OLIVIER
Friday night, Olly drove to Leigh’s house, knowing he was getting close from the GPS.
And knowing that, he was hard as a rock, straining his jeans to the point of mild pain.
Even having had her the night before, he still couldn’t wait to see what she had in store for him that weekend.
But he knew what he had in store for her.
It happened when he was bent over that table and Amélie took on that bitch. He watched her and listened to her and he knew if that woman didn’t take her eyes off Olly, Leigh would have launched herself at the cunt and given her all to do bodily harm.
As he watched that, Olly felt something release deep in his brain.
Something that had been strung tight for so long, threatening to snap, it snapping meant he would snap. He’d lose hold. He’d lose himself. He’d lose something integral he needed to be Olly.
Amélie was right. He was not defined by his sexuality, no one was.
But it was a part of who he was. An important part. One he couldn’t bury without losing a crucial element of himself.
And what got him off …
No, finding Leigh and being free to be just how he needed to be, it all sunk in.
All of it.
He’d watched Amélie take on that woman finally getting with all Leigh had given him—not just to get him off, but in everything—that she’d take care of him. And that was not just with what he liked to get worked, but in every way.
Not simply as his Mistress, but that and as the woman in his life.
And as that hit him, that thing fucking with his head loosened.
Melted clean away.
And her giving him that. Her yanking down her panties, as desperate as he was to connect after they’d been apart—no preliminaries and they were fucking against the door. Her opening her legs so he could take her pussy after he delivered his message through her in the social room. Her obvious happiness that things were working out for her girl and her new man. Her calling him to let him know she was out of town, doing that on a pretense just so they could talk, connect. Her sweet. Her candor. Her teasing. Her upfront excitement they were spending the weekend together. Her being there for him any time he called. The real they had, the ease of it, the honesty, while playing or sitting in a booth having a drink, the magnitude of what they shared and how deep it went.
Leigh giving him all that, Olly wanted this to go somewhere.
He had no idea how to make that happen. There was honesty he had to give to her about how he came to the Honey. And his greatest concern, there were serious differences between them—the money she had, his lack of it, and the lives they led because of that—that had to be hashed out.
But she was Leigh-Leigh. She found a way to release that torture that had been screwing with his mind since forever, so he sensed that together, they’d find a way to build something more with all they already had.
Olly knew that because, in understanding all this, he’d come to understand they’d already begun to build it. There was the scene then she sensed innately when it was time to guide him out of it and give him the rest of what he needed.
Not a feeling of normal. He no longer cared about being what others would think was normal (and she’d taught him that too with the ease and dignity with which she lived in that world).
What he needed was to have the sense that he was always Olly, even when he was Olivier, and he always had his Leigh, even when she was his Mistress Amélie.
The GPS in his truck told him he’d be turning left in a third of a mile.
He searched a dark that no city could have, vast stretches of land, a plateau in the northern mountains of Arizona, and he saw it.
Two lights illuminating two sweeping adobe fences that marked either side of a drive. One had the house number of her ranch on it in purposefully rusted iron numbers. The other side had another rusted iron piece, this a horse trotting, neck proud but head bowed.
Something about that made Olly’s mouth quirk.
Even if he’d come to his decision about their future, he was still relieved to see there was no grand entryway over the lane to her ranch with some pretentious name sweeping across it.
It was clear since he’d passed the last house half a mile ago that she had land but as he turned in, he saw the house he was driving to and it wasn’t pretentious either.
It wasn’t small but it wasn’t large.
Compact.
Classic adobe, including the beams. He saw some blooms around the front courtyard as his headlights hit the house. The front light was on, showing the courtyard was welcoming, but not elaborate. There was a fountain trickling at the side of the front door that was not ostentatious, just pretty, undoubtedly the sound it made calming and making the entry even more inviting.
He stopped his truck in the neat gravel of the big circular drive, doing this next to her Mercedes SUV coupe, and watched her open the door.
His ass tightened around the small plug he wore that she’d given him during their week apart, his balls drawing up in their harness as he saw her for the first time in jeans.
They were low-slung, tight, faded in a way that came from wear, not made that way in some factory. She wore them with a thick belt, utilitarian, no ornamentation, but it was still cool. She had on a turquoise, flowy blouse that fell off her shoulder, a mess of southwestern necklaces dangling from her neck, and he could also see big hoops at her ears.
Her feet were bare.
Leigh at her ranch.
Not a beautiful woman with a French mother, a load of money, and a way of calling her man “darling” that didn’t sound moronic, but instead amazing.
No. A northern mountains of Arizona rancher who had money but nothing about her shoved that down your throat.
Oh yeah.
They could find a way to work.
He was no longer hoping for that, but instead, with everything she gave him, he was beginning to count on it.
She stood in the door, leaning against the jamb, as he grabbed his duffel off the passenger seat and angled out of the cab.
He walked to her and saw the courtyard had some comfortable-looking furniture, a table, two chairs, intimate in that small space. A place for two people to hang in the morning with a cup of joe, not a place to have a party.
And that courtyard was teeming with lush bougainvillea growing up the walls that delineated the courtyard space as well as the front of the house.
Prettier up close than from afar.
The same could be said for the woman standing in the door.
Olly stopped in front of her.
“Hey,” he greeted.
“Olivier.”
He felt the name she chose throb in his cock.
She wanted him too. Just as badly.
It was play time.
All right.
He fought back a triumphant smile.
“Come closer, mon chou.”
Olly came closer and stopped. She tilted her head back to keep hold on his eyes as he moved.
This meant he missed her hand moving but he didn’t miss it when she cupped him over his jeans and at the same time asked, “How was the drive?”
“Over,” he grunted.
He watched her lips tip up.
“Drop the duffel, chevalier, we’ll come for it later.”
He tossed the bag close to the side of the door but other than that didn’t move.
This was good since she did. Slightly.
Her hand twisting, she slid his zipper down and didn’t hesitate even a second to dive in then pull him out.
