Tell Me More

by Janet Mullany

  “Nice job!” she said in the bright, overenthusiastic tone people use with small children as he dropped it into the cart. “Devlin, say hi to Ms. Jo.”

  The small boy became overcome with shyness and pushed his face against her down jacket.

  “These are your grandchildren?” I couldn’t believe it.

  “Yeah. Devlin is four, and this one, Suzie, is almost a year.” She waggled the foot of the baby in the cart. “Can you say ‘hi,’ cutie pie?”

  Suzie leaned to grab the box of cereal.

  “They’re very cute,” I said.

  “So are you coming tonight?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Probably not.”

  “Oh, you should,” she said earnestly. “You’ll love it. Last open house I babysat and my daughter and her husband went. They hadn’t been there since the night they got engaged. And you don’t have to bring a boyfriend. I sometimes take one of my girlfriends from the gardening club. The gardens are quite lovely in the summer.”

  I wondered if we were even talking about the same place.

  She removed the box of cereal from the hands of the baby, who was chewing vigorously on a corner. “It’s not often you get the chance for a nice relaxing break like that.”

  “I guess not,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Well, nice seeing you, Jo. We must get on with our shopping. Devlin, where’s our list gone?” And she and her grandchildren continued through the store, the baby offering me a gap-toothed, happy smile as they left.

  Patrick was out when I arrived home, and the house felt empty without him. I went upstairs and changed the sheets—by now they certainly needed it—and cleaned the bathroom and generally tidied up, creating the atmosphere I should have liked last night. Plan B, if Patrick didn’t want to go to the Association—and I decided I wouldn’t push it too much—was that I’d seduce him here. Besides, I didn’t know when he’d be back; it wasn’t that sort of relationship, I reminded myself. We didn’t have to keep tabs on each other or report in. I didn’t want that sort of relationship. Did I?

  At two-thirty I gave in and called his cell.

  “Yeah?” He sounded distracted.

  “I have a dinner invitation tonight. I wondered if you’d like to come with me.”

  “Sure. Who is it? Anyone I know?”

  “No, it’s my investment association. We have an invite to stay overnight, if we like.”

  “Do we now?” His voice had changed.

  “Yeah, it’s a big place, a beautiful old mansion, and they have a gym and a spa.”

  “So you reckon tonight’s the night?”

  “Yes, I do. How about you?”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “Oh, yeah. See you later.”

  I called Harry to tell him we’d come and arrange for the limo, and decided I’d spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready. I examined the contents of my underwear drawer. What would Patrick like? Tarty red and black lace? Demure pink? Snakeskin? Virginal cream and lace? Not a thong, I decided. Or should I dispense with the panties altogether, so I could flash him if necessary? The only problem was that given the dress I was planning to wear my flashing might be rather indiscriminate.

  I hung the dress—black, short, slinky—in the bathroom to let the wrinkles steam out while I took a quick shower. Once my hair was washed, I wrapped myself in a towel and filled the bathtub, dropping in a generous blob of bath oil. Time to relax.

  I eased myself into the steaming water. I wished I could trust Harry. If, as he said, all that was demanded of me was an appearance at dinner, and then an overnight stay (which he’d made clear was optional), there could be no harm done. The invitation and my acceptance were symbols of good faith, of civilized behavior. Far more reassuring was the revelation of Angela’s other life as a suburban matron and her endorsement of the open nights.

  I heard a door open and footsteps. “Jo? Where are you?”

  “In here. Come in.”

  Patrick entered, holding a bunch of irises. “For you. I’ll put them in the sink, shall I? I was thinking—” His voice became muffled as he pulled his sweater over his head. “We need to set some ground rules. I’m living there and you’re here, and—”

  “Patrick, you can’t walk in and start a conversation about boundaries while you’re undressing. Can I smell the flowers?”

  “Oh. Right.” He handed the flowers to me. “May I join you in the bathtub, and we can talk?”

