Chapter Eight
He’s driving again, but this time he’s not in his chauffeur’s uniform. This time, Silas is dressed in charcoal trousers, a wine-colored sweater, and a mid-length overcoat. If there was any doubt that absence makes the heart grow fonder, the butterflies I feel at the sight of him dispel it. But despite them, I do not rush into his arms. Tonight, we meet as equals.
That means going Dutch, and although he rolls his eyes, I insist. I pick the restaurant, a Brazilian steakhouse that I tell him I’ve worked into the budget I’m keeping. He tells me he’ll do it only if I concede to allowing him to buy us a bottle of wine. Wine is an adult drink. This is a good sign.
It’s a nice restaurant, and once we’re settled, he asks how I’ve been, what I’ve been doing. I tell him I’ve been working—an ad campaign, I tell him. He smiles and tells me he’s sure management will love what I come up with.
I ask him how he is. He looks at his plate, then up at me. “I’ve been awful,” he says.
“I know,” I say softly. “Mina told me.”
“I was furious with her, you know, for telling you. But she set me straight and told me if I didn’t face up to what I’d done, she’d quit, which was ironic. She’s the one who put that locket in the coat pocket for you to find, you know. She said you were clever, that she figured you’d figure it all out and be the one to break through, well, either that or leave.”
I shake my head. “Wait. She planted it there?”
“Yes.” He winces. “I didn’t even know she had it. The recipient—J, well, her name was Janet—tossed it in the waste bin on her way out. I didn’t realize it, and Mina didn’t tell me. She said she regretted that, that it would have helped me to know that I couldn’t just give a woman a locket commemorating a failed relationship and expect her to like it…” He covers his face with his hands. “God, what a klutz I am.”
“No,” I say. “You’re not. You’re just… tone-deaf on some things. Other things, though… you hit the perfect note.”
“You’re too sweet, Lindsay.”
“I’m not sweet,” I say. “But I’m getting better. I’ve thought long and hard about the way I came into this. In the taxi on the way home, I had to admit that I came into this with the worst possible motivation. But I came out of it wanting to be a better person, Silas. A stronger person. You did that. For all your problems, you were the daddy I always needed.”
“And you were the little girl I always wanted, both in and out of the bedroom,” he says. “But I misused you, Lindsay, and I accused you of the very same thing I’m guilty of myself—self-sabotage. I only realized it after you’d gotten in the taxi. I was so afraid of losing you that I drove you away.”
“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, swirling the wine in his glass. “It appears we are.”
“So now what?”
He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “In a perfect world, we’d find out way back to one another. But I’m… different. My sexual tastes—what you saw? That’s who I am.”
“I loved it,” I say. “It’s what I want.”
“My relationship dynamic… I feel the need to… mentor, to…”
“To be a daddy figure…” I finish. “I want that, too.”
“But the real world…”
“Will always be here,” I say. “And we can’t withdraw. We can’t hide. But maybe you sabotaged your relationships because you knew you hadn’t found a woman who could live with you as you are. And maybe I sabotaged my independence because I flourish in the framework of an authority figure. Why can’t two people function in the outside world while having that setup for themselves?”
“But how can you respect me after I’ve hurt you? How can you trust me, Lindsay?”
“It’s a matter of taking the chance,” I say. “If you can trust someone who planned to trick you out of your money to have changed, I can trust you to change, too.”
“So you’ll come back to me?” he asks.
I lean back in my chair. I want to say yes, but I say no. I tell him we need to see each other for a while first, work back into things, take it slow. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy one another until we are both sure.
After dinner we go back to my place.
“Charming,” he says. “You have a lot of plants.”
I giggle, thinking of the atrium and look over at him.
“Well, for such a small space,” he clarifies.
“Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
“Sure.”
I show him my small kitchen and the living room separated by a counter. I show him the tiny balcony where I have two bird feeders. I point to a hook where I hang a huge Boston fern in the summer. I tell him how wrens nest in it. I show him my bathroom, my hall closet that holds my washer and dryer. I show him the family photos that line my hallway, pictures of me with my parents, me as a high schooler with my swimming medals, me with my father.