Olly clenched his teeth against the goodness he felt when his heavy cock finally sprung free of his confining jeans.
She kept locked on his gaze even as she shoved in roughly, tugging him, his lower half swaying as she inspected his balls, then she slid under, jerking him to her as she slid her hand back and found his plug.
His hole tightened.
Oh yeah.
“Mistress,” he whispered.
“Are you ready for our weekend?” she asked.
“Fuck yes,” he answered gruffly.
“Good,” she replied softly. Her gaze still direct on his, she found the tip of the plug and twisted it.
That drove straight up his ass, through his balls to his cock, and unable to stop himself, Olly lifted a hand and grabbed the jamb over her head.
“I have much planned for you, my stallion,” she said softly.
It was his turn to say, “Good,” but his came out harsh.
“I have a gift for you too,” she told him. “Would you like it now or later?”
“Which way do you want it?”
“The way I want it is to know if you’d like it now or later.”
He stared in her eyes, his focus shifting from his ass to the look he saw shining there, and he knew the answer.
“Now.”
Her lips tipped up at the sides again, this time slowly, and as they did, she slid her hand out of his jeans but latched onto his cock and gave it a gentle tug.
“Come,” she ordered.
If she wasn’t careful, he’d do that in way she didn’t mean.
By his dick, she led him into her house and he had the presence of mind to close the door behind him.
Other than that, he didn’t have the presence of mind for anything else so he didn’t take much in. He felt his boots hitting rug under his feet, distractedly saw the tile at the sides of the runner, the adobe walls, paintings, furniture, other decorative shit, felt the coolness of the air, the smell of piñon vague but pleasant.
But his attention was riveted to the back of her rich, shining, unfettered auburn hair hanging down to past where her bra strap would be and all he thought was that he didn’t mind at all his Mistress could lead him around by his cock.
She turned into a room that had soft lighting, candles glowing, and a big four-poster bed in the middle with white sheets, lots of fluffy pillows, and towels laid over the comforter.
It also had restraints dangling from the back posts, more coming up the sides and end of the bed.
Fuck yeah.
She released him, turned to him, and immediately went for the buttons of his shirt.
“I’ll be undressing you this time, Olivier,” she shared as she started doing just that.
He nodded before he dipped his chin down and Olly watched as she exposed his chest. And he kept watching as she pulled the shirt over his shoulders and a look settled over her face he was getting used to.
A look he fucking loved.
Her face got soft at the same time hungry.
In a room at the club, she’d get that look but she withheld from him until she found it time to give in to what she needed.
This was always after she gave him what he needed.
Here, she did something about it.
Even as she moved her hands to his jeans to undo the top button, she bent in, nuzzling her face to his chest, and it took a lot not to lift his hand, cup the back of her hair, and plant her face there.
Olly managed not to do that just when she tipped her head back.
“Please take off your boots and socks,” she ordered.
She then stepped back to allow him to do that.
He did it, straightened, and she came right back to him. Fingers in his waistband, she yanked his jeans and shorts down.
“Step out,” she commanded, crouched in front of him, holding his clothing steady so he could step free.
When he was, she straightened, latched onto his cock again and gave a tug.
She led him to the foot of the bed, let him go, and curled into him, front to front. Sliding her hands from his waist back and down, she cupped his ass, again with her head tipped back.
“When I release you, climb on the bed, on your knees. Settle them near the restraints.”
“You got it, Amélie.”
She grinned, rolled up on her toes, and touched her mouth to the base of his throat.
Olly again fought the need to hold her head there, among other things.
She slid away.
He climbed into bed, settling as he was told.
When he was there, she didn’t fuck around. She touched him sweet but she didn’t take her usual time when she restrained him at the bend of his knees, his ankles, this with his thighs spread wide.
“Now lift your arms, beast,” she ordered.
His eyes to her, he did and she shackled him with what felt like fur-lined cuffs, his arms up and outstretched. There was slack, not much. There was less movement in his legs.
Once she had this done, she glided a hand around his hip as she walked on her knees on the bed to get to his front.
As for Olly, restrained, hers to do with as she would, his dick was hanging low and heavy, his balls ached, and his jaw was again clenched, now against begging her to touch him. Take his cock in her fist. Squeeze his balls. Do fucking anything.
He kept his silence because he knew she knew better.
And she did.
To his disbelief, and pure fucking elation, while he watched, she pulled off her necklaces, her hair swaying as she did.
She dropped them to floor at the side of the bed.
Then off went her blouse.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
After that, she undid her belt and jeans and drew them down, with her panties, to her thighs, falling on a hip to allow her access to clear them from her legs.
She tossed them aside then she was again on her knees, unusually naked before him.
His dick started throbbing as his eyes took her in, her full tits, the swell of her hips, that sweet pussy with the strip of trimmed hair leading to her gorgeous nub he wanted in his mouth so bad he could taste it already.
“I’ve told you often but I’m uncertain you know how beautiful you are, Olivier.”
His eyes went from her clit to her face.
“Perhaps you’ll understand after I’m done with you,” she went on.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he returned and got that look on her face, her eyelids lowering, features softening.
“My sweet beast,” she whispered, but she didn’t touch him, come in for a kiss.
She shifted back on her knees, and fuck him, fuck him, she bent, and with no preliminaries what-so-fucking-ever, she sucked his cock deep in her mouth.
His head dropped back automatically but Olly forced it forward and his eyes locked to her heart-shaped ass up in the air. Seeing that, the pressure of her hot, wet pull, he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting.
She drew him out and gripped his balls in a hold that had pain shooting through his ass and cock. His head dropping back again, he felt a muscle jump in his cheek with his effort to hold back the grunt.
“Be good, Oliver.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he gritted.
She released him and then his Mistress went down on him and Christ, Christ, watching her gorgeous ass rock, her hair glide across the smooth, pale skin of her back, her mouth working his dick, Olly was clenching his plug up his ass and every other muscle he had, twisting his hands to grasp the bindings in order not to take over.
