by Ann Raina
* * * *
Patricia took the question the way it was meant and lowered her voice. “Very good.”
While above the idle chatter went on, Michael lay down like a dog would do—arms side by side, legs stretched to one side—and watched the other men under the tables. Most of them appeared satisfied, as if they had found what they had looked for. The rest fidgeted, uneasy without clothes. They had preferred to wear suit and tie and sit beside their women in the other part of the restaurant. Michael smiled. Being in the altogether did not disturb him. Being here among strangers did. He took a deep breath and turned his attention back to the men lying at the women’s feet close to him.
The first one, a slender Afro-American in his mid-twenties, gave him sly, condescending looks, telling him that he was the leading end of the leash and that Francine had no influence on him. He was about six feet, had muscles in the right places, but more from genetics than regular workout. He looked at ease, even displayed his assets for everyone to see. The second one, belonging to Jessy, was hardly twenty, a college boy, if Michael should have guessed. His light brown hair was fine as baby hair and hung down his forehead, hiding juvenile features and his uneasiness at the same time. If it had not been for the golden collar, he would have looked seductive and innocent. He tried to hide as much as he could behind his lady, carefully closing his legs. Michael wondered if his girlfriend—if he had one—knew of his occupation. Maybe she didn’t and mused about his income. By now, Michael knew that such an afternoon—even without sex—costs the ladies a small fortune. In his case, the money aside from the tip was paid to Lady Summerston, but the other guys might be luckier and charge for themselves.
Mrs. Dellman’s hand found Michael’s head to stroke him softly. He stretched to make it easier for her, reaching as far as her thigh. Steadied with one hand, he gently caressed her right calf with the other. She gasped and he smiled unseen by the others. He continued up to the back of her knee, gently massaging, letting her know he could do more if he were allowed. Conversation at the table went on, but he noticed that Patricia didn’t concentrate anymore.
“Patty, did you listen at all?” Francine sounded miffed.
“I’m still here.”
“You sound like…” Jessy laughed when she glimpsed under the table. “You brought a very vigorous young dog with you! Now, look at this little rascal! Oh, dear, didn’t you tell him to behave?”
Michael smiled, saying, This is behaving, ma’am, I could do more than that.
Again, Jessy laughed and returned to an upright position, sporting rosy cheeks. “You should’ve taken him to a doggie bed first, love, and then come here. He looks pretty eager.”
Mrs. Dellman dared a glance and couldn’t stifle a laugh. Michael pretended innocence, not convincingly but from the heart. The lower half of his body told what he didn’t say. “Mattie, you won’t get any bite if you don’t behave.”
Michael interpreted the reprove as an invitation to go on. While Patricia chatted about last week’s happenings and meetings she had attended, he moved under the table. After a moment, he took off her right sling back and massaged her foot.
* * * *
“I don’t understand why you bother yourself with the firm,” Francine said, waving her hand. “I’ve got managers to do this. Three of them for the three parts of the business. And they have a lot to do, I can tell you.”
“I don’t mind interfering from time to time,” Mrs. Dellman replied, indicating that no argument would keep her from debating with those working for her. “Sometimes they think too much about their own bank accounts than that of our employees.” She took a deep breath. “Frankly, my friends, I’d like to move ahead on the next subject.”
Jessy sighed. “This is not a business meeting if I might remind you.”
“Friends, the information, please. On the double.”
Francine took a sip of her drink. “There’s no need to remind us your dad was a captain.”
“A colonel.”
“Whatever. We got what you wanted. Lots of phone calls and unpleasant memories warmed up, but here you go.” She got a small list from her purse and pushed it across the table. Jessy did the same. Patricia collected both and looked at them. “Looks like your George-boy is a busy beaver. Spreading lots of staff across the country.” She shrugged. “Whatever it’s good for. Do you have any idea?”
“Not the slightest. Thanks, ladies, work done well.”
Jessy let go of her breath as if she had passed an exam. “Thank God, now we might go back to a nice afternoon?”
