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CHAPTER TWELVE
Valerie had felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her chest when she’d told Tim what she liked. She knew in part that relief was because he’d probably understand what all those words meant and wouldn’t judge her for her preferences. But as she stepped onto the deck of his boat, there was that niggling, gnawing tug at the back of her mind that kept her on her guard. She’d promised herself she was going to opt out of kink going forward because it didn’t seem compatible with her aspirations. A good partnership required time and some degree of stability in her life. She didn’t have those things and shewouldn’thave them in the near future, either.
She shouldn’t have led Tim on, but, damned if she wasn’t curious. If she didn’t indulge that curiosity, she’d drive herself mad from all the what-ifs.
He carried her suitcase and purse below deck of his boat, and Valerie stood at the railing clutching her phone and looking around at the boats bobbing nearby.
Hell of a lifestyle.
She could only half believe she was having a little sip of it herself now and certainly would have never imagined it was possible growing up. Money had been tight for as long as Valerie could remember—even after her grandmother had moved in with Valerie, Leah, and their mother to help out. Then, of course, her mother had died and most of the income Valerie and Leah had was from Social Security Survivors Benefits. There was no excess. They didn’t have name-brand clothes or take fancy trips. Valerie and her sister never, ever forgot that every penny they got had come to them because someone they loved had died.
As an adult, Valerie’s motivations had been steered toward comfort, not excess. She still wasn’t sure what motivated Tim.
At the touch of his hand to her back, she started and clutched her chest. “Shit. Sorry. I’m not usually so skittish.”
“I said your name twice and asked if you wanted to watch me get this thing moving. You were totally zoned out.”
She forced out a breath and tucked some hair behind her ears that had somehow managed to escape her gel’s cement-quality hold. “I’m good at that, zoning out. Apparently, that makes me a good sub.”
Tim pressed his lips tightly together and stuffed his hands into his shorts’ pockets.
“You look like you don’t agree.”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure I do. Compartmentalizing is one thing, but I’d expect you to be lucid enough to recognize that your body is telling you to stop.”
“Some doms might tell me that it’stheirjob to determine what my stopping point is.”
“You don’t agree with that, and neither do I. Sounds like you’ve been running into a lot of untrained wannabes up in D.C.”
She turned her hands over in concession. “I thought I had a good thing once a couple of years ago.”
“And?”
“It just stopped being good.”
His jaw shifted side to side a few times and he narrowed that steely gaze. He didn’t seem to be chastising her, though, but more like making sense of her. She hoped he could.
Someone should.
She fiddled her phone and pulled her gaze away from his.
“I’m going to unfasten the dock lines and get the engine going,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular, just out into the Atlantic where we can float aimlessly until it’s time to come home.”
“When will that be?”
“You’ll tell me.”
“Oh.”
He stepped through the cockpit door, and though he left it open, she didn’t follow.
She wanted to take a moment to acclimate herself to the vessel since she really hadn’t had a chance the night she’d met Tim at Clay’s.
She walked around the narrow deck, skimming the wall with one hand to aid her balance as she went, and counting architectural features. Windows—or maybe they wereportholes—ladders, doors. At the rear, she stopped, her curiosity getting the better of her. The boat had to have a name, and she hoped it would be emblazoned across the vessel’s backside like screen-printing on her sister’s favorite pair of booty shorts.
