Indulgence

by Liz Crowe

  Guess what? Got an earlier flight! At the airport waiting. Will let you know when I land.

  Can’t help it; I smile to myself. Then I send one back.

  Be careful. Waiting to hear from you.

  His response is simple: J

  We’ve graduated to emoticons! How nice. Busying myself with the seatbelt and the radio, I realize I never even asked where he was going on this trip. I’ll have to remember to do that. I start my little Ford Focus, pull out onto the street, and tootle home, stopping at the store for something to fix for dinner. But I’m barely in the door when my phone rings and, even though I don’t want to, I smile when I see the number. “Hello!”

  “Hello to you! You actually sound glad to hear from me.” The smirk on his face is visible in my mind. “What’s all that noise?”

  “Bags. I just walked in and I’ve got stuff from the store.”

  “Perishables?”

  “A few. Why?”

  “Because I pulled in right behind you in your driveway. And I want to take you to dinner, if you want to go.”

  A breath catches in my throat. “If I, what? You want to take me to dinner? Oh, sir, I don’t really look like going to dinner. I mean, I didn’t know you’d be in this early and . . .”

  “It doesn’t have to be anywhere fancy. But I’m hungry. Oh, and open the door, please.”

  I sling open the door and there he stands. For some ridiculous reason, I was hoping he’d be holding a big bouquet of flowers. Maybe that’s a goofy, old-fashioned fantasy, but there it is. Of course, no flowers, just him in a pair of charcoal gray slacks, a light blue dress shirt, and a gray and navy-striped tie. And a little less scruff than I’m used to on him, but I won’t complain. “Hi,” is all I can squeeze out.

  “Hi.” He waits and grins, then adds, “Can I come in?”

  “Oh! Yes, of course, sir. I’m sorry.” I stand aside until he closes the door behind him, and he drops his overnight bag on the floor. “How do you know where I live?”

  “You forget, we have a friend in common.” There’s a twinkle in his eye. “Are you the least bit glad to see me?”

  How should I answer that? I decide that I’ll just be honest and see what happens. “Yes. I’m very glad to see you.”

  Before I can react, he steps closer to me, then right in front of me, wraps his arms around my waist, and growls, “This glad?” That second is sheared away as his lips find mine, and I drop into the kiss like a waterfall dropping from a cliff. Every ounce of restraint I have is gone, and I feel the heat of his skin through his shirt as my hands make their way up his back and his neck, finding their home in his thick, dark hair, my fingers twisting and locking into it. His lips are soft and just a little salty, and I almost giggle thinking about the dry roasted peanuts they most certainly offered him on the flight. When he finally breaks the lip lock, he grins down at me. “Well, I guess you weren’t lying. It feels like maybe you did miss me a little.”

  “Maybe a little,” I grin and wink.

  “So, do you mind if I change into something more comfortable before we go out?”

  I roll my eyes. “Now you’re a cliché.”

  That makes him laugh right out loud. “No, I’m someone who squirms in part of a monkey suit. I want my jeans and tee. And my Asics. I’m thinking maybe a sports bar, if that’s okay with you.”

  Now I laugh. “Okay? That sounds unbelievably good. Let me get freshened up a bit while you change. Come on.”

  I lead the way down the narrow hallway into my modest little bedroom and head on into the bathroom. But before I can shut the door, he says, “Um, before you get started in there, would it be okay if I . . . I mean, I just got off a plane.”

  I know I turn red. “Oh, god, I never thought . . . Of course. Help yourself.” I sweep my hand toward the bathroom and he heads that direction. It’s the first time I’ve seen him red-faced, and it makes me want to laugh, but I manage to control myself. With the bathroom door closed almost all the way, I hear that familiar sound that I haven’t heard in years, followed by flushing. When he comes out, he smiles. “By the way, I forgot to ask: Where exactly did you go?”

  Plopping down on the end of the bed, he sprawls backward, resting on his elbows, and says, “Boring old Topeka. I hate that place, but we’ve got a very big production facility there and several customers in that region. I’m still trying to match the parts they produce to the customers who need them. It’s going to take a while. They’re some pretty obscure things, but I know they’re necessary in the industry.” He points to the bathroom. “I’m hungry.”

