Nature Of Desire: Worth The Wait Part 24

"Thomas's cows?" Des asked. He didn't appear unsettled by Madison's observation. Julie decided to take that as a good sign, rather than dissecting it and finding cues on how this would end up being a BDSM Disneyland fueled fantasy tomorrow.

Stop it, you crazy, dysfunctional b.i.t.c.h.

"Thomas's family has a farm," Julie said brightly. Maybe too brightly. She toned it down at Des's curious look. "Well, it was a farm at one time, but now they run a hardware slash general store in the middle of Nowhere, North Carolina, totally rural. But he has a cow named Kate he raised. Since they got married, he and Marcus have adopted two more and a couple of goats from a farm sanctuary organization. Even though Thomas and Marcus are both carnivores, Thomas says it's his way of apologizing for any farm-factory-produced hamburgers he's eaten."

"So have you met Marcus and Thomas?" Des asked their friends.

"I met them a couple times in Boston when they came to see Julie," Madison volunteered. "Logan hasn't yet, though he should when they come visit in a couple weeks. I'm surprised it took Marcus this long to show up after Julie told him about you."

Julie kicked her under the table, but Des felt it, since he had firm grip on her other leg. "For my screen test?" he asked dryly.

"Take it as a good thing," Madison a.s.sured him, though her quick glance at Julie said she realized she'd put it the wrong way and too obviously. Blame it on a subs.p.a.ce brain haze, her apologetic look said. Julie could hardly cast stones, but Des's expression didn't reveal what his thoughts were. She still felt very connected to him, but there was a lot happening in his mind she couldn't decipher. She didn't want these feelings they were experiencing disrupted.

"They'll love you," she said.

"It won't matter if they don't," he said, his hand sliding higher up her thigh and hooking in the thong to caress her s.e.x as he leaned in and touched his lips to her, a deceptively mild gesture compared to what was going on beneath the table. He caught her suddenly shaky breath. "Won't change a d.a.m.n thing, will it, love?"

"Um...you understand they're just friends. Practically family."

"And something a little more than that. Just making my position clear." His fingertips slid inside her and she almost choked on the surge of response that shot between her legs as he caressed her c.l.i.t. His gleaming eyes said he might decide to do something unthinkable right here.

She should be responding to this testosterone bath with a snarky remark, a retort suitable for an independent woman who wouldn't tolerate a man's blatant branding, but oh G.o.d, how did he do that with those long, fabulous fingers?

She should be horribly self-conscious in front of Madison and Logan, but a desperate glance across the table showed her that Logan had s.h.i.+fted Madison on his lap and they were currently having a low, intimate conversation. Her friend's arm was around her husband's neck, while his large hand cupped and kneaded her breast, shaping and elongating the nipple beneath the satin bodice as she kept her gaze fastened on his face.

The table between them was small, and Logan curled his fingers around Madison's other wrist, drawing her hand back to the table. Des nodded to it, the two men in some kind of eerie accord. "Take her hand, Julie. And hold on tight."

Logan's hand slid out of view. Julie recognized Madison's jerk of response as he found his way between his wife's legs and began to play with her as Des was doing to Julie. Madison's fingers convulsed on hers. In a wash of heated l.u.s.t, Julie realized what they intended. She'd never really had a girl-girl experience. She wasn't wired that way, much preferring men for her fantasies and real life s.e.xual encounters, but this single act of holding her friend's fine-boned hand, feeling her polished nails dig into Julie's palm as her response built, spurred Julie's own.

As for her Dom, he had a laser gaze trained on her face, brown eyes glittering, mouth and jaw set. He was making an undeniable point, moving from Dom to Master in the s.p.a.ce of a few sentences that had flipped a switch, a transition thrilling as it was unsettling.

She heard Madison moan Logan's name against his neck as he gathered her close. Julie gripped her hand as Des sent her flying up a ramp and let her go into full o.r.g.a.s.m. Logan brought Madison to the same pinnacle as Madison clutched Julie's fingers hard enough to bruise bone. Julie wondered if either man watched that connecting point between their two women, the fingers tangling, biting, jerking, holding on as their bodies flooded with release.

