by Joey W. Hill
She glanced at Des, whose encouraging expression told her she could share whatever she wished without offending him. "Des has helped me understand a lot more about the psychology, so I can help my performers shine even more. For my own self..." She thought about it, aware of their eyes on her, but particularly Des's.
"I think I've found something that I want to keep exploring," she admitted. "I love having Des...do the things he does to me. It feels great, not to have to play games, to have everything laid out so bare and honest. It's scary sometimes, but it also feels peaceful. And wild and passionate, at the same time. If that makes sense."
She looked up to meet Thomas's understanding gaze. "It's exactly like that," he said. "Congratulations. Marcus was sure you'd embrace your submissive side with the right incentive and environment. Looks like you've got both here."
"So is there a secret handshake now that I'm in the club?" she asked. She felt a little shaky at having said so much to them. But the honesty had been the right tactic, because Marcus's gaze was less speculative and more relaxed, on both her and Des.
Though she'd known Marcus was a good friend, this version of his caring was new. During that look between him and Des, he'd almost intimidated her. Probably because his protective and Dom sides had hooked up and been on full power. She guessed her reaction was proof she did embrace a submissive side, though it was the Dom at her side that commanded her deepest responses and brought those cravings to life.
"Yes, there is a secret handshake," Thomas said seriously. "We'll show it to you at the special initiation rite where we'll sacrifice a nubile virgin."
"Okay. When does that happen?"
"It's like a rave." Marcus said. "You'll get a text telling you where to meet."
"Don't think I've ever tied up a virgin," Des said.
"You mean the BDSM world isn't overrun with innocent virgins?" Julie smirked. "Imagine that."
They ordered an appetizer while waiting for their meals, and the conversation started running the normal gamut for people getting to know one another. As she relaxed, she enjoyed watching Des handle himself with her friends. Since he was comfortable with almost everyone, she wasn't surprised to see that he, Marcus and Thomas were bantering in no time like guys did when they found common ground.
Thomas was an artist, and Des was almost as serious about his rope craft. Marcus had an appreciation for all art forms. They didn't leave her out, bringing her back into the conversation to talk more about how the latest performance went and how the theater would do going forward. After she laid out the current projects, Marcus was studying her thoughtfully again.
"Sounds like you won't be coming home for some time."
"I'll make runs up to help Belinda, though she's doing a good job without me. She'd probably be okay with me turning it over to her permanently. The board we set up when we incorporated as a nonprofit love her."
"How about your parents?" Thomas asked. "When will they be back in the States?"
"Probably not for another six months. Mom is in love with Singapore right now. She wants me to come visit her there, and I probably will when our schedules match up. She'll be thrilled if I can ask her for a plus one ticket." Julie glanced at Des. "Want to go to Singapore in about six months, if I haven't managed to scare you off?"
"Can I use the ticket even if you have?"
"Sure. I'll tell them to put you in the cargo bay."
"Ouch." He flicked her hair off her brow. "You think your Mom will like me?"
"Oh, don't waste your energy." Julie grimaced. "She'll wish you were a hedge fund manager or a distant relation to the British royal family. She keeps hoping that in my little theater 'hobby' I'll meet an intensely rich and well connected investor. He'll whisk me away and let me live in luxury while I give him two point five children before I die of boredom or a Xanax overdose. But once she gets over that, yeah, she'll air kiss you just like she does me."
At Des's concerned look, Marcus lifted his beer to draw his attention. "Julie loves her mother. She just has her firmly planted in a reality scape that gives no quarter."
"It's the best way to love Mom," Julie said practically. "Dad is so vague when it comes to dealing with family, you don't need to worry about him. He likely won't remember your name two minutes after he meets you. He goes through life like a rubber duck dropped square in the middle of a lake, floating along with no real direction when it comes to family. But he's sharp with money. He's connected to a Spanish royal line that goes back centuries, so there's always been family money. He hires really good people to keep it making money for him and supporting us--Mom, my brother, sister and me--in the way he wants."
