by E J Frost
“Fuck him, then,” she says.
“Right,” I say, with zero conviction.
She tips her head and gives me a soft look with her deep brown eyes.
“You still want to fuck him.”
“Because I’m a fucktard.”
“Because he showed you there’s something more behind door number two,” she says gently, reminding me of when we used to watch old game shows together late at night on the ratty couch in Mother Kay’s common room. “You’ve had a run of Doms who were just dialing it in with you, girlfriend. And now you’ve found a good one—”
“Potentially a good one,” I snap. “Who left me plugged to run off to Queens and sent me a fucking thumbs-up emoji when I tried to be there for him and left me to drop into the black hole of subdrops and fucking judged me for doing the scene I committed to right in front of him.”
A lady two tables over shoots me a glare and I hunch down into my coffee miserably. “I’m not sure he’s such a good one,” I say quietly and without expletives.
“He ran off to Queens to rescue his drug-addicted daughter. That makes him a fucking paladin.” She ticks her points off on her fingers. “He sent you a thumbs-up emoji because it was late at night and he was exhausted and because he’s a man and they barely have opposable thumbs, much less know how to text.”
I salute her with my coffee cup. She’s right about that.
“He left you to drop into the black hole of subdrops, and you should make him fucking grovel for that, but he didn’t know you were dropping, and you didn’t tell him because you have steel-bitch balls. I love you, B, but you’d have to be in the last stages of kidney failure before you asked anyone for help, so you can’t really lay that one at his door.”
I roll my eyes. She’s right about that, too, but I don’t have to admit it.
“And was he judging you, or was he having a huge mantrum because you did a scene with another Dom?”
“Felt like he was judging me,” I mutter into my coffee.
“He was jealous, B. C’mon, you know what was going on. Theo all but peed on your leg, putting his arm around you like that. And Mac reacted like—”
“An asshole,” I interject.
“A jealous, alpha male. You walk out in your lingerie, on another Dom’s arm, and what’s he to think? He’s got no way to know you weren’t deep in dick five minutes before.”
The lady two tables over huffs, picks up her bag and her coat, and leaves.
“We’re scaring off the ‘Nillas,” I point out.
“Fuck ‘em,” Ruby says. Which sums up her whole philosophy. I’m going to get that put on a T-shirt for her. “We’re solving important problems here. Did you make it clear when you told Theo you’d give him a rain-check that sex was off the table?”
“No,” I groan. “Because it wasn’t then.”
“So, Mac figures you’ve bounced right from him to Theo and given Theo the thing you didn’t give him—”
“He’s the one who said no sex, Rubes.”
“Yeah, do you think that’s what’s on his mind when you stroll out on the arm of a guy you’ve fucked a hundred times?”
“Hey, two dozen. Tops.”
She leans over the table and hisses. “The point is that Theo’s dick has been where his hasn’t, little sis.”
Ruby and I aren’t related, but she’s called me her little sister ever since the first day we met at Mother Kay’s. It brings a tear to my eye and today is no different. I blot it with the coffee shop’s napkin.
“So, you’re saying, what? I fucked up?”
She reaches across the table and catches my hand in hers, curling her black French-tipped fingers around mine. “I’m saying you’re my blue Kali and any man who wants you should get on his knees and beg for your attention. But since this one’s gotten it, make him grovel for the sucky aftercare, and consider that you might have overreacted a little.”
Mac called me his goddess. That’s usually a name reserved for Dommes, and it was so cool that he flipped it around and made me feel like one during our scene.
“A little?” I sniffle.
Ruby pinches the air between her fingers. “Don’t forget the groveling.”
Groveling is more Ruby’s thing than mine, since she’s a pro-Domme, but I nod.
“Do I call him?”
“Men and apologies and phones?” She shakes her head. “Whatever you decide to do, do it in person.”
She’s right. I’ve never, ever had a good make-up conversation with a guy over the phone.
I squeeze the fingers she still has wrapped around mine. “Thank you, Red Sonja.”