They came down almost at the same time, the same gradual grade. They hadn't let go of one another. They were stroking one another's fingers, unsteady caresses. At last, Madison gave her a squeeze and slipped free as Logan murmured to her. He held out a hand to Des. "I think we're going to head for home. I'm ready to have her all to myself." His gaze s.h.i.+fted to Julie, who had her head on Des's shoulder, her limbs too heavy to lift on her own. "Julie, I a.s.sume you don't need a ride home?"

There was amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes, but Julie also registered the heat. Madison's night was only just beginning. Since Des had brought her to several o.r.g.a.s.ms, but not yet allowed himself release, she might need to rest up on the way home herself.

"I'm sure I can catch a cab," she offered, then giggled, pulling Des's hair as he bit her neck, none-too-gently.

"Thank you," she said as she looked up at Logan and Madison again. They paused, hearing the suddenly serious note in her voice. "Just...thank you."

Madison reached across the table and gripped her hand, for a different reason this time. She didn't say anything, but Julie knew she understood. She didn't know if she'd find with Des what Madison had found with Logan, but Julie knew she was closer to it than she'd ever been. As terrifying as that was, she was sticking to one single resolve. She wasn't going to doubt herself tonight.

"I'll get back to you on the cow orgy thing," she said, and left them laughing.

She wondered if the Steak 'n Shake idea had been intended to help her refuel and recuperate. If so, it was a good plan. Julie ordered a cookies and cream shake and fries while Des had half a grilled chicken sandwich. He gave her a part of the sandwich and she traded a couple fries and a few sips of the shake with him. They people-watched and listened to the piped-in music, trying to guess song t.i.tles. She asked him about some of the people she'd seen at the party. No surprise, he knew most of them and their backstories, and she was smug when she found she'd guessed right on most of the top and bottom orientations.

They'd agreed they'd go back to her place at the theater since she had volunteers coming in tomorrow morning to paint the ceiling. Antic.i.p.ating what she and Des might do there, she was glad she'd finally replaced the cot with a real double bed. It was just a cheap thing she'd picked up at a second hand shop, but she'd decorated it with a strand of colorful b.u.t.terfly lights and put throw pillows on it. She was under no illusions as to why she'd made the interior design improvement when she'd had plenty other things to keep her busy this past week, but she was glad she had.

On the way there, the foolish man made her sing. He had her name her 80s song favorites and belt out as much of the lyrics as she could remember, until she was laughing too hard to continue. When she demanded reciprocity, he attempted songs like Prince's "Purple Rain." The man had a mesmerizing speaking voice...and was as tone deaf as a moose.

Trying to help him hit the right notes only led to more mirth and a mock aggrieved look on his face. As he shut off the truck at the theater parking lot, he attacked her, tickling her knees and sides as she shrieked and thrashed. She scrambled out of the truck and to the theater side door. He pinned her there, thankfully to kiss instead of tickle her, playfulness turning into something else entirely.

Fis.h.i.+ng out her keys, she thwarted his attempts to take them and play keep away. Then he caught her around the waist, hiked her up his body and carried her over the threshold, still kissing her. They hit the wall with a resounding thud, for which he gravely apologized. She a.s.sured him her skull fracture would heal in time.

After kissing her senseless through several long, dreamy eternities, he let her down and stepped back from her, gaze sliding over the dress and everything it barely covered with possessive thoroughness.

"Jessica Rabbit," he said. "That's who you remind me of in that outfit."

"'I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way.'" She purred the line in a sultry voice, and made a dash for the back rooms. "Have to go to the bathroom. Make yourself comfortable in my room."

He'd let her escape, but as she took care of the call of nature, she could hear him moving around her room. Then things got quiet, drawing her curiosity.

Slipping out of the bathroom and moving to her doorway, she found he'd lit several cl.u.s.ters of the candles she kept there for mood lighting. She didn't see him, though. She moved into the room, looking around. "Des."

The shadows in her peripheral vision moved. Before she could turn, he had her in a firm hold. His s.h.i.+rt was off again and he'd removed the sporran, thank G.o.d. Though he still wore the kilt, she could feel his need pressing against her beneath it.

"You left your dressing room door unlocked, Miss Rabbit," he said. "With all those photographers and fans, it wasn't a smart move."

It was easy to ride the instant surge of arousal into the role, playing the fantasy she wanted to be for him. That he'd made her feel like she could be.

