Indulgence

by Liz Crowe

  “Yeah?”

  “Adelaide’s pregnant.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, is that right?”

  “Yeah. That’s what this was all about. She’s pregnant and wants to marry the guy. Melissa told her that it was fine, but she had a lot of people she needed to confess to about the lies she told on my girl. I don’t know if that’ll happen, but at least the mystery’s been unraveled. And Melissa had nothing to do with any of it. She’s still heartbroken, but now she knows she had no part in the breakup of the relationship.”

  “Poor girl. When will she get to come home again?”

  “Probably not for a couple of weeks. That’s quite a trip from there to here.”

  “Sure is. I’m glad you weren’t gone out of town the weekend she showed up.”

  “Me too.”

  “So how’s work?”

  He takes a sip of wine before he answers, and his face goes flat. “It’s work. It’s not as good as my last job, but it’s a job.”

  I hate the look on his face. “What did you do at your last job?”

  “Basically the same thing, only just one side of it. I found the plants that used the products we manufactured, and I coordinated with their buyers to develop new ones so they had what they needed, something made specifically for them that totally covered their requirements.” Before I get a chance to ask any more, he adds, “One year my bonus was over two hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Oh my god!” That’s more money than I’ve ever seen. “That’s just, well, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say goodbye, because it’s gone. They let three of us go, and then shut down. Now I do the same job, and then I have to go to the damn factories to see what they do with the parts so I can coordinate with the engineers to find ways to make them better. I’m doing twice the work. I’m getting half the pay. And no bonuses – none. I was excited when Melissa got accepted to Dartmouth. These days I’ll just be glad when she’s done and I’m hoping I have a little savings left.” Now he’s not looking at me as he speaks, just staring out into space.

  “But the cost of living is cheaper here, right?” I offer.

  “Yes. That’s true. But it’s still hard to take.” He takes another swig of wine and looks over at me. “You know, guys identify themselves by what they do. When a woman’s asked, ‘What do you do?’ she typically says, ‘Oh, I’m a mom and I’m married to so-and-so.’ But a man? He says, ‘I’m a chemical engineer’ or ‘I’m a crane operator’ or something like that. He identifies himself by his job. And when we lose that job? It’s emasculating.” Now he’s staring back down into his glass, swirling the wine, watching it coat the inside of the bowl.

  I just put my spoon down, take the glass out of his hand, set it on the countertop, and wrap my arms around his waist. “I don’t identify you by your job. I identify you by you. And you’re a helluva guy, Jasper Andrew Givens.” After thinking for a few seconds, I look up into his face. “So if you could do anything in the world that you’d like to do, what would it be?”

  “The truth?” I nod at him. “I’d be a farmer. I’d love to plow and plant and cultivate. I’d love to have cows and pigs and a horse or two.” Now I’m shocked, and I guess I look it, because he shoots down my unasked question with, “My grandparents had a farm in Oklahoma. I loved spending time there, feeding the chickens, going with my grandpa to drive the cows up to the feed lot. I loved it all. I loved the dust when the combine was running in the soybeans in the fall. I begged my parents to let me live there, but they wouldn’t. They loved southern California. But I always wanted to go there, to live there.”

  “I assume they’ve passed?”

  “Oh, yeah. Many years back.”

  “And what happened to the farm?”

  “It’s still in the family. The house is really run down and I’m guessing the fields are in bad shape. Probably overgrown with weeds and shrubs. But I remember what it looked like when I was a child, and it was a magical place, Kimmie. The creek. The big trees. The tire swing hanging from the big oak out in front of the barn. Magical.” There’s a far-away look in his eyes that steals my breath because I can tell it hurts him to talk about it. Then his face meets mine, and it’s almost like a light has flickered out in his soul. “But I grew up, got a business degree, got a good job, married the woman of my dreams, and watched as it all went to hell in a hand basket. My dreams, up in smoke.” He kisses my forehead and my lips reach to his for something stronger. Instead, he gives me a little peck and then says, “So let’s eat this wonderful meal you’ve cooked. It smells delicious!”

