Bound Hearts

by C. C. Galloway

  He smiled. Yeah, he’d known that, but hearing it still pacified his ego.

  “I’ve never been with a man like you. A man into domination. I’ve never submitted to a man. The things we’ve done…I have no experience with.”

  “I know that, but –” he interrupted.

  She placed her fingertips on his lips.

  “Let me finish,” she gently chided. “Giving up control is hard for me. No matter how much I trust you. No matter how much I love the way you make me feel. No matter how many orgasms you give me. Mentally and emotionally, it’s difficult for me to accept the way you are and the way I am when I’m with you.”

  “What, exactly, does that mean?”

  “It means I need you to be patient with me. Let me wade in the kiddies’ pool for a little bit with you,” she pleaded. “I have judgments about certain things. I’m not proud of it. I wish I could just let go and say live and let live. But that’s not the way I was raised. All of this,” she indicated his bedroom with her hands, “is foreign to me. Not the sex, but the kind of sex.”

  “You like it,” he challenged.

  “Of course I like it. While we’re doing it. That doesn’t mean that when I’m by myself or during the dark of night, I don’t second guess myself or wonder about this. About you. About us.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that I should just keep you in bed at all times?”

  She laughed. “If only.”

  “Seriously. I can’t have you waffle on this. I don’t want to be worried the entire time I’m inside you that as soon as we’re apart, you’ll regret it. I can’t live with myself with that on my conscience. I don’t want that and I can’t believe you do either.”

  “I don’t,” she agreed. “And I don’t believe that’s what’s going to happen. All I’m asking for is a little time. There might be times when I need my space to sort out my feelings. As much as I’ll try and stop it, I might say things that I regret later. That are hurtful. Like last week.”

  “I can’t go through a repeat of last week, Calleigh, with you calling me a sicko. That’s not okay.”

  “I know it’s not. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, David. When I lashed out, it was about me. Not about you. I promise. Like I said, I’ll try not to let it happen again, but if it does, please don’t give up on me.”

  He’d always known any barriers she had to embracing the BDSM lifestyle were mental ones. Apparently his Neanderthal belief that revealing how enjoyable it could be for her would erase any misgivings or hesitancy was naïve. And wrong. Her mental and emotional struggles were raw and exposed, making her more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. With any of his prior submissives, at the first hint of uncertainty, he would have kicked them out of his bed and never looked back. Tonight the thought of kicking Calleigh out made his blood run cold and his icy heart stop. If she needed time, he’d give it to her. If she wanted space, he’d let her initiate their communication.

  “Where does this leave us? Where do we go from here?” he asked.

  “My immediate concern is hunger. I never thought so many orgasms could make me crave food. I’m starving.” She was deliberately being obtuse, but sometimes you had to go along with it.

  “That, I can most definitely take care of. However, you didn’t answer my real question.”

  “I want us to take this relationship day by day. Act by act. Conversation by conversation. I’m feeling my way here and that’s all I can offer. I hope that’s enough.”

  He kissed her on her lips, softly lingering, telling her with his lips and his body that everything was on the road to working out. “Okay. That’s good enough for me. Now, what do you want for dinner?”

  § § §

  Watching David work in the kitchen while sipping a crisp and fruity Chardonnay, wrapped in his work shirt, Calleigh reflected that Mary’s plan worked flawlessly.

  When Mary’d suggested that she apologize by way of seduction, initially she’d been hesitant. How would she get in to the house? What if he brought someone else home? What if he never wanted to see her again in her life?

  What if it didn’t work?

  What if it did?

  In the end, she’d trusted in Mary and in her instincts that said for as much as the man worked, he was unlikely to bring home anyone on a Friday night or offer to entertain anyone that night. Armed with new lingerie and an improved, positive attitude, she’d driven over an hour or so before he arrived and parked her car one street over for insurance. She’d quickly located a key under the mat outside his garage door and let herself in. She undressed, cuffed herself to the bed. And patiently waited.

