Worth The Wait

by Joey W. Hill

  An outdoor bar had snacks, soft drinks, water and other non-alcoholic choices, and Logan treated them with their preference. Soda for Julie and Madison, a cider for Logan and a bottled water for Des.

  As they all chatted about casual topics and the things they'd seen, Julie noticed Des was quiet, but not broody. He seemed relaxed, thoughtful, even as he remained attentive. His fingers slid through Julie's hair, caressing her bare shoulder beneath his flannel shirt. At one point, he pushed the fabric back to kiss her collarbone. When his hand dropped to her thigh beneath the table, she parted her legs, letting his grip slide up high. His gaze met hers, and she wet her lips at his look. He kept his hand where it was, fingers lightly stroking her inner thigh as her body hummed at the attention and craved more.

  "So as I was saying, I think our next performance after Lila's should be Caligula. We'll ask Thomas if we can borrow his cows to do a bestiality scene. A bovine-human orgy."

  "Oh, that sounds--" Julie shook herself out of her sexual haze and snapped her attention to Madison. "What?"

  Madison laughed. Reaching across the small round table, she grabbed Julie's hand. "I love seeing you two get lost in one another. But I had to tease."

  "Thomas's cows?" Des asked. He didn't appear unsettled by Madison's observation. Julie decided to take that as a good sign, rather than dissecting it and finding cues on how this would end up being a BDSM Disneyland fueled fantasy tomorrow.

  Stop it, you crazy, dysfunctional bitch.

  "Thomas's family has a farm," Julie said brightly. Maybe too brightly. She toned it down at Des's curious look. "Well, it was a farm at one time, but now they run a hardware slash general store in the middle of Nowhere, North Carolina, totally rural. But he has a cow named Kate he raised. Since they got married, he and Marcus have adopted two more and a couple of goats from a farm sanctuary organization. Even though Thomas and Marcus are both carnivores, Thomas says it's his way of apologizing for any farm-factory-produced hamburgers he's eaten."

  "So have you met Marcus and Thomas?" Des asked their friends.

  "I met them a couple times in Boston when they came to see Julie," Madison volunteered. "Logan hasn't yet, though he should when they come visit in a couple weeks. I'm surprised it took Marcus this long to show up after Julie told him about you."

  Julie kicked her under the table, but Des felt it, since he had firm grip on her other leg. "For my screen test?" he asked dryly.

  "Take it as a good thing," Madison assured him, though her quick glance at Julie said she realized she'd put it the wrong way and too obviously. Blame it on a subspace brain haze, her apologetic look said. Julie could hardly cast stones, but Des's expression didn't reveal what his thoughts were. She still felt very connected to him, but there was a lot happening in his mind she couldn't decipher. She didn't want these feelings they were experiencing disrupted.

  "They'll love you," she said.

  "It won't matter if they don't," he said, his hand sliding higher up her thigh and hooking in the thong to caress her sex as he leaned in and touched his lips to her, a deceptively mild gesture compared to what was going on beneath the table. He caught her suddenly shaky breath. "Won't change a damn thing, will it, love?"

  "Um...you understand they're just friends. Practically family."

  "And something a little more than that. Just making my position clear." His fingertips slid inside her and she almost choked on the surge of response that shot between her legs as he caressed her clit. His gleaming eyes said he might decide to do something unthinkable right here.

  She should be responding to this testosterone bath with a snarky remark, a retort suitable for an independent woman who wouldn't tolerate a man's blatant branding, but oh God, how did he do that with those long, fabulous fingers?

  She should be horribly selfconscious in front of Madison and Logan, but a desperate glance across the table showed her that Logan had shifted Madison on his lap and they were currently having a low, intimate conversation. Her friend's arm was around her husband's neck, while his large hand cupped and kneaded her breast, shaping and elongating the nipple beneath the satin bodice as she kept her gaze fastened on his face.

  The table between them was small, and Logan curled his fingers around Madison's other wrist, drawing her hand back to the table. Des nodded to it, the two men in some kind of eerie accord. "Take her hand, Julie. And hold on tight."

