Tell Me More (20 page)

He put his glasses on and took a look around her room. A nice, peaceful sort of place, nothing fancy. A few pictures he’d like to take a look at later, lots of candles (which they hadn’t lit last night, being too interested in getting naked) and a bookcase he’d investigate to see what other writers they both liked. Her Mac sat on a small desk in one corner.

The door pushed open and he sat up, expecting Jo, but it was only her cat, who gave him a reproachful look and jumped onto the bed, kneading the quilt with its paws, tail waving in the air.

“Yeah, boyo, I slept here last night,” Patrick said. “Get over it.” He scratched Brady’s head and the cat purred like one of Jo’s quieter vibrators.

“Hey.” Jo stood in the doorway wearing a bathrobe, a mug of coffee in each hand. Her hair was wet. She smiled shyly at him as she handed one of the mugs to him. “Sleep well?”

“Much better than usual. Come back to bed with me.”

“Sorry, I don’t have time. I’m meeting a friend for brunch.”

He wondered—hoped—if she was giving Ivan his marching orders. Or some other guy.

She said, “I’d invite you, but it’s sort of business stuff, so—”

“No, that’s fine. I’ve got a few things to do.” For the life of him he couldn’t think what they might be. Nothing could be more important than kissing and touching Jo, making her come, watching her face…

He pulled the tie of her bathrobe. As he hoped she was naked beneath.

He touched a nipple and watched it stiffen, her breast shaping from pointed to round.

“Oh,” she said softly. She put her mug of coffee on the nightstand and sat down beside him. If ever there was a hint that he should continue, that was it—and she took his mug, too.

He liked the way she sat, her body open to his gaze, his touch. “You’re sure you don’t have time?”

Maybe he should ask where the damned condoms were, because he wanted her, his dick drilling through the bedclothes. She smelled clean and fragrant, and that disappointed him. He’d have loved to get her naked in that shower with its handheld attachment and soap her up and make her come and come. Her skin was soft against his lips as he moved in to kiss her breasts and then her lips. “I owe you from last night,” he said and touched between her thighs, where she was silky and wet.

“Oh,” she said again as her thighs fell apart.

He disentangled himself from the bedclothes, his cock weighty and ready. She reached to stroke him; God, she’d learned his preferences so well. But now it was about her pleasure and he listened to her breath hitch and catch at the slip of his finger against her clitoris.

“Here,” she murmured, and reached to guide his hand. He liked that, her openness to pleasure—he remembered her touching her own nipples as he jerked off over her last night (he couldn’t believe how crude he’d been, but she seemed to get off on it). His cock jumped in her hand. He wasn’t a great believer in simultaneous orgasms, but he wondered if her orgasm would be enough to fire him off, too. In a way, he hoped not.

“I love to see you come,” he murmured and bit her nipple, not hard, but hard enough to show her he could.

She whimpered. He’d learned she didn’t make a lot of noise until the end, when she got very noisy indeed and shook all over. It was difficult to read her level of excitement, but he had no doubt he could and would.

Yes, now, as her hips lifted and her face took on a look of fierce concentration. Now, as her clitoris seemed almost to retreat—he knew it didn’t, it was engorgement, pure and simple, the big buildup—now she was going to come. She cried out loudly, twisting against him, and her hand gripped his cock and slid.

Now, now. He watched semen spill blissfully from his cock, spurting onto the sheets and her wrist— God, what a mess, what a glorious lovely coming and coming apart it was.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said.

She grinned and wiped her hand on the sheet. “Not the first one we’ve made.”

We.
He liked that, that she regarded his errant semen as a joint responsibility. “Elise always used to complain.”

“About sperm?”

“Yes. She always ran into the shower after.”

“She’s crazy,” Jo said and stretched. Her vulva was pink and shiny. She reached for her coffee, turning so the bathrobe fell away and revealed one glorious curve of butt. His hand moved there to clasp it, fitting as though made to be there.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said. “Beautiful. What an arse you have, woman.”

“Thanks.” She took a gulp of coffee. “I’d better get dressed.”

He put his boxers on and watched with as much pleasure as if she were undressing for him. She wandered around naked without a hint of self-consciousness, and then put on a pair of socks, which looked strangely sexy to him. But, as he was learning, almost anything Jo wore looked sexy to him. She pulled on a pair of white cotton panties and a camisole, no bra. A sweater that looked hand-knitted over that, and then a pair of jeans. She knelt on the floor for a pair of hiking boots, and then sat to lace them up. She plucked a suede jacket and a long, soft, brightly colored scarf from the hook on the door.