  “I hope it is.” I busy myself with getting everything on the table while he pours more wine and sets our places with the things I’ve left stacked up. I’ve made pork chops cooked in wine and shallots, roasted beets, and roasted asparagus with my signature Hollandaise sauce, and I let him serve me again. We eat and laugh and talk, and a firm plan entrenches itself in my mind.

  Jaz Givens wants to be a farmer. And I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. I’ll just play along and see what happens but, if I’m right, I may be able to make that dream come true.

  With dinner cleaned up, we sit in the den and talk until late. I didn’t realize we had so many things to talk about, but we do. We talk about religious theories and the global market and the defunct space program – we just talk and talk and talk. At eleven, I say, “Oh, god! It’s late. Are you staying or going?”

  “I’d like to stay.”

  “Good! I didn’t want you to go!” I giggle. We’ve been sitting there on the sofa, my legs draped across his lap, and he’s rubbed my feet practically the whole time. His shoes lie beside the sofa, one on its side. Even though the uppers look almost brand new, the soles are very worn, and a pain shoots through my chest. Looks can be so deceiving, and the leathers I made for him must’ve been quite a luxury. Then I realize: He wanted to meet me. That’s what the leathers were about. That was Michael, telling him about me. It was his way of having an excuse to meet me. That’s one very expensive dating service, but it worked. I smile to myself, thinking of how much he sacrificed to order those leathers. Probably dipped into his savings. He should’ve just introduced himself! But I probably would’ve just ignored him.

  Look what I would’ve missed. Oh, god, I look at him and my heart just melts. We’re so good together, and I can’t wait to see where this goes, to know what it’s like to be with this man all the time. Without thinking, I ask, “So what about that contract?” I instantly wish I’d kept my mouth shut in case he changed his mind.

  He places a palm on my cheek. “I’m ready to sign anytime. What about you?”

  “Yes. Anytime.”

  “I’ll arrange some kind of special celebration. I think we owe ourselves and each other that. What do you think?”

  “I think I love it.”

  “I love you.”

  I giggle again. “I love you too.”

  His hand wanders up under the front of my top and when his fingers pinch my nipple, I squirm. That gets my top pulled right off, and my bra follows. He pulls out his belt and I wonder what he’s going to do with it, but I don’t have to wonder for long. Making a figure eight out of it, he wraps it around my wrists behind my back and tightens it, and a throbbing sets up in my clit. I just sit and wait while he pulls his slacks down, followed by his boxer briefs, and the hard, sexy object of my affection greets me with a heartbeat-induced wave. “Stand up, sub.” When I’m standing, he stands too, slips his pants and briefs completely off, then strips mine off so I’m bare. He levels a smoky gaze at me. “Present, sub.” I kneel without the benefit of my hands, and he helps me with a hand under my elbow. Then he steps directly in front of me. “You’ll suck me until I come. I’ll be taking it deep, so be warned. I expect complete compliance.” He steps up until his manhood is resting against my lips. “Open wide, sub. Prepare to please me.” My mouth drops open and in a long-practiced move, he buries his cock in my throat.

  It takes me about five
strokes to adjust and then I’m good. I’m concentrating on keeping up some suction as he uses my mouth and throat, his hands wrapped tight in my hair, and he moans out every so often as he strokes into me. He smells of soap, his cologne, and the musk that defines a man, a heady blend that hardens my nipples and makes my pussy weep. The faint taste of pre-cum sets my heart racing, and I double down my sucking efforts, longing for that moment when my mouth is flooded and I’m overcome by the taste of his desire. And I don’t have long to wait; I feel him rise up onto his toes, his back arching, and he pours into me with a strangled gasp of, “Fuck, Kimmie!” I’m waiting to breathe with his hardness lodged tight in my throat as he grinds in to wring out the last few drops, and I draw in a ragged breath when he moves back, then start trying to swallow it as fast as I can.

  His hands run down my cheeks and his fingers curve under my chin as I lick him, lap at him, make every effort to capture every drop. Pulling my chin up to look down in my face, he smiles at me as I lick my lips. “Very good, baby. So good. Stand up.” He helps me up with hands under my elbows again, then kisses me, his own hands wrapping around my bound wrists behind my back. When he pulls back, he whispers, “Your turn.”

