Adventurous Me (19 page)

“Vanilla. Call me by my name – call me by my name, Trish. I need to hear it.” He bends to my neck and starts to kiss it.

“I’m glad they called my name with yours, Clint.” His head snaps up and he crushes his lips to mine, his tongue parting them and our tongues dancing together. That’s when I feel it. Something powerful is going on between us, something I can’t identify because I’ve never felt anything like it, like a magnetic current holding us together, my lips tingling as they press to his. He breaks the kiss but, before I can say anything, he pulls back and looks into my face.

“Trish, I probably shouldn’t say this, but . . . no, I can’t.”
Oh, god
, I think,
please tell me you feel something for me
.

“What,” I ask, then add, “Clint?” The minute his name hits the air again, his lips return, urgent and demanding, his hands cupping my breasts, drifting downward, and resting on the tops of my hips. I think since he didn’t finish the sentence, I’ll feel a disconnect. It’s anything but.

Then he stops. “Feel okay?” I nod. “Let’s get cleaned up, get dressed, go out. I’ll take you to dinner. I’ll call some friends, see if they can meet us. How does that sound?” He smiles at me and taps his fingertip on the end of my nose.

“What will you tell them? How will you explain me? Will you tell them I’m your sub?”

He laughs. “Nope. Vanilla, baby. I’ll just tell them you’re my date.”

“By the way,” I say and look into his eyes, “can we do that again?”

His mouth drops open, and then he says, “Are you serious? You’ve got to be either brave or crazy, girl.”

“Yes,” I grin. “I am.” Brave or crazy – there’s a difference?

There are two guys, Matt and Adam, and their girlfriends, Sarah and Amy, respectively. The guys are friends from the place where Clint used to work. We meet them at a bar and grill downtown a couple of blocks from the club. The guys seem nice enough. The girlfriends eye me suspiciously. I can tell they’re wondering about me, I assume about the age difference between Clint and me. I know I look good for my age, but I
am
still almost fifty. I’m under no illusion here.

“So, where did you two meet?” Matt asks.

Clint takes another sip of his whiskey. “At a club here in town.”

“Funny, you don’t look like the kind that would go ‘clubbing,’” Sarah snarks toward me, using air quotes. I see Clint shoot me a look. He’s wondering how I’ll respond.

I think back to what Dave taught me:
A sub’s behavior and demeanor reflect on her master.
“Looks can be deceiving,” I say smartly and look back down into my drink. Cosmo. He remembered.

“Not that kind of club. Book club. We were reading, what was that book?” he asks, smiling at me. Little shit.

“I think it was a Barbara Kingsolver. No, maybe Amy Tan.” Now I’m smiling and he’s scrambling.

“I’ve never read an Amy Tan in my life,” he throws back, and I start laughing.

“I’m just kidding. I don’t remember what the book was. I was too busy looking at the scenery,” I say and blush. I feel his hand on my leg, and he squeezes it just above my knee. Everything between my legs ignites.

We eat huge burgers and homemade potato chips, and we ask for water when we’ve finished our drinks. I excuse myself and leave to go to the restroom. When I come out of the stall, Amy is standing there in front of the sink, preening in the mirror. “So, when did you and Clint start going out?”

“We’ve only been seeing each other a couple of weeks,” I offer. Well, it’s true. A week and a half.

“Oh. Have you met the girls?” She’s putting on fresh blush.

“No. They’re visiting his mother right now.” I check my eye makeup – still looks fine.

“Oh. Shame about his wife, huh?” She’s not looking at me at all, so fortunately she can’t try to read my face. She wouldn’t like what she’d see on it.

“Yes, it is.” I have no idea what she’s talking about. He’s never shared any of this with me, but I don’t want her to know that.

“He’s had a very hard time since, well, you know.” She puts on more lip liner. “We’ve never seen him with a woman since then. But I guess you know all about that.”

As much as I want to ask what happened, my irritation turns to an overwhelming anger. This is my Master she’s talking about. She’s trying to divulge
his
personal information, discussing it like it was coffee chat. And I find that even though I’m curious, I hate that. I just reply, “That’s Clint’s personal business. I don’t feel free to discuss that.”

She spins and stares at me, eyebrows peaking. “Really? Hmmm. That’s a new one. So much for getting to know you.” She turns and stomps out of the restroom. Getting to know me? She wasn’t trying to get to know me. She wanted me to betray my Master, and I wouldn’t. I want to run out there and tell him, but I’ll wait until we leave.

The girlfriends say nothing to me for the rest of the evening. At eleven, Clint says, “I think we need to get going. Morning’s going to come fast.” We get up from the table and make all the appropriate goodbyes. The girls are very stand-offish to me, but the guys are warm and friendly. I’m careful to do nothing that would look like flirting.

We walk back to the car hand in hand. “That didn’t go very well, did it?” he suddenly asks.

I shrug. “I guess not.”

“Why, do you think?” he asks me, and I can tell from his tone that he’s sincere, not angry.

I can’t look up at him. “The girlfriends didn’t like me. First, they thought I was too old for you. I think when they asked where we met, they expected you to tell them that you met me when you were volunteering at the nursing home where I live.” Clint roars with laughter. “I’m not kidding,” I almost whisper, and he quiets.

“Sorry. I guess that isn’t funny, but . . .” and he starts laughing again. I lay a silly slap on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Okay. Anything else?”

“Yes.” I don’t know how to tell him this. “When I was in the restroom, Amy was in there.”

“Yeah?”

“She was asking me questions and making comments about you and . . . your wife.” I know he doesn’t want to talk about this.

