Messenger bag and phone purchases in hand, I step up to the front door and notice something immediately. There’s this delicious aroma wafting through the air, and it has a decidedly Mediterranean twist. Then I open the door to find soft jazz playing. On one end of the coffee table is something I don’t recognize in a bowl, a pile of pita chips from the pantry in a matching bowl beside it. On the other end are two stemless wine glasses and a bottle of something dark. The flicker of a candle by the TV catches my eye, and the scent in the air is something minty. “Rayanna?”
“In here, sir!” she calls back. When I step into the kitchen, I’m shocked.
She’s wearing some kind of cute little apron―I have no idea where that came from, but it sure wasn’t mine―and she’s working like a maniac. In the middle of the table are bowls of food, and I’m not sure what they are. “What’s going on in here?”
There’s a huge smile on her face, one that pinches my heart and makes my eyes sting as they tear up. “I’m cooking!”
If the smile I give her back isn’t as big as hers and she can’t tell how delighted I am, I’ve failed as a man. “I see that! It smells delicious. But where did you get all this?”
“I called Olivia, and she brought Nadine and took me to the store! Isn’t it wonderful?” She’s stirring something on the stove and reaching into a drawer at the same time.
“It is! And it’s good to see you so happy and excited. But how did you pay for all this?”
“I had some money, sir. It’s fine.” Then I remember―their shelter had stipends that were funded from a private source for domestic violence victims. Some kind of endowment. Ted had mentioned it, but I’d forgotten about it.
“But that’s your money, Precious.”
“And I can contribute. I want to, sir. Please? Let me?”
I just shake my head and roll my eyes. “Who am I to deny you that if you want to do it? But you need to know that I really appreciate it, Rayanna. This is … I certainly wasn’t expecting anything like this.”
“Do you have another appointment today?”
“Nope. I’m done for the day.”
“Then why don’t you go put on something more comfortable than those dress clothes? Maybe jeans? Or sweats? There’s wine and dip and chips in the living room. Go relax, please?” It’s written all over her and I get it―she’s trying hard to please me and she’s doing a great job.
I decide I’ll take her lead, and I’ll give her the phone after dinner. “Good idea. I’ll do that. Then I’ll come back and help you.”
“Oh, no, sir. I’ve got it under control. It’s almost finished. Don’t worry about me. It’s fine.” She’s not even looking at me, just stirring away at whatever it is she’s making.
“Well, yell if you need me.” When I get to the bedroom, my first task is to plug in the phone charger and phone. My warm-up pants and a tee look like pretty good candidates for leisure wear, so I slip those on and make my way to the living room.
The dip looks almost like plain sour cream, but when I lift out a big blob on a chip, I’m treated to something so delicately delectable that I’d almost forgotten its power. It has to be the most delicious tzatziki sauce I’ve ever eaten. It’s mild and creamy but also a little on the tart, tangy side, and it’s smooth as silk. The pita chips are perfect with it. I really don’t want to start drinking without her, but I pour myself a glass of the wine―it’s a California merlot―and I’m surprised at how mellow and smoky it is. It’s perfect with the sauce.
Only four chips and dip in and she calls out, “Sir? Dinner’s ready. Can you come?”
“Yes, babe. On my way!” I step into the little kitchen and I can’t believe my eyes.
I’m pretty sure that’s chicken vindaloo, and palak paneer, and some kind of barbecued-looking wings. On closer inspection, I discover it’s not chicken wings―it’s lamb tikka masala. My god, she’s got quite the spread here. And … oh, my god, she’s made samosas from scratch. I haven’t had Indian food this authentic-looking since I lived in France. “Is that … No, it can’t be. Chingri malai curry?” I ask, looking at the shrimp tails propped up in a circle in the middle of the plate.
“Um-hmmm,” she answers absentmindedly from the stove. In seconds, she slides a plate of perfectly browned naan onto the table.
I’m amazed. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“One of the ladies at the shelter was Indian. Once a week, we all cooked. When she cooked, she made things like this, so I learned from her. Oh, and the tzatziki? German lady whose dad was Greek. Boy, it’s hard to get those cucumbers dry before you mix all that stuff together,” she says as she sits down, but she pops right back up. “Would you like for me to serve you, sir?”
