by Kim Dare
As his friends talked around him, Vincent nodded to himself. Now that he knew what was going on he was back where he should have been from the start—completely in control of the situation. All he had to do was wait until their date, then he could make Hannah aware of that fact.
* * * *
On the appointed day, Vincent arrived at the restaurant well ahead of time. The internet had proved full of useful information. He was armed and ready for their conversation.
Right on time, he saw Hannah get out of a taxi and walk the few paces to the door. She was dressed conservatively in black trousers and a pretty pale blue top. Vanilla clothes suited her surprisingly well. Her hair was up again, showing off the smooth curve of her neck. The expanse of skin just begged for a collar.
She paused before she opened the door and stepped inside, taking a deep breath as if to calm herself.
Vincent smiled and stepped forward. She hid her nerves remarkably well now that she knew she was being watched. Only her white knuckle grip on her shoulder bag betrayed her discomfort.
Making sure he was facing her, Vincent asked if she would like a drink at the bar before they were seated. He didn't raise his voice but he tried to make sure his lip movements were clear and he didn't mumble either.
Hannah shook her head.
They ordered drinks from the table, Hannah pointing to the menu for a Diet Coke. The waiter didn't hide his surprise very well. She hid how she felt about his reaction perfectly.
When they were finally left alone in their quiet corner, Vincent ran through his next move in his mind. His trawls through the internet left him with the very certain knowledge he would get a lot wrong, but also with the hopeful impression she would be able to tell he was trying and would tolerate his initial ineptitude. Points for effort were a good thing, Hannah actually understanding him would be even better.
Lip reading and sign language could apparently work together. Vincent wasn't yet entirely confident with the latter, so he was still determined to make sure the first caught up the slack. The last thing he wanted to do was make it seem like a huge issue. He went with something basic and hoped for the best.
"Do you find it easier to read sign than to lip read?” If the little pictures on the internet were half as helpful as they looked, he said the same thing with his hands as he spoke.
Hannah looked up and met his eyes. Shock, confusion and, as he watched, her expression softened into one he hadn't seen before. Before he could tell what it was, she looked down.
Touching her cheek to get her attention, so she could read what he said next, Vincent waited until she looked up.
She blinked at him.
He tried out his signing skills again. “It's okay, Hannah. We'll work it out."
Her hands covered his and she shook her head. She closed her eyes in such a slow blink he wondered if she would open them again.
"Hannah,” he began.
She silenced him with a shake of her head. Looking at his hands, she brought his finger tips to her lips and kissed them.
A smudge of lipstick lingered on his finger. She wiped it away with more attention than the task deserved, keeping her eyes lowered while she thought.
Vincent let her have a moment to collect herself, then squeezed her fingers to get her attention back up to a place where they could communicate.
She shook her head again when he went to speak and she wouldn't give him back his hands. Vincent was running out of signs he was confident with anyway.
"Do you sign?” he asked.
Hannah shook her head. After a brief pause, she shook her head again and touched her ear.
"You can't hear?” he translated, relieved they were finally getting somewhere.
She quickly shook her head at that interpretation.
There was no reason for her to deny it now. He frowned. “You can hear."
She nodded.
Thrown off his stride, he watched her look at his hands again.
Her lips parted. She closed them again and thought for a while. Hannah cleared her throat. She tried again.
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Chapter Four
"I'm n-not d-d-deaf.” Hannah Gibson closed her eyes as she stuttered out the words. A breath stuck in her throat. Heat flooded to her cheeks.
She wasn't the least surprised when Vincent pulled away, retrieving his hands from her side of the table. Hannah dropped her own hands back into her lap.
An unexpected touch to her cheek made her jump. His fingers stroked over the heated flesh very gently. Hannah's eyes snapped up to meet his for a moment.
He looked more uncertain than she'd even seen him. A frown creased the skin between his eyebrows.
"You don't speak because you have a stutter?” he asked.
Hannah shrugged and kept her eyes lowered. Of course—he had to understand that now he'd heard her try to speak to him.
"You think that matters?” he asked, as if he really didn't see why it mattered so very much. “Don't shrug."
Cutting off the movement halfway through, Hannah started to fidget, pushing a stray lock of hair back from her face and looking everywhere but at Vincent. She took a deep breath. Now that she'd started this mess, she had no choice but to push through and finish it. She lined the words up in her head, trying to build up enough momentum to keep the hesitations to a minimum.
"N-n-.” Hannah closed her eyes and sighed. She couldn't even get the first damn word right. She shook her head at herself but tried again. “N-n-no-one w-w-wants a s-s-submissive who can't even s-say ‘yes, m-m-m-master'."
His hand cupped her cheek. As much as she appreciated the gentleness in his reaction, she couldn't look up at him. The blush on her cheeks only intensified.
"Who told you that?"
Vincent put his other hand on her shoulder when she would have shrugged.
"Someone told you that, didn't they, Hannah? Tell me who."
She stayed silent for a long time, hoping he would get bored with asking questions and give up.