We didn’t have expensive video games or Blu-ray at Mother Kay’s. We had old board games, a set of Dungeons and Dragons books, and stacks of VCR tapes. Ruby loved the old Red Sonja movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger and named her D&D character after her. I played a girl berserker I named John, just to piss everyone off.
“You’re welcome, baby sis. Now that we’ve solved all of your problems, you have to listen to mine.”
I laugh, because Ruby’s taken a huge weight off my shoulders, and because Ruby’s problems are usually of the “I have too many men begging to lick my boots” variety. “Okay, tell me all your problems, Mistress R.”
With a grin and a wink, she launches in and I listen, and laugh, because Ruby’s fucking funny when she gets going. But this time, maybe for the first time ever, I realize that behind all the bootlicking, and testicle-crushing, and too many men begging for her attention, my big sis might want a man who calls her goddess because he actually thinks she is, and who brings her a beer afterwards, and holds her all night even if she doesn’t get much sleep.
When I tell her this, she grins wryly at me. “Well, if your Mac has a sissy brother or two, send them to me. I’m still building my harem.”
I laugh harder because she’s probably not joking. “Even if they’re twenty years older?”
“Girlfriend, all cocks look the same in the dark.”
Because she’s right, I chuckle.
*****
Even though I’m in substantially the same position I was in when I went into Spill the Beans: overdressed, overtired, and without any resolution between me and Mac, I’m happier when I make my way into my shop. I bring a paper tray full of coffees and distribute them to Nicky, Jules, the piercer who rents a chair at the shop, and Spike, our high school apprentice, who has made one of his rare appearances. Once I get Spike going decorating the shop for Halloween, Nicky gives me with the news that the bullshit reviews have been taken off Google. Between that and watching Spike hanging little ghost lights in the front window, my mood lifts even more. Emily must have told Logan, who fixed it without even asking me about it, in the high-handed way that Doms do.
I’ve never felt more grateful for the high-handedness of Doms as I am this morning. My mood lifts even higher when Nicky shows me the appointment calendar. We’ve got solid bookings all the way to the weekend. I’ve got two first-time tattoos tomorrow which are probably my favorites. There’s nothing like a blank canvas to work on and the amazement in a first-timer’s eyes when they see the finished piece glowing at them in the mirror is better than every birthday and Christmas rolled into one.
I take a walk-in who wants a redesign of a faded heart with his mother’s name. The design we work up together—of his mother’s favorite peace lilies with her name, her kids’ names, and his two children’s’ names—really fires me up. I love doing memorials, and I sink into it for two happy hours, working drop shadows and highlighting into the lettering so the piece really pops. The guy’s so happy with it that he hugs me when he sees it in the mirror. I’m still grinning after I ring him up and wave him out the door with the aftercare card in his hand.
Nicky, leaning against the counter and watching the guy go, says, “Let’s print something on the back of the aftercare cards asking people to leave us a Google review.”
I snap my fingers and cock my first finger and thumb
at him like a gun. “Good thinking, firecracker. You call the printer while I wipe down my station.”
“Don’t call me firecracker,” Nicky grumbles, but he pulls out the tablet from under the counter to find the printer’s information.
I’ve just about finished cleaning up when Nicky calls me back to the desk. Thinking he can’t find the printer’s number, I open my mouth to give him shit, because we’ve been using the same guy down the street for five years. Then I see a bike messenger standing in the reception area. He’s holding a thin, white box and goggling his head around at the sketches that line the walls.
“Delivery for you,” Nicky says.
I’m not expecting anything.
“S’up?” I ask the messenger.
He hands me the box over the counter without even looking at me, much less getting me to sign for it. I don’t think being a messenger is this guy’s calling. He points at one of Nicky’s skulls and roses designs and asks, “Can you put that on me?”
I roll my eyes at Nicky and let him handle the kid while I open the box.
Inside, there’s white tissue paper printed with a silver logo I don’t recognize. When I part the layers of paper, a single, perfect, blue rose lies underneath. My eyes blur as I touch one of the skin-soft petals. Tucked behind the rose is a card. I pull it out and read the masculine handwriting.
