скачать книгу бесплатно
I nodded and tried to look excited. “Yep.”
“That’s great,” the rabbi said enthusiastically. “We always need more people who can read Torah.”
That was my cue to beat it out of there before he started hinting around about minyans or Friday night services or anything else. “Nice to see you, Rabbi. William, we have to get going.”
In the car, William snorted soft laughter until I asked him what was so funny. “You acted like he was gonna chase you around with a tallith until you read Torah for him.”
I laughed, too. “Shut up.”
“I wish I didn’t have to go to services,” he said after another minute. “It’s so boring.”
I couldn’t really argue with him about that, not without being a total hypocrite. “A few more months, kiddo, and you’ll be all done.”
“Mom says she expects me to go to Hebrew High and get confirmed, that the Bar Mitzvah isn’t the end of my Jewish education.” William scowled.
“Your mom might change her mind, you never know. What does your dad say?”
William rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t say anything.”
Evan hadn’t gone on to any further kind of Jewish education after his Bar Mitzvah, and he’d muddled through that, leaving me to take charge of most of the service we’d shared. If he went to services at all now, it was only because of William. Susan, however, had always been a little more observant.
I shrugged. “Well, kid, it’s been my experience that moms are the ones who get to decide stuff like that. So I’d say talk to your mom about it. You never know. She might listen.”
“Did yours listen to you?”
It sounded like a legitimate question, especially since I had to remind myself that to William, my mother was “grandma” and therefore, an entirely different entity. “Not usually.”
He laughed. I did, too. I turned on the radio, and we both started rocking out to the Metallica song that came on.
It was a good day, but most of the ones I’d ever spent with that kid were.
4 (#ulink_e5e69e86-8b79-56da-b24c-4071b9a0a588)
Batting cages, junk food for dinner, an inappropriate movie I knew his mother would not have let him watch. That’s how Auntie rolled. William had tried to convince me to let him stay up late watching old episodes of The X-Files from my DVD set—we were up to season four, and the kid was justifiably hooked. I made him go to bed, instead. Eight in the morning would come early, and I’d promised to get him to religious school on time. I wasn’t totally irresponsible.
I didn’t really need a three-bedroom town house since it was just me, but I’d bought it as an investment with an eye to having a room for William’s visits. My nephew was likely the only child I would ever have. I liked that he felt as at home in my house as he did in his own. I checked on him about midnight and found him with the bed lamp still on, highlighting the paperback novel he’d been reading. He was sprawled on top of the sheets the way he’d always slept. When he was little I’d tuck him back under the covers and kiss his forehead, but now that he’d outgrown me by a few inches, he was too big for me to move around. I marked his spot in the book and put it on the nightstand and turned off the light then closed the bedroom door behind me.
Eight in the morning was still going to come early for me, too, but sleep ran away from me as fast as that annoying little fuck the Gingerbread Man from the story William had loved so much when he was a toddler. In my bed, I tried to read, but I’d finished the book I’d been working on for the past week so I stared up at the ceiling, instead.
I counted backward from one hundred, but that didn’t work. I did it again. Still nothing.
I could’ve been with Esteban tonight, I thought unwillingly. Not resentfully—I loved spending time with William. But now, here, the idea of an unexpected night with my lover was definitely something I regretted not being able to take advantage of.
Idly, I pulled my phone from the charging dock and brought up my email account. I scrolled through a bunch of junk, deleting offers for “Hot! Live! Girls!” and penis enlargement and weight-loss pills. I also deleted a bunch of auto messages from Connex telling me I had notifications without bothering to open the Connex app. I did read several messages from OnHisKnees.com, though I didn’t answer them. All of them were from men offering me homage, calling me Mistress or My Lady though I’d never met them, promising to worship and serve me in whatever way I wanted to use them. I hadn’t updated my profile in a year other than to add that I was no longer looking for a boy to play with, but the messages still came in on a regular basis. Invariably, they curled my lip. All those promises stunk of desperation, not submission. Those men might claim they wanted to serve, but it almost always meant they wanted someone to fulfill their fantasies of a vinyl-clad woman—always beautiful, always a little cruel—who would never actually demand something of them they didn’t want to give. She would maybe tie them up or tease and deny them for a while, but would always still let them come. Probably all over her tits or face. Whatever humiliations she offered would be really, when you got right down to it, orchestrated by him. For him. They had no idea who I was, what I wanted or even how to give it to me.