And then he’d had enough.
“Baby,” he groaned.
As was her way (fucking brilliantly), she kept at him.
God. Fuck. Fuck.
“Baby,” he growled.
She released him and worked her way with her mouth up his stomach to his nipples and Olly panted, trying to pull his shit together as she did. His cock was pulsing, ready to blow, so if she wasn’t ready for him to come (and she wasn’t), he was grateful for the relief.
She lifted a hand to his neck and extended her thumb to stroke his jaw before she moved away, sending a lazy glance over him as she did, giving him a view of her ass again as she crawled to the nightstand.
She came back with a chain.
And he felt his grip tighten on his bindings when he saw at its ends were nipple clamps.
He knew what they were. He’d seen them in the stores. On subs at the Bolt and the Honey.
He’d just never had them used on him.
He didn’t share this.
His eyes went to her and she took in his look, he knew she liked it, the struggle he was waging against the fear of the unknown, how those would feel, if they’d hurt too much, or if they’d give him more.
But it didn’t stop her from going in, pinching his nipples, twisting them, pulling them, as Olly let go at the sensations this was causing, free in this space that was all hers, alone with his Amélie, allowing the noises to roll up his throat. Noises that felt like they started in his nipples, his cock, his plugged ass, tearing through his body and rumbling from his lips.
When she had them as she wanted them, blowing on them, just that against their sensitivity set his hips thrusting, she put the clamps to and twisted them closed so he felt them.
Fuck yeah.
He felt them.
There was weight with a definite tightness and hint of pain and it felt fucking great.
Then she yanked the long chain that hung between them and he felt them as it dragged his nipples down and she added a pull to the tightness that increased the brilliant pain, and the spectacular sensitivity, when she hooked the chain tight around his ball sac.
“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, his attention scattered, the focus broken, nipples, balls, ass, cock, all of it not good, all if it fucking great. “Fuck,” he grunted again.
“Now it’s time for your gift, my steed,” she whispered, moving behind him.
Twisting gently, he felt the tug and the release of losing his plug, a feeling that was sweet.
But he’d learned being full felt a fuckuva lot better.
He turned his head to look at her, that movement yanking on the chain, drawing it up his balls and pulling at his nipples.
Christ, fucking brilliant.
Fuck, but she knew how to work him.
“Amélie.”
He said no more but how he said it gave her what she needed. He knew it when her face warmed with satisfaction at the same time it filled with more craving.
She moved off the bed and he twisted again, gritting his teeth against the pull of his chain, as he watched her move across the room behind him.
She did something at a dresser that he couldn’t see before she turned.
He felt his body lock solid as she came back to him, and in her hands she held a plug of substantial size and from it trailed a tail that looked like it matched the hair on his chest, legs and around his cock fucking perfectly. The tail was long, at least three feet, and if he was in another state, he might find it handsome.
Or alarming.
He was not in that state.
And he was not in the state to deny her tailing him.
He was in the state that he wanted to perform for his Mistress, do it with intent and do it fucking now.
“I had it specially made, my steed,” she told him, approaching the bed. “It has many functions and I’m hoping all of them are pleasing.”
“Baby,” he growled.
She looked into his eyes and what she saw made her lick her bottom lip.
He jerked at his arm bindings.
“Baby.”
She got to the side of the bed. “Are you ready to be tailed, beast?”
“Yeah,” he grunted.
“Are you ready to perform for me?”
He was ready driving up to her house.
“Fuck yeah, Amélie.”
“Oh, you please me,” she whispered, entered the bed on a knee and gave him what he needed.
She needed.
She settled at his side, slightly behind him, and slid the lubed end of the plug through his crack until she found his hole and he watched her face, his neck twisted, his chain pulling.
She turned her gaze to his.
“Tail me,” he growled.
She drove that plug home.
At the swift, unbelievably outstanding feeling of fullness, a grunt tore from his chest, exploding in the room, and he heard her soft noise of pleasure but he got no more from her. Or he did, he just was so gone, he couldn’t focus on it.
This was because Amélie turned it on and she didn’t take him there easy. That thing vibrated up his ass, thumping right where he needed it, doing it violently.
And Olly performed.
He had no choice but to perform but that didn’t matter.
He’d do it for hours. Days. Years.
It was just that … fucking … phenomenal.
He drove his hips through the air, his body arcing, giving all his weight to the bindings at his wrists so he could thrust up, fucking nothing, feeling everything, including Amélie sliding a hand soft and sweet down the back of his thigh, up the inside, over his clenching ass, through his long tail.
He could take no more.
He turned his head, his chain pulling, his hips still pumping, and thought he caught her eyes but he couldn’t tell.
He was gone, hers, all hers, everything she gave him was everything he was free to be, everything he could be.
Everything he just fucking was.
For her.
Focused on nothing but the sensations she’d created coursing hot through his body, his cock an aching pulse, his balls drawn up feeling so full they’d burst their restraints, his nipples shooting equal measures of pain and pleasure up to radiate over his scalp and down to grip his cock, balls, and hole, his ass clenched around his tail.
Not to mention he was too busy begging, “Mistress, please.”
“Come, Olivier.”
He instantly arched and did it insanely.
And goddamned fucking proudly.
Driving his cock into the air, he shot, his plug thumping up his ass, his dick exploding, the position of his body yanking violently at the clamps at his nipples at the same time it pulled up his balls at the scrotum.
It wasn’t phenomenal.
It was goddamned motherfucking sensational.
And he couldn’t stop his groans of, “Yeah, fuck yeah, fuck yeah,” as his cum arced through the air and hit a towel.
He thought his orgasm wouldn’t stop, didn’t want it to stop, wanted to have that as long as he could have it, wanted to give it to Amélie, and as ever, she knew what he wanted.
So she didn’t allow it to stop when she cupped his balls and gave them a firm squeeze.
