A Slow Boil

by Karen Winters

  “I’m never getting up. I’m going to lie here forever.”

  I felt him chuckle. “I forbid you from ever getting up.”

  “So bossy.”

  “I am.”

  “I don’t mind.” I found the strength to raise up on my arms and looked down into his eyes. He looked so content, so young that I could almost see the boy in him. “But I don't want you to be my boss anymore.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t take money from you anymore. It isn’t right. If I get accepted at Noble, you have to stop paying me.”

  “But you’ll need an income.”

  I lowered myself back down and ran my fingers over his chest.

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “We’ll figure something out.” He hugged me. I loved the feel of his arms around me. I felt so safe, so cherished.

  “I love your arms around me.”

  “I love my arms around you, too.”

  Chapter 23

  The letter from Noble arrived with the Friday morning mail. Mr. Hunter watched my face carefully as I opened it, my hands suddenly a little shaky. I scanned it as quickly as I could. I was accepted, but minus the financial aid I needed to quit working.

  “Good news?”

  “I’m in.” I smiled up at him.

  “That’s my girl.” He picked me up in a hug, lifting me off the floor. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” I couldn’t believe that my plan had actually worked, that I’d managed to become a regular student at Noble. This was a big deal, and I knew it. I clung to Mr. Hunter’s shoulders as the reality of it began to sink in.

  “But I didn’t get the financial aid I was hoping for.”

  “We’ll work it out. The important thing is that you got in.” He put me down and kissed my forehead. “We should celebrate. Let’s go away this weekend.”

  “All right. Where do you want go?”

  “How far up the coast have you traveled?”

  “Just to Bijoux with Britt.”

  “I know a place further north. I’ll see if I can get us a room.” He let me go, a wide smile on his face. He was probably more than a little relieved that he didn't have to move this fall. I was, too.

  “I’m going to call my dad.”

  “I think you should.” We went upstairs together, Mr. Hunter turning into his office and me heading up to our room where I’d left my phone on my nightstand. I hit the speed dial number, trying to figure out what time it was on the west coast while it rang. I hoped I wasn’t calling in the middle of the night.

  “Sylvia?” My dad answered, sounding perfectly awake. “Everything all right?”

  “Everything’s great, dad. I just got accepted into Noble this fall and wanted to tell you in person.”

  “Sylvia, that’s wonderful. I knew you could do it.”

  “Thanks. I’m so excited. I still can’t quite believe it.”

  “You deserve it, honey. So when do your classes start?”

  “In two weeks.”

  “Huh. I was hoping you could come home for a short visit before then.”

  “I don’t think I’ll have time, dad, but I wish I could too. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too, sweetheart. Let me know your new address when you move back to campus and I'll send you some fish jerky. It turned out great this year.”

  “No, that’s okay, no need to go to any trouble,” I laughed. We had a long-running joke about the jerky he made every summer. He loved it. I did not. “Actually, dad, I’m not moving back on campus. I’m going to stay here for the rest of the year.”

  “At Mr. Hunter’s?” I’d eventually told him over emails that I was living in my boss’s house, but that was all he knew.

  “Yeah, dad, we’ve, um, we’ve fallen in love.”

  “Really.”

  “Really.”

  “Isn’t he a lot older than you?”

  “He’s only thirty-nine, dad. He’s not old.”

  “Is he there? Can I speak with him?”

  Oh-oh. “Sure, I guess. Let me go find him.”

  I trotted downstairs to the office and handed Mr. Hunter the phone with a small grimace. “My dad wants to talk to you.”

  He gave me a reassuring smile as he lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello, Mr. Lane, this is Adam Hunter. Yes, sir. Of course. She is. I promise, Mr. Lane.” I sat myself on his lap, listening to his side of the conversation. He put his free hand on my hip and looked into my eyes as he talked to my dad. “Her safety and happiness mean everything to me, Mr. Lane. No, sir. I’d like that very much. Yes, she’s right here. Goodbye, Mr. Lane.” He handed the phone back to me.

