Out of Control (19 page)

She refrained from reminding him that in the afternoon, the light would fall on the other side of the house. She was pretty sure he knew that and was just fishing for her availability. “Not this week. I’m flat out enough that you probably won’t see me today at all. I’ll be at the studio other than dog-walking time until it’s time for work.”

“I’ll miss you,” he said, surprising her completely, “but thanks for letting me know. That way I won’t worry. And don’t forget to lock the door.”

She snorted. As she did, she caught the seductive whiff of coffee and rolled out of bed, lured by the promise of caffeine. “I’m hardly likely to forget. Scared the hell out of me to walk in and find you sitting there. I’m surprised you didn’t just jump me and do the scary-intruder thing, though. Tie me up and have your wicked way with me and all that.” She hadn’t meant to say that. It just spilled out of her mouth. But as she said it, she realized her arousal had cranked up despite the early hour, lack of coffee and the tragic need for both of them to get on with their days without stopping for sex. From the gleam in Drake’s eyes, he liked the idea too.

“Thought about it, but you might be carrying glass,” he said drily, “and I’d hate for you to drop one of your creations. But if you leave the door open again, I’ll do it.”

Jen shrugged and without even considering it, said, “Don’t worry about me dropping artwork. I’m leaving my new pieces at the studio so it’s all in one place to pack up for the Solstice Craft Show.”

Their eyes met. Drake smiled, a small, cool, wicked smile, and she realized they’d just made a date.

A twisted date, but a date.

“And once this show of yours is over,” he added, “I’m going to do shibari on you. A long, slow tease, with ropes. Plan to take the day off.”

Make that two dates.

Chapter Fifteen

Jen locked the house that morning and several days after that. She didn’t want to provoke the “intruder” game accidentally—that would definitely be something she and Drake would want to set up in advance so she didn’t clock him with a lamp. But she kept thinking about that, and about other sexy things they’d so far talked about but not tried. Extended scenes, trying more of Drake’s intriguing pain toys. Role play. Shibari bondage.

Fantasies were about as close as she was getting to sex at the moment. Might as well make them good.

This particular week, she was home just long enough to sleep a few hours between the bakery, dog-walking, the food co-op, and the studio. She’d deliberately managed to run into Drake one morning when she stopped home to drop off the marked-down produce she’d picked up at the co-op and take a nap. She had high hopes of skipping her nap in favor of play, but Drake took one look at her, gave her a lingering, delicious kiss, and said,
“Come on, I’ll tuck you into bed. Alone.”
When she tried to protest, he insisted, saying that it would hurt his pride if she fell asleep midscene, and she was clearly ready to do so.

With an hour’s nap, she felt good as new, but when she tracked him to his lair, the lair was locked and his car gone. Disgruntled, she headed to her kitchen to do useful things to her produce, since it was all at the point where it had to be used or frozen right away. And there wasn’t much this week, so she had to make the best of it.

The simple tasks gave her plenty of time to imagine Drake doing things to, for and with her that were probably illegal in certain states. By the time her gnarly carrots were cut into sticks, the slightly limp kale steamed and tossed with her last salad dressing, the overripe strawberries picked (half the edible ones going into her mouth, the rest sealed into a container for nibbles at the studio), and her mushrooms sautéed and frozen for a time when she’d actually be home to eat, she was wet and twitchy with excitement. And she had an idea to surprise Drake. He was teaching his “mathematics for musicians” class (she still hadn’t figured that course name out) this afternoon. A good time to set up a surprise, with time to anticipate and fantasize—and for him to plot and scheme—before tomorrow, when she’d actually have time for the scene she hoped very much he’d set up.

Just to make sure Drake didn’t come home for lunch and catch her, she walked the dogs, then stopped by to see Melinda and Rafi for a last pre-baby visit. As she hung out with her friends, though, Jen kept her eye on the time. She was on a schedule. Luckily, her friends were used to her always having too much on her plate at once, and her abrupt departure raised no eyebrows.

Until she offered a few vague but still suggestive words of explanation. Then Rafi’s dark eyebrows and Melinda’s pale reddish ones flew up.

“It doesn’t freak me out that you’re bolting so you can set up a sexy surprise for your new guy,” Melinda said. “That’s fun. I’m curious as hell, in fact.”

Jen opened her mouth to give a slightly bowdlerized explanation. Rafi and Melinda were nothing if not open-minded about sex, as long as everyone involved was having fun, though she wasn’t sure they really needed to know she was leaving sex toys on Drake’s bed as a not too subtle hint.

But Rafi flailed his hands like a panicked Muppet. “We don’t need details! It might scare Seneca,” he added, moving one of his hands to Melinda’s swollen belly, where little Seneca was peacefully spending his or her last few days before entering the world.

“Would you believe he had a biology degree from Cornell?” Melinda smiled indulgently at her nervous husband’s superstitions. “Your sex life doesn’t bother me. What’s freaking me out is you’re sleeping with someone with a schedule predictable enough you could pull off this kind of stunt. But it’s a good kind of freaking out. Your last few lovers were…well, flaky.”

“But
I’m
flaky,” Jen retorted.

“No,” Rafi said gently, “you’re an artist. Your schedule may be strange by the standards of nine-to-five people, but you work your ass off.”

“And the last few guys you’ve dated were ones who could fit in a bootie call whenever you had a scrap of spare time,” Melinda said, squeezing Jen’s hand, “because they didn’t work at much of anything.”

“Including relationships,” Jen concurred. “Drake may be more of a regular citizen than I usually meet, but it has its merits. He may not get the whole life of an artist, but he gets that it involves work and respects that. He buys decent coffee, the good organic dark roast stuff. And best of all, he’s not stoned all the time, so he remembers what he’s doing in bed.”

Rafi Muppet-flailed again.