Vincent waited very patiently.
Hannah gave in. She'd have to say something, and if he heard her talk enough, she wouldn't have to get rid of him—he would go all on his own.
"I l-like s-s-sex,” she said, biting back a flinch at the hesitations and repetitions. “I'm g-good at it. M-men, m-m-masters, l-like m-me. Until I t-talk. One n-night in s-s-silence w-works. They p-put up w-with s-s-silence for one n-night. They d-don't w-w-want more."
She fixed her eyes on the table setting. Straightening her knife and fork, she waited for his verdict, for Vincent to tell her she was right. Submissives were supposed to be inconspicuous, well drilled and practically perfect. No master could put up with listening to his submissive spout all that mess.
"I want more than one night,” Vincent said. “I want a lot more than one night. Look at me."
She did so for a brief moment then dropped her gaze again.
"It doesn't make any difference, Hannah."
She risked another brief glance up at him.
"And it will get better over time."
She sighed. She'd heard it all so many times before. It was better for them both to nip the idea in the bud before he got too attached to it, because she wasn't going through all that again—not even for someone like Vincent. “You can't f-f-fix me,” she said carefully. “P-p-punishing me d-doesn't help. It just m-makes the s-stutter w-w-worse."
"Of course punishing you would make it worse,” he said.
Hannah hesitated. It usually took masters a long and, from her point of view at least, very painful time to come to that conclusion, and they didn't stick around long once they reached it.
"Any dominant with half a brain should know that,” he told her. Anger laced his words, but as he went on, Hannah began to wonder if it was directed at her previous masters rather than at her. “You can't punish a submissive for something she has no control over. I just meant, as you get used to talking to me you'll realise it doesn't bot
her me and you won't be so nervous."
Hannah blinked at him.
"Nerves make it harder for you to get your words out, right?"
She nodded. “But it n-never g-goes away c-completely."
Vincent nodded and fell silent for a long time, thinking it all over and no doubt weighing up if her speech would be worth putting up with for a little while to get laid again.
She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with his scrutiny and waiting for his verdict. Her mind reeled so fast she didn't even know what she should hope for anymore.
"Is it just when you do scenes?” he asked. “Do you speak to people the rest of the time?"
She tried to shake her head. Vincent's hands cupped her cheeks, forcing her to hold her head still and give a verbal answer. “N-not if I c-c-can avoid it."
He nodded. “I want a lot more than one night. I want to see if we can have a lot more than that together. I'd like us to get to know each other, to talk to each other, and to find out if that's possible."
She was right with him up to the point where he said ‘talk'.
Vincent smiled. “Why do I get the feeling I could come out with my kinkiest, dirtiest fantasy and you wouldn't have been half as worried about that as you are about a conversation?"
She took that as a rhetorical question. Those were the best kind in her book—they didn't require her to voice an answer. She stayed gladly silent while she waited for him to speak again.
"There are a lot of things I'd like to know about you which can't be asked with yes or no questions."
She could solve that problem easily. She took a pen and paper out of her bag.
"Trust me?” he asked.
She tried to take the top off the pen. He covered her hands with his.
Hannah looked at his hands. She had a few questions of her own. “How d-do you know how to s-s-s-sign?"
"I looked it up,” Vincent said.
"Because you thought I w-was d-deaf?"
"That's right."
She bit her lip. “That d-didn't b-b-bother you?"
"No,” Vincent said with apparent honesty.
Hannah studied him, searching for any sign the conversation was working towards a punch line at her expense.
"Do you lip read?” he asked.
Hannah shook her head.
"You seemed to watch my mouth when I was speaking,” he observed.
She blushed. She put her finger tips to his lips. “I just like l-l-looking at your m-m-mouth.” And kissing his lips—she'd liked that a lot too.
"Thank you,” he said softly, smiling against her fingers and kissing the tips.
Hannah took her hand back. She bit her lip again. A glance into his eyes, and for the first time she wavered in her determination not to have more than one night with him.
"Are you going to give us a chance?” he asked.
"You d-don't k-know m-m-me."
"I'm working on getting to know you,” he corrected. “And we could get to know each other a lot more easily if you'll give us a chance."
It was more than likely he'd turn out to be just like all the others. But she couldn't imagine any of the other men she'd known learning to sign, or making sure she got home safe, or acting at all like Vincent. There was a chance, just a tiny little chance he would prove to be different.
Hannah nodded, just once and hoped like hell she wasn't making a stupid decision.
"Speak to me?” he asked.
"Y-y-yes,” she said softly.
"Say my name?” he requested.
She blushed. If he'd had a name which was easier to say, she might not have been so worried. Wary, knowing she was about to make a fool of herself, Hannah bit her lip and tried to do what she knew was impossible. She took a deep breath. “V-V-Vincent."
Hannah closed her eyes.
He touched her cheek. “Open your eyes, Hannah."
She did.
He smiled at her and tilted her head back so their eyes met properly. “Perfect,” he whispered and brushed their lips together in a chaste kiss.
