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Though Des tired out before midnight, he tipped his chair against the wall behind him and enjoyed watching the others. She leaned against him, hand lightly on his thigh, and feeling glad to be there with him.
They talked about deeper things, too. Elaine, his mother, her relationship with Thomas and Marcus. When her friends had headed back to their North Carolina house after the surgery, Thomas had told her they'd be there for at least a month. She knew there were plenty of good doctors to handle his follow up in New York, so she suspected they were staying close in case anything came up with Des. She appreciated it, even as she hoped it wouldn't be necessary.
The one thing she and Des didn't talk about much, though Julie knew it was on both of their minds, was the future. A healthy kidney like Thomas's might last Des eleven years, but she worried about when it would give out. At that point, he might be on dialysis permanently. But that was the future, and he wouldn't let her talk about it, not now. As his strength returned, he had other priorities in mind. One night, he let her know it in unmistakable terms.
"It's a full moon tonight," he mused, looking at the play of its light coming through the window, creating a silvery-white beam on the bedspread. Julie lay in his arms, a luxury during his healing that was becoming blissfully routine again. Her fingertips slid over his bare chest and he turned his head to nuzzle her temple. There was a different quality to the caress, more firm, questing, and she drew in a breath as he moved down to her cheek, nudging her jaw so she lifted her chin and he kissed her throat. Her arms wound over his shoulders, fingers sliding through his hair.
"Des..."
"Love the way you say my name like that," he murmured. "Look at me."
She lifted her head to meet his gaze as his fingers took over from his mouth, stroking her throat, tracing her collar bone, his palm moving over her heart and holding there, a pressure that made her aware of her heartbeat and the sudden concentration in his brown eyes.
"For just a second there, you let it all go. Your body took over, your soul, that submissive side that surrenders to me. It's time to let the rest go, love."
Her brow furrowed and he shook his head. "Do you have to talk about how you breathe? No," he answered the obvious question. "Because you just do it. I told you from the beginning, I've carried this with me my whole life.
I live the best way I can to ride the train as long as possible. I don't want to miss a bit of the scenery because I'm too focused on where the train will end up. I need you to do that, Julie, now more than ever. Your worry is killing me."
She was wearing a silky baby doll that he'd talked her into buying and wearing to bed, with the droll observation, "Just because I can't use my cock right now doesn't mean I don't like to keep it entertained." He slid the thin strap off her shoulder so he could finish his caress of her collar bone to the point of her shoulder unimpeded. He brushed his knuckles over her breast, teasing the ripe curve. His heated eyes remained on hers.
"When I see you worrying, I worry about you, and all this scenery gets ruined for both of us. If this is going to work, you have to enjoy the train ride with me and not get bogged down. Sounds selfish of me to demand that, I know, but if you can do that, I promise that attitude will take us both to a better state of mind. A synergistic reaction like some other things we enjoy. Hmm?"
She smiled tentatively, through a swirl of reaction from his touch. It made sense, didn't it? After all, yes, she could lose him, but he could lose his life. If he could figure out how to handle that reality without being obsessed with it, so could she.
"I'm just new to it," she said. "I can do it. I just need practice."
"I can help with that." His mouth curved, and he placed her in the full block of moonlight. "Lift up."
When she complied, he put a pillow under her back, making a tempting bridge of her body. Her heartrate kicked up. Being around him on a normal day was like being around an aphrodisiac. Since he'd started to regain his strength, they'd made a concerted effort to ignore their smoldering chemistry, but his expression said he planned to turn up the heat.
"Take off the gown and the panties. I want to see my sub."
She complied. She didn't want to fall back into worry so readily, but he wasn't yet cleared to have sex. Was he planning on pushing that envelope? Would she be able to deny him?
"Ssshh. Your thoughts are making a racket," he chided her. "I want to watch you, love. And we're going to do it my way."
He left the bed, a visual gift in his loose pajama bottoms and nothing else. He'd lost some muscle tone and weight, but not much, his lean torso as wiry and interesting to her as it had ever been. The surgical scar still gave her heart a little jump. Reaching out, she grazed her fingertips over his flank as he bent over his dresser.
He turned, holding a handful of rope. "Lace those wandering hands behind your head. I'm turning you into my own personal pin-up."
He tied her wrists and fingers above her head. Running the ropes over her butterfly spread elbows and upper arms, he did an elaborate breast harness that constricted and lifted the curves, putting them on lush display for his avid gaze. Next he brought the ropes beneath her, through her thighs. He spread her knees, bent and tied them in the same butterfly shape, giving her a true hourglass look. He did an elaborate rope harness over her pelvis with more slender rope.
When he was done, he hooked his fingers in the slim rope, stroking the small knots over her clit and labia, watching the way she squirmed, lifted, undulated. He'd left her enough movement to be a man's wet dream, struggling and quivering, her limbs, breasts and hips bathed in moonlight. Her throat arched and her wet lips parted.
"Des," she pleaded as he put his fingers inside her. His jaw was tight, his gaze relentless, that shift that let her into the darkest room of his soul. It was a dungeon where he wanted to possess her completely, take her to this.
"Your gorgeous wet cunt. Fuck, I want to be ramming into it, reminding you I'm boss. Sounds cavemanish, doesn't it?" he mused. "But that's the way weeks of this shit makes me feel. That's what's coming for you, love, when I get full strength. Just some merciless, caveman, Master-slave, nothing PC about it, fucking. I need to drown you in a boatload of Tarzan."
"Okay," she agreed, breathlessly. "But you don't have to do this for me. I want to come when you're ready, when we can go together..."
He chuckled, a dangerous sound. "This doesn't have anything to do with what you want. I'm not being selfless, love. You'll know that before it's over. Watching this happen, turning you into some wanton little sex slave on my bed, may turn me on so bad it'll give me an aneurysm, but you don't call the shots. You're going to come for me. Again and again. And again. When you're exhausted, limp in my arms like a pretty little hen buffeted by a storm, I'm going to do it one more time. I want you to be begging for mercy, and not getting any from me. Fair enough?"
"Doesn't sound like fair is your goal." She was surprised her voice was more than a squeak.
"No, it's not. Clever girl." He bent, suckled her clit as she jolted at the sensation. Rising to go to the dresser, he returned with a vibrator about six inches long. He fixed it in the small net of rope he'd created over her clit and labia, cinching the lines to hold it there.
"Now see, this will roll a bit," he explained with lustful satisfaction. "You'll have to keep squirming to hold it where you want it as you get more and more excited. It'll also give you a little breathing space as you come down from one climax and charge up the hill to another. But I won't let you take too much of a breather. No cheating."