“And this is my bedroom,” I say.
“Lots of pink,” he says.
“It’s my favorite color,” I say.
Silas walks around, looking at everything, touching everything. He seems fascinated, and it occurs to me that he’s never been in the home of an average person, with average things.
“I love it,” he says.
“That’s a weird thing to say. Why would you love my bedroom?”
He walks over and smooths the hair away from my face with his hand. “Because,” he says, “it’s you. It’s full of your character. Because there are stuffed animals on the bed.”
I flush. “Well, sometimes I get lonely, and I have an allergy to real pets. When I was little I was convinced they were alive, that they could see. When my favorite one lost an eye, I made my mother sew a button in its place.”
Silas leads me to the bed. He picks up the stuffed animals, lingering a moment on the oldest teddy with its one regular eye and one button. “You kept it,” he says.
“Yes.”
I watch as Silas takes all the stuffed animals to a chair and sits them down in a row so that they’re facing away from the bed.
“Why did you do that?” I ask.
He turns to me and flashes a slow smile that makes me weak in the knees. “They seem so innocent. I wouldn’t want them to see what we’re about to do.”
My feet are rooted to the spot as he walks over. “And what are we about to do?]”
“We,” he says, “are about to make love on your pink duvet. Unless you object.”
He’s already unbuttoning my blouse. I shake my head. No, I don’t object. Just the sight of him in my bedroom is making my pussy wet. I feel like a naughty teenager who just brought home the high school quarterback. We giggle as we strip, scattering our clothes and shoes and underwear on the floor.
Silas kisses me, his tongue sweeping through my mouth, teasing mine. His hard chest presses against my breasts. His hands trace a leisurely path down my shoulders and arms then down my waist to my buttocks. He cups them.
“I love your ass,” he says when he breaks the kiss.
“Just my ass?” I ask.
He raises up on one elbow, looking down at me. “I love all of you, Lindsay Sue. Your body, your quick mind, your tenacity.” He puts his mouth against my ear. “I love you.” He pauses. “I’m sorry I threw you against the wall, even though you are no frog. You were a princess all along. Can you ever forgive me?”
I nod and answer him with a kiss, winding my arms around his neck.
He’s tender when he takes me, but my forgiveness seems to renew his confidence, because he’s masterful, too. He takes the lead, moving his head between my legs and using his tongue to push me to the brink of orgasm, where he leaves me hanging. But I’m more confident, too, and turn the tables, pushing Silas down on his back and locking my eyes on his as I softly drag my nails down the center of his body as I move lower. When my head is positioned over his cock, I dart out my tongue, lapping away the drop of pre-cum that’s emerged at the slit on the flared head. It sends a jolt through him. “Baby,” he says as I grasp the base of his cock and lave the length with my tongue. And then I begin to tease him, taking him deep in my throat, suckling, flitting my tongue tip on that sensitive spot underneath his cock head, until he’s writhing under my ministrations. I keep him on edge.
“Don’t come, baby,” I say.
“Impertinent little thing,” he growls, and grasps me so that I’m straddling him. He lifts me to sitting and enters me with an up-thrust, causing me to gasp. Silas grips my hips, jogging his rapidly as I bounce and whimper on his cock. He reaches up, grasps my breasts, pinches the nipples before pulling me forward and capturing one in his mouth.
I come without permission, not that he could stop me. I’m as turned on as I’ve ever been in my life, even though our lovemaking is more egalitarian than it’s ever been. This isn’t roleplay. This is us—a dominant and a submissive, yes, but this time enjoying a give-and-take that’s absolute ecstasy.
Afterwards, he wraps me in his arms and looks into my eyes. “Hey,” he says, “would you think it too forward if I slept over?”
I pretend to consider it. “I guess it’s okay, although Barnaby might be mad at you.”
“Barnaby?”
“Barnaby Bear.”
He kisses me. “Well, my darling. Maybe I can make it up to him.”