  As Mary’d predicted, once he walked in and saw her on his bed, nature took over.

  As she continued studying him, Calleigh thought that she had never felt so settled in her life. Despite the most unsettling conversation she’d initiated after their lovemaking. And that’s what it was – lovemaking. Despite his graphic language, despite the things he demanded she say, despite the instruments he employed and the power and control he refused to concede, every time he touched her, it was with affection and love. Every caress, every kiss, every thrust his cock delivered, he did so with deft, precise movements designed for maximum intensity, and offered with complete and utter devotion. He, undoubtedly, didn’t view it that way. However, she recognized love when she felt it.

  None of her boyfriends had ever lingered over her the way he did. Each and every part, as though David was discovering them for the first time. His touches made her feel as if each sensation was occurring for the first time. She felt like a virgin all over again, albeit a very different kind of virgin than she’d been at seventeen, but a virgin none the less because so much was new, mysterious and exciting.

  Everything with David felt new. As though she was experiencing each and every touch, each and every caress, for the first time.

  Which was silly. But in one of the best possible ways.

  No one had ever taken the time to arouse her to unlimited peaks, never once seeing to his own release, before guaranteeing hers. None focused on kissing her lips for minutes on end, nibbling away, loving every part of her lips, including the bow on her bottom lip. Or lingered over the backs of her knees, licking and nibbling. The sensitive side of her thighs, long ignored, but a regular focal point of his attentions.

  “Tell me about your day, dear,” she teased him, nibbling on a chip, as he assembled their turkey sandwiches.

  He shook his head as he positioned the bacon on top of the lettuce and tomatoes on hers, and turned around to hunt for something in the refrigerator.

  “Let’s just say I’m happy the day’s over.”

  “At least it’s Friday.”

  Pushing a plate piled high with the sandwich, pickles and Sun Chips towards her, he took a monster bite out of his own before answering while standing across from her. “Friday. Monday. Thursday. They’re all pretty much the same to me at this time of year. My job doesn’t really lend itself to the old nine to five.”

  “Is that because you’re in season right now?” she asked.

  He shrugged, his rugged shoulders rippling, and shook his head. “Yes and no. There’s very little down time from the time training camp commences until our last game is played, either in the playoffs or during the regular season. So, yeah, I’m a little busier during that time period. I have a little more control over my schedule during the off season and I’m not quite so paranoid about burning the midnight oil.”

  “Do you like it?” she asked.

  His smile framed his face. “I love it. Even on the worst day, which today was pretty damn close to, it’s the best job I’ve ever had. And ever will have.”

  “This is about as high as you can go in football management, right? Like the CEO of a corporation?”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “In terms of managing a team, this is pretty much tops.”

  “Aren’t you young for such a position?”

  A lesser, less confident man would have blus
hed at such a provocative question. Naturally, he seemed pleased by her insight and practically puffed up.

  “Yes. Because the Tide was an expansion team, the owners were more willing to take on someone like me. I’m a lot cheaper than my competition.” His rakish grin reminded her of a twenty year old, cocky, happy and full of himself, the world ripe for his taking.

  “Does that mean I’m going to have to be your sugar mama?” she ribbed him.

  He cocked his head at her and took a long pull on his beer before answering. “Is that a bona fide offer?”

  She chuckled. “Hardly. As a public school teacher, my only savings is my retirement plan through the school system. If you’re looking for cash or an early retirement plan, I’m far from your best bet.”

  He turned serious. “Calleigh, you shouldn’t worry about money. I do just fine.”

  “What do you mean by ‘just fine?” she teased, raising her eyebrow as she continued sipping her wine and admiring the man in front of her. Not bothering with a shirt, his black sweat pants rode low on his pelvis, emphasizing his lean hip bones that thrust high against the pants, accentuating his compact abs and tight waist. She briefly wondered if any of his players looked half as good as he did naked.

