Leather and Grace

by Maggie Ryan

  “Laurie made a pot,” she said, sinking against him again instead of rising to find her shoes.

  “Well, I suppose it’s coffee, but I was thinking I needed some fried dough as…”

  “Oh, you’re taking me to Café du Monde?”

  “Yes, if you’d like.”

  “I’d like,” she exclaimed, sounding more like herself as she jumped off his lap. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back!”

  He chuckled as she ran down the hall. While he waited, he gathered the torn paper from the floor and even attempted to piece some parts together. As he had thought, it was a useless endeavor. She returned and he had to smile. She’d not only found her shoes, she’d taken the time to change. She now wore a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt, her ballet flats on her feet.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Though I think you look adorable, maybe you want to run a washcloth over your face?”

  “Oh, geeze,” she said, running down the hall again. The next time she appeared, she said, “Please tell me you weren’t going to let me go outside with a pencil in my hair!”

  “Actually, I found it rather becoming. Sort of how I’d picture a bohemian artist.” He liked seeing her smile, even though it was a quick one. Wanting it to return, he opened the door and led her down the stairs saying, “We could walk in deference to the calories we are about to consume, or we could say fuck it and take the bike.”

  She tilted her head and her smile was much wider. “I definitely vote for fuck it. I’m so mad that my body is burning like a furnace. I’m sure not a single gram of sugar or fat will survive.”

  He chuckled, squeezed her hand and said, “Then let’s ride.”

  ***

  He again sent her ahead to pick out a table while he placed their order. On his way towards her, he saw a man leaving and that he’d left the newspaper on his chair. Snagging it, Quentin took it and their tray to the table Grace had chosen. Removing the items from the tray, he grinned as her hand reached out to snag a beignet off the plate before it reached the table.

  “Hungry?” he teased, setting down the plate and then her coffee mug before her.

  “Starving,” she said around a mouthful of pastry. Once she’d swallowed and he’d taken his seat, she said, “Good thing you were smart enough to order your own plate. I’m not exactly in a sharing mood right now.”

  “I promise you won’t leave until you are satisfied,” he said.

  She paused in her chewing and smiled, tilting her head slightly. “You never do.”

  Her words and the look in her eyes had his cock stirring. Shit, he wasn’t supposed to be so easily aroused, and yet he didn’t deny that with just her statement, he was remembering the absolute heaven that he’d felt with her legs wrapped around him as he sank into her warmth. It took her reaching for her coffee for him to snap back to the reality they were here to discuss.

  “Do you mind?” he asked, lifting the paper.

  “Ugh, if you have to,” she said, replacing her cup and reaching for another beignet. He reached for one as well and saw her grin as he took a big bite. “Good?” she asked.

  “Unbelievably so,” he admitted, finishing it in another bite. He could practically feel the sugar molecules coursing through his system and grinned at her smile. Opening the paper and finding the column, his grin slid from his face. She had been right. Brooks was a definite bastard. He read every line and then read them again.

  “What a son of a bitch,” he said, closing the paper and reaching for his coffee.

  “Told you. Have another. Perhaps if we consume enough sugar, we’ll be able to think sweeter thoughts.”

  “I doubt that,” he said, knowing that no matter how many pastries he consumed, he’d never forgive the man. “I’m really sorry, Grace. It wasn’t a good idea for me to stay that night.”

  “It wasn’t that night that caused him to write that load of crap,” she said. “Well, not just that night.”

  Quentin remembered what she’d said earlier. “Tell me, exactly what did he say to threaten you?”

  The tip of her pink tongue licked along the corner of her mouth to gather the powdered sugar before she answered. “He didn’t actually say, ‘you better do what I want or else,’ but he didn’t have to.”

  Forcing himself not to think about how it would be to clean her with his own tongue, Quentin shook his head. “What exactly did he say?” When she hesitated, he reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

  “Grace, don’t feel you have to spare my feelings. No matter what you say, I know that I’m at least partially responsible for the review. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

  She shocked him by giving a soft giggle and squirming on her chair. “You are,” she said with a smile. “A big boy, I mean.”

  He couldn’t help the grin that pulled at his lips. “The paper, remember?” he gently reminded her, giving her fingers a squeeze before releasing her hand.

  “Oh, right. Um, when I once again refused to meet with him, he told me that I was risking my career and, well, he insinuated my reputation as well by being friends with you, Brody and Laurie. He acted as if he knew I was taking your class but I really can’t see how he could. I mean, I didn’t even know I was going to until a couple of days earlier, and I know that none of you make a habit of informing others about the membership of your club. I can only imagine he is making assumptions based on what he learned when he was covering your girlfriend’s death.”

  “I’m rather surprised he didn’t warn you that your life was in danger,” Quentin said. He noticed that her eyes drifted to the side and she didn’t immediately answer. “Goddamnit, he did, didn’t he?”

  “Not in so many words, but, yes, it was implied.” Straightening in her seat, her expression changed. “I told him that I didn’t appreciate him maligning my friends and if he wasn’t very careful, I’d be more than happy to sue him and his paper for libel. Unfortunately, well, I suppose that’s not much of a threat since he didn’t actually print anything that wasn’t true. You can’t sue someone simply because he gives what he clearly states as his ‘opinion’ about my show or my ability as an artist. It is his right, and I suppose he sees it as his job, to write what he thinks.”