  I took a deep breath of the subtle scent of the irises, cool and faintly sweet. “These are lovely. Thank you. And yes, you may join me.”

  He put the flowers back into the sink and unbuttoned his shirt. I watched with appreciation as he undressed, the dusting of coppery curls on his pale skin, the ropes and knots of his muscles, the free swing of his cock.

  “Like what you see?” he said.

  “Yes. Yes, I do. You look like a skinny version of Michelangelo’s David.”

  “With glasses and a much bigger cock.” He kicked his clothes aside. “I’ve been thinking about you. I had some work to do on-site this morning, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking of you, your taste. What you sound like when you come.”

  He stepped into the bathtub.

  I lay back and admired the view of his undercarriage as he straddled the rim of the bathtub. “I’ve been thinking about you, too,” I said.

  He settled himself into the foamy water, and removed his steamed-up eyeglasses, finally settling on the soap dish as an appropriate container for them.

  “Nice,” he said. “But I’m going to smell like a girl.”

  “I doubt it. Back to the topic of boundaries,” I said. “I guess you mean, do we keep separate areas? And I say yes, absolutely. You need to work, and I have to sleep some in the daytime. We can eat together a few times a week if you like. It gets boring cooking for one person.”

  “And you’d enjoy my company occasionally, I believe you forgot to add. We can take turns cooking.” He blinked at me. “That was much easier than I thought it would be.”

  “You thought I’d ask for more?”

  “I was afraid you’d ask for less. How often should we sleep together?”

  “I’ll make a schedule and post it on the refrigerator door,” I said, keeping my voice as serious as I could and trying not to burst into inappropriate laughter.

  He frowned. “Who else is on the schedule?”

  I raised a foot to poke him in the chest. “You’ll have to take your turn like everyone else.”

  He grinned. “Right. Those breasts look like they could use a good wash.”

  I lay back and enjoyed his touch on my breasts, my shoulders and neck.

  “What’s made you so tense?”

  “Anticipation,” I said. I took the washcloth from him. “I’ll wash your back.”

  He bowed his head to my shoulder and nibbled beneath my ear, along my collarbone, sighing. “I’m sweet on you, Jo.”

  The old-fashioned phrase made me smile. “I’m pretty sweet on you, Patrick Delaney.”

  “But I feel you’re holding back on me.”

  My hand stilled on his back. “We’re both holding out on each other.”

  “I don’t mean the fucking. You pull back from me. I feel you doing it. So tell me something, Jo. Tell me something secret. Something you’ve never told anyone before.” He straightened and kissed my lips, then wedged his shoulders between the faucet and the side of the tub, ready to listen.

  “I was pregnant.”

  “What?”

  “When Hugh and I were breaking up. He didn’t know. I was on the pill but I’d missed a couple of days, and…it was a series of misjudgments and no one’s fault. I’d made up my mind to have an abortion and then…I didn’t need to. I bled a lot. It was messy and scary. Hugh was out of town and Kimberly came with me to the emergency room.”

  I dabbled my hand in a heap of foam. He was Irish, a Catholic, almost certainly. If I hadn’t screwed up this relationship already, what I was
about to confess would almost certainly do it.

  Hell with that. I straightened up and looked him in the eye. “But here’s the secret. I was relieved that I didn’t have to make a decision. And I was also relieved people were sorry for me and supportive instead of being judgmental.”

  He grabbed me in a clumsy hug that set water sloshing in the bathtub. “Oh, you poor girl. You poor, wee thing. I’m so sorry.”

  I was so thankful for his reaction and so entertained at being called a “poor, wee thing” that I gave a great snort of laughter.

  “Don’t cry,” he said.

  “I’m not crying.”

  “Well, thank God for that. And where was your fellow in all of this?”

  I shrugged. “Full of remorse, or the appearance of it, when he came back and found out what had happened. Sorry, that probably wasn’t the sort of secret you were expecting to hear about.”

  He shook his head. “And here I was thinking I’d get a kinky story involving school uniforms or something.”