“Fine with me.” Patricia drained her glass, concentrating on what was going on below the table. Michael still caressed her legs, attentive to her reaction.
Francine put her arms on the table top and frowned. “Did you fire your last manager whose name I forgot?”
“Didn’t we just agree on dropping the business issue?”
“Not this one. I want to know if you got rid of him.”
Patricia fluttered her hand in the air. “Yeah, I rid of him. Gave him enough money to cover for six months, but he left.”
“Great!”
“No I hope to find someone who regards the workers as people and not just machine parts.”
Francine shrugged. “Who cares?”
“I care. If the people are happy, they work better. It’s as easy as that.” She shrugged. “If I’m happy I’m more effective, can think better and can be productive. I’m proud to announce that I promoted a worker for his outstanding ideas to improve the manufacturing line in Detroit.”
“You’ve always been a social worker rather than a business woman.” Jessy sipped her martini and took a salted biscuit from the small plate in the middle of the table. “I don’t understand how you could turn it around after the crash.”
Again, Patricia shrugged, a small movement as if indicating she did not want to talk about that subject again. “The workers were motivated, Jessy, that was all. I didn’t fire any of them.” Again, she looked at the lists. “That’s why I don’t understand what George’s been doing all of the time.”
Francine lit a cigarette and cocked her head. “Maybe he builds an army for an international attack on rich assholes.”
“What a great idea!” Jessy seconded, clapping her hands. “I volunteer to hand them some sawn-off shotguns.”
“You wouldn’t know a gun from a bunch of roses.”
“Oh, sure, your great knowledge of weapons and such will make us pale and crumble!”
“Stop it, both of you. Ts-ts.” Patricia scolded them. “It sounds like you try to shoot your own feet off! No, don’t you have any idea what this leads to?”
Francine shrugged, indifferent, and inhaled smoke to blow out a nice, perfect ring. “I dare say it’s about listening to conversations, get advantages, being around when the bomb falls, so to speak.”
“I don’t believe it to be so simple.”
“Oh, Pat, the best plans always are.”
“Says someone,” Jessy cut in, “who has two secretaries running errands and keeping schedule for you.”
* * * *
Under the table, Michael listened carefully. Obviously, Patricia Dellman was by far more than just a rich woman with special bedtime interests. Lady Summerston considered her a confidante and she had claimed information. He could hardly grasp his luck to have an ally.
He lay on his back close to Patricia’s feet. He had taken off the second pump and now—careful not to unbalance her—put her feet on his belly. Stroking her calves, he invited her to move her feet down his body. Her toes probed the muscles of his abs. It felt like self-seduction and Michael pressed his mouth shut. He tensed when she got close to his groin, but she was very gentle, very much aware of him. The conversation went on to daytime issues, lively and oblivious of what was happening beneath the tablecloth.
Francine’s dog propped himself on an elbow. His voice was low with an undertone of anger. “Stop that, man, it’s not your bedroom here.”
>
Michael glanced at him. “Do what you want, I do what I want.”
The Afro-American frowned and his threatening look was backed by his voice. “This is just for eating, not for intercourse.”
Michael placed Patricia’s right foot closer to his growing erection. “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t provoke us.”
“I don’t think that the boy over there is provoked.”
The attack came like a flash. Without training, Michael would have been dragged from under the table and roughed up. He caught the other man’s wrist in time, turned it around and forced Francine’s dog on the side to hiss in his ear, “Stay out of my reach, doggie. If you have any issues with me, we’ll meet in some private place and clear them, but not today.”
“Let me go.”
Michael turned to wrist further. The other man winced, but pressed his lips tight. “Don’t dare threaten me again.”
“What’s going on down there?” Francine’s head appeared under the table. Abruptly, the dark-skinned man yanked his wrist free of Michael’s grip and hit his head on the tableleg.
Michael grinned, almost calm again. “Nothing.”
“This nothing looks like you wanted to pick a fight. I don’t agree with that, you must know.”
