Worth The Wait: A Nature Of Desire Series Novel

by Joey W. Hill

  He lowered the bottle, wiping his lips with the back of his arm as he put Julie squarely in his view and considered her with frank and thorough interest. “A tree with a branch thick enough to hold us both. I’d stretch you out on it, tie you face down. Then I’d slowly fuck you while the tree sways with the wind.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. “I'll have to work on finding the perfect tree for that.”

  The carpentry team called to him, pulling him out of whatever setting he’d placed her in his obviously busy imagination. Handing her back the bottle, he swiped a cool, damp kiss over her stunned lips, then strode back toward the wings.

  Shale nudged her wrist, reminding Julie she was holding a bottle of water for her suddenly dry throat.

  "He goes from casual and friendly to intense like that in a blink. It's hard for a woman's heart not to be tipped by it, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” But instead of feeling good about that, Julie thought of Missive, the face she now put on every sub he’d ever had or would have, before and after her. She took a swallow of the water.

  “He’s always been careful to maintain boundaries, though,” Shale mused. “I’ve never known him to date a sub, and we’ve been in the same circles for about five years. There's obviously something a little different with you. He's more engaged, and his eyes have a harder gleam.” Shale fluttered her fingers toward her own long-lashed ones. “More predatory, in the right ways. But I suspect you know that, since you just took another swig of water at the thought.”

  Julie snorted, but she was feeling better. "Should I be afraid or happy, or send him packing?"

  Shale smiled with a Domme’s feral pleasure. "That's always the question, isn't it? Good luck with that."

  As Shale left her, Julie watched Des. Though he was involved in a scenery issue, she had a feeling he was as aware of her as she was of him, particularly after dropping that distracting visual.

  Their second date had occurred in her little room at the theater. The day had ended at nearly midnight, after the Consent version of a dress rehearsal. After Harris left, and it was just her and Des, he’d taken her to her room, pushed her onto her bed and given her a foot massage that had her moaning with pleasure. He turned her on her stomach and also gave her a full body massage that had her vibrating but limp as yarn, the day’s exhaustion covering her like a blanket.

  When he’d pressed a kiss to her cheek, she knew he was getting ready to leave her. She found his hand with her eyes closed and held it. “Stay a while,” she mumbled. “Watch TV or something.”

  He’d obliged, stretching out on the cot with her. She’d adjusted so she was sprawled against him, cheek pillowed on his chest, arm wrapped over him as he brushed his lips against her temple and she made a contented noise. He channel-surfed her small TV while she fell into a heavy doze.

  Nothing had marred her opinion of him. His sense of humor was as uncensored and outrageous as hers. Their intellects were well matched. While she wanted to see how his performance with Missive made her feel, and she was determined not to move beyond flirting and simple enjoyment of his company until then, sometimes she wondered who she was fooling. Even the most casual interactions with him had a way of making her feel like she was falling deeper into a sweet abyss.

  Then there was the other side of things. She read up on Type I in her spare time and, the more she liked him, the more she worried, because what he’d said at Bob Evans told her he wasn’t a typical Type I patient. But except for that discussion, he’d made that subject off limits. Would that change after opening night, if she was still okay with their relationship?

  Truth, she didn’t want to wait until after opening night. Maybe some part of her worried that what she saw would ruin everything, and it would be over before it had barely started. Maybe if she had something more to solidify their relationship before then, it would help her perspective, help her weather whatever that night would bring.

  No, she wouldn’t try to control fate that way. She was going to trust her instincts. Opening night was going to be the start or finish line, and that was that.

  Chapter Eight

  Opening night. No matter the show, opening night was always special, infused with a tremendous energy and excitement. And nervousness, because no amount of run-throughs or rehearsals were ever enough, especially in community theater, where they were limited because of day jobs, school and other scheduling factors for a volunteer cast and crew. From cast choice to opening night, they’d had six weeks to prepare for the show that could make or break Wonder.

  Jitters were to be expected, but Julie had been down this road before. She embraced and transformed them into an ebullient excitement, letting that flow of positive energy ground her cast and stage crew. She created an infectious “we’re going to totally rock this” feeling. Hell, things could always go wrong and they would, because that was the nature of the business. Part of the fun was figuring out how to make it work so the audience thought everything went exactly as planned.

  Tonight, though, she had a niggling barb in that rainbow-and-unicorns flow of energy. When Des was with Missive tonight, it would be for a performance, she told herself fiercely. Yes, Sand Kilroy, one of the actors she’d dated, had screwed his leading lady. A couple of them. He hadn’t limited himself to the theater manager. But he wasn’t Des. Des made her feel extraordinary, a way no other man had made her feel.

  Tonight she’d have to watch him do the same thing for another woman. For the past week, she’d been unable to tune out her cast members, raving about her “coup” in convincing Des to join the line-up.

  “He takes subs on an indescribable journey,” Tony, one of the Masters, had told her. “It’s spectacular to watch, even for a Dom. He may not like performance, but when he’s in the zone, it’s like he was meant to be on a stage.”

