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He nodded. "That's a hell of a lot different from giving up on love. If you're going to have your guts torn out, it should be for a guy who's worth it, not a loser who doesn't know how to appreciate the gift of love."
He returned to the light stroking of her collarbone and bra strap. He didn't say anything further, either to deny he was that guy, or confirm he wanted to be in the running. Probably because of that wall she sensed within him before and could feel rising now
. Only this time, from his words and expressions, she suspected he was struggling with it. Which didn't make her as eager to throw up her own defenses. What an idiot she was.
"At one time, the first step in courtship was asking permission to write to the person who interested your affections," she ventured. "Then you moved to carriage rides and walks in the park. It was more balanced."
He considered that. "So, in a way, dating services where you meet online and get to know one another through email first are connecting to a historic tradition."
One of the things she liked about him--among many things--was that he could shift topics with her, all while retaining the original motive driving the conversation. His gaze flickered with heat now, proving it.
"If I kissed you again, would things be better balanced?"
"It might. You're a decent kisser." She adopted a nonchalant look rather than that of an eagerly panting puppy, though it took an effort. His dark eyes gleamed and he slid an arm around her.
"Liar. I'm a hell of a kisser, love. I can make your knees weak."
"If my knees wobble, it's because I haven't had lunch. Just for the record, I'm not trying to be pathetic or clingy. It would really piss me off if you thought that. I'm trying to be rational and calm, except I don't really do rational and calm. I'm just--"
"Shut up a moment."
Her attention flicked up from the hole she was staring into his throat, and his mouth was on hers again. Slow, exploratory, deep. She was still worked up enough she tried to wrench away, thrust at him, but he clamped a hand on the side of her throat, the other at her waist, and held her fast, refusing to let her throw him off.
It was the blade he knew how to draw at the right instant, more instinctive than calculated, which made it far more powerful, galvanizing her own instincts. Her body softened against his, despite all her internal warnings that he still hadn't provided an answer that could make this turn out okay. Her fingers slid up to his neck and tangled in his sweat-dampened hair. She was vaguely aware of whistling across the street, but she couldn't be embarrassed or care, not when Des didn't seem to be paying attention to anything but taking her will and her heart in one soul-penetrating kiss.
When he lifted his head this time, his eyes bored into hers. "I don't kiss them, Julie," he said, low. "Not like that."
She blinked, uncertain of his meaning, and he let her lean against the bumper of her car, keeping himself pressed against her knees, his hands at her waist.
"My turn to talk. Okay?" He brushed a finger over her swollen lips. "I love the way you look after I kiss you. Makes me want to have you right here on the hood of your car like some kind of animal."
When she quivered and closed her eyes, everything too fragile to look at him, that same protest rising to her lips to protect her, he brushed his knuckles against her face. She opened her eyes again.
"I do sessions with submissives who love rope. I care about each of those women and, in the session, you're right, we can get fairly intense and intimate. But there's a beginning and an end. It's a lot like a stage play where the actors lose themselves and become those characters. But when the curtains come down, the spell is lifted.
"When the session is over, I do whatever aftercare they need, kiss their forehead, light kisses on the mouth. I stroke them, give them an orgasm if they need it to decompress. And yeah, if she's the kind of sub who doesn't feel complete unless she's given her top release, and that's within her boundaries, I might make her go down on me. Sometimes there's sex, because, hell, I get worked up too. Until now, I've never thought about having someone who'd be that outlet for me afterward."
He moved his hands to her shoulders, caressing the round shape of them revealed by her sleeveless tank. She'd become more rigid at the discussion, but she didn't look away. She understood he was trying to tell her something that would answer her question, even though she wasn't really thrilled about the route he was taking toward it.
"After it's over, I help them dress and I make sure they're okay. Then we go our separate ways. If we see each other socially, it's at the club BBQs or hanging out at play parties, talking about what other Doms and subs are doing. I don't kiss them like I just kissed you. When I kiss you, it's different and new."
She twitched under his hands and he nodded. "Yeah, sounds like that load of manure you always hear, 'It was just sex, baby. It didn't mean anything.' But those sessions do mean something, Julie. I don't deny that. When I'm that connected to a sub, the sex can be out of this world, but it is sex, not love. I have affection and care for every woman I've ever tied up, because I'm never going to treat her like an object or an instrument.
"I move in and out of a world where there are very distinct lines between session play and a relationship that's outside a session. Doesn't always work out that clean or neat, but up until now, I've made sure it is for me, because as I said, that's what I thought I could afford. You're changing that viewpoint."
Humor glittered against the taut set of his mouth. "You said the quiet moments, like choosing breakfast, are just as special to you as the passionate stuff. In only a few days, you've made me very interested in figuring out breakfast with you."
She lifted her chin. "But it's still there, Des. A wall. You're bullshitting me without bullshitting me."
"What do you mean?" He frowned. "I'm being straight with you."
"Yeah. You're being straight with me, telling me incredibly personal things and yet somehow weirdly holding me at arm's length. It's like we're in a classroom and you're standing up front, relaying info about yourself without giving me any of yourself. I can't really figure it out, but I can feel it. I bullshitted myself, thinking I could come out here and say 'hey that rope session was nifty, thanks and bye.' I want more, no matter how scared I am. But I will not go out on that ledge by myself one more time. I just can't. Just please...tell me now. Am I ridiculous to think I already feel something so strong for you that we've fallen into a relationship without any warning, or am I on that ledge by myself?"
"No. No you're not." His hands were on her shoulders, and his expression was frustrated. She saw a flash of aching need so powerful it both frightened and reassured her in a way a million charming words couldn't. "I don't want you scared, love. Of anything. And particularly not of me."
"So tell me." Taking a page out of his own book, the way he could use wry humor to make her feel okay about saying anything, she took both his hands. "What's your issue? Daddy, Mommy, fear of love, of commitment? Spill, then it's out of the way and in the open. Treat it like a Tweet. One sentence or less, because the rest is window dressing, justification, caviling, explaining. I just want to hear the basic problem."
He brushed his fingers through her hair, giving it a little tug. "I've been really careful not to let anyone be too close, Julie. Not that I've closed myself off, but I make sure they don't get so deep they get hurt."
