He should get that straight with her.
Or end it.
“Shit,” he whispered, engaging his phone.
He put it to his ear, considered hanging up as it rang, and if she called back or asked about it, telling her he’d accidentally dialed when she picked up.
“Chevalier, is everything okay?”
That sweet voice sounding worried.
Worried.
About him.
Everything he’d been thinking flew from his head.
“Yeah, baby, everything’s cool,” he lied.
“I…” She hesitated more than a beat before she went on, “I’m surprised you called. It’s football night. Aren’t you riveted to your screen with your laptop open beside you, assessing your rankings in your fantasy league?”
He started chuckling. “A woman who drinks pretentious drinks knows about football?”
“Olly, big men tackling each other … please.” She drew out the please in a cute way. “What do you think I’m doing tonight?”
That was unexpected.
“You watch football?”
“Do I need to repeat myself about the tackling?”
He chuckled again and suggested, “I think we need to stop this conversation before you ruin football for me.”
“Perhaps that’s a good call,” she replied, also sounding like she was laughing.
And it sounded nice.
“So, if everything’s all right, Olly, why are you calling?” she asked.
She was calling him Olly.
She called him Olivier when she jacked him. She did that exclusively. He’d noticed last night after sharing his nickname that she didn’t use that name in play. She called him other things when she was working him, but if she used his name, she only used his full name. Never Olly unless she’d slipped them out of the scene.
Now she was calling him Olly.
And she was bantering with him. She wasn’t ordering him to go find his harness and put it on. And that worry had crept in her tone again.
Maybe she was worried he’d called for the reason he’d actually called.
Because she knew he heard what she said and he needed to find out where both their heads were at and maybe, if his wasn’t where hers was, move what they had in the direction it needed to go.
“Olly?” she called.
More worry, her voice beginning to sound stiff—not with authority, like she was closing down.
He didn’t like that wrapped around his name.
Not one bit.
“You just…” Fuck, fuck, fuck. “You said something the other night and you looked … I don’t know, gorgeous. When you were talking about your folks, you looked like you left something out.”
And what he didn’t mention, she’d talked about them in past tense.
He hadn’t pushed at the time even though he’d really wanted to, especially when that expression crossed her face.
And this wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it since last night, wondered about it.
He wondered about a lot of things when it came to Amélie. What she did when she wasn’t at the club. What kind of house she lived in. How she made her money.
Everything.
Fuck him, he was again in over his head but now in two ways.
One, he was treading water until she pulled him up to surf a killer wave.
The other one could have him going under.
“They’ve both passed,” she said softly.
His throat got tight, his stomach clutched, the reason he called flew out the window … and yeah.
He totally fucking could go under.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“That’s fine, Olly.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is. It’s sweet you noticed and called to ask. And it isn’t like it happened yesterday. This year, it’ll have been eleven years.”
Eleven years.
Fuck, she’d been twenty-two.
But he was confused.
“Eleven? For both?” he asked.
That was shitty luck and meant they both had to die young and when Amélie was young, taking that double hit around the same time.
“I know, it’s strange. They fought in the beginning but time wore on.” A smile entered her voice. “Dad would have lady friends,” she said this like it was amusing and he’d get why when she explained it. “I don’t think he chose any of them due to the fact he doted on me. And you can read that to the point he spoiled me rotten, if you wish, because it’s true.”
Olly had no doubt. If he had a beautiful, auburn-haired little girl with pretty tawny eyes, he’d dote on her too.
Fuck.
“Mom got remarried,” she continued. “They eventually got over it, also for me. And when she and my father were married and Maman was still with us, she did a lot of charity work. Her work with that meant a lot to her, so when she’d come back to see me, she remained involved in some of the organizations she’d worked with when she was in the States. They were both patrons of one and continued to be, eventually, when they mended fences, doing this together. There was an event and they went to it together. They were leaving, and I don’t know…” She paused. “The investigation showed there was something wrong with the man’s car…”
She paused again and with his gut tight at her words, Olly got concerned.
“Leigh-Leigh,” he whispered.
He heard her clear her throat and she finished, “Dad was helping Maman get in the car. The out-of-control car hit Dad’s car. Dad got crushed under his car and died within minutes. Mom was thrown mostly free but hit her head on a cement step.” Her voice dipped. “She lasted longer, but after a couple of days, we decided to turn off the machines.”
“Christ, shit, fuck, baby,” he ground out, feeling like a twat. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Made you relive that. I’m so sorry, Leigh.”
“I live with it every day, Olly, so you didn’t make me relive anything.”
The pain was in her voice, not deep, but she didn’t hide it, so she was right. But he could have done it when he was close so he could hold her.
On that thought he knew he was not going under.
She was.
Crawling under his skin.
“Nothing else to say, sweetheart. That sucks,” he murmured soothingly.
