it.

  Or she could send the email and copy Daniel on it. Since he was on-site and might not have a chance to send a non-work-related email until that night after he got home.

  That definitely sounded responsible.

  Of course, a text would be even more direct. And if she sent it to both of them, Daniel would be more likely to respond than he would to an email. He hated thumb-typing, but a text didn’t require a long response.

  Could you overthink this any more?

  She definitely could, but she decided not to. She grabbed the phone and, before she could change her mind, tapped out a quick text to Mara.

  Hi! Just checking up, wanted to make sure you’re okay. Had such a great time over the weekend! -Dee

  She added Daniel and hit Send. Then wished she could take it back, pluck the text out of the ether before it hit any of its targets. Because it had been insipid and impersonal, and she should have consulted Daniel first since he was the Dom. And because she’d wanted to say more than “great time,” and the whole thing read like she’d phoned it in. And—

  Her phone dinged, the lock screen lighting up with a reply.

  OMG me too!

  Then, a second later:

  OMG I never say OMG, wtf is wrong with me? LOL. Okay I never do LOL either. It’s textspeak day apparently.

  Delia snorted and was trying to think of a reply when another text came in from Mara.

  Daniel’s email was so sweet. You guys are awesome. I hope you don’t think my not going home w you means we’ll never play again.

  Wait, Daniel had sent an email? And he hadn’t cc’d her? Her fingers flew over the screen.

  I didn’t even know about the email! So much for communication. Are you sure you even want to play if—

  She stopped to let her brain catch up with her fingers. Let herself register the more important piece of that text. Forget about the stupid email. Mara wanted to play with them again. Deleting the draft, she started over.

  Of course we didn’t think that.

  Even though they had both totally thought that. If she hadn’t been so tired, she’d have practically been in tears about that the night before. Which was why Mara’s next reply hit so hard.

  Yay! What about this Friday night? There’s going to be a shibari demo at 8:30 at Escape? I could see if Dru still has a private room free for afterward?

  Shit. Delia started to type, but Daniel beat her to it. Delia’s jaw tightened as his text flashed up on her phone’s screen.

  Hi again! Dee I forgot to copy you on email. Sry. Mara sry too but we can’t, we have a family thing this weekend.

  Delia’s fingers flew, but her heart sank as Mara beat her to a response again.

  NP. Maybe another time. Thx again for email. Take care.

  Delia’s reply sent a second later: It’s only Friday. Family dinner. We could do Saturday?

  Daniel confirmed with an added D’oh. Delia waited for Mara to answer but nothing more came through.

  Mara could have had another meeting to get to. She could have had a coworker walk in. Perhaps the coffeepot in her office break room had exploded, and everybody had been forced to suddenly evacuate the area. It was conceivable she’d been texting from the bathroom and dropped her phone down the toilet. Or that her building simply had poor reception. There were any number of perfectly plausible explanations for her not replying to Delia’s last text.

  Delia could text her back with a lengthier reassurance. Could email her, even. Maybe that was the right thing to do. Or maybe Mara hadn’t been quite as deeply invested as all that. And Delia didn’t want to be pushy. There was probably a fine line between encouraging and being pushy, and she didn’t want to get anywhere near it. Delia had made the Saturday offer; the ball was in Mara’s court. If Mara didn’t want to return it . . . that was her choice.

  Even if it was a really sucky choice.

  She put the phone facedown on the desk and jiggled her mouse to wake her computer up. It was past time to get her mind back on her work.

  Twenty minutes or so later, Daniel texted her a sad face and a *hug*. Nothing more because, really, what was there to say?

  Wednesday night was the worst. It was the night Daniel decided he had to go ahead and say something.

  He didn’t want to. It seemed like it wouldn’t help. But there was this gigantic thing, sitting there between them, and somebody had to acknowledge it or they would never be rid of it. And because he was the sensitive, caring partner that he was, he knew that waiting any longer would only make it worse.

  Because he was kind of a dumbass, he ended up blurting out his concern in the middle of the grocery store as they shopped for that Friday’s mega family dinner extravaganza. Eight pounds of hamburger meat, three six-packs of craft beer, assorted hamburger toppings, a light debate about what kind of pie to make for dessert, and:

  “You know we’ll see her at the club again sometime. We’ll talk it out.”

  “What?”

  “Mara.”

  “Daniel, we can’t talk about that here.” Delia put the can of cherry pie filling back on the shelf with a brook-no-arguments glare.

  “Nobody’s listening.” He glanced around, confirming the aisle was empty but for them. “Nobody’s even nearby. And it’s not like I’m getting specific.”

  She sighed loudly and grabbed the front end of the cart, pulling it in the direction of the produce department. She wanted apple pie, and she was going to make apple pie. “And if she doesn’t? Because she’s been sitting on that text for three days.”

  He registered the clipped tone of her voice and the set of her shoulders as hurt, not pissed off. “Maybe she didn’t see it. Maybe she has plans Saturday and hasn’t come up with an alternative offer yet
. Maybe—”

  “Yeah, the coffeepot caught on fire and burned the building down. Or her phone fell in the toilet and she hasn’t replaced it yet. Yeah, I know.”

  “Okay, I wasn’t going either of those places, but sure.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. He recognized the line between her eyes, the resigned set of her lips. Yep, definitely hurt and also trying not to cry. Crap.

  “Can we please talk about this later?”

  “Absolutely. Sorry.”

  She started picking apples from the bin, a mix of the green kind and the yellow-and-red ones that were sweeter. That was the secret, she’d explained to him before, of a good apple pie. Balancing the tart and sweet.

  “Maybe,” she said after a few seconds, as if they hadn’t agreed to stop, “this is for the best anyway. Because really, what were we thinking? You know? What was I thinking? Assuming it could be something not just at the club. It wasn’t real.”

  He watched her shove a green apple into the red-and-yellow bag, started to comment on that, then thought better of it. “That’s . . . You were thinking we all had a really good time together. And you wanted that to continue. We all did. Or I did at least. It was real.”

  “Not for her.” She noticed the misplaced apple, sighed, and carefully transferred it to the proper bag. “Which is fine. Of course. I’ll get over it. Sorry for turning it into a thing.”

  That kind of irked him. “Did you think it was only a thing for you?”

  She looked up, startled. The line between her eyes softened as she took him in. “No. No, I didn’t mean that. I know you were disappointed too. But I feel like . . . like I said, maybe it’s for the best. We got a little crazy, but that isn’t who we are, right? So now . . . we tried that, and it was great, but we should appreciate what we already have.”

  “No.” He looked around. The produce section wasn’t entirely empty. Nobody seemed to be paying attention, but he stepped around the basket anyway, closing the gap between himself and Delia. “You know what? I do think this was for the best, because you finally did something that was really good for you. And for me too. We needed this. Not just the . . .” He lowered his voice. “Not the kink, I mean having another person there. I think you needed to explore that and you should keep doing that. With or without me there.”