  “Oh. Yes, sir.”

  I’m almost through the doorway when he calls out, “Wait!” I turn to see him jump up, run out the door, and then return with a small package in his hands. “I got this for you. When I saw it, it reminded me of you. Here.”

  Tearing the white paper with metallic silver polka dots from the box, I find a seal on the lid that says, “Bixby’s Gifts – a unique treasure in Topeka.” Well, at least it didn’t come from the airport, I can’t help but think, and then yell at my brain, Shut up, bitch! But when I get the box open, I gasp.

  It’s a bracelet, a leather bracelet with a snap closure. And all around it are tiny roses, three dimensional roses. Tiny leather roses, their individual petals wrapped tightly together. They’re dyed a dark red, and twisted green leather stems trail between them. I’ve never seen anything like it, so exquisite and meticulously handcrafted. I want to put it on right that second because it’s so amazing. When I look up at him, I hope he can see the delight in my face. My eyes go moist, and I’m embarrassed, but it’s been a long time since anyone gave me anything quite so beautiful. In nothing more than a whisper, he asks, “Do you like it?”

  “Oh, sir. It’s so gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like it. Will you help me put it on?”

  “You said you wanted to freshen up. Wait until you’re done and I’ll help you with it.” For a brief moment, he looks like a middle school kid presenting his first dance date with a corsage. “Sure you like it?”

  “I don’t like it. I love it. It’s just, well, it’s amazing. I can only hope to do work that stunning.”

  Without warning, he pushes a strand of hair off my cheek and gifts a tiny, warm kiss to my forehead. “You do. Your work is outstanding. I didn’t realize what I was seeing at first but when I realized it was leather, I had to get it for you. That’s the coolest little shop too. They have really unusual things. I’m not sure how my eyes fell on this. Guess it was just meant to be.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much. It’s lovely. And thanks for thinking of me.”

  “Kimmie,” he says, lifting my gaze from the bracelet to his face, “I haven’t thought about much else since I left.” Oh, god. He’s been thinking about me. I feel a little dizzy. “Have you thought about me?”

  “Yes, sir,” I manage to gasp out and, without thinking, I mutter, “once or twice.” Then I start to laugh.

  “Once or twice?” He’s laughing too.

  “Yeah. Once or twice. Or twenty times. Something like that. I wasn’t counting.” Without thinking, I drop my forehead to his chest and listen to the laughter rolling through him, feel his breath on the nape of my neck.

  His arms encircle my waist again and pull me close, and I flatten my cheek against his chest. A hand comes up and strokes my hair, and I hear him whisper, “Oh, god, little one, we’ve got so far to go.”

  I want to cry, but I’ve got to get pulled together for dinner. Even so, there’s something here in that simple statement that gives me a measure of hope that I haven’t had in a long, long time. Listening to his heartbeat, I admit to myself that I’m really sure about something.

  I want Jaz Givens to be my Sir. It’s time for being alone to be over.

  *****

  As soon as the server asks, I shake my head. “No dessert.”

  I hear Jaz let out a little chuckle before he says, “I’ll have the Boston cream pie, and the lady will have the
red velvet cake.” I glare over at him. “And we’ll both have another glass of wine.”

  “Coming right up, sir.” The server beats a hasty retreat before I have a chance to argue.

  “You’re looking much healthier. I see my admonishment to eat has helped.”

  I scowl. “More like I eat when I’m hungry.”

  “You didn’t before.”

  “That’s because I wasn’t hungry.”

  It’s obvious that he’s trying hard not to grin. “So what changed?”

  I mock back with, “‘So what changed?’”

  He levels a faux serious look at me. “Drink your wine.”

  I play-snarl back, “Yes, sir.” It really is good wine, so that’s no chore anyway.

  “Ah – dessert! That looks delicious,” he beams at the waiter.

  “Thank you, sir. Our desserts are very popular.”

