The Lion of Frenchman Street

by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  Peter raised a red-gold eyebrow. “You must have experimented at some point. You weren’t afraid at all, except in the fun way a sub loves to feel afraid when there’s nothing to fear. And you’re a person who goes for what she wants.”

  Her face flamed but at the same time she wanted to laugh. Yeah, he had her pegged. No great surprise there, considering she had practically thrown herself at him over the bar while they were both working.

  “Moving to New Orleans after one vacation because the city and the job seemed like what you needed is bold. Staying here when the job falls through because you love it here? Definitely gutsy.”

  Oh, he was good. She figured he’d meant the sexual confidence too, but he turned it into a chance to prove he’d done more than stare at her cleavage in the dive bar.

  He’d been doing that, of course, just as she’d been checking him out, but he’d been listening.

  “My first experiment was instructive but not exactly the stuff of erotica.” She snorted as she said it. “Senior year of undergrad everyone was talking about Fifty Shades of Grey and that gave me a segue to talk about kink with my boyfriend. Only it turned out his fantasies were also about being tied up and tormented.”

  Peter grinned, showing startlingly perfect teeth. “Did you end up taking turns?”

  “Yeah. We got a kick out of fulfilling the other’s fantasies, but neither of us are switches. In the end it was awkward.”

  “So this is the first time you’ve tried this with someone who identifies as a Dom?”

  How to explain? Would the story make her sound adventurous or slutty?

  Did it matter?

  She’d not only had sex with Peter the night she met him, she’d let him tie her up and spank her. So she was adventurous and slutty, hopefully in what he’d see as a positive way. “Yes and no. Providence, where I went to school, has a big annual fetish event and a fairly active scene. My friend Vincent and I went to munches and parties sometimes—he’s the guy I texted tonight. Eventually Vincent met Master Right. I got to know people and learned a lot but never clicked with any one guy. I was a demo bottom for a couple of workshops, which was great. I also played casually at parties, a little flogging or bondage with no intention of anything beyond that scene. Practice perviness. That was fun, but after a few experiments I realized I wasn’t that into playing with some random guy just because we shared a couple of kinks.”

  “What changed?”

  Ah, the trick question. “You don’t feel like some random guy. Something clicked.”

  She hoped that came out right. Otherwise Peter was going to think she was unhealthily infatuated instead of healthily lusting after him.

  “Yeah, I felt that click too.” He beamed a megawatt smile, but there was a tight look around his eyes and the smile didn’t quite reach them.

  “Doesn’t mean I think you’re my one true love or anything nutty like that.” It was mostly a joke, but not entirely. He was too cool to do the deer-in-the-headlight thing, but she figured he’d considered it. Guys were weird about premature talk of love. Hell, she’d be too if some guy started emoting during a first hookup—even if it had been awesome and she wanted a repeat encounter ASAP.

  “Love is real, and it’s the most important force in the universe other than music. One true love”—he pronounced Twue Wuv—“is a fairy tale, and one that does more harm than good, unlike the ones where the third son or daughter wins by being kind to animals and helpful to old ladies. You can learn something about being a decent human from those. The ones about True Love, not so much.”

  Shouldn’t she argue that, say that true love was real? Not between her and Peter, because love at first sight was definitely a myth invented to make lust at first sight more socially acceptable. But true love as something that would happen someday when the time was right?

  She wanted to believe in it. But how many people did she know who’d actually found it? A few couples, maybe. The rest were content, if that. Even her parents, still together after more than thirty years, were more like best friends who—she hoped but wasn’t about to ask—occasionally had comfortable force-of-habit sex. “We’ve gotten some good songs out of the myth, anyway.”

  “Have you noticed how many of those are either about looking for True Love and not finding it or thinking you have it and losing it? That’s because it’s a dream.”

  Well, that was that. She’d tasted her fantasies with a guy who admitted himself he’d felt a sense of connection, but it wasn’t going farther. He couldn’t have spelled it out much more plainly.