  “Dad?”

  “All right, Sylvia. He seems okay. You know you can call me any time, though, right?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Congratulations, Sylvia. I mean that. I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks, dad.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  I closed my phone, put it on the desk, and put both my arms around Mr. Hunter’s neck. “It sounds like you passed the paternal approval test.”

  “Yep, it’s a big day for me, too. And I’ve been invited to come home with you next time you visit and go fishing.”

  “Wow, I’m impressed.”

  “You won’t be for long. I have no idea how to fish. I’ll probably fall off the boat.”

  I laughed and hugged him. “I should call Britt, too.”

  “All right. Off you go.” He helped me stand. “So, I was able to get us a room. How about we leave after lunch and take our time driving up?”

  “Sounds great. Do I need to pack anything special?”

  He shook his head and gave me a little smirk. “If it were up to me, you wouldn't pack anything at all.”

  “Mr. Hunter, for shame. I’m calling my dad back right now.”

  “Good luck with that. I’m his new fishing buddy. He’s on my side now.”

  The drive up the coast was lovely. We stopped on the way in one little town and had coffee, and then in another for dinner. Mr. Hunter was taking me up to North Beach, a resort area famous for its beaches on one side and its mountains on the other. I expected him to pull up to any one of the large hotels we passed when we got there, but he continued driving until we were out of town, finally turning into the driveway of a small cabin that said “North Beach Rentals” on its front door. I waited in the car while he went in to get the key, and five minutes later we were parking in front of our own private cottage.

  “I thought you were getting a room somewhere, Mr. Hunter, not our own cabin.”

  “I imagine there are rooms inside. If not, I’ll call the manager to complain.”

  “Now who’s doing the spoiling?” I asked teasingly.

  “Get used to it, princess.” He helped me out of the car, collected our bags, unlocked the cabin door and ushered me inside. We made love that night with abandon, both of us reveling in the knowledge that we’d be together for another year.

  Saturday we walked on the beach, ate a big lunch, and did some sightseeing. The weather was perfect, not too hot, with warm breezes coming off the water. We had dinner at an outdoor cafe, enjoying the darkening sky and cooling air. I ordered a silly beach drink that came with a paper umbrella and Mr. Hunter had a martini, but wrinkled his nose at the first sip. “Nowhere near as good as yours, Miss Lane.”

  “I should hope not.”

  He looked at me with affection. “I’m going to miss having you as my housekeeper.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “I’ve been thinking. A lot. About you and what you do for me, and I don’t think we should do our dinners any longer.”

  “No? Why not? I like them.”

  “Oh, I like them, too, don’t get me wrong. But as long as you’re waiting on me like you do every night, I agree that I shouldn’t be paying you. I imagine you must want me to feel that you’re not with me for financial reasons -”

/>   I nodded emphatically and interrupted, “That’s exactly it.”

  “And I want you to know that I’m not with you because of how indulgent you’ve been with me at dinner.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  He smiled at me fondly, then picked up my hand and kissed it, holding it as he continued. “Here’s how I see the problem. I can’t continue our dinners and keep paying you, yet you need an income. Therefore, we stop our dinners, but I’d like it if you continued to cook for me. If I pay you just to do that, if we have normal dinners together and you don’t wait on me, would you feel more comfortable about letting me continue to employ you?”

  End our dinners? Just fix meals?

  “So I’d become your cook, then?”

  “I guess so.” He smiled at me.

  “You’d have to pay me less, that’s non-negotiable.”

  “I’ll pay you whatever you say, whatever you need and not another dollar more.”

  “What about the rest of the housekeeping?”

  “We’ll split it, like any normal couple.”

  “It might work.”

  “Shall we see how it goes?”

  “Let’s try it.”

  “Very good.”