"Will you hurt me?" she purred with a little jaunty twitch of her hips. He gave her flank a light slap, setting off a starburst of tingling.

"Not if you behave and do what I tell you to do."

"I'm not good at behaving." To prove it, she rotated her a.s.s against his groin with a lap dancer's skill.

Nipping her ear, he slid his hand under the dress to caress one soft b.u.t.tock. "I'll teach you to be good. And I'll tell you when I want you to be bad. Get on the bed on your hands and knees, facing away from me. This isn't going to be slow or easy. I've wanted my d.i.c.k hammering inside your p.u.s.s.y all night."

He let her go and she moved to the bed, surprised to find herself shaking. He could sound really menacing, but below that was something else, barely restrained male l.u.s.t. He could wrest o.r.g.a.s.m after o.r.g.a.s.m from her with a range of methods from tender to merciless. She wondered if he preferred to delay his own release because so much of his satisfaction came from taking, and taking hard. The only thing that could stop him was her. She didn't want to stop him, but it didn't mean his brutal urgency didn't scare her a little.

She climbed on the bed, facing the headboard on her hands and knees. When the mattress gave beneath her, she knew he'd put his knee behind her.

"Down on your elbows."

She complied, swallowing a moan as he brushed her hair forward, exposing her nape, and unhooked the straps at her neck that held the bodice up in front and the single thin strap following her spine in back. The bodice didn't fall free, the cloth snagging on her curves, so he finished the job by reaching beneath her and pulling it away, caressing her curves. She pressed into his touch, her nipples aching for the friction of his callused palms, but he didn't linger. He intended to finish the job.

Laying his hands on the back of the dress, he ripped it in one powerful movement to the hem, making her gasp. The whole thing fell to the bed, the fabric brus.h.i.+ng her knees. Madison had been right. Tatters.

The thong was next. The snick of his blade told her how he was going to do it. He sliced through the elastic and pulled the thong away from her body, out of the tight crevice between her b.u.t.tocks.

"Spread your knees wider."

She did it, despite her knees being made of water. She was surprised they didn't give way. She expected him to ram into her, but he wasn't going down that road without driving her ahead of him, making her relinquish her sanity.

She cried out as his mouth found her c.u.n.t, his hands pus.h.i.+ng hard against her b.u.t.tocks to lift her higher, almost taking her knees off the mattress and pressing her face into it. He sucked her c.l.i.t, stabbed deep into her folds, licked and played, the beard shadow on his jaw an exciting friction against her tender skin. When he moved to her rim, she came apart at the two different yet both incredible sensations. She writhed against his powerful grip. Drawing back, he tossed the front of the kilt up over her hips, covering her as he brought his c.o.c.k and bare pelvis in full, heated contact with her p.u.s.s.y. She groaned with animal need when he drove into her slick folds.

He kept away from her c.l.i.t, making her ache and plead as he thrust, but when he seized her hair and pulled her head back, using that grip to increase the impact of his pelvis slapping against her a.s.s, the climax began deep and took over. It consumed her body from head to toe, squeezing her muscles down on him as he spilled within her with harsh noises of release she relished. His hand convulsed on her scalp. He kept working himself in her even after his finish. It was astonis.h.i.+ng and unexpected, how hard he stayed past climax, milking every reaction from both of them before at last he slowed and covered her with his body.

He removed the kilt without leaving her, and adjusted them to their sides. He reached over her, putting the disconnected pump on the side table, and wrapped both arms around her. His thighs cradled her a.s.s as he pushed himself in deeper, holding onto that connection.

"Oh..." Her vocalization was a sigh of satisfaction and wonder, and he pressed his mouth to her neck, holding her even tighter.

"Same here, love. Same here."

She closed her eyes and focused on breathing, but as he leveled out behind her, she could feel the weight of his thoughts in a certain stillness to his body. She pressed her fingers into the channels between his, across her abdomen. "All right?" she whispered. It was just the two of them, but she didn't want to make noise. She wanted the only sounds to be their breath, the sizzle of candlelight, the theater s.h.i.+fting on its foundation.

"Yeah. Are you? I was pretty rough."

"I loved it. Do it again. Maybe in an hour. Let me nap first."