  “I could do that, too, but I didn’t go to the sort of school Kimberly did. Remember when she kissed me?”

  “Oh, yeah, her lurid lesbian past.” He released me. “I’m honored you told me. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I shook my head. “You didn’t. I think I upset you more.”

  “Elise didn’t want kids.”

  “And you did?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t want to rule it out entirely. I don’t want to talk about Elise. So you want to hear my deep, dark secret? For starters, I jerk off quite a lot.”

  I feigned a yawn. “That’s hardly a secret. All guys do. What’s a lot? Ten times a day?”

  “I wouldn’t have time for much else if it were ten times a day.” He reached for my foot and stroked it gently, tweaking my toes. It should have tickled. Instead, it felt unbearably sexy. “Look, I don’t want to be one of those guys who’s always going on and on about his ex. But I’ll say this. After we were married she rationed sex. She didn’t like oral sex and she’d sulk for a week if I expressed any interest in her ass. So I took care of things myself and I withdrew from her. She acted like she didn’t even like me anymore. So I’m something of an expert at avoiding intimacy. And that, Jo Hutchinson, is why I recognize you withdrawing from me, because I’m so good at it myself.”

  “Oh, yeah. Here comes the lawyer in you.”

  I’d meant it as a joke, but he frowned. “And that was another thing. Pressure from Elise and her family, and from my da, too, to practice law. Absolutely not. No way will I put on a suit and pontificate and spend my life acting like a jerk.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. But you don’t need to act like a jerk to practice law. Liz said you gave legal advice to women at the shelter.”

  “It’s hardly the same. And it was pro bono. No chance of becoming a rich jerk that way.” But he frowned and I could see the tension in his arms and shoulders.

  I leaned forward and reached around him to pull the plug from the drain.

  He sat, hunched. “My da’s coming into town in a few days, on business. You can meet him if you like.”

  “Is that a cry for help?” I stood and reached for a towel.

  “A cry for moral support, and I’m not proud of it. He’ll put on the charm and good behavior and not drink too much or harangue me if you’re there.”

  “Sure. But don’t you think it’s a bit early for…for, well, meeting family?”

  He stood, scattering water. “Seize the moment. He’s not often on this side of the Atlantic, thank God. But you and me, we’re not exactly playing this by the book, are we?”

  I certainly wasn’t. I wiped steam from the mirror and rubbed moisturizer onto my face as Patrick, or rather Patrick’s erection, nudged against me from behind.

  “I could do you right now.” His hands were on my hips, guiding me. He nibbled at my ear, my neck.

  I pushed back against him, wanting him, his cock sliding against my butt. In the mirror his hand closed around my breast and tweaked my nipple into a hard, dark point.

  “Do you like to watch yourself come?” His other hand slid down my belly and disappeared below the level of the sink.

  My eyes were dark, wide, and my gaze locked with his in our reflection. Even when my legs shook and my mouth opened wide, he held me; held me close to him, held me safe.

  21

  ORGASMS HAVE A WAY OF RELAXING YOU, SOMETIMES too much.

  After my bath and Patrick’s attentions all I could do was mumble that I was tired and let him tuck me into bed for a nap. I awoke a couple of hours later, tired and disoriented, my mind fuzzy. Another quick shower woke me up and I dressed and went downstairs to meet Patrick.

  He was transformed. He wore a dark suit and a dazzling white shirt open at the neck. No tie, his hair slicked back, giving his face a stark severity. Once I’d thought him a leprechaun, then a fairly okay-looking guy, but until today I’d never thought of him as handsome. Desirable, yes, but that was from our progression from strangers to lovers. I suppose that was what we were now. After tonight we would be.

  He watched me walk down the stairs and I slowed for his appreciation. The dress swished at my thighs; nylon whispered as my legs brushed it in my descent.

  “And would those be stockings?”

  “Possibly.”

  “It’s with the greatest of restraint that I haven’t pretended to drop a quarter on the floor so I could take a look up your skirt.”