  An awkward silence ensued. Kelsey’s shoulder’s tensed and she realized she was chewing on the inside of her lip to keep from blurting out something pathetic and needy.

  Deep breath, Kelsey. You’re a big girl and you’re going to be seeing him at work a couple of times a week. Be cool. “Guess I’d better call a cab at this hour. Mind if I hang out and have more coffee while I’m waiting?”

  Peter’s hand clasped around her wrist, a firm, possessive grip that caused a commotion in her body despite her conviction that the night had taken a turn for the totally fucked-up. “Don’t go.” His voice was back to bourbon and cane syrup and it sounded like an order.

  A bolt of fire shot from Kelsey’s ears and straight down her spine to jolt her pelvis.

  Then he smiled and this time it reached his eyes. “If you want to go home, I can give you a ride or we’ll call you a cab if that’s more comfortable. I’d rather you stayed, though. I have more evil plans now that I know you’re not a complete newbie.”

  If Kelsey had been wearing panties, that would have been the moment they became hopelessly wet.

  He leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn’t a gentle kiss at all, but possessive, biting.

  Then he pulled away. “Shit, I don’t know if I sounded more like an asshole trying to make it clear he’s not interested in more than one night or an emo guy who pretends he doesn’t believe in love because he thinks it sounds dark and brooding. But I’m not either.”

  My bet is you’re cynical because at one point you got hurt and it still stings, but I am so not going to say that. Instead, she nodded and asked, “So? Who are you? What do you mean?”

  “I meant what I said, that ‘true love’ is a myth—but I don’t think relationships are, as long as you don’t expect some kind of fairy-tale magic. And friendship and attraction are solid. I like what I’ve seen of you. You’re smart and you appreciate good music and we’re hot in bed. I’d love to tie you down and redden your ass on a regular basis, but I’d also like to show you some of my favorite places in the city. I think you have it in you to love New Orleans almost as much as I do, and that’s one kind of love I know is real.”

  Kelsey wasn’t sure how to respond to the way the conversation, and the night’s hookup, had gone from “sexy good times” to weighted. Peter had hinted at something important about himself but it was eluding her in her tired, sex-buzzed state. It seemed like something other than standard fear of commitment, but she couldn’t even figure out how to ask the right questions to decipher what was going on under that red-gold hair.

  She liked the idea of seeing Peter again, though. Nothing wrong with friends with benefits if the benefits were this amazing. The offer to be her own personal guide to the city didn’t suck either. “Sounds good,” she finally said, though she suspected she came off as tentative.

  Not about hanging out with him, playing with him, exploring kink with him. But about the hint of mystery—of pain—that she’d glimpsed.

  She refused to take his cynicism about love as a challenge. She’d just met the man, and he was right about one thing for sure: love at first sight was a myth. The music and the kink were all that made her imagine this was more than a hookup with potential for growing into something in time. Right?

  When he tugged on the ropes that still wrapped around her wrist and whispered something about a riding crop, she decided she was fine with taking this possible relationship one night at
a time and not worrying about whether love was in the cards.

  Chapter Six

  Autumn passed in a blur. Between her multiple jobs and his various gigs and music students, they didn’t get as much time together as they’d like, but they made the time they had count, mostly by squeezing in as much kinky sex as their bodies could handle in the late hours after the bar closed.

  Their first actual date had to wait several weeks for a time they were both free before midnight for more than a stolen hour or two. They were both scheduled at The Dubious Concoction in the evening, but they had on blessed weekend afternoon free and they planned to take advantage of it. “Let’s do something outdoors,” Kelsey suggested when Peter swung by to pick her up. “Maybe City Park? It’s a gorgeous Saturday, and I can’t get over how warm it is for late October!”

  “Figures a Yankee would think that,” Peter said. “It’s below 60. We locals are hauling out our coats and contemplating mittens.” Though he wasn’t actually bundled up, he sported a brown leather bomber jacket that looked like something a World War I flying ace might wear instead of a suit jacket or a shirt with rolled-up sleeves. “But for you, I’ll brave City Park.”

