Out of Control (21 page)

His thoughts were all over the place, but the flow somehow made sense, in an odd, organic way. Hadn’t there been some reason to make sure they got out of the house? “Clothes have uses, though. For one, I’m hungry, and I bet you are too. Especially knowing how you are about skipping meals.”

“I had lunch
and
dinner,” she said proudly. “But now I’m starving.”

“Sub drop. You burned a lot of energy, and you need to replenish it, or you’ll start feeling weird and headachy.” He hesitated. “Hell, I burned a lot of energy. That was intense.”

“Pizza and Chinese both deliver late. That way we can stay naked.”

The notion was tempting. Why go out when they could stay in? He could throw on shorts long enough to pay the delivery person and then take them off again. And they could reprise the time he fed Jen pizza while she was tied up.

“On the other hand,” Jen admitted, “we might order the food and forget to eat it if we stay in.”

Drake chuckled. “I can see that happening. Besides, if we take a break, we’ll have more energy for round four. Or would it be five?”

She high-fived him. “I got the mathematician to lose count. Score one for Jen!”

“Come on, you.” Drake rolled out of bed and grabbed clothes, not the ones he’d been wearing earlier, which were still in the living room, but a clean T-shirt and shorts, which he put on without underwear. They both smelled like rut, but late night in Collegetown, no one was going to care. “I’ll get your things. If you start parading around naked, dinner is doomed.”

Once they actually got somewhere, with food in front of them, he’d bring up the other reason he’d wanted to go out. Frankly, he needed to fortify himself before he tried having a serious conversation. Subs weren’t the only ones who got spacey after an intense scene, and he had to make sure that some of the things going through his mind weren’t the effect of good sex melting his brains. “Ithaca Ale House?” he yelled from the living room.

“Uh… I was thinking the State Diner.”

Where she could get an egg and toast for three dollars or so. That made sense from her point of view, but he was going to pay, damn it. From now on, he was going to pay for as much as he could. Take care of Jen, because she was precious to him. But he suspected he’d have to work into it gradually. She was proud of making do despite her relative poverty. “Humor me. I feel like taking you out for a date, and since it’s eleven p.m. on a weeknight and we’re both disheveled, the Ale House is as close to fancy as we can manage.”

Jen emerged from the bedroom, dressed again, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. “We’re glowing from great sex. We could go anywhere and look fabulous.” She giggled. “But the Ale House will do.”

By the time they got to the Ale House and were able to order, Drake was ravenous and asked for crab cakes and wings while they waited for their burgers. Jen opened her mouth, looking like she wanted to protest. Instead, she ended up saying “Thanks. I’m half-past starving.”

“And if we can’t finish everything, you’ll have leftovers for lunch tomorrow.”

“Don’t you mean you will? You’re paying.”

Drake snorted. “Don’t be silly. I forget leftovers in the fridge, and you’ll actually eat them. Take the leftovers.” She looked like she was ready to argue. He added, in a low voice, “That’s an order.”

Her mouth opened and closed silently. Then she took a sip of her beer and wisely swallowed whatever she was going to say along with it.

When the appetizers arrived, they spent a few minutes eating in relative silence, except to comment on how good everything tasted, sauced by sex-induced hunger. When enough food had hit his system that he could actually think in straight lines again, Drake cleared his throat. His stomach was fluttery, and he was pretty sure it was butterflies rather than chicken wings. In the past, he’d thought through how he’d lay down the law if he ever met a woman he wanted as a full-time sub or slave—but faced with the reality of Jen, he realized those scenarios had been fantasy just as much as any porn-fueled masturbatory images that made his cock zing but would probably lead to a restraining order in real life. He couldn’t just lay down the law. Not now. Not yet.

They had to agree to get to that place together.

He wanted his rules to help her live her best possible life, not just to make his life hotter and satisfy his need for control. He didn’t want to be a dick and a control freak with her. Even if he was, deep down, a dick and a control freak. It was one thing in the bedroom, where he knew she liked it, but in the rest of her life? Better tread carefully.