His lips curved against her throat, but that stillness was still there.

"Sorry I was a beast," he muttered at length. "Never had one I wanted to keep. It made me a little insane. Didn't expect that."

She folded both her arms over his, held on tight. "'S'okay," she said.

Unlike him, she'd always known-or hoped-that was exactly how this would feel. There were a whole lot of lovely words other than insane for it.

She stroked his arm and let her breath rise and fall with his. She wasn't surprised he dropped off to sleep before she did. He'd held the reins most the night and brought her multiple glorious o.r.g.a.s.ms. The man was ent.i.tled to be tired. She liked being with him while he slept. His breath heated her throat. His body was wrapped around her, his c.o.c.k still partially inside her. His nose was buried in her hair, as if he'd wanted to take her scent into his dreams with him.

As she struggled against an exhausted sleep, she realized it was the closest to contentment she'd ever felt in a man's arms. She'd never laid in bed with a lover like this, holding him and touching him with a hundred percent confidence that it was okay. Like she was inside his flesh and could feel the way he felt. She could think of him as hers.

She didn't want it to be a temporary refuge from reality. She didn't want tomorrow to turn it into an illusion. She wished she could hold onto this moment even longer, but she had to sleep. She couldn't stave it off without sitting up, and she wasn't leaving his arms.

As she curled her body tighter into the curve of his, she let herself hope that dreams really could come true. Then she slid into them.

Chapter Thirteen.

They had the final showings of Consent during the next week. Julie was pleased with the confidence that built in her cast and crew, because in community theater the same players often came back for future productions.

Reviews remained positive, with only the occasional prudish naysayer. With twinkling practicality, Madison pointed out those would only bring in the curious, given their subject material.

Des and Missive remained the crowd favorite, though she could tell he was a little relieved when they finished the last showing. Performance really wasn't his thing, and balancing it with a full time job was draining, even for someone with a pa.s.sion for the stage.

Her rope artist might not have the theater bug, but he had boundless pa.s.sion in other ways. Though she wished their respective jobs let them see one another every day, she appreciated the pleasure that delayed gratification brought.

She also liked how he seemed just as happy to seize the chance to see her, even if there was no chance of s.e.x. Like today. He'd messaged her last night that he was building a playground on Sunday with the help of some Type I kids he mentored and contractors volunteering their time. She'd barely hesitated before agreeing to drive forty-five minutes downtown to meet him there.

He'd added the text: Sorry for the less than romantic setup, but I really don't want to wait another day to see you again. As long as you don't mind sharing time with a bunch of kids and sweaty contractors.

How sweaty? She texted him.

Nothing that would interest you. Skunk sweat. Normal contractor sweat. My sweat is an erotic anomaly.

That left her chuckling. She picked up some lunch on the way and brought her tablet so she could run through Harris's production book details so far on Done Right, Lila's play.

The playground was in one of the more run-down Charlotte neighborhoods, populated by blue collar lower income working cla.s.s people living in small clapboard houses. It had always been a playground, but had fallen into disrepair, and Des had volunteered himself and some of his contractor buddies to help the local church spruce it back up. A number of paris.h.i.+oners had turned out to work on the grading and landscaping while Des and his team, along with the neighborhood's more skilled carpenters, worked together on the playground equipment.

Since he'd texted her the "before" picture, she was delighted to see how much progress had already been made. Trash, vines and weeds had been cleared and were being replaced by mulched border areas with perennials and small shrubs, laid out beneath the several large shade trees in the lot.

Des and his crew were busy sawing, cutting, and hammering, the noise of power tools and men calling back and forth a pleasant din. They'd already put up the framework for the activities station that would have a climbing wall, parallel bars, rope bridge, a suspended path made up of tires, and monkey bars. A s.p.a.cious tree fort formed the center piece. They'd wisely decided to keep an older steel set of monkey bars and parallel bars framing the new equipment, since both of those looked in good shape.

A swarm of ten kids appeared to be under Des and the other workers' instruction as he combined the volunteer activity with teaching them building skills. He'd told her four of them were his Type I kids, so the others must be from the neighborhood. She wasn't surprised that Des would include any kid interested in learning.

