“Anything special you’re celebrating tonight?” she asked.
They smiled at each other. The man’s eyes lowered, a touch of pink in his cheeks; an answering glow rose under the woman’s deeper skin tone.
“A five-year anniversary,” she said.
“Congratulations!”
Helen hadn’t only asked out of nosiness. Once their plates were empty and cleared away, once the woman shook her head at the offer of a dessert menu, she was able to surprise them with a complimentary confection fresh out of the kitchen, buried in cream, berries, and chocolate sauce.
“It’s on me,” she said. “Happy anniversary again.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d utilized the eatery’s policy offering free desserts for special occasions. And it wasn’t the first time she’d fallen a bit in love with a patron at one of her tables, or even two patrons at once. But she didn’t often give tokens of her appreciation, like a tropical bird collecting shiny pebbles for prospective mates. Maybe it was a combination of their beauty and their frugality—she saw the opportunity to do something kind. From times when the tips weren’t much, she could sympathize. Or maybe it was a sort of tribute. Either way, Helen walked away from their appreciative smiles with a fizzy feeling in her chest, bubbles that burst as she heard the woman’s gasp of pleasure at the first bite.
Every dessert plate had a cutesy saying glazed on it in calligraphy. This one, apparently, said “Eat what you love.” The couple read it together, and then he leaned close, cheeks still pink, and whispered something that made her gasp again, and giggle. Helen could guess what. And she wasn’t jealous—okay, a little—but she knew it wasn’t her place to be, and tried to set it aside.
It was nearly her own anniversary of singledom. Her ex had never been anywhere near so enthusiastic about oral sex— not about giving it, at least. And these thoughts were far too explicit to be having at work. God, Helen was a professional. Her crushes were usually far more chaste. Maybe she’d been single for too long? Or it was as simple as: this couple was really, really attractive.
The woman’s name was Tricia Williams, she found out from reading the credit card stuck in the bill sleeve. As she processed it, Helen glanced their way, found them deep in conversation. He nodded; she cupped his cheek in her hand, and he nuzzled her palm. By the standards of the couples who usually came here, this was not precisely chaste either, but who could object? Not Helen.
She returned the card to Tricia, who met her eyes and thanked her with one last heart-stopping smile. Then the man had risen, was helping Tricia out of her chair. She took his hand and kissed the knuckles. Then they were gone.
Helen brought a bread basket to another table before making her way to the empty place they had left. A crisp twenty lay on top of the signed bill—more than a 30 percent tip—and as Helen picked it up, she found a small sticky note on the reverse side.
For Exceptional Service. Under those words, a phone number.
Helen put the note in the pocket of her trousers. She felt it rustle there with every step she took, every time she set a plate down on a table, every time she ducked into the galley to stretch sore muscles.
When her shift was finally over, she stood in the parking lot and texted with trembling hands.
Hi. . . you left me this number at Mudita Eatery?
In seconds, a reply:
Yes, we did. :D
Helen breathed out. It was late at night. Her feet would soon be numb, but she was curious and had no reason to hurry home, and neither half of the couple had looked like a serial killer. Plus the emoticon lacked a nose, and her friend Serena always swore emoticon noses were how homicidal impulses invariably betrayed themselves.
Why?
That looked stupid, naked in the little speech bubble, so Helen quickly added, You said something about exceptional service.
Exceptional service, came the reply, deserves an exceptional reward. Would you like to join us?
She didn’t have to think, just watch her fingers type: Yes.
Wonderful! Jacob will be there soon. Can you wait near the front door?
Just in case, Helen sent Serena a text with a photo of the note and an explanation. Pretty sure I’m going to ... She didn’t want to jinx or cheapen it by saying something crude, so she ended with, not be murdered. Still, wanted you to know.
Wanted to brag, i bet XD XD XD. Good luck! Txt me at midnight + morning so i know ur safe!
As she sent Thanks XD, I’ll brag then, a car pulled up to the curb.