He cared about her. Wanted her to be happy and healthy and productive.

And he was not, and would never be, his dad.

He took a deep breath and began to talk. “Remember when we first started playing, how I told you a few things about myself?”

Jen, her lips smeared with wing sauce, smiled. “You basically issued a warning: CAUTION: KINKY CONTROL FREAK AHEAD. Which I’d figured out already and was part of why I wanted you, but it was good to spell it out.”

“Here’s the deal: that doesn’t change because we’re officially dating. Thinking of you as a partner instead of a friend with benefits will probably make that side of me even more powerful.”

“Good!” She took his hand and squeezed it. “More rope? More games? Don’t see a downside to that.”

Either this was working beyond his wildest dreams, or he wasn’t getting his point across. Too soon to tell which, and he’d never done this before. Negotiations for one night, he had down pat. He’d even thought he’d done okay on generic negotiations for the not-quite-relationship they’d had until now. But long-term was different. Very different.

“Absolutely. But more rules as well. More control.” Here came the hard part. “I want you to be mine, Jen. My sub. We talked about that back at the house, but we were both naked and high on great sex. I want to make sure it still sounds like a good idea now we’re both grounded again.” When she didn’t answer immediately, he added, “Obviously it does to me. This is the part when I need to know what you’re thinking, what questions you might have. Whether you think it’s the worst idea ever now that you have your clothes on.”

She squeezed his hand harder, released it and wiped her wing-smeared mouth. He had a feeling that was an excuse to hide her face behind a napkin for a few seconds while she collected her thoughts, and he really couldn’t blame her. Maybe he’d been too straightforward.

When she put the napkin down, she was still smiling, but her eyes were wary. “What, exactly, does that mean?”

Thank God he knew the answer to that. Not that it was much of an answer—annoyingly vague to a mind used to problems that had clear solutions—but it was honest. Real. Not a porn answer like his father would probably give, but one two actual human beings could work with. “That’s a work in progress, something for us to figure out together. I know what my dream relationship is, with me the loving but strict master of an obedient, beloved slave, whom I keep safe and happy and take good care of as thanks for her submission. Only I formed that image of a dream relationship without knowing
you.
In the real world, with a real woman who has dreams and plans and needs of her own, I can’t just wave my magic riding crop and have that happen. We need to figure out where we want this to go together.”

Jen sputtered, then gave up and laughed. “Damn straight, Professor! Much as I adore the magic riding crop.” She giggled some more. “Doesn’t surprise me you have that dream. What surprises me is that I’m not ruling it out.” She apparently realized she was speaking loudly, maybe from nerves. She glanced around to see if anyone was staring, lowered her voice, then added, “Not like Avi and her boy. I’m not the type to stay home wearing nothing but an apron and doing your housework.” She leaned forward and squeezed his hand. “Maybe once in a while, just for fun. But that’s not my kink.”

“Not really mine either.” He winked. “Though there’s a lot to be said for not having to do my own cleaning. Avi may be on to something.”

She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Kinky maid service. That’s what we need. Girl for you, boy for me—or heck, a girl for both of us. I can appreciate a pretty woman, even if I prefer getting hands-on with guys. We both get a clean house and a good view. Then she leaves, and we have a clean house to mess up by having sex in every room.”

“I wonder if Merry Maids offers that service. If anyone’s cleaning my house, I want them bonded.” He realized the pun as he said it. “And maybe in bondage. At least if it’s you.”

She stuck out her tongue cheekily. He slapped her hand. More of a playful tap, really. “First new rule. I like you being playful and natural in private, even argumentative—but in public with me, you’ll be ladylike and polite.” Then he couldn’t help smiling. “Well, most of the time. Sticking out your tongue at me when I’m teasing you will not get you punished, but it might get you in fun trouble. You understand the difference?”

She nodded. “Noted. If I want a spanking, stick my tongue out at you.”