Jen took that as her exit cue and made her good-byes. It was high time to get going anyway.

Drake was in class now; no chance of an unexpected stop home.

That gave her time to place the riding crop, a hank of bright green rope and the blindfold she both loved and dreaded on the bed. She carefully arranged one of her few pieces of lingerie next to them. On top of the arrangement, she put a note on pale yellow paper, written in a green pen that almost matched the rope:
Tomorrow night, please? I’ll actually have time
.

The rest of Wednesday passed in its usual blur. But while Jen was in the middle of creating the earth-goddess piece she’d sketched on Sean’s sandwich wrapper, her phone chimed its text signal. She wasn’t at a point that she could stop and check it, but her ears perked up regardless. She didn’t get many texts—the ugly font that her ancient cheap phone displayed annoyed her, and her artist friends understood her irritation—so there was a fairly short list of people it might be from.

One of her parents, which would serve her right. She hadn’t called home in a while.

Or Drake.

That thought sent a crimson thrill from mind to clit, but she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. This piece was important. If she got it finished to her satisfaction, it would be one of the centerpieces of her display at the Solstice Craft Show, along with its companion Green Man. Even if she didn’t sell them at the show—larger, more expensive pieces often took longer to find the right buyer—they’d attract attention. And the more people who came to her booth to look at a beautiful piece that they might not be able to afford at this time, the more people would walk away with vases, paperweights, suncatchers, and smaller sculptures.

It was getting late by the time she was able to take a break. Soon it would be time to catch a quick nap on the saggy old sofa, eat the minestrone and bread she’d brought for dinner, and head on to the bakery. She thought longingly of her own bed but fought off the thought. In the time it would take to bike home and cook a more enticing meal, she could make another simple vase. And the comfortable bed would make it that much harder to get going again.

Not to mention the temptation of spending the time seeing what crazy things Drake might do to her body, instead of actually sleeping.

She checked the temperature of the glass, heating up for the next layer on the earth-goddess piece, then picked up her phone. Please, she prayed to no deity in particular, please don’t let the text be more marketing spam. The problem with a cheap pay-as-you-go phone was that every payday loan and credit scam on earth managed to find your number.

But it was from Drake. Simple, straightforward and full of promise:
Yes. Tomorrow. Be home by six if you can
.

Maybe she’d have to eat dinner before she got back to glasswork. For some reason, her hands seemed shaky.

And her pussy was definitely twitchy. But the reason for that was obvious.

Perhaps she should have waited for tomorrow to start planning, to give him the note. She’d wanted to give them both time to anticipate. But the anticipation might just kill her.

The next day passed in a blur of gray busyness enlivened by a rosy ache of desire and flame-colored spikes of need. Between the bakery, dog-walking, running some errands for a client in Cayuga Heights, an elderly woman who sometimes paid her to pick up prescriptions and library books, and the usual studio work, Jen didn’t have a lot of time to daydream about the night ahead. But when she broke for a late lunch (more minestrone and another slightly stale roll), she let her mind wander to possibilities.

Would he restrain her in some complicated way, the shibari they’d discussed that first day and had brought up other times but never had time to experiment with? Or would he do something quick and dirty, tying her to the bed so she couldn’t squirm away from the slaps of the riding crop? Would he leave the lingerie on as he beat her? Push it out of the way afterward for better access? Or would he decide to skip the lingerie altogether? She wouldn’t care one way or another. Bits of lace and satin could be fun, but naked was great too.

Or maybe he’d rip it off her body. Literally rip it. Destroy it in his passion.

She’d consider it a fitting sacrifice if he did.

Jen realized with a start that she’d not only let her soup get cold but was caressing her nipple idly as she fantasized. It felt enflamed, sensitive enough that the soft blue cotton of her tank top scraped against it. And when she shifted in her seat, her loose pants pressed against her clit like an instrument of delightful torture.

Thank goodness Sean had stepped out to grab lunch and Ryoko was at her day job. She was friendly with her studio mates, but there were things they really didn’t need to share.

She considered all kinds of techniques to clear her head and calm her body. Balancing her checkbook. Seeing if she could find a formula for a particular color she wanted to try. Calling her parents, which was always a buzzkill.

Then she considered that she still had several hours before she’d be heading home to Drake’s not necessarily tender, but very welcome, ministrations. Several hours during which she’d be playing with hot glass. Maybe she should just get it out of her system.

A few more shifts, a few times pressing her thighs together, and an orgasm shivered over her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out Drake’s name.

But she screamed it in her mind. As she seemed to do most of the time these day, which, depending on when you asked her, was either very good, or very bad.

For the first time since he’d optimistically put the bondage rings in the living room ceiling, Drake was using them. Nothing fancy tonight. Much as he adored shibari, he preferred to set aside most of an afternoon, if not more, to the process, not a couple of hours when he and Jen were both tired.

Besides, ever since he’d come home and found it there, he’d been thinking about that crop she left on the bed.

And with that green lingerie she was wearing—a skimpy camisole top and lace panties that sat low on her hips and covered her butt in a way that was more naked than leaving it bare—she didn’t need much rope to ornament her.

So he tied her simply, standing straight with a simple chest harness, arms bound behind her back. The rope binding her arms ran through one of the rings on the ceiling. “Now you can’t run away,” he said. It didn’t do much to restrain her, but he enjoyed doing it. Enjoyed the surprise on her face when she noticed the rings, painted white and lying flush against the ceiling. Enjoyed taking out a small ladder and finally using that ring—not to mention the way that being tethered to the ring made her eyes glaze and her breath grow ragged. Enjoyed restricting her in one more way, although the rope had to be long enough that the restriction was mostly symbolic. She couldn’t bolt out the door if, for some reason, she wanted to, but she still had a lot of freedom of movement.