  I’m extremely glad I cleaned off the dining room table when we were finished eating, because he pushes me back through the doorway and against its edge, then lifts me and sits me on it. Spreading my legs wide, he pulls up a chair, sits in it in front of me, and buries his face in my slit. A million things run through my mind: The roughness of his tongue; the heat of his breath; the sounds of the wind chimes on the back porch; the smell of the leather in my workshop; and the vision of a young boy with brown hair and brown eyes, running through a field of winter wheat, his corduroy jacket missing a button and his eyes dancing in the sunlight. Quick as a wink, my body shudders and I come with my hips pumping toward his face. The sound of his laughter from between my legs brings me back into the room, and he stands and leans over to look into my face. All he manages to get out is, “Kimmie, I . . .”

  “Please, Sir, fuck me, please? Oh, god, I need you. Please, Sir . . .” He just scoops me up and heads down the hallway to the bedroom. Once there, he plunks me down unceremoniously on the bed and crawls up with me, then rolls me to my face. “Draw your knees up under you to lift your ass.” As I do, I hear the familiar sound of ripping foil, followed by, “God, girl, you’re so fucking wet. I want to pound an orgasm right out of you. You’re going to come for me, and you’ll do it fast.” My face is jammed into the mattress, my collarbone resting on it, and he grips my hips and forces his dick straight into my wetness. When I shriek a little, he slaps my ass with a hot palm and growls, “You want it, don’t you, sub? Say it.”

  “Yes, Sir! Please fuck me, Sir! Oh, god, pleeeeeeease . . .” The heat of my desire is almost more than I can stand, and there’s an ache deep inside my pelvis that feels like a roaring forest fire.

  “Yeah, baby. Oh, yeah.” His hands grip my wrists to hold me just as he wants me, and he’s slamming into me, hissing and groaning as his hardness stabs into me over and over, occasionally drawing back to slap my ass again, hard. That insistent, expanding gnawing deep inside me is coming to the surface faster than I ever thought possible, and I’m waiting for him to tell me it’s okay, that I can let go, when he says, “Not yet, sub. Stay with me.”

  I start to wail. I can’t help it. His shaft grates over my G-spot until I’m writhing, my arms still held firm by his hands, and I’m pleading for release. I need it. I have to have it. It’s eating me alive. And then I hear the magic words.

  “Let go, sub. Come for me. Now!”

  I swear, everything turns black. The things I’m feeling don’t consist of anything I have words for, and I don’t know how long I can take it. I feel that sensation again, the warm gush down my legs, and a faint humming sets up in my ears. In what has to be only seconds, but seems like an hour, I feel Jaz’s fingers dig into my hips as he pounds into me and releases with a shout of, “FUCK, KIMMIE! God damn, girl, you’re, oh, fuck. Ohhhhhhh, oh babe. God.” There’s the sensation of something falling beside me, and then I topple over, but I don’t care. Everything’s a jumble for me, and my body is still jerking, my hips still bucking and pumping. I want more; I need more.

  Apparently I drift off, and when I finally open my eyes, I’m lying in the bed with my hands unrestrained. My face is damp and my hair is stuck to it, and I’m lying in a huge wet spot. Flailing around, I find Jaz, and he’s still panting and just as fucked up as I am. Everything’s still a blur and I’m trying to sort it all out. And that’s when it happens.

  There’s a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder, and the sound of rain pouring down fills the whole house. As the rumble of the thunder fades, I feel it – it’s like the very air in the room ripples and expands, and the gasp that comes from his lips matches mine. Strong arms drag me across the bed and grip me tight, and I squirm until I’m turned to face him. With one hand tangled in my hair, he clutches me so tightly that I can barely breathe and kisses me so hard he’ll bruise my lips, I’m sure. But I find myself clinging to him too, kissing him back, trying to draw him into me so he can’t get away. When he finally presses me back and looks down into my face, his eyes are so dark and serious that even the next lightning strike can’t illuminate them.