“Sit. I’ll serve you.” Her eyes go wide in what looks like horror. “What?”
I can see her hands shake just a little as she drops back into the chair. “You’re not here to serve me, sir. I’m here to serve you!”
“No. We’re here to serve each other in different ways. But right now, you cooked all of this and you’ve been on your feet, so I should serve you.” Before she can argue, I grab a bowl. “Tell me when or I’ll just keep spooning it out.”
“But sir―”
The spoon keeps moving. “Not kidding.”
“Stop! Please!” she cries out, so I stick the spoon back in the bowl.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Damn it, she starts to cry. “Rayanna? Stop crying. It’s okay, really.”
Now she’s wailing. “If I can’t serve you, you won’t want me here! Why won’t you let me serve you, sir?”
“Rayanna!” I hate to bellow, but at least it gets her attention. “Stop crying!” When I kneel beside her chair and reach for her hand, she sobs even louder. “Honey? Listen to me. Stop crying, Rayanna. You can’t hear me. Listen.”
“I’m trying! Oh, sir, no! I need to serve you! Please! I don’t want to be stupid and lazy and useless!” At least now I know some of the words he used to make her feel unimportant and small. “Please?”
“You’re not stupid or lazy or useless, Precious. Listen to me. Calm down and listen.” When she finally manages to bring it down to sniffles, I squeeze her hand and smile. “Rayanna, we are partners in this, you and I. You may be my submissive, and I may be your Dominant, but we’re still partners. I have needs that you meet, and you have needs that I meet. That’s how it should be. Right now, you’re meeting my need to have a meal. I’m meeting your need to let you get off your feet and sit down for a few minutes. Do you see how that works?”
She’s rubbing her eyes like a five year old. “Uh-huh,” she says through sniffles.
“So we need to work on that, you letting me meet your needs and me letting you meet mine. Honestly, that last part isn’t hard. You want to meet one of my needs, I’m certainly not going to stop you!” I say with a chuckle, and I see a hint of a smile on her lips. “But I want to meet your needs too. It makes me feel proud to be able to do that. So can I do that? Meet your needs? Or at least try?”
“Uh-huh. Yes, sir.” She’s still shuddering a little and sniffling, but I can see that she’s calming. “Okay. I understand.”
“Good. So let’s get the rest of the food on our plates and eat this. It smells delicious.” I finish filling her plate, then fill mine and sit down.
God, what a feast! Everything is cooked to perfection. The spices are intricately balanced and blended exquisitely, so much so that you’d never know the person who prepared it all wasn’t Indian. “How is it, sir?” she asks about halfway through, a little hint of fear still in her voice. “You haven’t said anything.”
My mouth is half full and I don’t care. “That’s because I’m too busy eating. God, Precious, this is delicious! You did an awesome job with this meal. It’s unbelievable.”
“Thank you, sir. I just wanted you to like it. I’m sorry I acted so stupid.” Her beautiful blue eyes drop and her cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink.
“You
didn’t act stupid. You just reacted like you would’ve months ago. But I’m not that man, Rayanna. Not at all. I just want you to be happy and feel secure. And I want to protect you.” I fork up another mouthful and mumble under my breath, “My god, I can’t believe how good this is.”
There’s a little noise and I look up to find her giggling. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. It really is amazing. Eat! Enjoy it,” I say and point to her plate.
The rest of the meal is spent talking about the day. My part is boring, but bless her heart, she pretends it’s interesting. It’s not, and I know it, but I have to appreciate her efforts. Then she tells me about the trip to the store, how many cars were in the parking lot, how many people were inside, and the weird things some of them were wearing. “There was this one lady, she was pretty old, and she had on this tank top, and one of her boobs was hanging out the arm hole! And I don’t think she even noticed! And the man who was with her, he had a foil hat on his head! Like he was wearing a ball cap and covered it in foil! It was crazy!”
I can’t stop laughing. “I bet it was! Anybody in nothing but their underwear?”