At his quizzical look, she grinned. "Yeah, I guess I can trust you now. I doubt you're a gold digger. My family's loaded. In my twenties, I went through this rebellious phase where I was determined to earn my own way, not rely on their money. Dad, as mild-mannered as he is about everything else, nearly had an aneurysm. It took me a while to pull my head out of my ass and realize it had to do with him, not me. He had no problem with me working long hours and establishing a solid reputation in theater business. He just couldn't handle me doing something as lowbrow as accepting a paycheck for it."
Des blinked and she laughed. "Yeah, I know how it sounds. But he was much happier when I went from paid stage work to community theater, and that was our compromise." Julie imitated her father's smooth Spanish accent. 'Go find something meaningful, querida, something that engages your passions. Change the world. Just honor your father by allowing him to care for you while you do.'
"He still fusses because I don't care anything about having a house or a fancy car, all the things my siblings have, but he's come a long way since our initial fights about it. Oh, and just a side note. Mom was a short-lived B-film star. She's a knockout still."
"Turtle and rabbits," Des recalled. "Except for the knockout part. Now I know where you got your looks."
"That was so the right thing to say." She curled her hands around his arm again and hugged it to her breasts. "Seriously, we could have a great time in Singapore, so think about it. We'd have to do some family stuff, but then we could tour Malaysia or Indonesia. Mom and Dad would pay for everything, so the only lost income would be from any jobs you missed. And remember, it's not a pride thing. It would genuinely hurt them if I didn't let them handle the trip for both of us."
"I've had the pleasure of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Ramirez, and everything she says is dead accurate," Marcus added. "Her father has a very Old World sense of honor, but it's oddly touching. And unchangeable."
The conversation moved from there to other, less personal matters. Commercials on the surrounding TV screens, more about Marcus and Thomas's life up in New York and Julie's, when she was living there. She noticed Des was participating, but as their dinner moved into the second hour, he was getting quieter, doing more listening and smiling, though there was a slight strain to his face. His appetite was off, because he only ate half of the small meal he ordered, the rest untouched on his plate. He wasn't feeling well.
She was sure of it, but there was no way she could draw attention to it without ruffling his feathers. That was the problem about getting so close to someone so fast, while at the same time not having enough of a foundation to justify acting...well, wifely. A scary word to pop into her head, but she couldn't deny the drive.
When Marcus asked her about dessert, she shook her head, though the Oreo cake looked fabulous. "To tell the truth, guys, I'm a bit beat. It's been a long day. I think I'm going to call it a night soon..."
"No, don't do that." Des stroked her leg. "I know you want dessert."
"Want and need are two different things. My ass does not need that."
"I've seen your ass. Cake does lovely things for it."
Julie snorted, but caught the warning look in his eye. To hell with it. She went with honesty, putting her hand on his arm. "If you've had a long day, it's cool if you want to head for home, okay?"
He coiled his fingers around hers a
nd leaned in to brush his lips against her ear. As he spoke against it, she noticed Marcus and Thomas doing their best to look as if they were involved in conversation with one another, to give them the illusion of privacy. "I don't want to go to bed without you, love," Des murmured. "I'm all right. Just quiet."
He lifted his head, looking toward Marcus to restore the four-way conversation. "How long have you two been together?"
"What do you mean?" Thomas asked blandly. "He's just a good looking piece of ass I picked up on the plane. Looked like he needed someplace to go."
Marcus grimaced at him. "Yeah, because North Carolina would be the destination a top grade piece of ass like me would choose for a good time."
"Well, top grade maybe ten years ago. Now..."
Julie yelped as Marcus reached across the table and gave a lock of her hair a brutal yank.
"Little bitch," he pronounced. "Des, you need to beat her. A lot. I'll hold her down."
"I can do the holding my own self, but thanks for the sanction," Des rebounded.
