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 yo
u 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.”
&nbs
p; “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.”