“No, but there was this guy, he had on shorts, and his underwear were hanging out the legs of the shorts! It was like the underwear were pulled down and the shorts pulled up, like he forgot to pull them up before he pulled up his shorts! It was the funniest thing. And this one lady, she had on a dress that was see-through, and under it she was wearing this costume. I don’t know what it was. Red and blue and gold. And the panties part was blue with white stars and―”
“Ah. A superhero. Or heroine, I should say.”
She chuckles. “Oh! I guess maybe if a bad guy came along she was going to rip off the see-through dress and whip his ass?” I’m laughing so hard I snort. “Bad guy! Pew! Pew-pew-pew!” she says, holding out her hand like a gun. “Take that, and that, and that! She looked ridiculous. A bad guy would laugh himself to death if she came at him.”
I’m almost breathless. “Anybody else of interest?”
“Yeah. Another guy had on a shirt that said, ‘Don’t mind me. I’m just the dick behind the brains.’ He looked like a dick too. Tall, skinny, and a shiny, bald head. Like a very, very tall dick.” She’s laughing hard by this time.
“A very, very tall dick,” I repeat, still laughing.
“One lady had on duck slippers. They had dirt sprinkled on them and my first thought was, lady, your duck has fleas! God, sir, it was so hard not to stare at these people. Please don’t ever let me go out looking that crazy.”
“Don’t worry, Precious. I’d stop you before you could do that. Tin foil hat. My god.” I’ve finally gotten the laughter in check and I’m trying to eat again. “At least it was interesting.”
“Boy, was it ever, and in all the wrong ways. But I had fun. And Nadine is the cutest little baby. She even let me hold her! So cute.” She stares at her plate and takes another bite, and I know she’s thinking about her little girl. I can’t keep her from being sad and I’m not even going to try. It’s a sad thing, and she has a right to her feelings.
We just chat for the rest of the meal and when it’s done, I help her get the dishes cleaned up and into the dishwasher, even though she announces that I shouldn’t. One good stern look and she says, “I forgot. We’re partners. Yes, sir.” And that’s that.
“What are we watching tonight?” she asks as she settles on the sofa.
“The new season of Iffy starts tonight,” I answer and grab the remote.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a series about a woman who wants to become a movie star, but she has this disfiguring scar on her face. She can’t see the scar. When she looks at herself in the mirror, she sees her face without the scar, so she can’t understand why everybody thinks she’s crazy for wanting to be a Hollywood starlet.”
“Hmmm. That sounds interesting.” While I poke around on the remote, she grabs the bowl of tzatziki and the plate of chips and holds them. After the opening of the show pops up, I take the chips from her and we sit there and munch on them for most of the show until we’ve eaten them all.
When it’s finished, she turns to me, and I can tell she’s being serious. “If there was something really wrong with me and I didn’t know it, would you tell me?”
I drag a finger down her arm and watch her shiver. “I most certainly would.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, babe.”
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
“No. I think you’re beautiful, Rayanna. You really are.” One look at her and I add, “And don’t start crying. Please. You’re killin’ me here.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she says and sniffles a little. “But I know I’m not that pretty and―”
“Are you calling me a liar?” I ask, just a bit riled.
That look of fear breaks out on her face again and she lowers her eyes. “No, sir! I’m not! I just thought maybe you were trying to make me feel good, that’s all.”
“Rayanna, look at me.” There’s a good bit of reluctance in her movements when she lifts her gaze. “I will never, never strike you in anger. Never. Get that idea right out of your head. I’ve never done that with a woman and I won’t ever start. When I love somebody, I treat them with the kindness I’d want to receive, and I do love you, Precious. I want that to grow, but it can’t if you’re terrified of me.”
“I love you too, and I want to love you more. And better,” she tacks on. “And I don’t want to be scared. I just can’t help it.”
“That’s understandable. That’s one of the things we’re working on, right?” She nods in agreement. “Okay then. We’ve got this, right?” She nods again, and I look at the clock. “It’s eight. I don’t have anything tomorrow morning until ten. How about we go crawl into bed? You can journal or color in one of your books and I can work on some paperwork on my laptop. Sound good?”