  Des had told her that she was different. What did he have to do to prove it? Why the hell should he have to? She knew why she was back to square one on this crap. For the past several days, as her insecurities mounted, there’d been no more time to spend together. This was why, in romance novels, the hero was a gazillionaire who ran his empire on two languorous hours a day, and the heroine always had a mega-important altruistic job that never seemed to take up any of her romance time. A job that in real life would have denied her a social life of any kind or even regular showers.

  Yep, she was doing the panicking thing, just like Marcus said. She was back to thinking she shouldn’t do this with anyone, ever again. The stage was her lover, the one that had never let her down. She didn’t need the rest of this. She was already composing a text to Des in her head.

  REALLY REALLY REALLY can’t do this. You’re too perfect, and I can’t handle that. Please don’t talk to me again. Consider this a restraining order, one on the honor system. You don’t want me and I can’t want you. I am too fucking fragile.

  “Stop it.” She slapped herself, earning a startled look from one of the lighting guys rushing by. It was all right. He’d just figure it was some pre-performance superstition. She ignored him and slapped the other cheek.

  She wasn’t doing this. She had a performance to run. She had to be on her A+++ game. Fortunately, the muses sent Madison as a reminder. The theater owner appeared at her elbow like a serial killer popping out of a closet, making Julie yelp.

  “Hey. You okay? You look so pale. Did you eat anything today?” Pulling out a pack of peanut butter crackers, Madison put it on the podium where Julie would be posted in the wings. Harris would be in position on the other side. Tonight was really all his show, because on performance nights, the stage manager was the hub of the wheel. She was just here for troubleshooting support and to see how the show unfolded so they could evaluate and adjust afterward to make the next one even better.

  Madison handed her a bottle of water. “I think you lost ten pounds rushing around these last few days, and I gained it through nervous eating. It’s filling up out there. We sold out, Julie. Can you believe it? You said that almost ne
ver happens. Tell me not to be terrified.”

  Thank God. Just like that, Julie clicked back into the role she knew, finding her footing and her joy again. Damn man.

  “Totally be terrified,” she said, giving Madison a maniacal grin. “That’s the fun part. Over the next two hours, you get to slide from terror into handspring happiness when the audience abandons their reserve and gets fully into the show.”

  “What if they don’t?”

  “There is no don’t. There is only doo. Which is why I carry doggy poop bags.” Julie did her best Yoda imitation and chuckled as the joke visibly derailed Madison from her one-track catastrophe scenario.

  “You idiot.” Madison poked her. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “No, we’re good right now. Harris and his trusty production book are in charge of it all. Look at him over there. He looks like Napoleon ready to launch a full scale invasion of Europe. He’s a god and he doesn’t even know it.”

  “I think he threw up in the bathroom a little while ago.”

  “It’s his little ritual. Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be fun, because it’s so unscripted. That’s exactly why it’s going to be magic.” Putting an arm around Madison, she gave her a squeeze. “Your man is there in the front row looking for you. Just go enjoy. You paid me the big bucks to be here and handle this.”

  “Oh yeah,” Madison said dryly. “I traded on our friendship and gave you enough to cover your weekly groceries, and you took that only because I insisted. You lived in the theater these past few weeks.”

  “Because I wanted to. It’s the place I feel most at home.”

  In ways that weren’t always healthy, but her self-actualizing side could just shut the hell up and go eat a pint of ice cream. “Now scram. Nervous owners are bad luck backstage on performance night. Just be ready to accept all the congratulations at intermission.”

  Or do damage control, but Julie held that thought to herself. The worst would come if it came. No sense in wasting energy on it.

  “I think you made that up, but I’m going.” Madison hugged her impulsively and then disappeared, heading down the side steps to return to the audience. Julie could hear the crowd building, but it was one of many details she absorbed right now. She watched the lighting and sound guys taking their places, making final tweaks. She heard the radio through her headphones on the podium beep and crackle, Harris doing last minute checks. Performers moved through the shadows on her periphery.

  One of them was standing silently, waiting nearby yet out of the path of the stage hands. Mistress Lilith apparently had her own ritual for getting her and her sub into the proper mindset. As she threaded a whip through her fingertips meditatively, her sub knelt at her feet, his head down as she stroked the bright red hair at his nape. He had a tattoo of a snake down his spine, visible since he wore only a pair of jeans. Lilith was in a silver catsuit. Neither of them looked nervous.

  Doing this in front of a rapt audience, particularly if they were hidden in the shadows behind the lights, might not seem that different from their normal club environments. Even if it was, she thought of what Des had told her. When done right, it was just the Dom and sub. No one else.

  Energy kicked up inside and all around her as the house lights blinked, the five minute warning. Experience shoved everything else out except making this the best damn experience the audience had ever had.

  Cast for the opening scene were forming a line to her right. Six women dressed in filmy flowing robes dusted with glitter to catch the stage lights. The Mistresses would wield violet wands with artistic and erotic effect, sorceresses performing magic on a bound virgin on a sacrificial altar.

  Julie did a quick scan of the scenery and stage props to ensure all was in place, even knowing Harris would be doing the same. An altar was on a raised dais against a mountain scene—painted muslin wrapped over thin board—that would be illuminated by lightning. Putting on her headset and adjusting the volume from the controls at her belt, she heard the sound guys cued for the Loreena McKennitt score, which opened with a rumble of distant thunder. She sent Harris a thumbs up.