The breathtaking man—Jacob, according to Tricia’s text— swept out of the driver’s seat and came up to her.
“Hi,” Helen said. How exactly did you greet one half of the couple you’d just arranged a tryst with? “Thanks for the invitation.”
“It’s my pleasure.” He bent at the waist with such elegant formality that at first she thought he was bowing—then, in a move that left her equally taken aback, he opened the passenger’s seat door and held it for her.
From another man she might find it overbearing. From Jacob, it was . . . a service. As if she deserved better than to be bothered with such mundane matters as opening her own doors. “Thank you,” she said, getting in.
As he ducked back into the driver’s seat, she noticed his shirt collar was unbuttoned. Between pale fabric, she saw a strip of glossy black leather around his neck. It looked supple, soft. She wanted to reach out and touch it. More than that, she suspected that if she tried, he might let her.
She folded her hands in her lap. “So, Jacob, right? I’m Helen.”
“Hello, Helen.” She watched his lips shape her name in the rearview mirror over the dashboard.
She wanted to ask, Do you do this often? But it didn’t seem polite, and maybe she didn’t really want the answer. Instead, she opted for, “You’re celebrating an anniversary?”
“Yes. Of this.” He brought a hand up briefly to the leather collar and glanced her way with a subtle, pleasant expression that led her to believe he’d noticed her looking at it.
“Congratulations.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “We appreciated your congratulations back there.”
“And I appreciate your appreciation.”
They both laughed. His laughter was warm, and seemed to surround her; hers felt like champagne sparkling from her lungs up her throat.
The ride wasn’t long. Jacob parked the car next to one of the shops on a side street and came around to open the door for her again, then led the way up a flight of stairs to the apartment above the business. They entered right into a small living room. Tricia sat in what looked like an antique armchair— one truncated orb-in-claw foot braced on an old encyclopedia volume, but the wood glossy and pearly upholstery spotless. She closed the book she had been reading and looked up at them.
Jacob turned another armchair toward hers, and Helen sat in it. “Thanks.” She returned Tricia’s smile. “Hello.”
“Should I make introductions?” Jacob asked as he knelt smoothly at Tricia’s feet. “Ma’am, this is Helen.”
“And you’re Tricia. I, er, saw your name on the credit card.”
“And remembered.” Though still confident, Tricia’s pleasant tone had a softer note, too. “I also appreciate that you noticed it was my card. So often people assume the man is paying. Which he does,” she added, her hand dropping to stroke Jacob’s hair, “every other date. We’re egalitarian that way.”
She and Jacob chuckled, and Helen joined in.
The room was so small, their chairs so close, that from his place at Tricia’s feet Jacob was able to reach out toward Helen’s. “May I help you take these off?” he asked, fingers brushing the laces of her shoes.
“Oh.” She blushed. “I can do it myself.”
“Of course. But there’s a difference between having to and letting someone else assist you.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” Remembering the car door, she stretched her feet out toward him. He cupped her calf as he pulled each sho
e off, then peeled down her socks—if he even noticed their stickiness after a long shift on her feet, he showed no sign of it. And his warm, strong hands felt lovely as they moved over her sore ankles and arches, her calluses and strained muscles.
“Oh yes,” Helen murmured, melting in her seat. “Keep doing that, please.”
“My pleasure.”
Through eyes gone heavy-lidded as the relaxation of the massage spread through her, she met Tricia’s gaze. “I see what you mean about exceptional service.”
“It’s both our pleasures,” she replied. “And . . .” She looked down, with another flash of that softness. “And yours, if you like.”
“I would,” Helen said. “Absolutely.”
“Wonderful.” The note of command returned, less calm but no less confident or seductively lyrical. “Whenever you’re ready to get on your feet again—it’s just a few steps to the bedroom.”
A convenient perk of the tiny apartment—but around Tricia, it seemed like a palace. Helen sighed, flexing her toes. Jacob’s caress refused to feel rushed, and Tricia didn’t seem impatient either. She watched them, her submissive and her guest, as if they could occupy her attention forever.