  “I don’t think they give medals out for that sort of thing.” I twirled to give him a preview of what he would see later, then plucked my cell phone from my purse. “I’ll call for our ride.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Very fancy. And here we are, each other’s arm candy.”

  When the limo arrived we spoiled the effect of our finery, Patrick with a large woolen scarf, me with a down coat that made me look hugely puffy, for the sake of keeping warm on the quick run from door to car. We also had backpacks with our overnight stuff.

  I had been afraid that we might make a stop to pick up Ivan or someone else I knew, but it seemed we were to be the only passengers.

  “So where are we going exactly?”

  I laid a hand on Patrick’s knee. “You’ll find out.”

  “Hmm. I like to know where I am.” He fiddled with his cell phone and I knew he was tracking our position via GPS; I also knew, from experience, that the signal would fade as we climbed higher into the mountains. Once again, I was going into the unknown, but this time with Patrick, and it was an adventure.

  I pushed the button that would bring a screen between us and the driver. Patrick looked up from his cell, eyebrows raised. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I need to tell you things.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m obsessed with you.” I was, but I’d meant to tell him about Mr. D. Here in the darkness.

  “Me, too.”

  “I heard what you said the other night. I don’t know. I want to say no, it’s not too early, but I can’t give you an answer yet. I have some things to resolve. Some emotional tidying up. So I can’t talk about love right now.” I took a deep breath. “And I’m not into my job anymore. It used to be so important to me. I have… It’s become routine. Very little thrill. I mean, the job has a lot of piddling administrative stuff, but the reward always used to be I’d go on air, and I’d feel I made a difference, that what I did was important. And now…it’s not just that I think about you most of the time and want to be with you. I may have to face the possibility that I’ve burned out. That it’s time to move on.”

  “Sure. Why not? Don’t beat yourself up over it, Jo. Maybe it’s best to leave while you’re ahead of the game.”

  “I’ve been there ever since college.” There was a note of panic in my voice. “Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to whine.”

  “And you’re thinking what the hell else could you do, right? And how will that weird job look on a resume?”<
br />
  “Yes.”

  He took my hand and rubbed it between his as though warming me up. “You don’t have to make a decision right now. You have time, and for what it’s worth, you sound great. Gives me a hard-on every time.”

  “Oh, that’s real reassuring.” Despite my anxiety about work and about the evening I giggled. “I don’t think Nielsen has erection ratings.”

  He placed my hand on his crotch. “How does this rate?”

  “Oh. Pretty high, I think. Or should that be hard? I hope you haven’t had this since we had a bath. Maybe I should direct the driver to take us to the nearest emergency room.”

  He grinned. “No, this is a new one. I’m afraid I had to start all over again.”

  “You jerked off?” I increased my pressure, trailing my fingertips up and down his impressive length.

  “Well, yeah. I told you I jerk off a lot.”

  I unzipped him and slipped my hand inside his pants, felt his silk boxers. “Tell me you thought about me when you did it.”

  He leaned to lick my ear and nibble my neck. “I did. I thought about what I’d do to you tonight. I think I’ll tie you up and have my wicked way with you when you’re spread out and helpless and naked. Mostly naked.”

  Oh, God. A frisson shivered through my nipples and crotch. I squeezed my legs together. “What if I don’t want you to tie me up?” I rubbed the silk against his cock.

  “I’ll do it anyway. You’ll be at my mercy.” He flipped up my skirt. “Well, look at those panties. And the stockings, too, what a treat.”

  I looked down at my black panties for the pleasure of seeing his hand stroke the satin. My legs had spread wide of their own will; I certainly hadn’t had anything to do with the decision. The skin of my thighs above the stockings looked very white in the dim light, bisected by the black garters. Yes, the real McCoy that made men such helpless, drooling idiots. Garters and black lace.

  “Kimberly says it’s serious if you wear a garter belt,” I said. “You gladly suffer the strange indentations and indignities.”

  He unfastened his pants. “Brace yourself for indignities, then, because you’ll be keeping that on all night.”