“You’re very right,” she replied softly. “I was exceptionally close with my father. We always had been. My mother, she didn’t know what to do with children.” Another smile in her voice, this one weak. “It could be why you think I act older than I am, because she always treated me like an adult. Unfortunately, we never got along. This, I see belatedly, is because we’re very similar. My mother’s brother and sisters say I’m an Emmanuelle clone. They say it’s uncanny. I even look like her, which I’m grateful for, she was lovely.”
If Amélie looked like her, she’d definitely been lovely.
She drew in a breath that he heard.
He waited for it and she gave it to him.
“After feeling angry, I got to the point I realized I have no regrets about Dad dying. As much as I would like it to be different, I came to hard terms with the fact that there’s nothing I can do to change what happened and he left me with something precious. This being that he made sure we had everything we could have while we had the time to have it.”
Another breath and Olly stayed braced even after she carried on.
“But I was only beginning to understand Maman. I was an adult and we were finally connecting in a place where she was comfortable. But I was still young, and stupid because of it, so I was resisting that. That resistance was slipping, we were beginning to share something wonderful, and now I wish I’d just let it go. Realized earlier what a remarkable woman she was and all she’d given me so she could have gone knowing I appreciated it and adored her, like I did. So, like I said, I live with it every day, darling.”
“I’m still sorry I brought it up,
Leigh-Leigh,” he replied.
“Yes, I can imagine, but strangely, it feels good talking about it. It always feels good talking about them, sharing with someone what a wonderful dad I had and what an extraordinary mother too. It’s like introducing them to you, or anyone I talk to about them for the first time, which is usually the last time because losing them both that way was such a tragedy, people learn the story and then don’t bring them up. I’d obviously rather introduce them personally, but at least I get this. So it wasn’t easy, but in an odd way, it feels nice.”
“Glad you can twist it that way.”
The smile was clear in her voice when she returned, “I’m not twisting anything, Olly.”
“Well, babe, all I can say is I don’t get it but I do. My dad’s alive and kicking, in a way. Mom died two years ago. It started when she was sitting next to him, watching TV. Pulmonary embolism. She died in Dad’s arms while he was phoning emergency.”
“Oh God, Olly,” she whispered.
“Sharing war stories, Leigh,” he said unemotionally, because he had to. After two years, he wasn’t over losing his mom in a way that remained so fresh, he knew he never would be. “It fucked up my dad. He’s with us and he can laugh his big laugh and give us shit but he lived for her. It’s like he’s there but he’s a ghost, just existing until he can get back to her.”
“That’s as heartbreaking as it is lovely,” she noted.
“I just see the heartbreaking, baby,” he replied quietly.
“I’m so sorry. Of course you do.”
“Not bein’ a dick. Just miss my mom, get it about my dad because I saw how they were with each other my whole life, but even though I get it, I hate seein’ Dad so unhappy.”
“And that must be horrible, to want him to be happy and not at the same time.”
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“Oh Olly,” she whispered in his ear.
She said nothing more but the way she gave him that, she didn’t have to give him more.
“So, how about we quit talkin’ about this shit,” he suggested.
“I’m all for that,” she agreed.
“Now, gotta admit, Leigh, I was born and raised in Phoenix. Had no idea we spawned gorgeous but pretentious, uppity women like you, even with French moms,” he teased.
“That would be because Phoenix didn’t spawn me,” she returned, her voice trembling with laughter, giving him relief because hearing it he knew he’d taken them both out of the heavy. “I was born in New York City.”
“That makes more sense.”
“Yes, and raised there, mostly.”
“Outside of France. Yeah, you told me,” he reminded her.
“Actually, what I mean is, when I was thirteen, before I started high school, Dad moved us here. He hated the weather in New York, hates humidity more so Florida and Texas were out…” There was a pause that Olly again braced through but he didn’t need to when he heard her again speaking through laughing, “And he had a daughter he spoiled rotten who was obsessed with horses and you can’t have horses in the City. So we were always in a car going to our house in Connecticut so I could be near my horses. He hated the traffic too. So good weather and I could be near my babies, we moved here.”
Their house in Connecticut.
Her ranch in the mountains.
Horses.
“Olly?” she called when he got stuck in his head.
“Nothin’ to say, Leigh.” He injected humor into his tone when thoughts of all she had that, if they went there, he didn’t give her and never could, weighed him down. “Not a big surprise you like horses.”
“No,” she agreed, still sounding like she was smiling. “I can imagine it also won’t surprise you that when I was eighteen, Dad hired a man to manage the stables on our land. A big man who was, as you put it, not hard on the eyes. So when he did, I had very interesting visions of fettering him in a stall and taking my crop to him.”
Surprising the shit out of himself, overriding the stitch of jealousy her words caused was him busting out laughing.
“Needless to say, when Dad was away on business, I managed to accomplish this feat when I was nineteen,” she said through his laughter.