Eventually, Helen did stand, bracing herself with a hand on Jacob’s shoulder, not even thinking to ask. She knew by now he would be glad to assist her. Tricia reached out, and Helen slid an arm around her waist as they walked together to the bedroom.
It had been too long since she’d touched another woman, or anyone, for that matter. Tricia’s body felt so good, warm and vibrant under her fingers. Helen wanted to hold her more, to touch her further, but she wasn’t as sure of the etiquette in a domme’s case and didn’t want to overstep.
At the foot of the bed, Tricia turned and kissed her, sweet and long. It felt like Helen had to clutch at her back and hips for balance.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered when the kiss ended.
“So are you,” Tricia murmured against her cheek.
She stepped back, then, and Helen reached for the buttons on her shirt, which had become confining. Jacob was there, helping her, taking the discarded clothing from her hands and putting it somewhere. He knelt, sliding her trousers down until she could step out of them.
“So beautiful,” Tricia said from where she sat now, a chair in the corner that also proved to be the destination for Helen’s clothes—she took the pants from Jacob and draped them over a wicker arm. Yet she sat there as if in a throne.
Helen’s own back straightened as Jacob looked up at her and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re not half bad yourself.”
“Thank you.” He exchanged a glance with Tricia, then asked Helen, “Would you like me to undress now?”
“Very much.”
Those hypnotizing fingers undid the buttons of his shirt. It came off, then his thin white undershirt, revealing a trim torso with a dusting of gold-brown hair. He stood to remove his socks and trousers. Like his arms, his legs were beautifully muscled, and—Helen overcame an absurd shyness as his boxers came off—his ass too, and she also liked the look of the erection curving between his thighs.
He kept the collar on, of course.
This time, Helen didn’t try to resist touching it. He bent his head back, letting her explore the strip of leather. She found a silver ring and pulled it, drawing him closer to the bed. Tricia made a sound—looking to her, Helen received a nod of approval. Her bra rested over her shirt by Tricia’s elbow; Helen’s nipples prickled even in the warm air, arousal spreading under every inch of her skin.
She sat on the mattress, and Jacob knelt in front of her. His hands ran along her calves as they had before, and as before, it was unspeakably nice—but nicer still was when his touch came higher, over her knees and thighs and hips. Her own quads were muscular from a job that required her to stand all day, and he made an approving—adoring, even—sound as he caressed them.
Yes, after standing all afternoon and evening, it felt good to lie back and be adored.
Jacob’s hands moved farther up, past her waist, brushing her breasts, stroking her shoulders. He bent over her, and Helen reached for his collar again, drew him toward her lips. She kissed him for no longer than Tricia had kissed her, though no shorter either, and she probably couldn’t have withstood doing it much longer—the excitement the two kisses kindled left her heart thundering, her limbs trembling.
He stroked her shaking arms, which didn’t ease her shaking but made clear that her shudders weren’t from nervousness. He kissed her cheek then—as Tricia had done, and with the same warmth behind it, but not exactly like her; a difference between dominant and submissive that was nothing as simple as deference or authority, a difference Helen had no presence of mind to quantify right now. And his mouth moved lower: over her jaw, the crook of her neck, her shoulders. On her breasts, his lips just skimmed the nipples, though she had the sense that both he and Tricia took note of how she moaned at their hot and gentle pressure.
Along her stomach, and lower still.
Helen usually kept her pubic hair trimmed, but she hadn’t been on a date in months. It had slipped her mind, and only returned now as she felt Jacob’s fingers stroking along her folds, parting her. What he found there didn’t give him a moment’s pause. He kissed her there, too, before his tongue began to glide in a slow up and down exploration.
At the same time, his hands continued moving over her— hips, thighs, sides, following the routes that made her gasp. They settled at her waist once he began circling her clit in earnest, in answer to sounds quite a bit sharper and more demanding than gasps. So often Helen had tried to repress, if not her desire, then at least its expression around her lovers. She didn’t want to be greedy, domineering. Here, that wasn’t a problem. Jacob even seemed to enjoy it, voicing his own low wordless murmur as she pushed up against him. His mouth around her was full, warm, his tongue slippery between her folds, offering just the right amount of speed and firmness.