  She decided it was possible, but unlikely.

  “I mean that if the Tide fires me tomorrow, I can support myself, along with someone else, comfortably for the next six to ten years without having to look for employment.”

  “Oh. Okay then,” she averred, looking down at her plate, confused and uncomfortable and realized that she’d polished off her own sandwich. Along with all the chips. And the pickles. As well as her second glass of wine.

  His long sigh echoed off the walls and prickled her nerves. “Calleigh, what just happened?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. I was teasing you and all of a sudden, this conversation turned from playful to serious. Money is a serious subject intended for more serious relationships and I didn’t intend to take it there.”

  He reached out and covered her hand with his warm, rough one, rubbing his fingers against hers. “Honestly? Now you’re going to act all uncomfortable with me? Over something as silly as money? Come on. Money’s not important,” he comforted her.

  “Said someone who’s never struggled for money.”

  “Has a lack of money ever been an issue for you?”

  Finally, she cut her eyes back up to his. “No. Not really. I kind of lucked out with my mom. I didn’t mean to pry or indicate that your income’s important to me. Because it’s not. I need you to know that.”

  He kicked up the side of his sensual mouth. “I know that. Trust me. No woman would let me do what I do to you in bed if she was solely lusting after my bank account.”

  His words equalized her and comforted her, restoring her humor. “I’m not even remotely sure how to respond to that, Shalvington.”

  “Shalvington? What happened to David?”

  She shrugged as he poured her another glass of wine.

  “What? No pithy comeback?” he challenged.

  “Shalvington seemed appropriate at the time, David,” she winked.

  “You know, woman, a lot of doms require that their subs call them by certain titles. At all times.”

  “What? Like Master?” she quipped, simultaneously aroused and disappointed.

  “Master. Sir. Your highness. It depends on the dom.”

  “Look. It’s one thing what we do in bed. And maybe I could use some of those…titles….then. But I’m not sure I’m on board with that generally. I don’t know that it’s exactly my style.” She swallowed. It seemed like for every two steps forward, they took four more back.

  His smile was soft. “You’re in luck, then, cause I’m not into that either,” he assured her.

  She puffed out a short, quick laugh and took a long swallow of fresh glass before raising her hesitant smile to him. “Good. That’s good.”

  “Are we ok?” he asked.

  “Yes. We’re more than okay.”

  “Good. I’m revived. You ready for another round?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Chapter 10

  “Calleigh, it’s your mother. I’m tired of you avoiding my calls. If you don’t call me tonight, I will show up where you least expect it. Or want.”

  Click.

  What a welcoming voicemail to return home to. After spending the night in David’s bed, she’d slipped out after kissing him goodbye, he on his way into the office, and her surprisingly eager to make her nine o’clock spin class. Sweaty, sore in all the right places, and still high on endorphins, she bit the bullet and dialed her mother up.

  “Well, fancy you calling me. I had practically given up on ever hearing from you.”

  She stifled the sigh as her mother’s put upon and surly tones carried through the line.

  “Hello to you too, Mother. By the way, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. How are you?” she quipped, refusing to concede control of the conversation so early.

  “Don’t be flip with me, Calleigh. I don’t appreciate nor do I deserve it. Is it really that much to ask that you call and check on your only living parent? Molly Graber’s daughter calls her every day. Isn’t that nice?”

  “Mrs. Graber is approximately two months shy of a nursing home, Mother. Her daughter likely calls every day to see if that day is the day her mother has to be committed to a lovely residential living facility.”

  “Is that what you’re planning on doing with me? Farming me out to some nursing home and only visiting on Christmas?”

  “Oh no, Mother. I would never visit you on Christmas. I’ll be too busy spending all your money that I’ll control after having you declared mentally incompetent. I’ll be south of the border celebrating our Lord’s December holiday. I think my annual visit will be sometime around Halloween. That holiday seems more fitting, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “That’s enough. When am I going to see you?” Lauren demanded.