Her touch rocketed every-fucking-where and his back arched even deeper.
“Fuckin’ fuck,” he grunted, cum still streaming. “Yes, baby,” he pushed out.
When finally he was spent, she released him, took the vibrations of his plug down low, and Olly sagged immediately, hanging from his bindings.
He heard rather than saw the towels being swept away and felt his arms being released. One then swiftly after, the other.
Unable to stop himself, he dropped forward, face in the bed, ass in the air.
He felt Amélie settle at his side, her hand light and soothing on the skin of his hip, curving over his ass, her voice gentle even as she said, “Get used to this particular positon, Olivier. You’ll be in it a lot.”
“Great,” he muttered.
He heard her soft, contented laugh and his hips bucked when she threaded her fingers through his tail.
Fucking hell, she did it for him.
Christ.
She was perfect.
And Olly knew in that moment that he’d do anything for her.
For as long as he had her.
Which he hoped like fuck was a very long time.
“It suits you wonderfully, mon amour,” she purred admiringly.
“Glad you like it,” he told the bed.
Her hand left his tail and came to his hair where she gripped it and he lifted his head because he had no choice.
Olly was looking at her.
She was looking at her hand in his hair.
“You haven’t cut it since we met,” she said reflectively.
He had other things to do, like work, sort through the stuff fucking with his head, and getting his shit jacked by a beautiful redhead who he was falling in love with.
“No,” he agreed.
Her gaze came to him as her grip tightened. “I like it like this.”
Then she’d have it like that. He was not a man-bun, lumbersexual type of guy but if she wanted to take a grip on his hair, he’d give it to her.
Fuck, tailed ass in the air, it was pretty much a given he’d give her anything.
Suddenly, she let him go but just as sudden, she gripped him by the hair again. This after she shifted up from his side toward the pillows, throwing a leg over his body, and then she slid down.
With her hand forcing it there, Olly had his face buried in her pretty pussy before his mind caught up to what she was doing.
Then he had his tail up his ass vibrating deeper.
“Baby,” he whispered against her cunt, not even going soft, his dick started getting hard again, but needing her permission, wanting nothing more than to bury his tongue deep.
“Eat,” she ordered.
He ate. Fuck, he took everything from her sweet pussy, drenched with her response from watching what she’d given him, he’d given her, cupping her ass and pulling her into him so he could devour her.
She gave him more with his tail as she did it. She gave him more with her noises as he did it.
And when both of them were desperate and his hips were thrusting, rocking the bed, she grasped his hair again, yanked his face out of her sex, and slithered down.
She turned the plug up all the way and rasped, “Fuck me, beast.”
He didn’t even feel himself positioning. He just drove into her hot wet and drilled her. Out of control. Wild. Savage.
Just like his Amélie liked it.
He felt her come and distractedly heard it, his focus again scattered, ass, cock, balls, his chain pulling, the taste of her in his mouth, the smell of her, their noises, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to wait for her order to blow.
Luckily, she gave it.
And he blew, driving her by her pussy up the bed while doing it, only stopping and clamping down on her to hold her to take his fucking when his restrained legs wouldn’t allow him to move with her.
He was spent, bucking weakly into her, his face in her neck, his breaths coarse against her skin when she turned the plug all the way off.
Olly again sagged, resting some weight into a forearm but giving her the rest of it.
Amélie didn’t seem to mind, her hand drifting on the skin of his back, his ass, his hip.
Not phenomenal. Not sensational.
Motherfucking colossal.
Everything, from releasing his dick from his jeans at her front door to right then, her hand moving on him gently, petting him, soothing her beast.
He caught his breath and gathered his wits.
Just as he did this, she asked, “Are you hungry, Olly?”
His head came up and he looked down at her.
Then he burst out laughing, his head jerking back with that, his laughter having a grunt as his chain pulled, so he dropped his face and shoved it in her neck again.
When his laughter died, she asked, “Well, are you?”
Something struck him and that wasn’t funny.
He looked at her.
“You tailed me.”
There was something there, if he accepted it, which he’d done, and they both knew it.
Jenna and Barclay both told him that Doms gave subs things to lay claim. Mostly jewelry. Bracelets, cuffs, necklaces, chokers, nipple chains, cock rings.
Usually, these things could be worn visible so that out at a club or at a party, another Dom would know a sub was claimed. Or even out in the ordinary world, a Dom would know their sub was walking around, wearing their mark. Sometimes, these things were from past relationships and a sub would wear them simply to indicate which way they swung so a Dom eying him or her would know.
But Olly knew what was up his ass was that kind of gift.
She hadn’t given that to anyone else.
And he wouldn’t take it from anyone else.
Yeah, he’d made his decision about how their chat would go on Sunday.
And Leigh had made hers too.
As these thoughts cycled through his head, feeling great, Olly watched uncertainty wash across her face before she hid it but she couldn’t quite control it seeping into her words when she stammered, “Are you … you seemed keen—”
He cut her off so he could take her out of that place in her head.
“It’s beautiful, Leigh-Leigh.”
She relaxed under him.
“And packs a punch,” he went on, giving her grin.
“I had asked for added power.”
“Well, you got it,” he confirmed.
“Good,” she whispered, lifted up, brushed her mouth to his, and then dropped back down. “Now I asked my Olly if he’s hungry.”
“Plug up my ass, hard most of the drive, you think I’d stop for food rather than get here fast so you could jack my shit then make me a sandwich?”
He felt her body tremble with her laugher under him.
It felt fucking awesome.
“Then let’s get you some food,” she said and it seemed she was making a move to slide out from under him but he lifted both hands to cup the sides of her head and Olly again got her complete attention.
“Thank you for my tail, baby,” he whispered and saw her face soften but her eyes started shining, almost like they were getting moist.
With that he knew it meant just what he thought it meant.
He also knew just how much that was.