“You’re driving, then?”

“Yes. It’s too cold to bike and not swelter in the restaurant.”

He couldn’t figure out whether she was dressed to seduce or to make him jealous, or, possibly, amazing though it might be, that that’s what she felt like wearing that day.

“I’d better get back and do some work,” he said and gathered the rest of his clothes, giving the warm fragrant bed a last, regretful look.

“You may well be invited back,” she said with a grin.

He pushed her up against the wall and kissed her thoroughly to make sure she would stick to that, and she giggled and pushed him away.

“Look what you’ve done to yourself,” she said with mock severity.

His cock prodded against the frogs on his underpants. “I’ll keep it safe for you,” he promised.

He watched her run down the stairs and heard the throaty cough of her car starting up. He should remind her to get it tuned for the winter.

No, he shouldn’t. It wasn’t his responsibility, just as it wasn’t any of his business who she was going out with.

“YOU’RE LOOKING GOOD,” HARRY SAID.

I unwound my scarf; it was a bitterly cold, windy day, and the scarf wasn’t entirely to make a fashion statement.

This restaurant wasn’t the sort of place I normally came to, full of tanned people wearing ski-lift labels on their expensive jackets. The décor was vaguely Zen, a few fountains with trickling water and large rocks, orchids and ferns, a slate floor and much dark polished wood.

Harry examined his menu. “They make omelettes to order here—they’re very good. Fancy a mimosa?”

After we’d ordered and were waiting for our food, Harry got down to business. “You have been a naughty girl, Jo. Record-breakingly naughty. How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Fine other than Ivan showing up, as you probably know.”

“That boy certainly has a talent for mischief.” He sipped his mimosa. “He told me your Irish boarder got quite bent out of shape.”

“He isn’t— Oh, never mind.”

“You obviously haven’t bothered to read your handbook.”

Since my handbook—that large, intimidating folder—was still in my locker, I shrugged. “I’m leaving the Association, Harry.”

“You do need to go through the proper procedure, otherwise, as you should know, you’ll be liable for a stiff—” he paused to wink “—fine.”

I kept my face neutral and dug into the fruit salad I’d ordered.

Harry poured syrup over his waffles. “Resigning at this point wouldn’t be a good idea, Jo, but if you have to…well, give us notice in writing. It’s all in the handbook. I’m sorry we’re losing you. It does happen. People pair off, become exclusive, but it’s unusual to do so while you’re still in the Great Room. In fact, we don’t recommend it. And then there was the, ah, unfortunate episode with Jake.”

“I haven’t paired off with anyone.”

“Yeah? According to Ivan, there were a lot of hot-and-heavy glances between you and this Patrick fellow.” He forked in a mouthful of waffles. “Jake’s pretty pissed off.”

“I’m pretty pissed off with him.”

“Well, in any case, the Association wants to make amends for any unpleasant experiences you may have had. And, all things considered,” he said, tossing a white envelope onto the table, “you’re a very lucky girl.”

“What do you mean?” I opened the letter.

“Promotion,” he said, a big grin on his face. “You’re going upstairs, my dear.”

“You’re a real jerk,” I commented. I read that now I could bring guests to open nights, I had use of the pool, locker room, gym, golf course and spa, and presumably, although this was not mentioned, my choice of hot young bodies from downstairs. A glossy brochure had photographs of the facilities, a near pornographic close-up of a plate of luxurious yet unidentifiable food garnished with an orchid, a shot of a golf course.

“Congratulations.” Harry laid his fork down and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. He looked genuinely pleased, almost paternal, as though it were his doing. “So what do you think now? Oh, by the way, we have an open night tonight. Why don’t you bring your new squeeze along?”

“Oh, sure.” I could just see Patrick’s contempt for the activities in the Great Room. I’d not felt shame until this moment. I wanted Patrick to think well of me. I wanted—

“No, upstairs. Bring him along tonight to dinner. Stay over if you like—in fact I’d recommend it. It’ll be fun. I know you haven’t had the best experiences with us, and I want to show you what you’re missing—great food, good conversation, hanging out with smart, well-informed people. It’s not all kinky stuff, although if you want kinky, you can find it, no problem. But that’s all strictly optional. We don’t force anyone into anything, and if it seemed that way with Jake, I’m sorry. Real sorry. I’ll have a chat with him about it. He can come on a bit heavy, I know. How about it, Jo?”

I hesitated. “It sounds too good to be true, Harry, which means it probably is.”

