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He needed to serve a Mistress, really serve her, even if he was fighting through a quagmire of his own issues to get there. The thought gave her a firm surge of satisfaction, though she spoke casually. "So things flopped again, literally."
"Nice confidence booster there, Mistress," he said dryly. "But yeah. The first time, the pro decided what would work would be humiliation. Telling me I was garbage, didn't deserve to be born, that kind of thing."
He noticed her wince. "Lots of guys get off on that," he said mildly. "It wasn't a bad guess."
"Yeah. Guys to whom it doesn't hit so close to home to what they really think of themselves. Did it work for you?"
"No," he admitted. "Gave me a sick feeling in my stomach. She was smart, figured it out, sent me to another Domme who had me kneel at her feet, fucked me with a strap-on, let me eat her out while she sat on this throne like a queen. That got some response, but not much. Once again, she was a smart lady, so after talking to me about it, she figured out what I couldn't and suggested I hit the clubs, make myself available to Dommes looking for subs for a night of play. That's where I found the fit. My fit."
He gestured down the hill to a beer vendor. "If we're going to talk about my teenage struggle with impotence, I'm going to need a beer. Can I bring you one?"
"Sure. But from what I can tell, that issue is fully in the past." She gave him an appreciative look. "I've never had a problem noticing when you're inside me. You and your man meat totally get my attention."
He chuckled, but she could tell from the slight tinge of color in his cheeks she'd stroked his ego, in the right way. Boy needed the right kind of stroking, especially after admitting so baldly he'd had trouble getting it up most of his teen years. Most men wouldn't have done that.
She touched his arm. "You don't drink much because your mother did. To make it all go away. I'm guessing beer wasn't her preferred choice."
He met her gaze. "Yeah."
She did a quick stroke of his face with her knuckles. "Okay. Go get my beer."
She watched him stride down the hill, a handsome, fit man who caught female attention easily. He'd always been flirty inside the club, but she noticed here, out in the world, he didn't seem to employ those talents. Was that because he was with her, and he was being respectful? Or was it more of what he'd discussed, that he needed a Domme not just to trip his trigger, but to inspire him to even switch it on?
When he returned, she had another, lighter question for him. "So what happened to the high school girl? Were you together long?"
He sat down on the bench, handing her the brown-bagged beer after he twisted open the top for her. "The usual run for a high school relationship. A few months. I heard her joking with her friends one day. Saying, 'I just tell him, 'Boy, on your knees. Get down there and take care of that.' And he does. Girlfriends, he makes me see stars, no lie.'" He imitated the imperious female tone as he smiled around his beer. Regina rolled her eyes and elbowed him.
"Hey, I'm just reporting the truth. She said the others were going at it all wrong. That if they ordered their boyfriends around, rather than letting them fumble and stumble, they'd both be happier."
Regina chuckled. "Sounds like you helped give a young woman a stunning amount of self-confidence."
"I think she already had that. She reminded me of you."
Regina cocked a brow. "Was she a black girl, you bad thing?"
His lips quirked. "Yeah. But that wasn't what reminded me of you. It was...what you just said. You're always in charge, and so was she."
"Are you calling me a control freak?"
His eyes sparkled. "No, ma'am. Seriously, I'm not. You don't have a hang-up about relinquishing control, because it doesn't matter. Even when you let go, you're still on top. It's who you are."
"We make sense then. Because there are plenty of times that stubborn nature of yours tries to take control, but you never top. You don't have it in you, and that's not a judgment." She tapped her beer to his. "That's a part of your personality. I like many parts of your personality, including that one. You can take the attempts at control too far, into some dark areas, but there are other times it's fun, a challenge. I like a bad boy."
He seemed okay with that and they drank in silence for the next few moments.
"So what are you going to name your kitten?" she asked at last.
He shook his head. "We were just looking. I can't get one right now."
"Why?"
"She deserves...she deserves a really good home. And that means a place more like you have. Hell, that mean-eyed tomcat is more suited to my place, with the dark alleys and all that concrete."
"I've found street-wise tomcats like sunspots and safe places as much as kittens. Maybe appreciate them even more, once they relax enough to know they can trust the environment. And you don't have to have bunches of money and a nice house to give a pet a loving home. But why don't you let her stay with me until you feel more comfortable about it all?"
The brief flash of hope she saw in his eyes told her his heart had become set on this. He'd really wanted to adopt the kitten, and not simply as a prove-himself kind of thing. Tucking herself under his arm, she caressed his jaw. His gray eyes returned to the river as his shoulders lifted in a sigh, and he shook his head.
"I don't want to saddle you with something I may never be able to have. My landlady has a lot of health problems. She's talking about going into assisted living, and will probably do it soon as she finds a place that will let her bring her cats. When that happens, her son's going to kick me out and sell the house. I haven't really made a habit of living in the same place for long anyway."