“And my chain,” he continued and dipped low, touched his nose to hers and slid it down the side, down her cheek so he had his lips at her ear. “Rocked my world again, Leigh-Leigh. Fuckin’ beautiful.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart.”
He kissed her neck and didn’t confirm he enjoyed it. When she wasn’t part of the show, she’d watched.
She knew.
He lifted up. “Now feed me.”
She smiled then ordered gently, “Back to your knees, Olly. I’ll take care of you.”
He pushed back to his knees and she took care of him.
In his jeans, his shirt on but unbuttoned, with her pulling on a soft green kimono-type silk robe and tying it tight, they walked hand in hand to the kitchen.
And he finally took in her place.
The Amélie he met who harnessed his cock to the floor and paddled his ass before she made him ride that paddle with his dick was a woman who, if he was told she owned this house, he’d call the teller a liar.
Leigh, on the other hand, belonged there.
All around, white adobe walls, dark beams exposed in the ceiling, but splashes of color everywhere. Native American inspired rugs over the tiled floors. Slouchy, comfortable-looking furniture you wouldn’t feel like a twat if you spilled your beer on it. Big, colorful toss pillows. Prints on the walls.
It was all rugged, rustic, southwestern or Indian or Mexican, nothing contemporary or elegant, nothing to break the feel this was not a place to see, it wasn’t a place to be, it was a place to kick back and hang.
Though, in the great room (which wasn’t strictly great, it was snug and smallish, and downright cozy, another indication this wasn’t a place she entertained, this was intimate to her, private) he reckoned the print over the adobe fireplace was an original DeGrazia.
She took him to a kitchen that had a high bar lined with stools that marked it from the living room and let him go to keep moving.
Only there did he see the money. Restaurant-quality fridge and stove. Imported Mexican tile, and not the kind you could buy in bulk at some tourist place. Battered copper backsplash behind the range with the only hint to her heritage, slanted fleur-de-lis stamped in the corners.
“My assumption was, that body of yours needs a good deal of fuel,” she stated as she rounded into what looked like a short hall at the side of the kitchen. “Though I didn’t know your preferred fuel. So I got a lot of everything.”
Olly really fucking liked the idea of Leigh going grocery shopping, getting food in, trying to find things he wanted.
He’d have to share what he liked.
And he was looking forward to discovering the same from her.
On these thoughts, he heard a door open and stood in the kitchen, staring down at the tile when a gorgeous, sapphire-eyed Siamese cat with chocolate boots, face, tail, and ears slunk into view.
The thing was weaving around the legs of his jeans before he noticed a hefty notch had somehow been taken out of one ear, there was a slight hitch when it moved its right hip, and that it had lost some of its tail.
But Olly stood frozen, staring down at it, doing this because he was unable to process Amélie having anything less than perfect, most definitely her ownership of another being. Even this house, as laid-back as it was, was still perfect, every inch.
“That’s Cleopatra.”
He tore his eyes from the cat to look at Leigh standing six feet from him, watching her pet with a look of pure affection on her face.
Fuck him.
Fuck.
Him.
Jesus, she was beautiful.
“She needs to be contained in the laundry room.” Her attention came to his face. “She’s far too curious to be able to roam free while we play.”
“Looks like she’s got a limp,” he observed before asking, “And what happened to her ear and tail?”
The affection slid from her face as some strong feeling slightly twisted it and she turned away, giving him her back to open the fridge.
“She’s a rescue,” Leigh shared. “They thought she was about eight when I got her a year ago. Malnourished. Dehydrated. The vet who cared for her liberated her from her old owners, who apparently had a child who liked to inflict pain.” She leaned back to look beyond the fridge door to him.
Leigh had adopted an older, abused cat.
Fuck, it was rare anyone adopted older pets and taking one on that had been abused and might have issues …
He looked down at the cat sitting in front of him now, staring up at him with curious, intelligent eyes.
“She like to be picked up?” he asked.
“She likes all forms of attention,” Leigh answered.
He bent and lifted the cat.
She started purring and trying to climb his shoulders, snuggle his neck, and she did both immediately.
“Stasia is probably hiding,” Amélie continued. “She’s older. I rescued her when she was twelve. She’s fifteen now and very friendly once she gets to know you. This will be around the time you have duffel in hand, ready to leave. And this she’ll watch you do with some satisfaction from a window far away.”
“So I take it you’re an animal lover,” Olly noted.
She came out with arms full of deli bags topped with three bags of bread.
She dumped it inelegantly, and he thought adorably hilariously, all on the bar counter.
“Yes,” she declared. “And for your information, your fabulous new toy as well as your cuffs are not real hair or fur. They’re synthetic. The best of synthetics but they absolutely are not real.”
He grinned at her, massaging her cat’s neck. “So you’re an animal lover,” he repeated.
“I work at a vet.”
Olly blinked.
Leigh stared down at the shit on the counter. “All right. I have roast beef, turkey, honey ham, provolone, Swiss, Cheddar, every condiment under the sun, and white, sourdough, and rye bread.”
“You work at a vet?” he asked.
She looked to him.
“Well, volunteer. The vet I took my last cat to, and sadly, the cat passed, has a heart that veritably bleeds. He does so much pro bono work, it’s a wonder he doesn’t sleep on the couch in his office, which he does, but not because he doesn’t have a home, because he works too much. He also is known not to take pets abandoned by their owners at his practice, something that happens shockingly frequently, to a kill shelter. He shelters them and re-homes them. Because he’s known for this, people drop other animals at his business. Dr. Hill shelters those and re-homes them too. Recently, he had to increase his space because of this. I donated to help with that, and to assist in keeping his overhead down, two and a half days a week, I work for free in his back office doing billing, answering phones, and scheduling appointments.”
“You work for free for a bleeding-heart vet,” Olly intoned.
“Yes,” she easily confirmed. “It’s not tremendously enjoyable work but a bonus is I get to play with the animals when I’m there. Now what kind of sandwich do you want, darling? Because it might take me a year to list all the kinds of chips I bought and we should get to that.”