  That night Mr. Hunter’s lovemaking was different. He could be dominating in bed, but not usually for very long, and usually only in the heat of passion. This time, as we lay naked together, he lifted my arms over my head and told me to keep my hands on the rungs in the headboard. Then he leaned down and took one of my nipples in his mouth, giving it a gentle bite. I gasped in pleasure.

  “Who do these beautiful little pink nipples belong to, Miss Lane?” He asked me a low voice, moving to the other one and flicking it with his tongue before giving it a firm suck.

  “You, sir.”

  “Good girl. And this perfect tiny waist?” He moved lower down my body, circling my waist with his hands, almost able to get his long fingers all the way around me, and bent down to kiss my belly button.

  “It’s yours, sir.”

  “That’s right. All mine. And this beautiful behind?” He asked, reaching underneath me to cup me and lift me off the bed. “Who does this belong to?”

  “You, Mr. Hunter.”

  “No one else?”

  “Never, sir.”

  He put me back down and spread my legs. He ran a finger lightly over my clit. “This is mine.”

  “Yes, sir,” I gasped again.

  “This is mine.” He eased a finger inside of me and I writhed, my hips bucking up to him of their own volition.

  “Oh, Mr. Hunter, yes, it’s all yours. I’m all yours.”

  He looked up me from under his eyebrows as he leaned down and licked me. “You’re my delicious, perfect girl, aren’t you, Miss Lane?”

  I groaned and gripped the headboard as hard as I could as he licked me again. “Yes, Mr. Hunter, yes!”

  “Forever?”

  “Forever, sir, I promise, forever.”

  He played me with his mouth and fingers until I could feel my orgasm beginning. He sensed it too and climbed back up my body, kissing his way up to my neck and positioning himself to enter me. “Do you want me, Miss Lane?”

  “Yes, I want you!”

  “Ask me nicely,” he murmured into my neck, his voice still low.

  “Please, Mr. Hunter, please,” I was gasping again, feeling him just at my entrance, needing him so much. “Oh please, sir, I need you inside of me, please.” I pulled him in toward me with my legs.

  “Sylvia,’” he groaned, thrusting into me with one hard push. “So perfect.”

  I’d been so close before he entered me that it only took me a minute to reach my climax, which hit hard and fast. I threw my head back and groaned as the first wave of pleasure washed over me, finally letting go of the headboard to cling to his back as I shattered apart. “Adam!”

  “Sylvia … Sylvia … don’t let go of me, don’t let go.” He climaxed soon, his breath heavy in my ear, his weight pinning me down. “Mine,” he moaned, “mine,” his voice dropping to a whisper.

  I cradled his head and ran my other hand over his back, basking in his need to possess me, knowing that it was part of his love for me, part of him. As our relationship continued, I suspected I’d see more of these flashes of possessiveness as he worked out his fear that I too may be something he couldn’t hold onto, but I didn’t mind one bit. I was his. And he was mine.

  September was a lovely month; the air cooled significantly and felt cleaner, crisper, lighter.

  Mr. Hunter and I had stopped doing our dinners, as agreed. I still cooked dinners most nights, but we fixed our own plates and sometimes just ate at the island. I even cooked several vegetarian meals, which Mr. Hunter ate with a stoic patience that pleased me no end.

  He was really trying. He did the laundry, including mine, and we shared the rest of the tasks, cutting back on a lot of the dusting. I loved watching him vacuum. The first time he did it, I followed him from room to room, finally launching myself on him in the library and having my way with him on my chair. He said if he’d only known it got me so hot, he’d have started a long time ago.

  My payments had decreased to the point that I was back on a budget, but that was fine with me. It actually felt more comfortable, more usual. The money I’d earned over the summer went toward my tuition, making a significant dent, meaning I didn’t really need much more than spending money.

  I renewed my student visa the week after we got home from North Beach, and it wasn’t long before my classes started and I was soon caught up again in the press of homework, more homework, ever more homework. I worked at home most nights, preferring to set up my laptop on the island. It soon became my unofficial desk, cluttered with my things during meals. Mr. Hunter finally suggested using my old guest room as an office, so we hauled out the bed and dresser and pulled the desk out to face the windows.