“But you might get more than you bargain for. It’s safer just to ask for a spanking or a caning or whatever you’re craving. Otherwise, it’s what I want.” He shrugged. “It’s always what I want, bottom line, but if you’re being good, I’ll make it something we both want. Otherwise, it may hurt more than you’d like. Or I’ll make you write lines.”

“Lines? Like writing ‘I will not sass my dom’ a million times?” She shuddered. “Amended note to self: Do not deliberately poke Drake unless you’re certain he’s in a good mood and will think it’s funny. Life’s too short to waste time writing lines.”

“That’s why it would be a great punishment for you.”

Which was, of course, when the waiter showed up with their burgers. Either he hadn’t heard anything or he was used to pretending he hadn’t overheard whatever odd things his customers were saying to each other, but Drake made a mental note to speak more discreetly. He waited for Jen to have some of her burger while he thought through all the things he needed to cover in this conversation. As he did, he voyeuristically enjoyed Jen’s pleasure in the juicy meat topped with caramelized onions and cheese. He’d always liked the Ale House’s burgers, but watching Jen devour her burger was almost more pleasurable than tasting his. The woman didn’t eat right, between her odd schedule and her obviously tight budget. He’d have to work on that.

Since his own dietary habits were haphazard and involved too much coffee and take-out, he was going to have to practice self-improvement at the same time. No point in telling Jen to eat better when he’d grabbed a greasy sandwich from some ptomaine truck on campus.

Taking care of a sub would have advantages he hadn’t considered. He’d have to make sure he was really on top of his game—to be worthy of the responsibility.

When Jen slowed down on the cheeseburger, Drake ventured to bring up something very important. “I don’t expect us to jump right into master/slave. That’s a big deal, and you may never want to give up that level of control.”

“Likely. I’ve got areas where I’m as big a control freak as you are, especially where my work’s concerned. But I never thought I’d like giving up control in bed as much as I do. I’m game for trying having you take charge in some areas outside of bed. As long as I can say, ‘Whoa, this isn’t working,’ and we can talk about it.”

“Of course.” He was surprised to find himself saying that, but in real life, not fantasy, there had to be negotiations in this kind of relationship. Even more than in setting up a scene. You could control the variables in a scene to a large extent, but real life was full of surprises, and you and the sub had to roll with them. At least if you loved your sub and cared about her welfare. “I’ve never had a full-time sub before, and while I feel like I’ve known you forever, it’s not true. I’m sure to step in a minefield sometimes. And then I want you to tell me so we can work through it.” He couldn’t resist adding, with an evil grin, “And then I can tie you up, beat you and lick you until you scream and we’ll both feel better.”

“Sign me up.” Then Jen looked serious. Sat up straight. Looked him in the eye, and not flirtatiously. “One thing, though. Hands off my art. I need to make the decisions there.”

Drake opened his mouth to tell her no, there would be no areas completely off limits to his control, but what came out seemed to be his subconscious telling his fetishes to shut the fuck up. “You’re right. I don’t know enough, and as you’ve probably noticed, I don’t have an artist’s eye. But I will make suggestions about the business side of things: marketing ideas, maybe, or analyzing your sales and expense data for you and pointing out patterns you might have missed because you’re too close to it.”

Jen nodded slowly. “I’d even listen to that. I have all kind of records for the last ten years, and I’m sure there’s information there I don’t know how to analyze. But I know the market better than you do. If your suggestions don’t make sense, I get to say no.”

“Agreed. The only rule I’d make in that area is that you pay your quarterly taxes on time.”

Another serious look. “What makes you think I don’t, Professor? Early, even, to be sure I don’t slip up. A color-coded calendar and musical reminders on the computer save my ass.”

He thought about it. Of course she’d have a system that worked for her. “Perfect. I can call it a rule because rules have a special place in my black, twisted heart, but you’re already on top of it. The best kind of rule. No work for me, but I can put it on the printed list of your rules. Printed lists to me are like color-coding to you—somewhere between a fetish and a necessity.”