  Something has happened between us, something so profound that I can’t explain it, and I know he feels it too. His body and my body – I don’t think I can tell where one ends and the other begins. It’s exciting and comfortable at the same time, and I don’t ever want to leave this room and not have his hands on my skin. He whispers hoarsely, “Touch my face, Kimmie. I want to feel your fingertips. God, I love you, girl. I can’t turn loose. I have to have you with me. Please, god, Kimmie.” He sounds so desperate and afraid when he whispers out, “Please love me. Don’t leave.” When I start to cry, I hear him say, “Oh, god, please . . .”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t belong anywhere else, just here with you. If everyone else in the whole world slipped away and it was just you and me, that would be fine. As long as I have you, it’s all okay. Always. I don’t care about the past or anything in it, just you and me and here and now.” My nose is running and I’m choking and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but this man and his arms around me. This is my whole world. This is all that matters. “Just hold me. Please, just hold me tight.” Thunder shakes the house again, and I sob in his arms. For the first time in a long time, I feel safe and loved. Someone loves me. Jaz Givens loves me. And I love him.

  I fall asleep with him whispering, “Oh, Kimmie, oh, Kimmie, oh, Kimmie,” into my hair, warm and sated and overwhelmed with joy. Our connection is complete. It’s total. It’s deep and firm and never-ending. I’ll be whatever he wants me to be, do whatever he wants me to do, go wherever he wants me to go. I belong to Jasper Givens. And I know he belongs to me.

  *****

  There’s rustling in my little bedroom, and I squint into the lamp light. “What are you doing?”

  “I have to go to work. I don’t want to, but I have to. Promise me something.” He’s scrambling around to get into his clothes. I look at the clock – it’s five thirty in the morning.

  “Okay. Whatever you want. What?”

  “I know we talked about going to the club and signing the contract, but promise me we’ll talk this evening instead. I don’t know what happened between us last night, but whatever it was, it was important, too important to ignore.” He runs his fingers through his hair to straighten it out, then takes both my hands. My sleepy eyes are fighting to find his and when I do, they’re so full of love that it takes my breath away. One of his hands leaves mine and comes up to brush my hair away from my face. “I love you, Kimmie. I’ve never loved a woman this way. We need to figure out what’s next, but this, whatever this is that we’re growing, it’s consuming us both and I want it to. I want it to grow and bind us together.”

  With a sleepy smile, I nod. “I want it too.�
��

  “Okay then. I’ll see you this evening. Me here or you there?”

  I look around at my bedroom. “You here. I want you back here. In this room with me, your arms around me.”

  He leans down and kisses my forehead. “You’ve got it, babe. Got clients today?”

  I chuckle. “Oddly, no. No one’s on the schedule.”

  His lips meet mine, and then he pulls back and smiles. “Then stay in bed. Rest. I wish I could, but I’ve got a damn meeting. I’ve got to go home and shower and change before I go in. But I want to be here with you.”

  “And I want to be here with you, Sir,” I whisper back and stroke his cheek with my finger.

  “Good. I’ll see you when I get off work. I’ll bring something to eat so we don’t have to waste time cooking, okay?” I nod. “So I’ll see you as soon as I can get back here. Love you, baby.” He rises and heads to the door, then turns and looks back at me.

  “I love you too, Sir.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Go back to sleep.” With that, he closes the door and I’m alone.

  The bed is still warm where his perfect body had been, and I scoot into the warm spot and wrap the covers around me tight. I want to feel his arms around me. As I drift back off to sleep, I remember the night before, the power and intensity of our coupling, the orgasm and the way it shattered the room, his fear and desperation, his pleading and my own. The phone wakes me at five ‘til eight, and I pick it up and smile. “Hey.”

  “Hey. I love you, Kimmie.”

  “I love you too, Jaz. Come back to me?”

  “As soon as work is over. Can’t wait.”

  “Me either.”

  “Bye, baby.”

  “Bye, Sir.”

  After we hang up, I go to the recent calls list and stare at the entry showing that he called me. I can still hear his voice and see his smile, feel his lips on my skin. I’m just gone.

  No matter what, we’re going to do this and it’ll be spectacular. And I’ve got a lot of phone calls to make. I should probably get started.