  One Saturday afternoon I was struggling through an especially obtuse essay and was growing frustrated by my inability to follow the author’s argument. I took my laptop downstairs and found Mr. Hunter in the library, reading a book in his chair. I gave him a smile and knelt down next to him, leaning on his leg. His hand slid into my hair and I closed my eyes, feeling my stress begin to wane immediately. I chuckled a little and Mr. Hunter asked me what was amusing.

  “I was just thinking about the first time you asked me to kneel next to you, how weird I thought that was, but how much I liked it.”

  “I don’t know quite what I was thinking that night, just that you looked like you were about to collapse and that I wanted to touch you.” His fingers were now drawing patterns on my neck. “I’m lucky you didn’t run away screaming.”

  I chuckled again. “I didn’t have the energy.” After a moment I added, “I used to wonder if you liked seeing me kneel.”

  “I did, very much, back when I was fighting my attraction to you.” He laughed a little. “If you’d only known some of the thoughts I had about you, you definitely would have run away screaming.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” I smiled and leaned a little more into his leg.

  “Now I just like having you within reach.” His fingers returned to my hair.

  “I’m glad you asked me to kneel next to you that first time.”

  “You are?”

  “It was the first time I felt like you saw me as more than an employee, that maybe you were starting to like me a little bit.”

  “Sylvia, I liked you the first time I looked at you.”

  “You did?”

  “Your head was turned, you were looking at the Rothko, and I thought I’d never seen a more beautiful neck.”

  I twisted to look up at him. “My neck?”

  “Haven’t you noticed how much I love your neck?”

  “I guess I haven’t.”

  “Well, now you know my last secret. I absolutely, positively, love your neck. And your hair, and your face, and every other part of you.” He leaned down and kissed me, then kissed m
e again, harder. “Are you working on anything terribly important right now?”

  I shook my head.

  “Would you like me to carry you upstairs or would you prefer to walk?”

  “Carry me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he smiled, scooping me up.

  Later that night I was putting my homework away in my office and happened to open the closet to find one of my dresses, which I hadn't worn in weeks. I fingered the material, getting an idea.

  The first weekend in October, Mr. Hunter brought home take out for dinner on Saturday. That meant Sunday night was my turn.

  At five-thirty Mr. Hunter came downstairs as he always now did to see if I needed any help or to carry dishes out to the table. He took one look at me in my dress and apron, my silver necklace, barefoot, and stopped in the doorway.

  “Miss Lane. What is this?”

  “This, Mr. Hunter, is me on a night off.” I went up to him, stretched up on my toes and kissed him. “Is that okay?”

  “I thought we weren’t going to do this anymore.” He looked into my eyes, puzzled.

  “I’m not officially working tonight, and this is what I want to do. So go get us a nice light red and give me a few more minutes in here?”

  His fingers eased around my waist, toying with the apron ties, then slid down my rear. A very slow smile crept across his face. “Okay.”

  He left for the wine cellar and I busied myself finishing his first course, a butternut squash soup with garlic croutons.

  “Good evening, Mr. Hunter,” I said, pushing through the door.

  “Good evening, Miss Lane.”

  I placed his bowl in front of him while he rose to pull out my chair. He kissed the top of my head after I was seated, then resumed his seat, pouring us both a glass of wine. I reached for his leg under the table, watching his face as he tried the soup.

  “It’s delicious. I love it.” He reached over to kiss me and whispered onto my lips, “And I love you, Sylvia.”

  “I love you, too, Adam.”

  Epilogue

  Sylvia was so beautiful, and she didn’t even know it. I made a point of telling her at every opportunity, but she still didn’t really believe me. I could tell by the dismissive shake of her head, that sassy little eye roll she did and that gorgeous blush that still made a regular appearance across her cheeks.