Olly’s dad had three dogs, two cats, and four parakeets. Olly’s dad and his mom had always had pets while Olly was growing up and they’d taught him, his brother, and his sister not only how to respect but give a happy life to animals.
Olly’s father would be cautious and unsure of an Amélie in her expensive heels and clingy dresses.
He’d have absolutely no problem with a woman in faded jeans and southwestern necklaces who volunteered for a vet and adopted flawed animals no one else would want, no matter how gorgeous they were.
“Roast beef,” he whispered and at his tone, her head twitched and her focus on his face intensified. “Provolone. Mayo. Rye. And I’ll pick the chips after I go get my bag.”
“Olly—”
“I love animals, Leigh-Leigh.”
Her gaze dropped to her cat still in his arms before it came back up to his.
And she gave him the soft.
She said nothing to what he said nor did she bring attention to the moment they’d just shared.
At the same time she did.
“Don’t let either of my babies outside,” she said quietly. “And watch for Stasia. She’s the master of the great escape.”
“Wouldn’t dream of letting her out,” he returned but took Cleopatra with him and kept hold of her as he got his duffel, shifted it from its position outside to that same place inside.
He went back, asked where the chips were kept, found she did not lie when she said it’d take a year to list them, and went for the old standard. Taco-flavored Doritos.
He set Cleopatra free when he sat on a stool opposite Leigh at the bar and she put a full plate of food in front of him, going back to the fridge to get him a beer.
She placed the opened bottle next to his plate while he took a bite of the massive sandwich she’d piled high with beef and cheese as she asked, “Do you have pets?”
He shook his head, chewed, and swallowed.
“Lost my dog ’bout four months ago. Giving it time. I’ll know when it’s right and then I’ll get another pup.”
“I’m sorry, Olly.”
“Me, too, babe. He was a great dog.”
She nodded. “They all are.”
“So you volunteer at a vet, what else do you do?” he asked.
She shrugged but her expression shifted in a way he didn’t get.
“Not much, actually. I have an adviser who assists with the investments and board functions I inherited from Dad, but I do have to have a hand in all that and it takes time, if not much.”
“Lady of leisure,” he remarked, hoping it came out teasing.
She looked to the countertop and muttered, “Unfortunately.”
But Olly didn’t like that from her, not the look on her face, not the tone of her voice.
Not at all.
“Leigh,” he called and got her attention again. “What gives?”
“I don’t like charity work,” she told him immediately, and confusingly. “For my ilk, that means fund-raising. Mother was gifted with that. I abhor it. I also don’t like sitting on boards as it’s tedious in the extreme, and I have a seat on eight. My great-great-grandfather made our money. Assembly lines. He built them. He made a fortune from them. My grandfather saw the merits of selling that business and investing in technology. He was ahead of his time and had an uncanny knack for seeing in the future. He invested and taught my father to invest in things that no one would ever imagine would soar. Xerox. Google. Those kinds of things. My father loved it, buying, selling, taking risks, monitoring the rewards. Me, I don’t have that love.”
“So, young age, you inherited all this from your dad and took over but don’t like it much.”
“That’s the gist of it,” she said.
Olly swallowed a chewed chip and asked, “You trust this adviser?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Implicitly. He also worked with Dad.”
“So hand the shit you don’t like over to him and find something you do like.”
“It isn’t that easy, darling.”
“How isn’t it that easy?” he pushed, throwing another chip in his mouth.
“There’s only one thing I’m good at,” she smiled, “and I give that away for free.”
He didn’t find her amusing and his tone was low when he stated, “You aren’t your sexuality, Leigh-Leigh.”
She hesitated a moment before she replied softly, “Touché, Olly.”
“Okay, babe, Xerox? Google?”
“Yes,” she repeated. “Though we’ve long since sold our shares in those.”
“So you got money.”
“I do,” she confirmed.
“Then stop investing it in shit you don’t care about and invest it in you. You like animals, go to school and become a vet tech. Fuck, be a vet. You find it’s not that that trips your trigger, it’s something else, find what it is and do it.”
She looked startled for a second, genuinely, deeply, not hiding from him how much what they were discussing troubled her, something he hated but also fucking loved that she gave it to him so he could give back to her, before she gave him the soft again and whispered, “My sweet beast is also wise.”
Sensing the importance of what they were discussing, honored by it, even so far as moved by it since it was coming from his Leigh-Leigh, Olly gave her the soft, too, feeling it in his face and hearing it in his voice when he replied, “Easy to look in from the outside and have the answers, sweetheart. It’s always that way. Harder to be up to your neck in it and find your way out.”
“Yes, wise,” she reiterated.
Man, but that felt good, the first and the second time she said it, not only that she felt that way, said it and meant it, but that “it” was indication he did have something to give to her.
Something important.
Something meaningful.
Something that wasn’t about wealth or class.
Something that meant a fuckuva lot more.
Olly wasn’t moved by that.
He was thrown by it.
In a seriously good way he really fucking liked.
“You’re giving compliments, do it closer,” he ordered, making an effort to keep the rough of emotion out of his voice, and luckily succeeding.
The time to lay that on her was their talk on Sunday.
Now, her laying this on him, it had to all be about his Leigh.
He saw her shoulders straighten. “You’re being very bossy, Olivier.”
“Good, that means you might paddle my balls later. Now, get your ass over here so I can kiss you and finish eating.”
She looked adorably irked, and it was totally fake, before she stomped over to him.
He took a tug from his beer as she made her way, turned only so he could curl his arm around her waist, pull her to him, and he dropped a short, wet kiss on her mouth.
“Great sandwich, gorgeous,” he said when he lifted away an inch.
“I’m glad you like it.” She snuggled closer. “I’m hoping you enjoy dinner tomorrow much, much more.”
His eyes dropped to her mouth. “Thinking my Leigh-Leigh has something special planned.”