He doesn’t look upset or angry, just curious. “Not surprising. What did she say?”

“Not much. She kept saying, ‘You know, with all he’s been through,’ and ‘But I’m sure you know more than we do,’ and things like that.” I stop. It hurts me to know that he hasn’t trusted me enough to tell me anything, that casual acquaintances know more about him than I do.

“Did that bother you?” His voice is quiet and serious.

“A little. But what bothered me more was that she was willing to break your confidence like that. I decided I didn’t like her talking about my Master that way. That’s hurtful.” I’m trying to turn loose of his hand, but he’s gripping mine tighter. He stops on the sidewalk.

“Trish?” I can’t look up at him. “Trish, look at me.” My face is red and my eyes are tearing up. “Sub, obey me.” I know he can see the reluctance on my face as I look up into his eyes. “I need to tell you thanks. Most women would’ve jumped right in, picked and poked, asked lots of questions. You didn’t. I appreciate that.” I try to turn away again, but he grips my chin in his hand and turns my face to his, locking his eyes with mine. “Do you trust me to tell you when it’s time? To know when to tell you? So that I know you’re ready to hear it?”

I nod. “Yes, Master. I trust you.”

He smiles. “Very good. That’s all I ask. And thanks again for your protection. You have no idea what that means to me.” He kisses my lips lightly, then takes my hand and we stroll to the car in silence.

H
e was right. I’ve started to enjoy the taste of his cum in my coffee. It’s still in my mouth when I take the first big sip, and it’s heaven. I’m not about to tell him he was right, though. Some things are better left unsaid.

I’ve treated him to my famous farmhouse omelet. There’s very little in the kitchen that didn’t make its way into the beautiful egg dish. We eat and laugh and talk about what we did when we got home the night before. He tied my hands to the headboard and tortured my pussy with his tongue until I was screaming, then fucked me hard and fast while I begged him for more. And that was just the warm-up.

We’ve both had showers, gotten dressed, and he’s thinking about taking me to a movie when his cell phone rings. I’m looking on my tablet at the movie times when he answers it and says, “Hi!” Almost instantly his face changes. “What? Where? I’m on my way!” He hits end and yells, “Stay here! I’ll call as soon as I can.”

“Sir, what’s going on?” I can tell that he’s frantic and it’s scaring me as he scrambles around to get only what he needs.

“My oldest fell. They think she’s broken her wrist. I’ve got to get to the hospital. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Please be . . .” I’m calling out as he closes the door. “. . . careful.” But he’s already gone.

I settle back into the sofa with my cell in my pocket so I’ll know if it rings and can answer it when he calls. I hope the little girl’s all right, and then I realize I don’t even know her name. I go to the mantel and take down a photo of the two girls, open the back of the frame, and look at the back of the photo. There are two names written there; “Hailee, 10, McKenna, 8.” So the hospital trip must be Hailee. I return it to the mantel carefully and sit back down to wait.

When the house phone rings I almost jump out of my skin. It hasn’t rung since I’ve been here, so it startles me at first, and when I realize what it is, I bolt to answer it.

“Hello?” I say, gasping for breath.

“Hello. I’d like to speak with Clint Winstead. Is he available?” a man’s voice asks.

“No, sir, I’m sorry, he’s out. May I take a message?” I grab a pad of paper and look around – nothing to write with.

“No, ma’am. I’ve tried to call his cell but he’s not answering. Maybe you can help me. I’m one of Mr. Winstead’s clients, and I’m in the middle of a meeting. I can’t seem to find my copy of his proposal. Could you look it up for me and fax me a copy?”

“Well, sir, I’m just a friend. He had a family emergency. I really don’t know . . .”

“It’s the Cumberland Mission School. Not hard to find. It’s about three pages. Could you just look around for me? I’ve got to present this to the board and I need it immediately.”

Crap. I have no idea what to do. His messenger bag is behind the chair, so I pull it out and go through the papers in it – nothing. “Sir, could you hang on? It’s not in his bag. Let me go look somewhere else.”

“Certainly. No problem.”

“Thanks.” I head down the hall and then freeze. He told me the office was off limits. But this man is in a meeting, trying to bring Clint’s proposal to the table before his board of directors. Clint could lose this job if I don’t find the proposal for the man on the phone. I’m satisfied that he’d want me to do this, so I open the door and peek inside.

It just looks like your regular home office. Books and papers are everywhere. I see a stack of things that look like proposals, spreadsheet-like stuff, and I turn on the ceiling light and start looking through them. Sure enough, three proposals down there’s one that says, “Tom Norsworthy, Cumberland Mission School.” I grab it and run back up the hall, then remember to grab a pencil.

“Yes, hello, sorry about that.” I’m breathless. “Sir, your name, would it be Tom . . .”

“Norsworthy.”

“Yes! I found it. Can you give me your fax number? I’ll fax it right over.” He recites it to me; I write it down, then repeat it, and we hang up. I go back to the office and find the fax machine, put the proposal on it, and start punching buttons. In just a couple of minutes I’ve sent the proposal and generated a fax receipt showing that it was sent. That gets paper-clipped to the proposal and returned to the stack.

As I leave the room I close the door, and I feel pretty good about what I just did. I saved the day. He shouldn’t have to worry about anything except his little girl. Then I realize: She’s going to want to come home with him. And he’s going to want me to leave.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to leave, but I understand his need to protect his children. Then I laugh. Protect them from me. That’s kind of funny, really, the woman who always wanted children but her husband didn’t.