"Doms encouraging Doms," Thomas said to her. "Beware and run."
"We only keep picking at you because you've been so sensitive about this ever since you hit your forties." Julie sniffed at Marcus. "You'll be beautiful to the day you die and you know it. Even then everyone will want one last time to admire your corpse."
"Just make sure Thomas isn't in charge of dressing me," Marcus said, taking a sip of his beer.
"I have a flannel shirt and a pair of overalls that will look great with those overpriced Italian shoes you like." Thomas grinned and answered Des's question. "We've been together a while now. Long enough to feel like we're starting to get the hang of it."
"Looks like it." Des rotated the glass of water in his hand and sat back once more. He linked fingers with Julie's on the table and squeezed, an admonishment as if he anticipated her trying to interrupt.
"Here's the deal." Des's gaze shifted between the two men. "I love her, but I'm not a great bet in the grow-old-together department. I expect she's told you some of that. She says none of that matters and that she wants to give us a good run. I'm selfish enough, and want her enough, to listen. Plus, I think past a certain point it doesn't really matter anyway, does it? Your heart gets stuck on someone. So I guess what I want to tell you straight up is I'm a selfish bastard. I may break her heart because my body gives out, but my heart won't. If I hurt her, it won't be because I don't love her enough."
Julie stared at Des. That heart he was worried about breaking was in her throat. A cheerful cacophony of noise continued around their table: people eating, talking, laughing or watching TV at the bar. The clink of metal and glass added to that rushing undercurrent. Life kept moving on, but things here were quiet, reflecting the stillness inside her as Des shifted his gaze to her, his grip sure and firm. She lifted her chin, telling him...she agreed. She accepted.
Marcus's foot was pressing against hers beneath the table as Thomas reached over, covering her and Des's clasped hands. He'd meant it for her, but didn't seem to mind including Des. Des looked mildly surprised by the affection, but then Marcus spoke, drawing their attention.
"You asked us how long we've been together. Long enough to recognize when someone else has a good start on it. She knew we didn't have to approve of you for her to decide to want to be with you. She's an accomplished, brilliant woman. But we're family, and I've learned that a family's support can sometimes be the difference between success and failure when you're trying to make a relationship work."
Marcus exchanged a meaningful glance with Thomas, full of past history, then brought his eyes back to Des. "You seem good for each other. You have our support, both of you. Unless you turn out to be a dick, and then we'll rip yours off."
"Fair enough." Des toasted him. "Because I'd feel the same way about anyone who hurt her."
"That's the right answer. Just be good to her. She's earned it, a hundred times over. If what she's said is true, sounds like you do, too." Marcus tapped his glass. "Take her home, Des. You both look like you need to call it an early night. We'll be around a few days. If things go right between you, you'll have a lifetime to get to know us both."
Chapter Seventeen
She'd been right about how tired he was. They'd dropped off her car and he'd taken her back to his place in his truck, but he'd said very little, though it was as he said. He was quiet, not unhappy. He held her against him as he drove, letting her chatter and making accommodating grunts as needed.
Once they reached his place, he stripped down to his boxers, drew her to the bed and removed all her clothes but her panties, which seemed to be his preferred nightwear for her. She'd have to talk him into letting her wear something more come wintertime, though usually he had excellent ways to warm her up.
Tonight, he gathered her close and told her he'd had a good time with her friends. While his cock was semi-hard at her proximity, showing an interest in sex, she didn't push it and he didn't either, almost immediately falling into slumber.
He held her close through the night. Though a couple times her shoulder started to ache or she had an itch, she ignored those things, not wanting to do anything to cause him to let her go. As she lay there, the need to hold him even more tightly than he was holding her had her keeping her arms wrapped around his back, her face against his chest.
She was typically overly paranoid about things, so she told herself to ignore a niggling uneasiness, even as she kept rousing to listen to him breathe, to wonder at how deeply he was sleeping. She thought of the things they'd said and done at dinner, Marcus's serious tone and the look in his green eyes. When they'd parted that night, he'd hugged her and offered words that both reassured and unsettled her.