  Logan's hand slid out of view. Julie recognized Madison's jerk of response as he found his way between his wife's legs and began to play with her as Des was doing to Julie. Madison's fingers convulsed on hers. In a wash of heated lust, Julie realized what they intended. She'd never really had a girl-girl experience. She wasn't wired that way, much preferring men for her fantasies and real life sexual encounters, but this single act of holding her friend's fine-boned hand, feeling her polished nails dig into Julie's palm as her response built, spurred Julie's own.

  As for her Dom, he had a laser gaze trained on her face, brown eyes glittering, mouth and jaw set. He was making an undeniable point, moving from Dom to Master in the space of a few sentences that had flipped a switch, a transition thrilling as it was unsettling.

  She heard Madison moan Logan's name against his neck as he gathered her close. Julie gripped her hand as Des sent her flying up a ramp and let her go into full orgasm. Logan brought Madison to the same pinnacle as Madison clutched Julie's fingers hard enough to bruise bone. Julie wondered if either man watched that connecting point between their two women, the fingers tangling, biting, jerking, holding on as their bodies flooded with release.

  They came down almost at the same time, the same gradual grade. They hadn't let go of one another. They were stroking one another's fingers, unsteady caresses. At last, Madison gave her a squeeze and slipped free as Logan murmured to her. He held out a hand to Des. "I think we're going to head for home. I'm ready to have her all to myself." His gaze shifted to Julie, who had her head on Des's shoulder, her limbs too heavy to lift on her own. "Julie, I assume you don't need a ride home?"

  There was amusement in his eyes, but Julie also registered the heat. Madison's night was only just beginning. Since Des had brought her to several orgasms, but not yet allowed himself release, she might need to rest up on the way home herself.

  "I'm sure I can catch a cab," she offered, then giggled, pulling Des's hair as he bit her neck, none-too-gently.

  "Thank you," she said as she looked up at Logan and Madison again. They paused, hearing the suddenly serious note in her voice. "Just...thank you."

  Madison reached across the table and gripped her hand, for a different reason this time. She didn't say anything, but Julie knew she understood. She didn't know if she'd find with Des what Madison had found with Logan, but Julie knew she was closer to it than she'd ever been. As terrifying as that was, she was sticking to one single resolve. She wasn't going to doubt herself tonight.

  "I'll get back to you on the cow orgy thing," she said, and left them laughing.

  She wondered if the Steak 'n Shake idea had been intended to help her refuel and recuperate. If so, it was a good plan. Julie ordered a cookies and cream shake and fries while Des had half a grilled chicken sandwich. He gave her a part of the sandwich and she traded a couple fries and a few sips of the shake with him. They people-watched and listened to the piped-in music, trying to guess song titles. She asked him about some of the people she'd seen at the party. No surprise, he knew most of them and their backstories, and she was smug when she found she'd guessed right on most of the top and bottom orientations.

  They'd agreed they'd go back to her place at the theater since she had volunteers coming in tomorrow morning to paint the ceiling. Anticipating what she and Des might do there, she was glad she'd finally replaced the cot with a real double bed. It was just a cheap thing she'd picked up at a second hand shop, but she'd decorated it with a strand of colorful butterfly lights and put throw pillows on it. She was under no illusions as to why she'd made the interior design improvement w
hen she'd had plenty other things to keep her busy this past week, but she was glad she had.

  On the way there, the foolish man made her sing. He had her name her 80s song favorites and belt out as much of the lyrics as she could remember, until she was laughing too hard to continue. When she demanded reciprocity, he attempted songs like Prince's "Purple Rain." The man had a mesmerizing speaking voice...and was as tone deaf as a moose.

  Trying to help him hit the right notes only led to more mirth and a mock aggrieved look on his face. As he shut off the truck at the theater parking lot, he attacked her, tickling her knees and sides as she shrieked and thrashed. She scrambled out of the truck and to the theater side door. He pinned her there, thankfully to kiss instead of tickle her, playfulness turning into something else entirely.