To me, that was not submission.
The question could sometimes be what was submission, but I guess like the old quote about pornography, I knew it when I saw it. Or felt it, rather. It was never something as simple as a guy getting on his knees, it was always far more complex than that. What had worked for me with one guy didn’t with another, and I couldn’t ever be certain why. Only that some men gave it to me and other men didn’t, and sometimes their compliance was a deal breaker...but sometimes it wasn’t.
And I didn’t see a damn thing wrong with that.
The longer I’d been a part of the kink scene, the more people I’d met who seemed to think that somehow being kinky meant being rigid and strict and incapable of flexibility. Well, just because I loved steak didn’t mean I also didn’t want a salad now and again. Hell, I liked a steak salad with fries on top of it, and I liked my sex the same way. Sweetly variable and sometimes surprising. If I preferred to be in charge that didn’t have to mean I’d been scorned as a kid and was bent on destroying all men or that I couldn’t appreciate being bent over a chair now and again, either.
I liked what I liked and didn’t need to explain it to anyone, even myself.
I’d never been a big fan of dating sites, but OnHisKnees.com was technically more like a Connex site than Match.com. You could join forums and have discussions and discover local munches, post pictures and blog-type entries and private message the other members. Still, it was also a place to meet partners, even if you had to wade through an ocean of crap to find a few decent prospects.
I had met Esteban on that site, so it was possible to find someone. From the start, he’d been properly respectful without being obsequious. Clever. Funny. Responsive. We’d had an online relationship for four months before he’d even approached the idea of meeting in person, and I’d been incredibly attracted to the idea that for him, this was more than casual play. That he’d been taking his time to make sure I was who he wanted to give himself to, that I was not some random woman starring in a recurring mental loop of porn clips.
That I was different.
That I was special.
I hadn’t kept all of his early messages, but there were a few I’d saved. Nostalgic, I opened the email folder to look at some of our first conversations. I opened the first picture he’d sent me of his dear face. He was nothing like anything I ever would have said I wanted. Slight. Dark haired, big brown eyes. Physically, not at all my type. Yet willing to give up to me, to be my toy. His worship was sincere, and he got off on it as much as I did, which was more important to me than the lines and curves of his face.
Esteban had wanted to see me tonight because he missed me.
I didn’t want to think too much about this. We’d never discussed turning our monthly dates into something more serious. His profile had, in fact, indicated he was only interested in a cyber connection, nothing in real time, while mine had stated specifically that I was into multiple partners and short-term arrangements. Both of us had changed our minds about what we wanted, I guess.
Esteban missed me, and I had to admit that the times between our dates had been getting longer and longer in feeling, if not the actual passing of hours. My sweet, submissive boy had settled into a place somewhere close to my heart. I wasn’t sure I liked that. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure I didn’t.
Restless, bored, unable to sleep, I clicked through a few games on my phone I hadn’t played in forever. I lost one round of Bubble Burst and quit. I sent a small poking “hi” Esteban’s way, but as I’d expected, the small S next to my message meant he wasn’t logged in to the texting app we favored.
It had been months since I’d logged in to my old instant message app, but insomnia breeds desperation. Seeing the list of screen names made me glad I’d logged on as invisible. I’d used this account a lot before meeting Esteban. Some of those people had been relentless in their pursuit of a mistress, and I’d been occasionally foolish enough to engage even when I knew I had no interest in continuing anything serious with them.
And then. There. Halfway down the list, another name stood out to me. Not a name, actually; I’d changed it a while back to a small picture of a bunny because looking at his name had made me feel sick to my stomach.