  She laughed as he escorted her to the car. “It may snow on Halloween in Gloucester. I’ll take being able to get away with a fleece.”

  Kelsey caught her breath when they arrived at the park. “It’s huge! I didn’t expect an urban park to be quite this immense.”

  Peter wrapped an arm around her waist. “There’s more to see than we can possibly get to this afternoon—an art museum, and an amusement park, and of course the botanical gardens. But today, let’s just stroll and see where we wind up. You were right. It’s a beautiful day. Or maybe it’s just the company.” He kissed her in a way that removed any hint of chill from the autumn air.

  Despite what he said about just strolling, Peter seemed to have a destination in mind. He guided her to a stand of magnificent live oak trees, which to Kelsey’s amazement were still green. “We lost a lot of trees during Katrina.” The weight of memories gave Peter’s voice a rough edge. “But these survived somehow, and the Spanish moss has grown back. And that,” he added, sounded much more cheerful, “has certain advantages.”

  He steered her under one of the trees so cascades of Spanish moss surrounded them. They’d moved only steps off the path, but the lush gray-green veil created a fairytale world of lacy light and shadow, an illusion of privacy. “Advantages,” Peter repeated as he pulled her close.

  The kiss was rough and searing, the sort Kelsey would expect in the bedroom, not in a public park. Being outside, and not nearly as hidden as they felt, just added to the thrill of Peter’s hand tugging the hair at the nape of her neck, his teeth nipping at her lower lip, his tongue invading, taking charge. She began to tremble inside, a quiver of excitement—of aroused submission—that quickly spread throughout her body.

  Still ravaging her mouth, Peter unzipped her fleece and slid one hand under its purple protection to cup her breast. Even through her shirt and bra, the touch jolted her. One instinct nudged her to protest, “Not here.” A fiercer impulse told her to let go and put herself into Peter’s hands, and that one was too strong to resist. She was a little stiff from nerves, but she tried to relax into the caress.

  As if he sensed her concerns, he pulled back from the kiss and whispered, “Don’t worry. You’re safe.” Those simple words, said with authority, allowed her to melt into the subversive pleasure of being public, but hidden. His thumb circled her nipple. “This will just be a tease, and I’m shielding you from anyone who might see through the moss.” He pinched as he spoke the last words. Kelsey’s thin lace bra was no real protection—not that she wanted protection—and she stifled a gasp. She trusted Peter when he said no one could see their little game, but that wouldn’t do much good if people could hear the moans of an aroused woman through the moss.

  “Of course,” she used some of her remaining brain power to admit, “the idea of being caught is a turn-on. But in the fantasy, it’s someone who enjoys the show, not a grandma and three little kids.”

  He chuckled throatily as he slipped his other hand between their bodies to rest against her mound. “That’s the issue. Otherwise I’d figure out a way to tie you up with the Spanish moss.”

  Oh lord, what an image. She rolled her hips to writhe against his hand. Through her jeans, the contact was far too light. Still, she suspected she’d be soaking through the denim before long, between the situation, the teasing, and Peter’s voice. “You’d have one leg in the air like a dancer,” he whispered, “but I’d have you so wrapped in moss you could balance that way. Of course,” he added, “it would have to be a warmer day, so you could be naked. That way I could lick and fuck you—and anyone who spotted us could see every sexy inch of you. You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?”

  The words caressed her just as much as his hands did. The wave of sultry pleasure that washed over her wasn’t quite an orgasm, but it was strong enough that she couldn’t hold back her moan. “Yes, Sir. Yes.”

  “Lucky for you I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that crazy. That’s what houses are for. Plus, I’m not sure Spanish moss is that strong.” He kissed her again, this time gently. His eyes were as dreamy and lust-drunk as Kelsey’s felt. “On the other hand,” he added, “a rope corset, a fishnet body stocking, and not much else would be just fine for late Halloween night on Bourbon Street.”