"We're here for whatever you need, Julie. Always."
She'd turned to Thomas for his hug and found him watching Des with that same curious look. Her Master was currently paying their check because he'd refused Marcus's offer to pay for all. "Okay," she told Thomas. "I know that look. I get first dibs on any paintings you do of him. And a big family discount."
"No, it's not that." Thomas's brow creased. "He's just really familiar to me."
"Maybe you saw him in one of the clubs you and Marcus visited while you were traveling. He does several rigger conferences each year."
"Yeah. Maybe. Hey, on that note, let me get a shot of the two of you on my phone before we part ways. You know Daralyn and Les are going to want to see the guy you're dating."
When Des returned, he was amenable to a picture, standing beside her in his easy, friendly way as she laid a familiar hand on his chest and smiled for the camera.
As she drifted off into sleep now, she dreamed of Thomas's picture. There was a fading on the edges of Des's side. She tried to get Thomas to sharpen it, to take it again, but he said it was too late. It was fading, and she had to figure out a way to keep Des in the picture...
She woke from the disturbing dream. It was daylight and, since she didn't have to be at the theater until later in the morning, it was okay for her to sleep in. It still felt strange and overindulgent after the round-the-clock schedule she'd been keeping these past few weeks between the theater's demands and Des.
She was alone. She cleaned up in the bathroom, using the contents of the toiletry bag she'd brought to wash her face, brush her hair and teeth. Donning a knee length purple knit skirt and a pale green cotton baby-tee, she accented them with silver hoops and a silver and jade stone choker before she went in search of her Dom. She left her hair down, brushed out thick and shining, because he liked it that way, though she pocketed the barrette she'd need when the humidity kicked in.
Through the window, she saw him outside, bagging up leaves in Betty's yard. She was glad to see him awake and looking restored, but as she started to open the door, she saw Betty was with him. From their body language, it was clear she was about to interrupt a heated conversation. She hesitated, torn between defusing it with an untimely interruption, and letting them work it out. When
she decided on the latter, she couldn't shame herself into closing the door and not eavesdropping. That dream was still too close to the surface of her consciousness.
"I don't want to talk about it," Des said stubbornly.
"So you've said. You've been a broken record for the past two weeks. Des, you can't ignore this."
"I'm not ignoring it."
"Yes, you are. Your numbers are not good. You've held out on intense insulin management longer than most with the type of insulin resistance you have, but your kidneys are starting to show the strain. You're going to be facing dialysis soon and you know it. Not years from now; in a matter of months."
His jaw set as Julie's breath caught. Betty stepped closer, and her expression softened, but not enough to dilute the steel in her eyes, her determination to get through to him.
"I know you've started taking fewer jobs and working less days of the week, which is good for your body, but you can't ignore the signs. You don't want to wait until you're in full renal failure. You can do dialysis at home, you know that. A few times a week, at night. You just hook yourself up at bedtime."
"You think you're telling me something I don't already know? That I haven't studied this shit a million times? Once I start dialysis, that's it. Dr. Greeley said it might work for me a few years. And then it won't."
"Which is why you should do what I've suggested a million times. Sign up to get a kidney."
"I'm not a good candidate. They've told you that before."
"Your earlier health problems made you a bad candidate, but you've beaten those problems and manage your diabetes better than any patient I've ever had. If we were determined, we could get the donor list people to consider giving you one. You are extremely disciplined. You would take very good care of a donor organ. A kidney is one of the easier organs to obtain, relatively speaking."
"For most people. They've never stopped saying what they said at the beginning. My body isn't typical. It's likely to reject anything less than a close genetic match, and I have no family. Even if I had, it would give me what? Maybe another decade before it fails."
"Ten years is a lot better than six months if you do nothing," she snapped. "Why are you so fucking stubborn about this?"