There it was now, standing out in the list of words, that one single emoticon. Seeing it forced my heart into my throat, and my fingers twitched so fiercely that I dropped my phone. It hit me in the face hard enough to send sparks flying in my vision, and that pain was enhanced by the fact I’d stupidly and reflexively also bitten my tongue.
“Fuck, shit, dammit,” I cursed, struggling to sit up in the tangle of my sheets. I tasted blood. My phone had fallen into the mess of my blankets, the lighted screen dimming and going out before I could grab it. I swept the bed, but found only more soft fabric.
By the time I found the phone and sat up, opening my IM app again, the bunny had hopped away.
I clutched the phone to my heart, hating that I still cared enough to cry over simply seeing him online. I pressed my fingers to my eyelids, willing away the burning slide of tears, but all I managed to do was gasp out a strangled sob. No, I told myself. Do not. Don’t open that app, don’t look for his profile, don’t send him a message.
Don’t do it, Elise.
You’ll be sorry.
And I was sorry, but I did it anyway.
* * *
Once you told me I was strong, but lately, the strongest thing I seem to do is not message you at three in morning when I can’t catch my breath because of the weight crushing my chest that comes from missing you. And oh, shit, look, here I go, sending you this message when I know you will read it and not answer me. So I guess I’m not so strong, after all.
Not when it comes to you.
5 (#ulink_1a3a42b6-54d9-54c5-9947-9ba07026812b)
The Morningstar Mocha was super busy. I dropped off William and circled the block twice before I found a spot a block up the street. The extra time I took parking meant I was a few minutes late, but I still paused to look through the front window before going in. I saw Esteban at a table in the corner, a mug in front of him. He wasn’t looking my way, so I studied him for half a minute.
We had met once or twice for lunch. Every time had been before we’d ever met in a hotel room, when we were still deciding if we wanted to go to that next step. Since we’d begun that, we’d never met again in public.
He looked so different with his clothes on.
This wasn’t what we were supposed to be. Coffee shop pals who chatted about muffins and maybe played footsie under the table or held hands? No. We were dim hotel rooms and commands and fantasies, not reality. Weren’t we? I was on the verge of walking away when a man in a long black coat came up behind me wanting to go inside, and I let myself be swept up along with him as though I had no other choice.
Esteban stood up when I walked in.
Being greeted with a smile and a look almost of relief, as though you are, in that moment, the most important sight in the world to the person who’s been waiting for you...it’s heady stuff. I wove through the crowded tables to him and slung my bag over the back of the empty chair. I wondered if he would embrace me, and if I would allow it. He didn’t, though he ran a hand down from my shoulder to my wrist, squeezing gently before moving away.
“I was thinking you would not come,” he said.
“I would’ve messaged you, honey. I wouldn’t just stand you up.” I had considered doing just that, but Esteban would never know it. I sat. “What are you drinking?”
“Coffee. Would you like?”
I twisted to look at the menu board. “I’ll take a mocha latte. Oh, and a blueberry muffin.”
He gave me another tiny, discreet squeeze as he passed me. It both amused and touched me emotionally. He touched me physically all the time, of course, but this had been different. Brief, but not hesitant. He was different outside the hotel room, but then, I guess so was I.
Esteban returned in a few minutes with my drink and food and took the seat across from me. He grinned, his gaze searching my face, though I wasn’t sure what he was looking to find. He leaned forward.
“You look beautiful.”
I didn’t laugh. I had made an effort, of course, because who ever goes to meet a lover without looking their best? But unlike most of our meetings, which featured me in full makeup with carefully chosen outfits, this morning I’d pulled my dark curly hair into a messy bun and wore jeans with a tunic blouse suitable for taking my nephew to religious school. Put together? Sure. But beautiful?
“You do,” he said, though I hadn’t protested.
I leaned forward a little too, echoing his posture. “It’s good to see you.”
He beamed, eyes not leaving mine. “It’s better to see you!”
“You’re so good for my ego.” I did laugh then, and broke off a piece of my muffin. I pushed the plate toward him. “Have some.”
