AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Eat your food, woman." He released her with a smile. "Else you'll find out how we Southern boys handle mouthy females."
Chapter Seven
He was drawing her away from more serious topics, and she took the hint. She caught him up to speed on what was happening with Consent, the successes and setbacks, routine for a theater's first production.
"I'm grateful to Madison for being so hands-off and yet so accessible at once. Sometimes a producer can really get underfoot, but in all fairness that usually happens when there's a clash between budget and art and the producer has to remind the directors they can only work within the resources they have. She and I don't have that problem. I've done enough of the fundraising side I know you have to squeeze the most out of every dime. And she loves and appreciates the creative process. She's worked with any changes I've suggested to help the show and the theater succeed. She's a managing and artistic director's dream."
"So you're both?"
"I'll wear a lot of hats for this first performance. We already have great volunteers. They just don't have the expertise a paid staff would be expected to have, so I'm doing a lot of teaching. Thank God Harris has a strong background in technical direction, and the students Madison recruited have been a godsend."
They continued their meal with more conversation along the same lines. She appreciated how keenly Des listened, and the useful insights he offered, but she couldn't forget the weight of that kiss by her car, the words they'd exchanged here. Or the question she hadn't yet answered for him.
She watched his hand, tapping the table to make specific points, and how his fingers spread out loosely when he was listening. Like a resting spider. Yet there was a waiting tension to them.
He finished his meal first and when the waitress took his plate away, he took the salt and pepper shakers out of their holders and absently twisted them around one another.
"I wasn't entirely honest the other day, about why I was so pissed with myself about Pablo," he said. "Or rather, I was, but since then I realized there was another reason. Maybe the main reason. It went back to the first rope session I did with you."
Making the salt and pepper shakers the pillars on either side, he started stacking the jelly packs into a brick wall. "I give every sub I work with the safety lecture, to make sure she knows how to take care of herself when it comes to rope bondage."
When his gaze flickered up to hers, Julie was caught by the russet shades, the golds, rusts and browns in his vivid irises. "I didn't do that with you. I didn't want to think about you seeking out similar experiences with other Doms. I figured your next rope session, if you had one, would be with me."
"Oh." That night, her first sub situation, she'd thought what had happened had only happened to her. She'd thought it was nothing unusual for him. Yes, it could be sp
ecial and hot, as he'd said, but it was like cake. Cake was always wonderful, but a man could have lots of different pieces of cake.
"Can you say right out what you're saying?" she asked slowly. "I have a bad habit of assuming feelings that aren't there."
"I didn't want you doing that with anyone else," he said bluntly, making her heart jump. "That was a new feeling for me, so I didn't really get it until I walked in and saw you in the middle of another rigger's set up. So I'm sorry that my testosterone surge was what kept me from protecting you better."
"Ironic." She attempted to keep her tone nonchalant. "Testosterone is what usually triggers the 'get behind me and I'll take the hail of bullets' vibe."
"Yeah, but it's not known for triggering brain cells at the same time. Just for the record, I'd find us both a place to hide from a hail of bullets."
"Smart and sensible." She put the grape jelly at the apex of his structure of jelly packs. "I have some marmalade left over here. Who likes marmalade? The name doesn't even sound appetizing."
"It's okay." He kept his hand still as she curved hers over it, tracing his chapped knuckles. Beneath the table, their feet still touched, pressed, stroked.
There wasn't as much noise in her head as there'd been earlier. Hearing that Des was interested in more with her had shut down her litany of defenses. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. That damn Will Shakespeare.
"Give me another bite of your pancakes." He reached to pinch off a piece. She fended him off with her fork.
"Rude man. Don't even say please."
"You're supposed to get hot and bothered by my commanding tone, not criticize my manners."
"That sounded more like a whine. Madison warned me there's a fine line between a Dom and a guy being obnoxious. Or avoiding household chores."
"Who said there has to be a line at all?" He gave her a look of triumph when she cut off another hunk of pancake and passed it to him. She hadn't put syrup on this one, so he ate it like a piece of bread, then sat back. He pulled the band from his hair to let the thick strands fall on his shoulders and rumpled his hand briefly through it, as if to ease the pull on his scalp. He slid the band around his wrist.
She'd put down her fork, having eaten the last bite, and he gestured to her. "Come over here."
She complied, scooching into the booth next to him. He stretched his arm out behind her and turned her so she hooked her leg over his knee.
"So, the other day, the James Garner thing," he said. "If you could--without guilt--request anyone to die with you so you'd have them for company on that journey, who would it be? First person who jumps into your head."
"Will you tell me yours if I tell you mine?"