  “It’s still bullshit,” Quentin said, impressed that though she had to be deeply hurt, she was putting on a brave front. “I hope you understand that you are not only an incredibly talented artist, Grace, you are a remarkable person. I’ve never seen anyone who takes the time to look at the world through different eyes. You not only capture moments of pure beauty, you seem to capture the very essence of your subjects’ souls. I also hope you understand that Brooks is not only a bastard but a liar. Honey, if he truly thought what he wrote was true, if he thought you were ‘some stuck-up girl who is attempting to draw attention to herself by vomiting up vulgar works of so-called art,’ then I promise he never would have picked up that phone even knowing you knew me.”

  She sat back in her chair and he saw a sheen in her eyes. “Ah, sweetie, don’t cry. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

  “I’m not,” she said, swiping at a tear that escaped. “It’s you. You reminded me why I paint and… you are an amazing man.”

  He wondered how she could even consider that. He wasn’t amazing. Hell, he wasn’t even a good man. Why then did he suddenly desire to prove her words true? Why did he know that if Brooks appeared before his eyes, he’d not hesitate to rip him limb from limb? Not for anything he thought about Quentin or his chosen lifestyle, but because he’d attempted to hurt Grace where it would cut her the most deeply. He’d attempted to plant doubt about her incredible talent into her very soul.

  “How can you do that?” she said.

  “What?” he asked, having to take a moment to understand she’d asked a question.

  “You know, in class, I saw you only studying those folders once and then you knew everyone’s names. And just now, how could you quote his words back verbatim?”

  Q
uentin shrugged. “I suppose it’s like you in a way. You see things with a different perspective. I see faces or words and they just seem to stick.”

  “I bet that helped in school,” she said.

  “Let’s just say that I didn’t have to hit the books as hard as others. I remember Brody staying up all night cramming for some test while I could remain calm and work on my hobby. Man, he used to get pissed.” Quentin chuckled at the memory and felt a bit of his anger dropping away.

  “Um, are you going to eat that?” He looked down to see her fingers hovering over the last beignet.

  “No, feel free.”

  “Thanks,” she said, snatching it quickly, as if worried he’d change his mind. As she took a bite and asked, “Wanna share?” he had to wonder if she knew she often spoke with her mouth full. Shit, thinking of her mouth being full had his cock jerking again. This woman had a way of pulling at him even when she wasn’t doing anything remotely sexual.

  “No, babe, I’m afraid I might lose a finger or two. Besides, you are really cute when you eat.”

  “Sorry,” she said, swallowing and then giggling. “I didn’t mean share the beignet. You said you had a hobby. Would you share what it is, I mean, if you don’t mind telling me?”

  “Leather,” he said and couldn’t help but see her mouth open a bit, and was a bit shocked to see her nipples lift to poke against her t-shirt. His pants became even more uncomfortable. “I’m guessing you like leather?”

  Her eyes followed his and she turned a pretty pink. “No, I love leather. You made those paddles and that whip that Master K…” He was proud to see that she didn’t continue, remembering that members names were not to be bandied about.

  “I’ve made several different things,” he said. “I’m presently working on something for Brody and Laurie as a wedding gift.”

  “Oh, will you show me?”

  He nodded and realized that he’d be happy to do so. He also noted that she was no longer tense and that the lines across her forehead had disappeared. The pain in her eyes was gone, their green color now clear, no tears in sight.

  “Now?”

  “You aren’t interested in plotting revenge against Brooks?”

  “No,” she said, draining the last of her coffee. “My parents taught me that you might not be able to choose the people you encounter in your life, but you do have the choice to walk away from them. I’m just pissed off that I gave him so much thought. It irks me to have to admit that I also owe him a thank you.”

  “How in the hell could you think that?” He bit back a groan at her next action.

  She wet the tip of her finger with her tongue and pressed it against the empty plate, coming away with white powdered sugar, which she promptly popped into her mouth, and his cock threatened to burst through his jeans as her cheeks hollowed with her suckling. Popping it out, now free of any sugar, she said, “Because, if he hadn’t written his article, you wouldn’t have come to comfort me and we wouldn’t be sitting here now. Thank you, Quentin.”

  “No, thank you, Grace.” He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t ask. She simply took his hand when offered and clung to him as they mounted the bike. At every red light, he put his foot down onto the pavement and dropped his hand from the handlebars to give hers a squeeze. One day soon, he’d take her on a longer ride, and perhaps show her the part of Louisiana that he truly considered his home.

  It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to walk hand-in-hand up the stairs and into his apartment. If she was remembering the night before, she managed to hide it pretty well, her cheeks only flushing a little.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “God, no. I made an absolute pig of myself. Another single thing in my tummy will cause me to burst.”