“We’ll give you a really nice room,” Harry said. Did he know Patrick and I hadn’t screwed yet?

“I need to think about it. I’m not sure what he’s doing tonight.” I hoped he’d be doing me in some capacity. He’d mentioned going out to dinner. Well, why not going out to dinner and having our girly overnight consummation at the Association?

“Okay,” I said. “So if I brought him along, it would be just that—dinner and staying over? No group sex or beatings or anything?”

“Honest to God, Jo, all that takes place in specific areas. It’s a big house full of all kinds of different activities. If you want something a bit kinky, it’s there. If you want romance, we’ll have rose petals on the bed and scented candles and all that stuff. Have a massage—not that sort of massage, you naughty girl—in the spa. How about it? Have dinner, stay over, no strings attached.”

He looked so homely and sincere I almost trusted him. Almost. “Yeah, sure.”

“Think about it.” Ignoring my sarcasm he patted my hand and then looked at his watch. “Oops. Gotta run. Call about tonight by three, okay, and I’ll send a car for you.” He signaled to our waiter to bring the check.

I wrapped my scarf around my neck as we walked outside into the bitter cold that brought with it a hint of sleet.

“Brrr. See you tonight, Jo, I hope.” Harry bent to kiss my cheek. He delved inside his down jacket. “One more thing. Dress code.” A couple of black masks dangled from his hand.

I took them and tucked them inside my jacket. “Thanks for brunch.”

I sat for a moment in the car, thinking about this new and unexpected development, and read the letter again. It was tempting—Patrick had wanted to do something special for our first time—but I didn’t trust Harry or anyone else there. I tossed the letter and brochure into the backseat and started the drive home, thinking I might as well stop at the grocery store and pick up a few essentials.

In the store I pushed my cart around a corner and came face-to-face with Angela. At first I didn’t recognize her—no black leather in sight; she wore baggy jeans and a down jacket, no makeup, and most surprising of all, she had a baby seated in her cart.

“Hi!” I said, astonished, and making a major etiquette break.

A small boy ran up with a box of cereal. “Gramma, I got it.”

“Nice job!” she said in the bright, overenthusiastic tone people use with small children as he dropped it into the cart. “Devlin, say hi to Ms. Jo.”

The small boy became overcome with shyness and pushed his face against her down jacket.

“These are your grandchildren?” I couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah. Devlin is four, and this one, Suzie, is almost a year.” She waggled the foot of the baby in the cart. “Can you say ‘hi,’ cutie pie?”

Suzie leaned to grab the box of cereal.

“They’re very cute,” I said.

“So are you coming tonight?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

“Oh, you should,” she said earnestly. “You’ll love it. Last open house I babysat and my daughter and her husband went. They hadn’t been there since the night they got engaged. And you don’t have to bring a boyfriend. I sometimes take one of my girlfriends from the gardening club. The gardens are quite lovely in the summer.”

I wondered if we were even talking about the same place.

She removed the box of cereal from the hands of the baby, who was chewing vigorously on a corner. “It’s not often you get the chance for a nice relaxing break like that.”

“I guess not,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well, nice seeing you, Jo. We must get on with our shopping. Devlin, where’s our list gone?” And she and her grandchildren continued through the store, the baby offering me a gap-toothed, happy smile as they left.

Patrick was out when I arrived home, and the house felt empty without him. I went upstairs and changed the sheets—by now they certainly needed it—and cleaned the bathroom and generally tidied up, creating the atmosphere I should have liked last night. Plan B, if Patrick didn’t want to go to the Association—and I decided I wouldn’t push it too much—was that I’d seduce him here. Besides, I didn’t know when he’d be back; it wasn’t that sort of relationship, I reminded myself. We didn’t have to keep tabs on each other or report in. I didn’t want that sort of relationship. Did I?

At two-thirty I gave in and called his cell.

“Yeah?” He sounded distracted.

“I have a dinner invitation tonight. I wondered if you’d like to come with me.”

“Sure. Who is it? Anyone I know?”

“No, it’s my investment association. We have an invite to stay overnight, if we like.”

“Do we now?” His voice had changed.

“Yeah, it’s a big place, a beautiful old mansion, and they have a gym and a spa.”

“So you reckon tonight’s the night?”

“Yes, I do. How about you?”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “Oh, yeah. See you later.”

I called Harry to tell him we’d come and arrange for the limo, and decided I’d spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready. I examined the contents of my underwear drawer. What would Patrick like? Tarty red and black lace? Demure pink? Snakeskin? Virginal cream and lace? Not a thong, I decided. Or should I dispense with the panties altogether, so I could flash him if necessary? The only problem was that given the dress I was planning to wear my flashing might be rather indiscriminate.