Bold girl,
I’m sorry.
I didn’t know you were dropping. If I’d known, I’d have come back immediately and dealt with Naomi some other way.
You’re important to me. I don’t want us to end like this. Make some time for me. Please.
Mac
I bite my lip to keep from whimpering. I don’t whimper in public. Not even when soft-hearted sadists send me beautiful apologies.
I blink hard as I pull out my phone and text him.
Thank you for the rose. I’m sorry, too. I overreacted. It felt like you were judging me.
He sends a response before I even tuck my phone back in my pocket.
I was. But I was wrong. I’m sorry, bold girl.
Me, too, sir.
He doesn’t respond and I’m not sure what else to say. I don’t really want to say anything. I want to kneel at his feet and give him my submission and fix what we broke. I thumb over to Emily’s name.
Is Mac there?
Yes. He’s watching a game with Daddy. Are you okay?
No, I’m not okay. I’m crying over a stupid rose.
Yeah. Can you let me know if Mac is about to leave?
Okay. Are you coming over?
Am I coming over? I think I am. But first I need to find Nicky some cover. Two of us in the shop at all times. It’s a rule. A rule I created, admittedly, but it’s still a good rule. I’m not going to leave Nicky hanging just so I can make a booty call.
I thumb my phone over again and call Stan, my back-up, back-up tattooist to see if there’s any chance he can come in on short notice.
*****
When I ring the buzzer at Logan’s brownstone, Emily answers, peeking her head around the door, which tells me Logan’s enforcing the “no clothes for subs in the house” rule.
“Hey!” She grins. “Come in. Why didn’t you answer my text?”
I edge through the small gap and Emily closes the door right behind me. I was right. She’s naked, except for pink-and-white striped thigh-highs, which I know drive Logan absolutely crazy. The house is warm enough that she’s not covered with goose bumps, way too warm for my leathers. I start stripping off as soon as I’m through the door. Emily takes each layer from me and hangs my clothes on the coat rack by the door. Mac’s coat is hanging there, but the doors on both sides of the entrance hallway are closed, so I can’t see where the man himself is.
“I think Mac and I have some things to say to each other,” I admit to Emily in a whisper. “But I don’t want to do it by text or phone. I figured it might go better if I just showed up.”
“Wait, you got the rose, right?”
I nod. “Did you help him pick it?”
“No. I overheard him telling Daddy about it when he got back from the florist this morning. He hasn’t said much to me. He’s been really quiet. You know, angry-quiet? I think he’s upset with himself.”
“Boys are so dumb,” I whisper, but my gut clenches at the idea of Mac being angry-quiet.
Emily giggles and nods.
Once I’m down to my skin, and, damn, I’m glad I shaved this morning, I follow Emily through the door into the great room. Logan and Mac are sitting on the sectional, with their backs to the door, watching soccer on the big-screen TV. Logan twists around to watch us enter, but Mac keeps his back to the door.
Logan’s dark eyes flick up and down over me. He nods and turns back to the game.
Eyes down, like a good subbie, I walk around the couch. Before I cross either Dom’s field of view, I drop to my knees. I crawl around the coffee table and pile of pillows that’s on the floor until I’m at Mac’s feet. Then I go down into a full submission pose, with my ass on my heels and my forehead to the carpet.
“Mmm, that’s what I like to see,” Logan says. “Emily, kneel and crawl to me.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
I hear her drop to her knees and shuffle as she crawls to her Dom, then the creak of the couch as Logan brings her up onto his lap.
Mac makes me wait at his feet for what my knees tell me is way the fuck too long but is probably only five minutes. Finally, the weight of his hand, cool from holding a drink, settles on my bare back.
