The Diary Of A Submissive: A True Story (21 page)

As it was, dinner was lovely, the company was good, as was the conversation. But through it all at least three quarters of my conscious thought was about sex, and never has a man eating a steak been so arousing. Even watching him chew and swallow made my throat dry. I’d clearly gone bonkers and should have gone home for my own safety. At one point I had to make a deliberate effort to
stop my hand shaking around my glass, my equilibrium was so off kilter. By the time we had stacked the plates in the sink and it looked to my hopeful eyes like we might resume the kissing, I was already like a cat on hot bricks.

The analogy was actually rather apt. James had two very cute Siamese kittens who padded around his flat like feline ninjas. I’d been surprised when I saw them: ‘How can you have time to look after these guys?’ I exclaimed as I leaned down to see them better.

He looked a little bit sheepish, which made me smile. ‘I have a woman who comes in to check on them.’

I chuckled. ‘Of course you do.’

Initially the kittens were wary of me, but by the time I’d been sat still for a while the braver of the two came up to sit on my lap. Having not had a pet of my own since I moved away from my parents, I’d missed this simple pleasure, and before I knew it I’d been fussing him for a long while, chuckling at him cleaning my fingers with his sandpapery tongue. In what was probably slightly bad form, I wasn’t hugely aware of where James was until suddenly he was stroking the back of my neck, echoing the way I was fussing his cat. I shivered slightly underneath him, enjoying it, my body responding to – finally! – his touch. Then I froze, unsure how to react, not wanting to scare him into stopping. Aware that, vanilla or not, I was aching to sleep with this man, to finally get to explore him, to try and sate the need and tension that had been building since pretty much the moment we met.

I sat stroking the cat, staring intently at his fur, listening to him purr as James stood behind me, stroking me. As
the silence lengthened, finally he moved in front of me, and plucked the cat from my lap, stroking him tenderly and rubbing his cheek against his face before putting him on the floor and taking my hand.

‘I think it’s time for us to leave them to it for the night.’

My throat was suddenly dry and the butterflies that had been in my stomach for the last few weeks started fluttering harder than ever. How was it possible to feel such relief and such nerves at the same time? Finally this was going to happen, whatever
this
was. He led me to his bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him to deter feline interlopers.

We propelled ourselves over to the bed, and suddenly we were sprawled across it, turning over and over, each of us vying to be on top. I undid his shirt, my hands stroking the sculpted chest beneath, enjoying, finally, getting to dictate the pace. I reached down, undid his belt and began to undo his trousers, all without removing my mouth from his. There are sensual, erotic seductions, but this was almost feral, neither of us able to wait any longer. He broke away from my mouth for a moment and bucked his hips so he could pull his trousers down and put on a condom, while I pulled off my knickers, and then I impaled myself on him. That first moment there was silence, no movement, just his eyes widening, in shock – at the feeling, the abruptness, at me being such an impatient hussy, who can say? – while I adjusted to him inside me, enjoying the feeling, after so long spent thinking about it. For long seconds we stayed there, our breathing the only thing causing movement between us, but suddenly he became
impatient; his hands clawing at my hips began pulling me up and down, starting the movement, demanding wordlessly that I rode him. How’s a girl to argue? I began to move my hips, leaning down to kiss him as I went.

I don’t know how long we kept moving back and forth, hands moving across each other, our fingers exploring every inch, mouths duelling, hips meshing together, but suddenly his hand, which was squeezing my arse, had let go. In the split second that it took for my brain to register the loss he slapped the fleshy curve of my arse cheek. I whimpered and then blushed, wondering if he could tell how much it turned me on.

He did it again. It was light, playful, but it made my blood hum. His hands moved, stroking my breasts, running his fingers along the soft skin above the curve of my bra, before reaching in and pulling me out. He played with my nipples, gently pinching them, twisting them a little, not enough for me to feel a pang of pain, but certainly enough to feel a wave of pleasure.