I hung the dress—black, short, slinky—in the bathroom to let the wrinkles steam out while I took a quick shower. Once my hair was washed, I wrapped myself in a towel and filled the bathtub, dropping in a generous blob of bath oil. Time to relax.

I eased myself into the steaming water. I wished I could trust Harry. If, as he said, all that was demanded of me was an appearance at dinner, and then an overnight stay (which he’d made clear was optional), there could be no harm done. The invitation and my acceptance were symbols of good faith, of civilized behavior. Far more reassuring was the revelation of Angela’s other life as a suburban matron and her endorsement of the open nights.

I heard a door open and footsteps. “Jo? Where are you?”

“In here. Come in.”

Patrick entered, holding a bunch of irises. “For you. I’ll put them in the sink, shall I? I was thinking—” His voice became muffled as he pulled his sweater over his head. “We need to set some ground rules. I’m living there and you’re here, and—”

“Patrick, you can’t walk in and start a conversation about boundaries while you’re undressing. Can I smell the flowers?”

“Oh. Right.” He handed the flowers to me. “May I join you in the bathtub, and we can talk?”

I took a deep breath of the subtle scent of the irises, cool and faintly sweet. “These are lovely. Thank you. And yes, you may join me.”

He put the flowers back into the sink and unbuttoned his shirt. I watched with appreciation as he undressed, the dusting of coppery curls on his pale skin, the ropes and knots of his muscles, the free swing of his cock.

“Like what you see?” he said.

“Yes. Yes, I do. You look like a skinny version of Michelangelo’s
David.
”

“With glasses and a much bigger cock.” He kicked his clothes aside. “I’ve been thinking about you. I had some work to do on-site this morning, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking of you, your taste. What you sound like when you come.”

He stepped into the bathtub.

I lay back and admired the view of his undercarriage as he straddled the rim of the bathtub. “I’ve been thinking about you, too,” I said.

He settled himself into the foamy water, and removed his steamed-up eyeglasses, finally settling on the soap dish as an appropriate container for them.

“Nice,” he said. “But I’m going to smell like a girl.”

“I doubt it. Back to the topic of boundaries,” I said. “I guess you mean, do we keep separate areas? And I say yes, absolutely. You need to work, and I have to sleep some in the daytime. We can eat together a few times a week if you like. It gets boring cooking for one person.”

“And you’d enjoy my company occasionally, I believe you forgot to add. We can take turns cooking.” He blinked at me. “That was much easier than I thought it would be.”

“You thought I’d ask for more?”

“I was afraid you’d ask for less. How often should we sleep together?”

“I’ll make a schedule and post it on the refrigerator door,” I said, keeping my voice as serious as I could and trying not to burst into inappropriate laughter.

He frowned. “Who else is on the schedule?”

I raised a foot to poke him in the chest. “You’ll have to take your turn like everyone else.”

He grinned. “Right. Those breasts look like they could use a good wash.”

I lay back and enjoyed his touch on my breasts, my shoulders and neck.

“What’s made you so tense?”

“Anticipation,” I said. I took the washcloth from him. “I’ll wash your back.”

He bowed his head to my shoulder and nibbled beneath my ear, along my collarbone, sighing. “I’m sweet on you, Jo.”

The old-fashioned phrase made me smile. “I’m pretty sweet on you, Patrick Delaney.”

“But I feel you’re holding back on me.”

My hand stilled on his back. “We’re both holding out on each other.”

“I don’t mean the fucking. You pull back from me. I feel you doing it. So tell me something, Jo. Tell me something secret. Something you’ve never told anyone before.” He straightened and kissed my lips, then wedged his shoulders between the faucet and the side of the tub, ready to listen.

“I was pregnant.”

“What?”

“When Hugh and I were breaking up. He didn’t know. I was on the pill but I’d missed a couple of days, and…it was a series of misjudgments and no one’s fault. I’d made up my mind to have an abortion and then…I didn’t need to. I bled a lot. It was messy and scary. Hugh was out of town and Kimberly came with me to the emergency room.”

I dabbled my hand in a heap of foam. He was Irish, a Catholic, almost certainly. If I hadn’t screwed up this relationship already, what I was about to confess would almost certainly do it.

Hell with that. I straightened up and looked him in the eye. “But here’s the secret. I was relieved that I didn’t have to make a decision. And I was also relieved people were sorry for me and supportive instead of being judgmental.”