Patricia laughed and tugged the leash. Dutifully, Michael moved backward. “Boys will be boys, Fran. You cannot stop them with words.” She bent to look at Michael, her eyes full of laughter. “Careful here, Mattie, dinner’s not even been served.”
He was about to answer, remembered that he was a dog and just nodded with a shrug.
“Behave yourself, Gerry,” Francine demanded and pulled the leash tight, forcing Gerry to sit on his haunches. “There’ll be no reward if you ruin my afternoon. And you know very well what that means!” She let go of the leash again, and Gerry dropped down, glaring at Michael, but impotent to do anything about the other man’s behavior.
* * * *
Patricia searched with her feet where Michael was lying, placed them gently on his abs and moved them with soft pressure. Her dog answered with a low moan. She smiled and stifled it at once. Francine was not in the mood for the top dog game. After all, she expected her guy to be dominant, always. And most of the time, Patricia told her chosen dog to behave properly. She couldn’t explain why she had left Matthew free play. And yet, thinking about it and watching Francine’s blushed face, she was deeply satisfied.
Matthew’s hands were at her calves, touching, caressing, reaching up under her skirt, warm and warmer still. She forgot the sentence Jessy had just said and couldn’t answer her question.
The waiter saved her an explanation. Dinner was served. She took fork and knife, but halted in mid-motion. Matthew kissed the back of her knee, lips and tongue working. She had not even noticed how far he had moved. His tongue circled her flesh. Even through the hose, it was exciting. She wanted him to stop and then not for her feet felt the hard muscles of his abs and more. He was ready for more than just licking her.
Patricia pulled herself together and looked under the table, already blushed and not knowing how she should survive main menu and dessert. Her nipples were hard and her lower body yearned to be touched as intimately as her knees and calves. “Mattie, no.” Just these two words, then she straightened out. The licking and caressing stopped, but still her feet were connected to the hotness of his body.
It was an effort to eat and listen to Francine and Jessy’s day-to-day stories about gardeners, the US mail service and the butler, who had dropped an exquisite vase.
“And imagine,” Francine went on, “he just said that it had happened! No real excuse, no I’m sorry, ma’am, just a plain report! I’ll deduct it from his salary, I tell you! My staff won’t argue with me!”
“They truly don’t,” Jessy answered, but her gaze told Patricia the opposite. “At your home it’s back to the 18th century. Beware Francine the Hardliner! She’ll hire and fire at her will, and there’s no hearth at her staff’s room.”
Francine huffed. “You weren’t there when he came. There was almost…glee in his eyes!”
Jessy exchanged another amused glance with Patricia across the table. “Then fire him, find a new one. I’m sure that—” She glanced under the table— “Mr. I’m a dog today would find it satisfying to stay close to you.”
“He’s truly not a butler.” Francine realized her friends made fun of her and sighed, the good loser. “He’s many a thing, but no butler.” And when Gerry looked up, she added, “He is, for example, an excellent masseur.”
“That’s how it always starts.” Jessy couldn’t help but giggle.
“Depends on the areas he massages.”
Francine looked from Patricia to Jessy and pretended to be angry. “I don’t believe this! I pour out my heart to you and you just laugh.”
“We’re here to have a good time.” Patricia patted Francine’s forearm. “And to imagine being massaged by a dog is almost too good to be true.”
The three girlfriends almost burst with laughter after that, drawing attention from other guests. There were gazes and puzzled looks, but in a club like this, discretion was a golden rule.
* * * *
Michael had the picture of the people around him upside down. He lay with his head under Mrs. Dellman’s chair, playing footrest for her and enjoying it so much his eyes turned upward. He flowed with the soft rhythm of her feet, totally at ease, never thinking about other people’s opinions. He felt the collar around his neck, the soft carpet under his back and butt and the wholesome touch of his master’s feet. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew she wouldn’t make him come, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
“Don’t you want something to eat?”