I smiled down at him, enjoying the moment, the fact that I could look at him intently, drink in his gaze. For a moment my hips stilled, as I became so caught up in looking at this enigmatic man that I literally forgot what I was doing. But then I saw a tinge of impatience flare in his eyes and suddenly I was moving, rolling across the bed on to my back propelled by his hips. He grabbed my wrists in one of his hands, and began moving at his own speed. As he moved, faster and faster, I moved up to meet him, my hips urging him deeper. I pulled my hands out of his grasp and began running my fingers along his back, enjoying
his tiny shiver as one of my fingernails traced gently along his spine. But then his fingers were between our bodies, finding my clit, pushing me further until finally I was unable to push back the inevitable. I came, and as I did he followed me, both of us tensing and then relaxing, replete in each other.

He nuzzled my neck, pressing a kiss to the edge of my collarbone. I shivered, still sensitive from the force of my orgasm. He grinned and nibbled where he’d just kissed, and I poked him in the chest with a finger. ‘Oi!’

His laugh vibrated against my skin. ‘Sorry, I’ll be good.’

I laughed too. ‘I very much doubt that.’

‘Good point.’

We lay for a while, curled together, the shadows lengthening in the room as night drew in. It didn’t feel like an awkward silence, and I didn’t feel a burning need to talk, but my brain was whirring, trying to fit what had happened and James’s general loveliness within a wider context, of his motivations, of any potential relationship (
was
it a relationship?), of my hopes for a D/s flavour to any romance I might end up in. Is it fair to stay with someone when you’re not sure you’re fundamentally compatible in a way you know is important to you? And is it crazy to be trying to make these decisions when you don’t even really know what the other party actually wants? Also, is it normal to be thinking of someone who has just fucked you till your toes curled as a ‘party’? As the confusion blossomed I realized that James had dozed off next to me. It made me smile, and my heart clench a little; he looked so young and trouble-free while asleep, but it also
helped give me a mental shake. This stuff might matter, but it didn’t matter yet. Baby steps. I tried to switch off my chattering brain, and enjoy the languor of that post-orgasm bliss. I might even have dozed off myself for a bit.

When I woke the room was properly dark. James was still beside me, although a tiny light in the darkness showed he was checking his BlackBerry.

‘Hey.’

He looked up at me. ‘Hey yourself. Good sleep?’

I nodded and began to stretch. ‘Mmmmm. Yes thanks. How about you?’

He had the grace to look a little discomfited. ‘So I did fall asleep first? How stereotypical of me.’

I laughed. ‘It’s OK.’ I leaned forward to kiss him. ‘I shall take it as a sign I wore you out.’

He pressed a chaste kiss to my mouth and murmured, ‘Minx.’ And then he was groping along the bedside table to put the BlackBerry down safely before bringing his arm back to begin stroking my back. He deepened the kiss and we began again. I smiled against his mouth. I could definitely get used to this.

I didn’t stay over in the end. He offered, and I was sorely tempted, but I’d not brought an overnight bag because I didn’t want to be presumptuous.

‘Surely me telling you to bring condoms was a giveaway that presumption wasn’t unreasonable?’ he asked grumpily as I started getting my things together, but the idea of doing the walk of shame back into the office in
yesterday’s clothes didn’t appeal. He walked me down to my car at 2am, and after thoroughly kissing me goodnight, again, told me I should text him when I got home. I demurred, pointing out he should probably get some sleep before he started work at eight (ooops) but he high-handedly demanded that I text him.

I sighed. ‘Fine. But when you’re feeling knackered later don’t blame me.’

He leaned into my open window as I pulled my seat belt on. ‘I absolutely will blame you and your tempting ways,’ he said, leaning in for one last kiss. I gestured for him to move back, fairly sure that reversing over his foot was going to put a downer on the evening.

‘You started it.’

He was smiling in my rear view mirror as I drove away, but he looked thoughtful and way less carefree than he had when he was asleep.

The next time we met was for lunch. I was on lates for the week, and as such it was completely pointless trying to make any kinds of plans to do anything in the evening because by the time I’d got out of work most normal folk – especially working the early morning starts James had – were thinking about heading to bed. Part of me was tempted to suggest just coming round
for
bed, but frankly, while we’d clearly both enjoyed what had happened after my long-awaited dinner at his, he hadn’t suggested a repeat yet, and I wasn’t going to give away too much myself – although it’s fair to say if
he
had suggested it I’d have been round there like a shot, presumptuous overnight bag and all.