“I bet he was gagging for it, baby,” Olly remarked.
“As we did it more than once, I believe that was true,” she replied. “Though, he was my first and I think I was able to handle that because I’d taken a crop to so many flanks before his. But even though he was my first, I’d come to terms with my nature before that and having him made me realize I couldn’t take that further until I knew what I was doing.”
Olly said nothing to that, unable to ignore that stitch as it was now vicious at the thoughts those words brought, because he was in the position to know she’d had a lot of training.
And further jealousy she’d “come to terms” with her “nature” before she was nineteen.
He wondered what that felt like—to be free to just be.
“Olly?” she called.
“I’m here,” he grunted.
“Darling, you’re aware that training for a Domme is often observing. Participating only to assist the Masters or Mistresses you’re training under. Sometimes, you don’t even touch a—”
“You don’t have to explain this, Amélie.”
“I think I do, sweetheart,” she whispered.
“There were others before me, I get that.”
“And there were others before me as well, Olly.”
He said nothing because that was true.
“I’ve never asked anyone to my ranch,” she declared.
Olly blinked at his knees.
“Say that again?” he demanded.
“Although I had certain things installed, no one has used them, not even me.”
“Baby, that means a lot,”—understatement, it meant a fuckuva lot, all of it great, and all that great tweaking him even more—“but like I said, you don’t have to explain this. I didn’t come to you a virgin.”
“This is true,” she replied.
“I mean, some things were virgin, but you took care of that.”
That got him a soft laugh.
“There’s enough judging in the world,” he went on. “The things we give each other mean too much to bring that kind of shit into it.”
He said the words and he had to live by them.
Since they were straight-up true, he had a feeling he could.
“He’s handsome, sweet, and wise,” she said quietly like she wasn’t talking to him.
The compliment hit him warm and sweet all the same.
“As well as a wise-ass,” he reminded her.
That got him more laughter.
Right, so having a normal conversation that didn’t end in her rocking his world through his cock, balls, and ass, instead rocking his world other ways when that was the last thing he intended with this conversation, now he needed to end this before his head got any more fucked up.
“We shared war stories. I now have proof the rich girl fucks the stableboy.” He continued through more of her laughter, “I can pretty much guarantee my Leigh-Leigh is gonna try me in a variety of ways tomorrow night, so I need to finish my beer and hit the sack. You cool with that, sweetheart?”
“I’m cool with that, Olly.” Her voice dipped. “And I’m glad you called. Though I would have preferred not to depress you with the story of my parents, it’s sweet you listened.”
“Anytime, baby.”
He said it. He meant it. He was fucked by it.
Clawing right under his skin.
“Thanks, Olly. See you tomorrow. Good night.”
“’Night, Leigh-Leigh, sleep good.”
“I will,” she promised, something in her voice he felt in his balls.
And just like his Amélie, she hung up, leaving him wanting more.
AMÉLIE
After hanging up with Olly, Amélie sat in her TV room with Stasia in her lap, the television on a game but muted, her hand in Stasia’
s thick long, gray, black, and white fur.
Unlike with Cleo, Amélie avoided the mottled, bare patches missing from Stasia’s haunches for reasons too hideous to call up.
So she did not.
She just enjoyed a rare moment of connection with her sweet kitty.
At the same time she enjoyed a moment of sweet relief that Olly had called.
Called and chatted.
Called and chatted, curious about her, concerned about how she’d been after her talk of her parents.
Called and chatted and bantered, just to call and chat and banter.
All this after all they’d shared together at the club.
All this after he’d heard what he’d heard when she’d spoken to Stellan.
All these gifts she gladly received, using them to help to sweep the fear away, incapable of stopping them from nurturing the hope that refused to slow its blossoming.
She’d been concerned all day about how Olly would react to her altercation with Stellan once his amusement had worn off. Once he’d had time to think about all she’d said and all it meant.
When he’d called, that concern escalated sharply.
The tone of his voice, so hesitant when he was always so open, turned that concern into a piercing pain that he’d called at the very least to be certain they established appropriate emotional boundaries.
But at worst, to gently end things as he was aware her emotional boundaries were already very blurred.
But now, her eyes on the television screen, her fingers tenderly stroking her furry baby, the feel of Stasia’s quiet purrs vibrating, she had no concerns.
She’d enjoyed a double delight that night, Stasia coming out for some love and Olly phoning her just to connect and more, do this connecting outside the activities of the club.
No, Amélie had no concerns.
Just sweet relief.
And that sweeter spiral of anticipation starting up yet again.
For she’d see him tomorrow night.
She had it all planned.
And it was going to be fabulous.
eleven
Baby
AMÉLIE
On Friday night, after Amélie gave her clutch to the staff at the front desk, she walked into the hunting ground of the Honey and saw Olivier immediately, sitting with a male and female sub at a table just off the far side from the entrance.