He broke off a piece. Together, we ate the muffin and drank our coffee while tables emptied and filled again. We didn’t talk about anything that seemed important, which was the perfect sort of conversation to have on a bright, late-spring Sunday morning.
“This was nice,” I told him when we’d stayed as long as we could before it would be time to order lunch.
Esteban nodded. “Yes. Very nice.”
I thought for a second or so that he was going to ask me if we could do it again, but he only looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read. Not quite sad. Reluctant. Resigned, maybe.
“Walk me to my car,” I said. “I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet.”
I could read that expression, at least. I’d made him happy. We didn’t hold hands while we walked, and the distance between us was enough that nobody would ever have guessed how many times his mouth had been between my legs. I watched him from the corner of my eye as we navigated the buckled sidewalk.
At my car, I faced him. “What’s going on?”
He might’ve been able to put me off on the phone, but not in person where I could see his face. He tried to cut his gaze, but I took his chin gently in my palm and turned him until he had no choice but to look at me. Still, he didn’t answer me right away.
“Esteban,” I said sternly.
His shoulders sagged. To my immense surprise, he hugged me. Hard. His face pressed to the side of my neck, his skin hot. His breath tickled me.
I hugged him back for a moment, before saying, “Get in the car.”
Obediently, he went around to the passenger side. I got in my seat and twisted to face him. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m wearing it,” he said, which was not the answer to my question.
Despite this unusual disobedience, a shiver tiptoed up and down my spine at the thought. “My gift?”
He nodded. I swallowed, my gaze dropping to his lap for a moment before meeting his. He licked his mouth. Tension wove between us, fine and strong as a spider’s filament. All I had to do was run a fingertip across the back of his hand, placed on his thigh, to make him shudder. His soft moan made me clench my jaw to keep my own inside.
“How does it feel?”
“I feel...full. Of wanting. It makes me think of you.” His voice rasped, low.
“Good. I like you to think of me when we aren’t together.” I circled my fingertips on his skin, my eyes never leaving his. “But what? It makes you uncomfortable? You’re worried about something? I want you to use my present to please me, but if it doesn’t make you happy, too—”
He shook his head sharply. “No. No, it does. So much. Too much, maybe.”
I thought I understood that, at least. How something could make you too happy. I leaned a little closer and let my hand slip down the inside of his thigh to press against the rising bulge of his cock. “Tell me how it feels, deep inside you.”
“I thought it would be too much. A little too big,” he whispered. “It hurt a little, at first.”
“And now?”
He shook his head. “Not now. Now I feel it when I move. It hits the spot just right. And if I shift just right, if I clench...”
I smiled.
He shuddered. I didn’t stroke his cock, though by now I could feel it was thick and hard, compressed against the front of his jeans. Esteban moaned again, a little brokenly.
“You want me to touch you,” I said in a low voice.
His eyes, which had gone heavy-lidded, opened wider. “Oh, yes...please...”
“It makes me very happy to know that you’re using my present,” I told him as my hand pressed against him. Withdrew. Pressed again. To anyone looking at us, we’d appear to be having a conversation, nothing more. Leaning a little closer, maybe, but not even kissing. Nothing outrageous...except that my sweet boy was pushing his cock against my palm. I imagined the press and tug of the plug in his ass, hitting him in the perfect spot. “I want you to feel it inside you. Do you?”
He shuddered again. “Yes. It’s so good.”
“Fuck, I want your fingers inside me,” I muttered, which sent another spasm through him. Urged another moan. My nipples had gone tight and hard. So had my clit. I clenched my own internal muscles, rocking a little, though I had no toy to help me out. “Look at me.”
He did, though it took him an understandable few seconds to focus. A faint blush had painted his cheeks, and his brown eyes had gone darker from his dilated pupils. He licked his mouth again, and I thought of how good his tongue felt on my pussy, and I could not stop myself this time from moaning, too.
“You are so beautiful...” Esteban’s words trailed off into a groan as he moved so slowly against me that he hardly seemed to move at all. Then he said other words I couldn’t understand in Spanish, a language so fluid and sexy that every word sounded like part of a poem.