  Fishing out her keys, she thwarted his attempts to take them and play keep away. Then he caught her around the waist, hiked her up his body and carried her over the threshold, still kissing her. They hit the wall with a resounding thud, for which he gravely apologized. She assured him her skull fracture would heal in time.

  After kissing her senseless through several long, dreamy eternities, he let her down and stepped back from her, gaze sliding over the dress and everything it barely covered with possessive thoroughness.

  "Jessica Rabbit," he said. "That's who you remind me of in that outfit."

  "'I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way.'" She purred the line in a sultry voice, and made a dash for the back rooms. "Have to go to the bathroom. Make yourself comfortable in my room."

  He'd let her escape, but as she took care of the call of nature, she could hear him moving around her room. Then things got quiet, drawing her curiosity.

  Slipping out of the bathroom and moving to her doorway, she found he'd lit several clusters of the candles she kept there for mood lighting. She didn't see him, though. She moved into the room, looking around. "Des."

  The shadows in her peripheral vision moved. Before she could turn, he had her in a firm hold. His shirt was off again and he'd removed the sporran, thank God. Though he still wore the kilt, she could feel his need pressing against her beneath it.

  "You left your dressing room door unlocked, Miss Rabbit," he said. "With all those photographers and fans, it wasn't a smart move."

  It was easy to ride the instant surge of arousal into the role, playing the fantasy she wanted to be for him. That he'd made her feel like she could be.

  "Will you hurt me?" she purred with a little jaunty twitch of her hips. He gave her flank a light slap, setting off a starburst of tingling.

  "Not if you behave and do what I tell you to do."

  "I'm not good at behaving." To prove it, she rotated her ass against his groin with a lap dancer's skill.

  Nipping her ear, he slid his hand under the dress to caress one soft buttock. "I'll teach you to be good. And I'll tell you when I want you to be bad. Get on the bed on your hands and knees, facing away from me. This isn't going to be slow or easy. I've wanted my dick hammering inside your pussy all night."

  He let her go and she moved to the bed, surprised to find herself shaking. He could sound really menacing, but below that was something else, barely restrained male lust. He could wrest orgasm after orgasm from her with a range of methods from tender to merciless. She wondered if he preferred to delay his own release because so much of his satisfaction came from taking, and taking hard. The only thing that could stop him was her. She didn't want to stop him, but it didn't mean his brutal urgency didn't scare her a little.

  She climbed on the bed, facing the headboard on her hands and knees. When the mattress gave beneath her, she knew he'd put his knee behind her.

  "Down on your elbows."

  She complied, swallowing a moan as he brushed her hair forward, exposing her nape, and unhooked the straps at her neck that held the bodice up in front and the single thin strap following her spine in back. The bodice didn't fall free, the cloth snagging on her curves, so he finished the job by reaching beneath her and pulling it away, caressing her curves. She pressed into his touch, her nipples aching for the friction of his callused palms, but he didn't linger. He intended to finish the job.

  Laying his hands on the back of the dress, he ripped it in one powerful movement to the hem, making her gasp. The whole thing fell to the bed, the fabric brushing her knees. Madison had been right. Tatters.

  The thong was next. The snick of his blade told her how he was going to do it. He sliced through the elastic and pulled the thong away from her body, out of the tight crevice between her buttocks.

  "Spread your knees wider."

  She did it, despite her knees being made of water. She was surprised they didn't give way. She expected him to ram into her, but he wasn't going down that road without driving her ahead of him, making her relinquish her sanity.

  She cried out as his mouth found her cunt, his hands pushing hard against her buttocks to lift her higher, almost taking her knees off the mattress and pressing her face into it. He sucked her clit, stabbed deep into her folds, licked and played, the beard shadow on his jaw an exciting friction against her tender skin. When he moved to her rim, she came apart at the two different yet both incredible sensations. She writhed against his powerful grip. Drawing back, he tossed the front of the kilt up over her hips, covering her as he brought his cock and bare pelvis in full, heated contact with her pussy. She groaned with animal need when he drove into her slick folds.