  Kelsey’s brain was swimming, drowning in sensation and erotic imagery, but she managed to choke out, “Thought you avoided the Bourbon Street party scene because it’s a trashy tourist trap.”

  “Mostly it is. But as an opportunity for a little exhibitionism, it’s perfect.” He kissed her forehead. “You game for that?”

  Through the lusty fog that filled her brain, she managed to answer, “Right now, the answer is yes. But ask me later, once I’ve calmed down.”

  His smile made her shiver. “I don’t think you’ll be calming down any time soon,” he said, his voice husky with sexual promise. “But maybe we should take it someplace more comfortable. And warmer. You’re a hardy Northerner, but I wouldn’t get naked outdoors today even if I knew we were alone in a 1,300-acre park!”

  When they got back to his place, Peter didn’t even turn on music before they fell on each other—a first.

  That night, after their shifts at the bar, he took her back to his house and tied her in the pose he’d described. Her muscles strained despite the support of the ropes, but the tension, the quivering fatigue, worked with the hemp’s biting caress to arouse her further. She couldn’t have held the position too long, but she didn’t need to. As soon as his tongue circled her clit, she came screaming. The rope and Peter’s touch continued to work their magic as he untied her. Wet and floating on bliss, she sank to her knees and sucked his cock until he was shaking as much as she had in the stringent bondage. Then he pushed her down onto hands and knees and took her from behind.

  Their Halloween night—very late, after The Dubious Concoction closed and they’d enjoyed a bowl of gumbo and a quickie at Peter’s house—did involve a stroll down Bourbon Street, though she wore a black tank tank and panties under the body stocking and rope corset.

  * * *

  Their autumn adventures weren’t all about the crazy sex, though. He introduced her to food that made her taste buds sing and to music that made her want to dance or cry—sometimes both at once. They went to the zoo, where she delighted in the white tiger and teased Peter about his obvious fondness for lions. To Kelsey’s delighted surprise, Peter insisted on riding the zoo’s carousel together, even though he was wearing a sports jacket and she was in a dress. He rubbed her feet when they were sore after a long night of tending bar and she rubbed his shoulders when even the music couldn’t release the tension of a busy day. Sometimes they stayed in and shared favorite movies or swapped stories of their childhoods.

  If some of these everyday adventures took place while Kelsey was wearing a rop
e corset or her butt throbbed from an earlier session over the spanking bench or she was following some random rule he’d put in play for the day just so he could “punish” her when she slipped up, that made the ordinary moments even sweeter by contrast.

  When she mentioned that despite the aquarium and the bartending, she was still half-past broke and her mother’s nagging about moving home sounded more persuasive all the time, he gave her the number of a friend of a friend of a friend. She found herself giving the occasional Garden District tour. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was enough to push her from broke to simply strapped for free cash; she could squeak together enough for rent, groceries, a token student loan payment, and the occasional drink or cheap meal.

  There was no way she’d be going home for Thanksgiving. The Dubious Concoction expected one of their busiest nights of the year on Wednesday and she couldn’t pass up the prospect of great tips. Both of them were working at The Dubious Concoction on Thanksgiving night, and she had a full day at the aquarium on Friday doing educational programs for kids on break. So Peter invited her to his parents’ place in the Irish Channel for an early dinner.

  And thank God for that. She wasn’t sure what she’d have done otherwise. This was her first Thanksgiving away from her family. She’d been in New England for college and grad school, so she’d always gone home, if only for the day. Talking to her mother that morning left her fighting back tears.

  So when she got an e-mail alert about a job north of Boston, in spitting distance of Gloucester, she shot off a résumé.

  She wouldn’t get it anyway. She didn’t have enough experience yet to actually develop education programs, rather than present them, for someplace as big as the Peabody Essex Museum. And what experience she had was in science education, not the art and history that were the focus of the Peabody Essex. But it soothed her homesickness long enough that she went to Peter’s parents’ house looking cheerful.