“When I take my hand away, I want you to rise and take my empty to the kitchen,” Mac says in that quiet voice of command he has, which sends shivers through me. “Bring me back a bottle of the Sam Adams that’s in the small fridge and either an iced water or a beer for yourself. Put a pillow between my feet and you can sit on it and watch the match. I don’t want to hear a single word out of you except ‘yes, sir,’ until the final whistle. After the match is over, we’ll talk. If you need to go to the bathroom before the final whistle, raise one finger and I’ll consider your request.”
As much as his touch, his words settle me. The nerves that were whirling around in my belly calm. My knees stop complaining as my muscles relax. There’s a deep sense of rightness in this. I don’t know if we’re in scene. Maybe we are since I kneeled to him. Maybe we’re not and this is what he meant when he said he wanted something full-time when we’re together. Either way, there’s such a clear difference in my mind between how it feels to have Mac control me and how it feels with every other Dom. The scene with Theo last night wasn’t bad, but it didn’t move me like this. If Ten told me to get him a beer and sit at his feet while he watched a sports match that I have no interest in, I might do it, but only for the promise of multiple orgasms. I don’t need Mac to bribe me. I’m not staying because he’s promised we’ll talk afterwards. I just want to be with him.
He lifts his hand and I push up slowly. When I meet his eyes, he’s not smiling, but there’s warmth back in those gorgeous blues. He nods at me when I take his empty bottle. I trot off to the kitchen, feeling his eyes on my bare ass, which I manage not to wiggle only by a supreme act of self-control.
Emily joins me. She takes the empty bottle from me and puts it in a recycling bin, then points to the fancy beer fridge Logan has on the counter. I take two bottles of Winter Lager out of the little fridge and open them with the Hello Kitty bottle opener Emily holds out to me. She winks at me and I give her an affectionate smack on the ass before heading back to Mac.
I kneel to offer him the beer, with my head bowed and my arms outstretched, like a perfect service submissive.
He takes the beer, runs his free hand to the back of my head and fists a handful of my dreads, tipping my head back to give me a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you.”
When he releases me, I pull one of the big pillows Emily has scattered on the floor between his feet and sit down with my back against the couch. Mac shifts so his jean-clad calves brack
et my arms. Nice gesture. It makes me feel connected to him. I almost tell him so before I remember the “no talking” rule.
“Spread your hair over my legs,” Mac rumbles.
I slide a hand up and lift my dreads over his thighs. I wish I’d made messing with my hair a soft limit with him the way I have at Blunts. My dreads might look like rope, but they’re not. They’re connected to my scalp by a lot of individual hairs, and a man weaving his fingers through my hair just really fucking hurts.
But Mac doesn’t try to work his fingers through my dreads. He strokes them like a blanket over his thighs, over and over, creating a soft, rhythmic tugging. It’s strangely relaxing.
Emily, being Emily, brings a tray of finger foods over and sets it on the couch between Mac and Logan before she curls back up in her daddy’s lap. Hearing everyone eating, my mouth starts to water. I should have had something to eat before I came over. That muffin I had with Ruby for breakfast is feeling like a long time ago. But, being the perfect little submissive, I don’t turn around and I don’t ask for food.
Mac’s legs shift as he leans forward and strokes his thumb along the side of my face before holding something cool and moist against my lips.
“Open,” he says.
I obediently open my mouth without even trying to sneak a glance at what he’s feeding me. He slides the whole bite into my mouth. Peppered cucumber and cream cheese on a thin wafer. It’s like a mini cucumber sandwich. Emily’s told me she likes reminding Logan of “home food” by preparing dishes that riff on traditional British food. Nuevo-Brit, she calls it.
If Logan didn’t already treat her like the most precious thing in the world, I’d have to beat on him until he did.
Mac feeds me several mini cucumber sandwiches, followed by meltingly tender chicken satays, and, finally, little pieces of a dark, gingery cake that I don’t recognize. Must be more of Emily’s Nuevo-Brit cooking. The food’s excellent; Emily’s cooking always is. But I swear each bite tastes better off Mac’s fingers.
When the match ends, Mac rests his warm hand on the top of my head. “Take the empties to the kitchen and use the bathroom, then go upstairs. I’ll meet you in the guest bedroom.”