“Oh yes.”
“Lookin’ forward to that, babe.”
She grinned.
He touched her mouth with his and kept his arm around her waist as he turned back to his plate.
“Hurry, Olly. Before we go to bed, I want to take you to the stables and show you my horses.”
He turned again to her and looked down at her robe. “In that?”
“I’ll go get dressed.”
“Good call.”
She leaned in and kissed his jaw then pulled from his arm and he twisted on his stool to watch her ass in her silk robe as she moved down the hall.
When she disappeared, Olly caught sight of a fluffy beast lurking at the side of the couch. It had a mess of gray, white, and black fur, some of it missing in patches around its haunches, yellow eyes inspecting before she saw she had Olly’s attention and she slithered out of sight.
Leigh and her beasts, in search of flawed perfection she could give everything.
Olly finished his late dinner and did it grinning.
* * *
After their tour of the stables (she had two horses, both palominos, but a stable with four stalls), the bedroom she led him to was not the bedroom she’d worked him in.
It was a master, roomier but still cozier because it was more lived-in, master bath open to the room at the back through a double-wide arch.
The king-size bed also had four posts, distressed wood that looked untreated, spirals at the posts, carvings at head-and footboard. Creamy sheets and comforter set off with lime, orange, bright purple, and red toss pillows, some of them having embroidered Mexican crosses on them.
He had no idea what she’d planned. His guess, Amélie leading him to her personal space, it was going to be Olly and Leigh.
Regardless if she intended to play with him, right then it was just Olly and Leigh.
And he had to give her the honesty, so until he was done doing that, it needed to stay that way.
Therefore before she could say or do anything, he tugged on her hand and took her to the bed.
“Olly—” she started.
“Shh, Leigh,” he shushed and said no more.
He guided her to the bed, sat on it, and tugged her again until she had no choice but to come up on the bed, one knee at his hip, the other knee swinging up on his other side, straddling him.
“Sweetheart—”
“I need ten minutes to talk to you, Leigh.”
She studied his face then her body tensed in his hold.
“We’re talking Sunday,” she declared.
“Not about this. This has to be out there. And, baby,” he pulled her closer, “I’ve trusted you a lot and you’ve never let me down.”
A small flinch hit her face and he quickly amended.
“You let me down once for a good reason. But now, I need to ask more of that trust. I need you to listen to me. Hear me out. And try to get where I was coming from when I perpetrated a fuckup that, because of you, ended up not fucking me up. This isn’t about our chat on Sunday. Been living with this for a while and I gotta come clean.”
She was staring at him, lips parted, eyes uneasy, frame still tense in his arms when he was done speaking.
“You perpetrated a fuckup?” she asked when he didn’t go on.
“I lied on my application for the club. I’d been in the life a couple of months, had two Mistresses. One who I’d had only one session with, that one I mentioned to you the other night. And with the other one, not many more.”
Her hands were at his shoulders, but as he spoke, they slid down to press against his chest.
He gave her that distance but locked his hold to share when he was done with that.
He waited.
She made him wait.
Finally, she gave it to him.
“Olly, that wasn’t smart.”
“I knew I was in over—”
“I could have hurt you.”
“You didn’t, Leigh. You—”
“You could have ended up with someone like Delia and who knows how she plays.”
He felt the sneer twist his mouth as he declared firmly, “That wouldn’t have happened.”
“A Domme could have bound and gagged you and done things—”
“A Domme didn’t do that. My Domme is you and you took care of me. All’s well that ends well.” He tried to pull her closer. She resisted but he didn’t give up and she relented, all while he finished, “and it all ended well. You saw to that.”
“This life is not a game,” she snapped. “A risk. A dare. An adventure.”
“Bullshit, babe. It’s all that and it’s more.”
She saw his point but kept right at him.
“Then it’s a game you take seriously and you don’t enter it unprepared.”
“I knew that my first session with you. I told you I got a friend, he part-owns the Bolt. He’s been unbelievably fuckin’ cool with me. So if I had something I needed to work through, he helped me out.”
“Well, thank God for that because the person who should have been available to you to work things through was me. And although I had concerns your previous Mistresses were severely lacking in talent, I did not have the information I needed to guide you through. And to make my point so you won’t mistake me, I absolutely would not have worked you the way I worked you our first session, our second, our third, our fourth, you’d see the social room perhaps in months, are you following me?”
She was pissed.
Seriously.
But he had a point to make too.
So he was going to make it.
“I needed that.”
“I know how it goes, Olly. I understand that need. It lives in me as well, but also I’ve been in the game longer than you.”
“That’s not the need I’m talking about,” he shot back. “It is and it isn’t. What I’m trying to say is, I didn’t need anyone I didn’t connect with dicking around with me and I needed a Mistress who would not dick around with me. I needed precisely what you gave me even though I didn’t know it at the time. I don’t know what powers are at work, Leigh, that led you to me, but I’d had shit jacking with my head for so long, swear to Christ, I thought it’d break me.”
Her body loosened with despair at his words, her face suffusing with it, and Olly took advantage. He yanked her closer and didn’t stop talking.
“I needed you to try me. I needed you to push me. I needed from you what you said you needed from a sub. I needed you to break me. I needed someone to throw me in the deep end and force me to learn how to swim. But I needed to do that knowing she was right there to pull me to the surface. And you were right there, Leigh, not pulling me to the surface. Leading me up and forcing me to surf a fucking killer goddamned wave.”
Not surprisingly, she was stuck on what he’d said before.
“You thought that shit jacking with your head would break you?”
“A man like me does not let a woman lead him around by his dick … literally,” he bit out.
Her hands slid from his chest to curl tight around his neck.