  For living in the same city, Calleigh was particularly adept at the dodge and pick. She dodged her mother as much as possible and picked the times when she was mentally best suited and prepared to deal with her. Which was approximately every four to six weeks.

  “I’m fairly busy these days, Mother. I’ve got my juniors preparing for their SATs and mandatory state-wide testing begins in a few weeks.”

  “It’s no wonder you can’t find a man. You have no time. Or should I say, you make no time.”

  Ahhh, yes. A woman’s sole pursuit according to the Gospel of Lauren. That of a rich boyfriend who would ultimately transform into a generous husband. Preferably Episcopalian with no prior wives or errant children.

  If she only knew about David. What would she say? She’d certainly approve of his looks, manners, and career if only for the fact that general managers of NFL teams apparently cleaned up in the compensation department. Calleigh hugged the secret knowledge of him to herself like a warm, cashmere blanket and remained silent on the subject of her dating life.

  “On that note, it was nice speaking to you, Mother. I’ll call you soon.”

  “Calleigh, wait,” Lauren pleaded, modulating her tone to conciliatory decibels. “I really would like to see you soon. How about dinner tonight? My treat.”

  “You don’t need to buy me dinner in order for me to see you.”

  Lauren sniffed. “You could have fooled me. How about that new place on East Burnside? I read in the paper the other day that they have lots of great salads.”

  Just once, she would have loved to suggest some barbeque joint. A little pulled pork. Or a big slab of ribs. Or maybe a place that specialized in southern cooking, complete with buttermilk fried chicken, collard greens, and peach cobbler for dessert. Of course, the only such restaurants she ever visited were those she read about. The place her mother had referred to didn’t exactly fit the bill, either.

  “Noble Rot? Is that the one? That’ll be fine, Mother. Seven?”

  “Yes. See you then.”

  That
night, she mentally braced herself as she breezed through the entryway of the restaurant. Located on the top floor of a newly modern building, Noble Rot was flush with patrons eager to sample stylish local fare in a “casually sophisticated setting,” as one of the city’s resident food bloggers referred to it. Finding Lauren’s matching blonde head nestled in a corner booth with a western view of downtown framed by the sunset, she briskly ambled to her mother, already desperately eager for her first drop of alcohol.

  “I was beginning to wonder if I was being stood up,” Lauren murmured as she kissed her perfectly rouged cheek, smelling the Chanel No. 5 that had been her mother’s signature fragrance for as long as she could recognize the smell of perfume.

  “Oh, please. According to my cell phone, it’s exactly 7:02. Not bad considering it’s a Saturday night at the height of dinner hour and parking is about as much fun as a root canal over here,” she responded, scooting in, removing her jacket, and simultaneously trying to capture the attention of their waiter, or any waiter, who could take their drink orders pronto.

  “Saturday night and you have no date. How is it you are my daughter?”

  “Where’s your date, Mother? Have you already sent Gerald screaming for the warm, comforting arms of the retirees in Arizona?” she challenged. Gerald was the latest in a long-line of not-quites. Men who, according to Lauren, were not quite right. They were not quite smart enough. Or not quite charming enough. Or not quite rich enough. Or not quite enamored with Lauren enough. There was always something not quite perfect about them.

  The fact that they figured Lauren out in time before she manipulated them down the aisle meant they were perfectly quite right in the most important way that mattered.

  Their sane, rational minds.

  “Since you asked, Gerald is at the North American Conference of Plumbers’ Annual meeting in Minnesota.”

  “Fascinating. Tell me. Do you ask him about the worst stuffed-up toilet he’s ever had the pleasure of declogging? Or really, whether too much Metamucil can cause backups that no bathroom can ever fairly recover from? Or what about the kind of plumbing fixtures that turn him on? Does he see a customer’s plumbing fixtures and become unbelievably excited?”