  “I see why.” He picks up the clean fork that came with the decadent mess on the plate and smiles. “Eat up, little one.” One bite and I have to admit: it’s delicious. I’m happily scarfing it down when he says, “Hey, slow down! You’re gonna choke!”

  I haven’t realized I’m gobbling it the way I am. “Oh, sorry. Not very ladylike of me,” I mumble, and shoot a few crumbs out onto the table. Now he’s laughing right out loud at me, and I start to laugh too. When I get it all swallowed down, I open my mouth and stick out my tongue. “Red, huh?”

  “Yup!” He’s just cackling now. When he smiles, there are these crinkles at the corners of his eyes that make his whole face light up. I’m not sure how that works, but it happens. Hearing him laugh like that causes these funny little sensations to run around in my chest, and it makes me happy to know he’s having a good time.

  With every minute that passes, I’m more sure that this man is someone with whom I want to grow something. As we laugh and chat, I feel this connection to him that I haven’t felt in a long time with anyone. We’re almost finished when I ask him, “So, you know about me because of Michael. Have you been married?”

  A dark cloud obscures his smile immediately. “Yes. Some time ago. I have no contact with her anymore. None.”

  “Oh.” I wait for a few seconds to see if the mood lightens, but it doesn’t. “So, do you have kids?”

  “Yes. A daughter. She’s in school at Dartmouth. A freshman.”

  Thank goodness I’ve found something that sounds a little cheerier. “Nice! Sounds like she’s a good student.”

  A gentle smile takes up residence on his lips. “She’s an excellent student. Studying to be a political analyst. Wouldn’t have been my choice for her, but it’s what she wants to do, so I support her in that.” After taking another sip of wine, he says, “You have a son, correct?” When I meet his eyes with questioning, he laughs. “Michael told me.”

  Of course; leave it to Michael. “Yes. Jeffrey. He lives in Austin, Texas. He’s in electronics. And he’s married; has been for a couple of years. Greta. She’s a sweet girl.”

  “No grandchildren?”

  “Nope. We try to get together as often as possible, but I really can’t afford to go out there, and they’re too busy to come here. She’s a nurse.”

  “Ah. Sounds like Melissa. When she’s not at school, she’s working with some charity, or planning some kind of trip with her friends, or something that’s more important than dear old dad, which is pretty much everything. You know how that goes.” I nod. “So we don’t get to spend much time together either.”

  I nod again. “I know. Jeff was the same way in college.” My wine glass is going empty. “He won’t have anything to do with his dad now, after what Phil did.”

  He gives me a knowing nod. “Melissa feels the same way about Meredith. I don’t think she’s spoken to her mother in about five years.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  He snorts. “Not if you knew Meredith.” One more swallow drains his wine glass. “Ready to go?”

  “Sure.” He’s already paid the bill, so we stroll out to the car and wander back to my place.

  When he parks the car in the drive, I automatically ask, “Would you like to . . .”

  Before I can finish the sentence, he announces, “Oh, I’m coming in. We have a lot to talk about. Might as well get started.”

  Uh-oh. I’m not sure if this is going to go the way I’d like or not. After such a pleasant evening, turning it serious seems like a mistake. And it also looks like it’s not up to me at this point. I swallow my anxiety and unlock the door, then make a beeline to the liquor cabinet for some liquid courage. “Want a drink?”

  “Nope. I want to be completely clear-headed for this conversation, and I’d suggest that you remain the same way.” That little pronouncement forces the glass in my hand back into the cabinet, and I head back to sit down and wait for whatever is about to happen. “So I take it you’ve made a decision about scening with me?”

  Straight to the point. I suppose I should be grateful, not only for his straightforwardness, but for the opportunity for me to practice the same. “Well, sir, I . . .”

  “Nope. Tonight you call me Jaz. We’re equals in this room right now, discussing where we’re going from this point on.”

  “Okay, si . . . Jaz. So, I was wondering, it doesn’t really feel like we’re, I mean, are we just, um, I’m not sure . . .”

  “Stop.” He leans back into the sofa and puts an arm across the back. “Come over here and sit beside me.”