“Darling—”
“But I do. I get off on it. Fuckin’ love it, if your hand is on that dick. I’m a man like me and that’s how I like it. It took time to come to terms with that and it was half you working me, half watching your don’t-give-a-shit attitude, deep in that life and reigning supreme in your place in it, doing that with pride and dignity. If I got some Mistress pussyfooting around with shit, not narrowing my focus, it’d keep half my mind open to the possibility I’m jacked up and I can’t have that. I can’t live with it. I can’t live with who I am, what I need. And if I was left open to that overwhelming me, I’d turn it off, bury that part of me, let it infect me even as I forced myself to lose it forever.”
“Then maybe you being incredibly foolish by lying to Aryas about your experience was a stroke of good luck.”
He hadn’t realized his own body had gotten tight, as well as his grip on her, until he relaxed both at her words.
“But only because it was me who claimed you that night and that’s only because I’m exceptional at what I do,” she finished snobbishly.
Olly fought a grin. “That’s part right, part bullshit, baby. Always, in anything, it takes two to tango and you tailed me tonight so I’m gettin’ that you’re exceptional, fuck yeah,” he said the last two words lower, rougher, pulling her closer. “I get that totally because I’m the one who gets that good. But you get it good, too, and you let me know that which was part of what I needed.”
Even though she was melting, she still held on to her pissy, declaring, “For a rookie, you’ve got excellent instincts.”
Olly shoved his face in her neck, murmuring, “Latent talents an exceptional Mistress had the chops to pull out of me.”
“Indeed,” she muttered.
“You done bein’ pissed?” he asked.
“There’s no going back. You’re correct, all’s well that ends well. It gives me the shivers to think of what you’d encounter if you’d found someone other than me, but you didn’t.”
She drew in breath but she wasn’t done.
“And it’s important to note that even if we’d discussed all of this in the beginning, any good Mistress, this goes without saying including me, would have sensed what you needed through that discussion, as well as while working you, and given it to you while they played with you.”
He pulled his face out of her neck and looked to her.
“It had to be you,” he whispered.
Her tawny eyes warmed so much Olly felt their heat on his face as she moved closer, smoothed a hand over his cheek and cupped his jaw.
“I love that you think that,” she replied softly. “And I think you know what you did was reckless. I actually think you knew it at the time. But it’s done. I just need to know two things. The first, trust goes both ways and I have to trust you’re always honest with me.”
He had more to give her but he hadn’t lied about it. It was just that it wasn’t until Sunday that she’d get it.
“Other than that, I’ve always been honest with you, baby.”
She nodded, thankfully letting that go without busting his balls or digging into it for the next seven hours so he regretted giving it to her in the first place.
Said a lot about her. A lot he liked.
Then she asked, “Is that shit still jacking your head, Olly?”
“Fucked, but truth of it is, bent over a table, ass strapped open, on display, my Mistress throws down for me after a woman I don’t know but know I detest says she’s gonna fuck me raw, that shit didn’t break in me. After enduring it forever, watching you do that, it just…” he paused, unable to fully explain it so he used the only word that came close, “disappeared.”
Relief infused her features, she totally melted into him as she stroked his cheek with her thumb.
“This makes me happy, darling.”
“Not as happy as me, Leigh-Leigh.”
“I’ll bet,” she whispered.
“Now, we done?”
She kept stroking his cheek as she nodded.
Fuck, that was a helluva lot easier than he thought it would be.
Then again, this was Leigh.
“Good,” he muttered.
And it sucked but he had one more thing to get into before they got past this and he wanted this in their rearview so he didn’t delay.
“Fooled Weathers during my interview, Leigh,” he noted.
She studied him a beat before she gave him the knowledge that she caught his meaning.
“You’re worried Delia did the same.”
“Yep,” he replied.
She gave him a small grin and shifted a hint closer. “Although I do believe you might have partially got one past Aryas, I’ll also note that you did the same with me. However, Aryas had his reservations in accepting Delia’s membership and this is why she’s watched. As for you, he had no reservations and he told me quite plainly he was keen to have you at the Honey, having you there for me.”
She said this to assuage his concerns but Olly did not like it one fucking bit, seeing as Weathers doing that, especially with Olly’s size, and strength, if he was another kind of guy, it might have put his Leigh in jeopardy.
On this thought, his brows drawing together, he said low, “I got the impression I wasn’t pulling one over on him but he approved me anyway, and you’re sayin’ he did this just to give me to you?”
“There aren’t many who could pull one over on Ary,” she replied airily. “Or any of us, really. This why what happened to Evangeline so rocked all of us.”
“That put you out there, Leigh,” Olly pointed out.
“I do believe we both can agree it didn’t,” she said softly, still stroking his cheek with her thumb.
And fuck him, she was right.
But that didn’t mean they were done with this topic of conversation.
“That might be true, but this doesn’t make me feel better about the current situation at the club, Leigh-Leigh,” he told her.
“You had references,” she stated.
“Yeah, and they all lied,” he reminded her.
She nodded smartly, not appearing like this bothered her at all. “What I mean to say is, at least one of your references must have convinced him, perhaps not of your experience, but of your character.”
Barclay.
“My bud who owns the Bolt is a decent guy,” he murmured.
“And Aryas knows the scene and most of the players. He’d definitely know the owners of the Bolt. If this bud of yours,” she said that last with her lips twitching, “spoke for you, and Ary respects him, that was all he needed.”
At least that made sense.
And it made him feel better.
Which meant this conversation could be over.
Thankfully.
Snaking a hand up her back into her hair, he pulled her mouth down to his and he kissed her.
Then he rolled her in the bed.
And after that, Olly took his time, and so did she, memorizing every curve and swell of her beautiful body while he made love to his Leigh.
Including fucking her against the door, vanilla sex was never as good for Olivier.
Then again, maybe it was just that, in their present moment, whatever that moment was, it was always the best when it was with Leigh.
And after she came back to him once she’d cleaned up, both of them naked, he fell asleep for the first time with Leigh tucked into his front, a cat curled at the small of his back, another one he could feel curled on the pillow behind his head.
Stasia melted early.
Olly wasn’t surprised.
She was Leigh’s.