“Yes, sir.” In minutes, we’re in the bedroom, both decked out in sleeping attire, and she’s got her journal in hand as she climbs up on the bed with me.
“I forgot. I got you something while I was out.” I reach over and take the phone from the charger. “It’s yours. Tomorrow morning we’ll put all the numbers you need into it and you’ll be all set.”
When I hand it to her, she looks at it like I’ve just handed her the Hope Diamond. “Oh, sir! I can’t believe it! How much did it cost? I’ll pay for it.”
“No. It’s a gift to you from me. It’s yours. And over there in the bag is a case and a Bluetooth headset. We’ll set that up in the morning too.”
“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe I have a phone! This is awesome. Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.” She’s almost settled down when she cries out, “Oh, wait! I’ve got something for you!” and scurries out of the room.
She’s back in just a few seconds with a piece of paper in her hand. “Here,” she says and thrusts it toward me. “I wrote this when I was leaving to go to the store. I didn’t know when you’d be home, so I left it for you. Dr. Lawrence said we’re supposed to write notes to each other, so I thought maybe you’d want to read it.”
“I do.” I take it out of her hand and unfold it, but I can feel her staring at me even as I look down at the paper.
Dear Master Lucien,
I called Olivia and she’s taking me to the store. I want to cook a really nice meal for you because I love you and you work hard. I hope I’ll be back before you come home, but I wanted you to know where I am in case I’m not. I found the spare key and I have it. Thank you for being kind to me.
Eternally yours,
Rayanna
“Did I do good, sir?”
“Not good―excellent. I appreciate you being considerate and letting me know where you were. And you’re right―I would’ve been worried if I’d gotten home before you did and didn’t know where you were. And by the way,” I say as I lean over to give her a peck on the cheek, “I love you too.”
But before my lips can land
on her cheek, she turns her head and catches them with her own. Fingertips as soft as fleece stroke down my face and everything below my waist tenses. I don’t think she understands the effect she has on me, and it’s profound. I was never the guy who got the soft, sweet girlfriends, and this woman is just that. It only takes a couple of minutes for me to drag her down and under me on the mattress, and the kisses we’re sharing aren’t innocent little pecks anymore. They’re breath-stealing, heart-pounding, mind-blowing, open-mouthed kisses, complete with tongue, and a lot of tongue at that. When I pull back and look down into her face, I see those beautiful blue eyes, and I can barely breathe.
The trust in those eyes … it’s incredible. I never expected to see that, but I do, as clearly as anything I’ve ever seen. Something shifts inside me and my mind races ahead, to long days together under a Caribbean sun, to tummies round with babies and houses with landscaped yards, to white dresses and tall, stacked cake and romantic music. It’s like this woman has put a spell on me, one I can’t seem to break free from, and it’s growing constantly. “I need you, babe. I can’t wait anymore,” I whisper to her as I nip at her neck.
A long hiss comes from her lips. “Yessssss …”
My hands slide under her ass and her arms encircle my neck, our kisses frantic and dangerous. “No. I want to undress you,” I tell her when her hands move to grasp the bottom edge of her top, and I pull it up and off, then unhook her bra and let those lovely tits drop. By the time we’re both undressed, I know what I want.
“Oh, sir,” she whispers as I press her legs apart and dive face first into her cunt. God, it’s beautiful, all pink and fragrant. I’m unaccustomed to this much hair, but what the hell? It’s how nature made her, and that’s okay with me. My tongue drags upward into her slit and comes out at the point of that tiny pearl, the one I’ll tease to make her scream with pleasure. I want to hear that scream. I want her to beg me to stop after I’ve given her three crazy, deep orgasms. I want to know that when I plunge into her pinkness, she’s going to get everything she wants and more. “Please, sir,” she whispers again and reaches for my hair, but I grab her wrists and pin her arms to the mattress. “Oh, god, sir, no,” she whimpers. I’d respond, but I’m not stopping to talk. I know what I need to do. She’ll fight it, but if I can make it happen, I can break down all her walls. But I have to move fast.
Eternally Yours: Bliss Series, Book Six Page 9