  That’s what I’ve wanted all evening, but I’m just so afraid. I don’t know if we’re thinking the same things. Once I’ve gotten settled in beside him, my whole world spins around and gets set upright in one split second when he says, “We’re going to discuss exactly what this is that we’re making here and where we want it to go. So, let’s do some definitions, shall we?” I nod. I’m afraid it’s a little too enthusiastic, but I really don’t care. “So, first of all, can we agree that ‘scening’ is what we’re doing either in the club or privately in play?”

  “Works for me.”

  “Okay. Good. That’s a foundation. Now, the question is, do you want more than that?”

  “Do you?” I counter.

  “Answer the question.”

  Now I’m terrified, terrified of showing too much of what I feel, terrified of saying something that will cause him to jump up and run out the door. What do I do? What do I say? How did I get into this spot? Then I realize: He put me here. He asked me the question. Now I get to answer however I like. In one blinding flash, I realize this is all in my hands. And I’m going to tell the truth. When The Truth leaves my mouth, it sounds something like, “I don’t know. I’m scared shitless.”

  He echoes me when he says, “The truth?” I nod at him. “I’m scared shitless too.” I’m sure he can see the shock on my face. “I mean, we’re stepping into a new relationship. That’s scary.”

  Relationship. That’s what I was wondering about. So it is a relationship. Before I can voice that, he says, “Any time two people determine they want to spend time together, it’s a relationship. But as a Dominant, it’s my responsibility to set the tone for that, and I want this to be an honest, truthful situation.”

  Tremors wrack my voice when I ask, “So you want to have a relationship with me?”

  Leaning toward me, he stares into my eyes as he says, “Actually, I think I already do.” He waits. “Well? Do I?”

  “Yes, sir. Um, Jaz,” I correct myself.

  “Good. There for a minute I thought I was in it alone.” He gives me a grin that warms everything from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. “Now, to the original question – more?”

  I nod slowly. “Yes.”

  “How much more?”

  Everything between my legs goes hot. “Much more. What about you?”

  With a finger under my chin, he tips my head up to look into my eyes. “Everything. I want it all.” A gasp leaves my mouth when he whispers, “Kimmie, I haven’t been this turned on in a long, long time. My cock’s so
hard that it aches, and I want to get to know the woman who’s done that to me.” An overwhelming urge passes over me to rip down his zipper and take that length straight into my throat. My clit is pulsing. My nipples are throbbing. It’s like my brain is going to explode if I don’t have him in the next ten minutes, and all I can do is sit there and stare into his eyes. I feel like I’m melting.

  Just about the time those thoughts all register in my mind, he drops his hand and smiles. “We’re not going to get any discussing done if we keep going like this. But I know this: I want to get this show on the road. I’ve been attracted to you since the first second I saw you, and I hope you feel the same way about me.”

  “Yessss,” I manage to hiss out.

  “Good. Can I make a suggestion?”

  “Sure,” I wheeze.

  “Let’s make out.”

  “Wha . . .”

  He starts to laugh. “Yeah. Let’s make out like a couple of teenagers. I think that’ll be fun. Deep kissing, touching over our clothes, dry humping, the whole bit. We’ve got a chance here to make this relationship whatever we want it to be, and we should want it to be, above all, fun. So let’s do it. Whaddya say?”

  Mercurial doesn’t even begin to describe this man, and I’m so enthralled that I don’t know what to say or do. Where does someone like him come from? I feel like I’m sixteen again, going out for the first time with a guy my mom and dad would never approve of. And then I realize something very, very important.

  Except for the time I spent with Leona, I haven’t thought about Phil a half dozen times during the week. And that’s pretty amazing. But the minute I realize that, I feel a twinge of something. Guilt? That’s not it. I’m not sure what it is, but it must show on my face somehow because Jaz immediately says, “What? What’s going on in your head? I know it’s something.” When I don’t respond, he repeats, “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I was just thinking about Phil.”

  The look in his eyes turns to something fierce before he snarls, “I’m going to drive him right out of your head, starting right now.”