  “We can’t have that,” he said, opening the fridge as he continued to speak, “the only bursting allowed is when you explode in pleasure.” His hand closing around an ice-cold bottle of water had him wondering what in the hell had possessed him to say that. Straightening, he turned back towards her to see her head tilted a bit. Well, shit, the words were true but he didn’t need to have her wondering why he’d said them. “But, come to think of it, I would like to discover if you put anything but coffee and fried dough in your mouth.” Her quick grin and glance down at the zipper of his jeans had him kicking himself. Fuck, what was the matter with him? He wasn’t some green teenager who uttered innuendos to check out a woman’s interest.

  Her smile reached her eyes, which were twinkling. “I think I’ll keep that a secret until you decide to show me what else you’d like me to taste.”

  He uncapped the bottle and took a long drink before lowering it from his mouth. Maybe the chill would allow his cock to at least go to half-mast?

  “Oh, is that it?”

  It took him a good second or two to understand she was no longer talking about… well, eating. He finished the water and joined her where she was standing in front of his couch, looking down at the coffee table. He sat and pulled her down beside him before bending forward and picking up the bundle of leather that would be the falls of the flogger. Handing it to her, he watched as she ran her fingers through the individual strips.

  “It’s so soft,” she said, looking up at him. “Did you make the one you used on me last night?”

  “Yes, I made most of the leather items in the club. Some of the wooden ones, as well, though that requires items I have in my shed at home.”

  “You don’t live here? I mean, I know you just came back but I thought…”

  “I have a cabin as well. There’s a shed, well, actually, it’s probably bigger than the house, but it’s where I do most of the work. I can do the finishing touches on some items here but it takes special equipment to work the hides, and to cut and shape either leather or wood.”

  “I can understand that,” she said, again running her fingers over the leather. “I remember my first roommate was always complaining that I took up more than my share of space because I had so many canvases and different paints. It takes more than talent to be an artist, it takes a lot of room.”

  He chuckled and bent again, picking up the braided handle he was working on. “I’m almost ready to attach the falls to the handle.”

  “Is that what this is called?” she asked, lifting the section he’d given her.

  “Yes, as you can see, there are a great many individual pieces. A Dominant can actually make it feel as if they all land in one area or, with various twists of his wrist, can cause the strands to fall across a wider area.”

  “Like you did last night,” she said with a small squirm. “Um, is it okay to tell you that I really enjoyed the barrel? I mean, I know we’re not in class, but…”

  “It’s not only okay, I’m glad you told me. I enjoyed watching you enjoy it so much.” He saw her flush again and though it might not be proper, he couldn’t help himself. He cupped her cheek with his palm and bent towards her as she lifted her face. A breath away from her mouth, he continued. “The next time I have you over the barrel, I won’t stop until you come, Grace.”

  “Promise?” she whispered, right before his lips met hers. He didn’t totally understand it, but he knew he definitely hoped to keep that promise one day.

  When he released her and allowed her to catch her breath, she smiled. “I just thought of something.”

  “Babe, if you could think, then obviously I didn’t kiss you thoroughly enough.”

  “No, no,” she said with a giggle. “Believe me, any more thoroughly, and I’d be nothing but a puddle of submissive goo at your feet. I didn’t think about it until I saw that handle again. I’m thinking that, since you said your gift was for both of them, then Laurie must enjoy flogging as much as I do, right?”

  “That’s really yet to be seen, about your enjoyment. There’s a big difference between being flogged for pleasure versus punishment that often includes feeling the leather striking between your legs. But, yes, Laurie will tell you that flogging is on
e of her absolute favorite experiences.”

  Again, that slightly tilted head and those green, expressive eyes were doing a number on his cock. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head but didn’t know if she was picturing how the impact of the leather on her sex would feel, or perhaps wondering how to ask for a tangible demonstration of the difference.

  Perhaps neither, as she said, “I wonder if they’d like a painting. One that shows their pleasure using your gift.”

  “If you are talking about a painting like those in your show, I not only think that’s a great idea, I think they’d be incredibly honored.”

  ***

  His answer had her flushing with pleasure. “I know Brody is incapacitated due to his leg, but, um, I know you spanked her and, well, to be honest, she told me that you’ve done so in the past. Do you think there is any way that Brody would permit you to flog Laurie and let me photograph the session?”

  She watched as he seemed to consider her question. “I think so. Brody enjoys giving her pleasure and he knows there is only so much he can do right now. Still, I’ll need to ask.”

  “I know, I wouldn’t expect you just to grab her and start whaling on her.” She cringed a bit at the rudeness of that statement but relaxed when he grinned.

  “No, the only one I might grab and whale on without prior permission is a sassy little artist I know.”

  “Okay, now that’s another image I won’t be able to stop thinking about. If you’ll…” Seeing that he had not only sat back but that his brow was furrowed, she paused. “What? Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean…”

  “No,” he said, suddenly sitting forward again. “You said something I believe might be very important.” He placed the handle back on the table and reached for the bundle of leather strips. “I’m sorry but I really need to get to the hospital.”

  “Oh, no, that’s fine. In fact, would you mind if I tag along? I haven’t been to see Brody in a few days.” When he hesitated, she added, “That’s okay. I can go later.”

  “I need to go over something about, well…”

  “Your investigation into Beth’s murder? Laurie told me about you and Brody going through files. That’s why you came to get the laptop that day, right?”