Helen was nearly surprised by her orgasm—she couldn’t remember the last time a climax had come so effortlessly. It swept up from between her thighs across her entire body, her heart and breath and hips picking up speed, then all going slack at once. She seemed to drift on a cloud of bliss, the tender caresses of Jacob’s hands and lips across her skin gradually guiding her back to earth.
“You’re a quick learner,” she said. “I mean . . .”
“Thank you,” he said, his lips curving against her inner thigh in a smile at her compliment. “Would you like me to keep going?”
“Oh my gosh.” That offer did take her by surprise—she’d heard it from female lovers, but rarely from a man. And he asked it in that rarest and most precious of tones: as if by saying yes, she’d be doing him a favor. “Absolutely.”
He didn’t aim for her clit at once, giving her time to recover from the post-afterglow sensitivity. Instead his lips grazed over her thighs, down to the knee and up to her stomach. Tricia appeared over him, and without interrupting she reached for the tie holding his long hair back and undid it. Silky strands fell loose over Helen’s skin, tracing ticklish patterns. Not the kind of tickle she’d giggle at—delicate in a way even his soft and gentle mouth couldn’t be.
She felt herself being driven wild again.
Still, while Tricia stood above her, Helen couldn’t let herself close her eyes. In the dim light of the bedroom, she saw more olive skin—Tricia had stripped down to her panties, in a red that matched her dress. Curls of hair stroked the tops of her round breasts as she bent to run her fingers over Jacob’s scalp. His appreciative murmur was another caress to Helen.
Tricia got a knee on the bed, bending down toward her. “You look divine when you’re enjoying yourself.”
“You too.” She shivered at the stroke of Jacob’s tongue, but tried to continue a conversation with her other lover of this night—“You look divine all the time.”
Tricia smiled and even ducked her head slightly. But her flattered shynes
s wasn’t false modesty. “I do, don’t I? It’s wonderful to be reminded.”
“Can I kiss you . . . ma’am?”
“There’s no need for that, from you,” Tricia said as she came closer. “Unless you really want to.”
“Maybe not.” Helen sir’d and ma’am’d people all day at work, so the associations of the word on her tongue weren’t primarily erotic—though she had to say, hearing it from Jacob was quite, quite nice. “But . . . Tricia. Beautiful Tricia.” She was going a bit wild. “Can I kiss you?”
“Without reservation.” Tricia lay beside her and met her, lip to lip. Warm as their last kiss, this one quickly grew passionate. She moaned as Helen’s tongue stroked hers. Meanwhile, between Helen’s legs, Jacob’s tongue moved more slowly, as if to give her space to process each new sensation—or perhaps he was distracted by the sound of his domme’s pleasure. Helen couldn’t blame him. Satisfaction glowed in her as she drew out more sighs from Tricia by moving a hand over her body, caressing her. She cupped one breast and traced patterns, then stroked down her side.
As she reached the waistband of her panties, Tricia gently took her hand and broke the kiss. “I’m very particular about how I’m touched there—but that feels nice,” she added as she set Helen’s fingers down on her thigh. “Very nice.” Muscle trembled beneath Helen’s touch. “You’re a quick learner, too.”
Helen smiled, pretty much past words at this point.
“And if you really want to finger-fuck something . . .” She took Helen’s other hand, guiding it down toward Jacob’s mouth.
“Oh.” Helen stroked her finger over his tongue—it felt, in its way, as sweet as kissing Tricia had been, if more . . . dominant. Yes. Jacob tipped his head so she could press in deeper, and she shivered heatedly as she reached the back of his mouth, his throat. He seemed to have no gag reflex. Why was that so hot to her? At the same time it felt too obvious to need explanation.
Coming Soon Page 6