He looked d.a.m.n good, which amused her, since he was coated in sawdust, his sweat-dampened hair sc.r.a.ped back with a rubber band, and he wore a paint-stained s.h.i.+rt and jeans. But men looked better dirty than women did. Everyone knew that, so her opinion might not be entirely blinded by l.u.s.t. Though there was nothing wrong with a healthy dose of l.u.s.t, especially when flavored with sheer delight at seeing him again.

He waved, telling her he knew she was there, and she settled on a bench to watch, knowing it was best to stay out of the way until he had time to take a break and say h.e.l.lo.

He'd pulled two of the children off to the side. Since they were standing by the old parallel bars, she could hear the gist of the conversation. He was explaining how to monitor and interpret their insulin levels when doing strenuous work like this. He had a good teaching style, conveying how important it was for them to know the information without condescending or lecturing.

"Right now, your parents probably check your numbers and stay on you about what to eat and when to take your insulin, but it's really great when you take responsibility for it yourself, and know it all so well they start asking you questions about it. The more you prove you can handle this, the more comfortable they'll be letting you handle it. It's your body, your life. You start taking control now, you'll be glad you did. You'll grow up to be totally cool like me."

As he said that, he'd gripped the parallel bars and turned himself upside down, hooking his knees over one of the bars. He finished the advice while hanging upside down, arms crossed over his chest, looking like a bat. The two kids jeered at him good naturedly. When one came too close, he grabbed the boy by the waist and turned him upside down, threatening to make him eat dirt.

She really shouldn't be fascinated by how his biceps bunched when he did that, or how he held the kid so easily while he himself was hanging just by his legs, but hey, she was weak. His bill cap had fallen off, his thick ponytail falling along his jaw. When he released the boy to reach down and pick it up, he put it on the head of the other child, a young girl with pink sneakers and purple hair. Julie swallowed a chuckle, realizing Des had a purple streak in his own hair. Julie suspected the girl had a temporary dye powder or spray and had talked Des into giving it a try for fun.

He was so good with kids. She wondered if he wanted any of his own. She'd always wanted to experience childbirth. Was she too old? A lot of women did it later these days. She'd be happy to adopt if she was no longer a good candidate, but she imagined a child with Des's eyes and smile, and their combined way of looking at the world.

Whoa, girlfriend. Ease up there. Way scary territory.

The slats of her wooden bench s.h.i.+fted beneath her hips, thankfully drawing her away from that topic. A woman had taken a seat on the opposite end. She looked about sixty and had a dandelion fluff of short white-gold hair styled around her pleasant face, combined with a bisque complexion that suggested mixed Caucasian and African parentage. She tucked a folder under her thigh as she took a sip from a water bottle.

Since she was wearing scrubs, Julie a.s.sumed she must be one of the neighbors, a medical professional about to head off for s.h.i.+ft after checking in on how the playground was going. There were other neighbors spectating in the same way, watching from their front porches across the street, or camping out on the crumbling brick wall that edged the playground area. This bench was on the parking lot side of the playground where Des's truck and the contractor vehicles were arrayed, so Julie had had it all to herself until now.

She didn't mind the company. The woman was smiling at Des's antics with the kids, which already convinced Julie to like her, but she never needed an excuse to strike up a conversation with a new potential friend.

"He's a character, isn't he?" she ventured.

The woman glanced her way. While she'd probably given Julie a quick once-over before sitting down, that automatic evaluation strangers did before risking proximity, the woman seemed to give her an even closer look now, taking Julie's measure in an in-depth way that left Julie curious.

It was then she noticed the pattern on the woman's scrubs. Horses, galloping, prancing and rolling in small tufts of printed gra.s.s. She wore a dainty gold watch and, on the same wrist, a friends.h.i.+p bracelet in gold and silver thread with knot patterns that Julie recognized.

"Oh." She made an educated guess, pleased with the chance to meet another important person in Des's life. "You're Betty, aren't you?"

"I am," Betty replied in a rasping yet honeyed voice that reminded Julie of the Oracle in The Matrix.

Julie extended a hand. "Julie Ramirez. Des and I have been seeing each other for a short while."

"Ah, I thought so." Betty clasped Julie's hand, softening her unsettling scrutiny. "You're the mystery woman. I knew he'd brought someone home a couple times, but he's been good about sneaking you in and out while I was asleep or working."