  He kept away from her clit, making her ache and plead as he thrust, but when he seized her hair and pulled her head back, using that grip to increase the impact of his pelvis slapping against her ass, the climax began deep and took over. It consumed her body from head to toe, squeezing her muscles down on him as he spilled within her with harsh noises of release she relished. His hand convulsed on her scalp. He kept working himself in her even after his finish. It was astonishing and unexpected, how hard he stayed past climax, milking every reaction from both of them before at last he slowed and covered her with his body.

  He removed the kilt without leaving her, and adjusted them to their sides. He reached over her, putting the disconnected pump on the side table, and wrapped both arms around her. His thighs cradled her ass as he pushed himself in deeper, holding onto that connection.

  "Oh..." Her vocalization was a sigh of satisfaction and wonder, and he pressed his mouth to her neck, holding her even tighter.

  "Same here, love. Same here."

  She closed her eyes and focused on breathing, but as he leveled out behind her, she could feel the weight of his thoughts in a certain stillness to his body. She pressed her fingers into the channels between his, across her abdomen. "All right?" she whispered. It was just the two of them, but she didn't want to make noise. She wanted the only sounds to be their breath, the sizzle of candlelight, the theater shifting on its foundation.

  "Yeah. Are you? I was pretty rough."

  "I loved it. Do it again. Maybe in an hour. Let me nap first."

  His lips curved against her throat, but that stillness was still there.

  "Sorry I was a beast," he muttered at length. "Never had one I wanted to keep. It made me a little insane. Didn't expect that."

  She folded both her arms over his, held on tight. "'S'okay," she said.

  Unlike him, she'd always known--or hoped--that was exactly how this would feel. There were a whole lot of lovely words other than insane for it.

  She stroked his arm and let her breath rise and fall with his. She wasn't surprised he dropped off to sleep before she did. He'd held the reins most the night and brought her multiple glorious orgasms. The man was entitled to be tired. She liked being with him while he slept. His breath heated her throat. His body was wrapped around her, his cock still partially inside her. His nose was buried in her hair, as if he'd wanted to take her scent into his dreams with him.

  As she struggled against an exhausted sleep, she realized it was the closest to contentment she'd ever felt in a man's arms. She'd never laid in be
d with a lover like this, holding him and touching him with a hundred percent confidence that it was okay. Like she was inside his flesh and could feel the way he felt. She could think of him as hers.

  She didn't want it to be a temporary refuge from reality. She didn't want tomorrow to turn it into an illusion. She wished she could hold onto this moment even longer, but she had to sleep. She couldn't stave it off without sitting up, and she wasn't leaving his arms.

  As she curled her body tighter into the curve of his, she let herself hope that dreams really could come true. Then she slid into them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They had the final showings of Consent during the next week. Julie was pleased with the confidence that built in her cast and crew, because in community theater the same players often came back for future productions.

  Reviews remained positive, with only the occasional prudish naysayer. With twinkling practicality, Madison pointed out those would only bring in the curious, given their subject material.

  Des and Missive remained the crowd favorite, though she could tell he was a little relieved when they finished the last showing. Performance really wasn't his thing, and balancing it with a full time job was draining, even for someone with a passion for the stage.

  Her rope artist might not have the theater bug, but he had boundless passion in other ways. Though she wished their respective jobs let them see one another every day, she appreciated the pleasure that delayed gratification brought.

  She also liked how he seemed just as happy to seize the chance to see her, even if there was no chance of sex. Like today. He'd messaged her last night that he was building a playground on Sunday with the help of some Type I kids he mentored and contractors volunteering their time. She'd barely hesitated before agreeing to drive forty-five minutes downtown to meet him there.

  He'd added the text: Sorry for the less than romantic setup, but I really don't want to wait another day to see you again. As long as you don't mind sharing time with a bunch of kids and sweaty contractors.

  How sweaty? She texted him.