Her lips parted in encouragement and he tasted her mouth properly, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Hannah leaned into the kiss. That was what mouths were meant to be used for. Forget talking—this was where it all really came together and made sense.
Someone cleared their throat.
Hannah blinked her eyes open. A waiter stood next to their table looking very disapproving.
"I'm s-s-sorry,” she said, jerking away from Vincent and putting her hand over her mouth.
The waiter sniffed.
"Is there a problem?” Vincent asked.
The waiter looked him up and down. “Are sir and madam ready to order?"
She hadn't even looked at the menu. Hannah took one from the middle of the table and hurriedly began to read through the list of dishes. “I-I'll h-have—” She spotted something suitable halfway down the list, but she just couldn't get her words out to tell the waiter what she'd chosen.
"Perhaps I should come back when madam has her order ready,” he said coolly.
Vincent covered her hand with his. “We'll both be ready to order in a few minutes."
The waiter looked from one to the other of them.
"You can leave now,” Vincent added, the coolness in his voice turning icy.
"I'm s-so s-sorry,” Hannah whispered as soon as he was out of ear shot.
Vincent put his fingertip to her lips.
She dropped her gaze. Her eyes fell closed. She knew better than to try and babble. She should have just kept her mouth shut and let him order for her. Embarrassing him in front of the waiter was stupid. She hadn't made a mistake like that—tried to speak without thinking—in years.
Lips brushed against hers.
Hannah opened her eyes.
"There's no need to apologise,” he told her seriously.
She opened her lips to speak and thought better of it. She reached for the pad of paper again.
Vincent took it off her and put it on the far side of the table. “I said I don't want to hear an unnecessary apology—not that I don't want to hear whatever else you have to say."
"I d-didn't m-m-mean to embarrass you,” she whispered.
Vincent made her look up and meet his eyes square on. “I'm not embarrassed.” He brushed their lips together again. “I'm also apparently unable to keep my hands or my mouth to myself. Would you prefer to leave?"
She nodded.
"Only because I want you alone, not because any of this nonsense about me being embarrassed,” he said seriously.
Hannah nodded again.
He led her out of the restaurant, but stopped near the door. “Will you wait here for a moment?"
Hannah nodded.
Vincent walked across to the manager and handed him a card. After a few brief words, he walked back to her side and led her out to his car, leaving the manager to shoot very nervous glances after them.
As she fastened her seat belt, Hannah looked across at him. He didn't seem eager to offer her any information she didn't ask for.
"W-what did you s-say to him?"
"I just introduced myself and gave him my card."
That left her none the wiser.
"My business card,” Vincent specified with a small satisfied smile. “I'm a restaurant critic by trade. I merely mentioned I'd heard very good things about the food, but the staff were so disagreeable I didn't stick around to taste it. The waiter really was an appalling little man, wasn't he?"
Hannah offered him a small smile. Vincent started the car.
"I don't know the area very well. You'll probably have to give me directions."
Hannah frowned. Surely he knew the way to his own place. He'd driven from there to the restaurant, after all.
"We're going to your place."
She shook her head. She didn't take men back to her place.
"I'm not one of those men you spent your silent nights with, Hannah."
She met his eyes. He did have a point
. It probably wasn't possible to treat him the way she was used to treating her casual hook-ups. Vincent waited.
Directions—talking quickly and clearly when time was of the essence. It just wasn't going to happen.
A little satellite navigation system rested on the dashboard. The maps on its computer chips offered her sudden hope that they could reach her house without her having to say a word. Hannah put her fingertips on it and looked to him for permission.
"If I could make the damn thing work, you'd be welcome to it.” He frowned at it, obviously not happy with his new gadget.
Hannah picked it out of its rest and switched it on. Four minutes later she put it back in its place, with the directions to her house inputted and all the settings re-jigged so they actually made sense.
Vincent looked from her to the sat nav and back again. “I've been trying to work that contraption out for weeks."
Hannah bit her lip. Denting male pride hadn't been part of the plan at all.
"I don't suppose you can do the same with DVD players? I just bought a new one and the time keeps disappearing off the display."
She nodded and offered him a half-hopeful smile.
"Right,” he said with certainty. “Next time we're definitely going back to my place."
As he followed the directions the sat nav spoke to him, Hannah silently tried to remember if she'd left her apartment neat and tidy. Not expecting to bring back company, she had a terrible feeling she'd left every one of the dozen outfits she'd tried on before her date scattered around her bedroom.
He pulled up outside and let her lead the way up the path and into the apartment block. The elevator ride was silent. So was the long walk along the corridor that finally led them to her apartment.
Hannah let them in with only the rattle of her keys to break the tension. Vincent followed behind her, shutting the door and checking the catch after himself as if he lived there all his life.
"I think I'm starting to understand why you found my sat nav so simple."
Hannah tried to see her living room through fresh eyes. There probably was a lot of electronic equipment in there compared to most places. “My j-job,” she explained.