Lunch was fun though. He picked a lovely pub by the river and – taking advantage of some unseasonably good weather – we braved sitting outside, even while most of the tourists in the pub on a weekday afternoon stayed indoors, gravitating towards an open fire. We chatted about work. I told him about a recent phone row between Ian and an affronted reader, an argument so epic that everyone had stopped for a few minutes to shamelessly earwig Ian’s side of things at the increasingly surreal accusations being thrown his way, before applauding when after two minutes of repeating ‘if you continue swearing at me in this manner I will have to hang up the phone and end this conversation’ he finally did just that, before turning, bemused, to tell us his adversary had been elderly Mrs Vickers, a parish councillor who had been complaining about a less than effusive review of the village’s am dram production of
An Inspector Calls
.

James told me more about the plans to celebrate his parents’ anniversary, which he was organizing around a work trip to Geneva. He and his sister were booking a cottage in Cornwall for a long weekend for everyone to amass to congratulate the happy couple, before a big dinner at a seafood restaurant. Talking about his family made him much more animated than talking about his job did, and it was lovely to get a feel for the man whose nephew’s attempts to speak caused him such mirth.

‘My sister is a brilliant mum, and Joseph is a lovely kid,’ he said. ‘But he’s at that stage where he’ll make a kind of burbling noise and I’ll nod and then Emily will solemnly
tell me that actually he’s just asked me to pass him his yoghurt spoon. I try and keep a straight face, but it’s the human equivalent of “what’s that Lassie? Little Timmy’s stuck down a well?” ’

I laughed. ‘I bet he’s good value though when it comes to running round the garden.’

James swallowed a gulp of his drink and nodded. ‘Too right. I’ll be making sure we’ve got a football to run around after while we’re down there. Who needs words anyway? Words are overrated.’

I know I’m terrible, but I blushed quite a lot, suddenly mindful of another opportunity when they were entirely superfluous. I stared down at my plate for a moment, willing the flush to dissipate, and suddenly his hand was in mine and, as I looked up, he was smiling at me.

I wasn’t sure if it was reassuring or annoying that he seemed to read me so well.

We finished up, and I finally managed to nab a waiter and pay a bill before James could, which left me feeling triumphant, although also amused that he thought it was such an unusual thing. He tried, unsuccessfully, to flag back the waiter, who clearly had no time for such nonsense, then ran a hand through his hair.

‘Thank you for lunch, it’s a wonderful gesture, but normally on a lunch date I’d pay the bill.’

I stuck my tongue out at him. ‘Who said this was a date?’

There was a split second where his face flashed, first embarrassed, and then confused, before finally breaking
into a smile of recognition of the words he’d said to me the first time we’d met. ‘Ouch. Touché, Ms Morgan.’ Then a self-conscious chuckle. ‘In hindsight I fear I came across as a bit of an arse the first time we met.’

I nodded. ‘A little bit. But you’ve made up for it since. And you can make up for it some more by letting me pay for lunch.’

He shook his head in exasperation. ‘Normally women don’t have a problem with me paying.’

I ignored the unexpected sting at the idea there was a plethora of women in his lunch list and instead started putting my scarf on. ‘Maybe you just hang out with the wrong kind of woman.’

He gave me a measured look, which eventually broke into a grin. ‘Maybe I do.’

By the time I’d got to the office I had decided it was time to be slightly more forthright. Our lingering kiss before we went our separate ways at the restaurant seemed to indicate that James was still interested in something more than friendship. However, he seemed to have taken a slight step back since we’d first slept together. I was fairly sure he wasn’t a player of any kind – to put it crudely, he’d already had his chance to get in my pants and was still in contact – so that didn’t worry me. But as broaching it in person felt rather tough, I figured discussing the sex virtually was less embarrassing – at least then I didn’t have to look him in the eye. I booted up Messenger.

SOPHIE SAYS
: Just wanted to say thanks for a lovely lunch. Was good to see you, we should do it again when you’re back from Geneva.

Give me a break, I’m building up to it. It’s not like I can just launch into the sex chat. I’d scare him. A reply dropped in a minute later.