  Showtime.

  As the lights started to darken, she touched the arm of the sorceress Domme closest to her, a black-haired woman who went by the name of Lady Myst. “Break a leg,” Julie whispered, and earned a wink. As well as a mildly inappropriate but appreciated brief fondling of her ass with elegant nails before the Mistress headed out on stage. Her female acolytes followed, tugging along the male sub stripped down to nothing but chains and a loin cloth.

  “Some Dominants can’t help themselves. They detect sub and it’s like a dog lover keeping their hands off a puppy.”

  She choked on a laugh at Billie’s remark, and his own inappropriate gesture. The drag queen had arrived at her side and delivered the whispered comment deadpan, all while having his hand clamped on her left butt cheek.

  He’d start his emcee duties right after the dramatic opening scene, providing transition between acts. And apparently butt patting support when necessary. “This is going to fucking kick ass,” she whispered back.

  “You bet your sweet patootie it will. By the way, your man is looking extra fine tonight. Think you’re having a good effect on him.”

  Billie wandered off before she could respond to the assumption that she was the reason Des looked good, but she liked the sound of “your man.” Des had been in and out of the wings like a shadow himself, no time to do more than throw her a smile. But he was here.

  She let the fierce certainty of success at all levels fill her and then reined it all in. She centered on the details and the big picture simultaneously, an edge she would ride with consummate skill for the next couple of hours without a single falter. This is what she knew better than anything, including the vagaries of her own heart.

  The violet wand performance went off without a hitch. As the chained male bucked under the attentions of the priestesses, “lightning” flashed against the mountain background, enhancing the cracking electricity of their wands. They sketched the air with lines of blue, purple and green.

  Madison’s budget had allowed a modest lighting set up, so Julie was deeply impressed by what the students had accomplished with what they had. Drama and pageantry did the rest.

  The male sub’s groans of pleasure as one of the acolytes straddled him and shared the electrical current with him, captivated everyone watching, including the crew. If every act was this intense, they’d all need to be zapped with wands to avoid missing their cues.

  Billie Dee-Lite picked up on that vibe when the scene concluded and he sauntered out onto stage in his silver sequined mini-dress and stiletto thigh-high boots. The silken red tresses of his expensive wig gleamed from the stage lights and framed his dark eyes, enhanced with glittering silver lashes. “What a way to start a show,” he purred. “This is what erotic performance is all about. Bringing our deepest desires to the surface and giving them a fantasy flourish.

  “If you enjoyed that, boys and girls, you are in for a treat, because every scene tonight will showcase the beauty and power of Domination and submission. The things it can call out of our hearts, minds and souls, whether you are vanilla, or like to walk on the wilder side… Or somewhere in between you don’t tell your Momma about. When you leave here tonight, you will be changed in delightful ways. You will want more.”

  He drew himself up into a dramatic pose and pointed at the audience with a glistening, sharp nail. “You will go home and you will ‘like’ this theater on all your social media sites. You will book your online tickets for the next showing so the poor people who run this theater don’t have to resort to cannibalism to survive. And you will tell all your friends.”

  He put his hand on his hip and affected an even more effeminate tone. “‘Oh, Gladys, it was amazing, even though you know I’m not into all that kinky shit. Hush now, Pastor Brian is beginning his Sunday sermon. But did you know his wife was there? No telling what kind of freaky shit happened when she
got home. She looked like she was ready for Pastor Brian to pull out his staff and part the Red Sea…’”

  He strolled across the stage as the laughter settled. “Sexual expression is limitless, babies. It can make us laugh or cry, it can lift us up to the heavens or take us to hell…and have us booking another roundtrip ticket.”

  He stopped and pinned them with a look. “If done right, it’s when we feel closest to our best selves and those we love, the person you’d tear your heart out to have standing at your side for all your life. If that person is not by your side tonight in this audience, you need to bring them back so you can take this journey with him or her. But for now, let’s all take this journey together.

  “And one last thing, my babies. You’ll see astonishing things tonight, but no applause except when the curtain closes at the end of each scene. Trust me, your performers will give you more than you expect if you don’t distract them…or yourselves.”

  Billie moved into the shadows as the lights came down. Julie’s heart ached a little in the rapt silence he’d created. Either Billie was speaking from experience or he was a damn good performer, but either way, he’d skillfully brought the audience from laughter back to the right mood for the next scene. Julie blessed Logan’s connections that had won them the skills of the talented diva. When Billie sauntered back into the wings, she high-fived him and didn’t even mind him slapping her ass hard enough to make it wobble. She took it as a go-team kind of gesture, and returned to her own responsibilities with a grin.

  A haunted flute melody opened the next performance, a snake dancing scene. A Master in slashed silken pantaloons sat cross-legged, playing the short wooden flute as the open weave basket in which his sub was contained began to rock to the music. Her hands came out the openings, moving in a sinuous pattern. She was twisting her torso, trying to escape the narrow basket, and Julie suspected she became too immersed in her snake persona. She overbalanced and the basket toppled.