Michael returned from a place so far away his vision was blurred. He glanced at her from under the chair, unable to form words and glad there was no need to. Coherent thoughts were gone to the gonads. He just shook his head.
“He doesn’t want to eat?” Francine asked and checked the situation under the table. “Pat, if you go on like, this Mattie’s going to faint.”
Jessy needed to see for herself and straightened again, bubbling with laughter. “No, I wouldn’t call it fainting—but maybe others will.”
Patricia made it clear by a glance she wanted Matthew back on his four legs. He complied heavy-heartedly.
“Much better, Mattie.” She tousled his hair even more than it had been before. “You’re a good doggie.”
Jessy and Francine exchanged glances and laughed again. The Take-the-dog-out afternoons were just too funny.
* * * *
Patricia flaunted on the chair in the dressing room she had sat on before. “Ah, well, this was just great.” She waved a hand at Michael, who, freed from the leash, was on his two legs again. “What can I say? You did splendidly. I’ll tell Lady Summerston about you, don’t worry,” she added when Michael’s face didn’t light up from the compliment.
“Thank you, ma’am. Mind if I take my stuff and go to the restroom?”
“As long as you come back soon.” She winked at him and he left.
There was a complete bathroom with shower, towel racks, soap, tissues and even an expensive set of razors. Michael wondered for how long some owners stayed with their dogs that such routines were necessary afterward. He opened the faucets, pretending to shower, then flipped open his cell phone. As usual, Linda answered on the second ring. Michael kept himself from asking if she sat on the phone regularly.
“I need your help, Linda.”
“Where are you?”
“Best Friend’s Restaurant and Club.”
“With a collar around your neck, I suppose.”
“You know it? I hadn’t thought—”
“You don’t need to think.” Her voice was even sharper than usual. “Enough said that I know where it is. What do you want me to do?”
Michael chuckled, amused like hell. “I need the small Henley camera, recording, not broadcasting.”
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“How fast?”
“ASAP.”
“Stall your company for an hour.”
“An hour?”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
The line went dead before he came up with a witty reply.
Chapter 19
Pretending that he was hungrier than a dog starved for a week, brought a smile on Patricia’s face and both of them to a table in the dressed area of the restaurant. Michael ordered while the lady’s smile indicated she had had all on the menu she could eat for a day. She folded her hands beneath her chin while her elbows rested on the white damask table cover.
“I do like your attitude, Matt.”
Her gaze dropped lower than his chest and though Michael had initiated their little innuendo in the dressing room, he didn’t want to be praised for it in public. It made him feel like a real dog being patted for a doing a trick. It wasn’t his favorite thought.
“You know, most guys freak the first time they’re among themselves undressed. You managed that pretty superiorly.”
Michael gave a non-telling smile and was relieved of an answer when the waiter brought the ordered steak medium with baked potato and a large mixed salad that looked so fresh as if made for an ad. “Are you telling me that you have experience in these games?”
Patricia gave up her posture and sipped from the cold white wine she had ordered. “Are you telling me you had none so far?”
Michael thought of how to phrase it politely. “I’ve never been a dog, no.” He cut the steak and relished the meat in his mouth. He hadn’t known how hungry he truly was until the aroma of food had assaulted his nostrils. Being a dog does that to you. “But I’m glad you were satisfied with the, um, performance.”
* * * *
Patricia laughed, causing interested glances from adjacent tables. Judged by their raised brows and whispered comments, some realized she had been laid not so long ago. Maybe her rosy cheeks or her no longer perfect hair-do had told them or the wondrous expression she carried like a crown. Patricia couldn’t care less. After she had interrupted Michael’s shower, he had gone down on her like a dog, hair and body still wet and glistening. There had been no need to ask him twice or tell him what she wanted. He had just flown with her needs as if he were a mind reader and had known about her thoughts all along. Though talkative by nature, Patricia would keep this memory treasured to take it out on a bad day and polish it when she was alone. “I’m glad, too, you were available on such short notice.”