Read Online Clark, Rachel - Alicia's Awakening (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) by Rachel Clark - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rachel Clark
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sucking on the ball like it’s some sort of pacifier, or gagging on the damn thing until I have drool dripping off my chin.
Thankfully, Doug doesn’t try to put it on me. He simply hands it to me and goes back to what he was doing. At first I wonder if he means for me to put it on myself, but since he didn’t actually tell me that, I’m content to just hold it in my hand. I suspect it is a tangible reminder and a warning of sorts—speak and I will end up wearing it.
I don’t plan to speak.
In fact for the next twenty minutes I not only manage not to speak, but I also manage not to wind myself toward a panic attack. It’s actually kind of nice not to feel the need to fill the silence. When it comes to friendly chatter, I suck at it anyway. In fact, by the time the buzzer goes off on the oven, I’m wondering why I even bother to strike up a conversation with some people.
I really do need to work on my social skills. My entire adult life seems to be awkward conversations with people who don’t really want to talk and boring conversations with people who don’t want to listen. And somehow I’ve missed the social “gene” that tells me how to cope, how to not talk when I don’t need to, and how to politely leave a conversation when I want to.
It’s certainly a skill I could have used the day nearly a month ago when Lisa was ranting about women’s rights.
Of course all of these quiet, meandering thoughts bring me to my absent best friend. It’s true in the past year or so that we haven’t seen each other very often, but we do speak almost every day on the phone. I smile at the clause Doug and I have written into my submissive’s training contract—half an hour each day is my time to speak to Lachlan. It cannot be denied for any reason, not even as a punishment for appalling behavior. It was the one thing I was determined to hold sacred, so I’d been almost surprised when Doug didn’t argue with me on it.
Lord knows he’d held fast on everything else.
I’m not sure what being able to continue talking to Lachlan each day means about mine and Doug’s relationship—such as it is. Technically he is a Dom training a sub, nothing more. Maybe I’m being very silly and more than a little naïve, but I wouldn’t have let him write sexual touching and full intercourse into a contract if I hadn’t felt some sort of connection to him. Perhaps the emotion is only on my side, but for now I choose to keep my illusions.
“Come on,” he says as he carries our dinner into the dining room. I’m very relieved to see that one of the chairs has a thick, fluffy towel covering the leather seat. He places the plates onto the table, helps me into my seat, and then sits down. He’s arranged the place setting at the corner of the large dining table, him at the end, me sitting at a right angle beside him. I’m close enough to touch him, but still able to see his face.
Considering that he leans over and caresses my breasts gently before asking me if I want salad, I think that’s the point. Until that moment I’d actually forgotten I was naked on the top half, too.
He grins at the soft moan that escapes me.
“Eat,” he orders. I nod and lift my knife and fork. It truly smells delicious. Even if he didn’t make this himself, it’s obvious that he knows how to pull together a decent meal. It makes my freezer full of microwave meals look rather pathetic, actually. We eat quietly for several minutes. Again I somehow manage to keep my inane chatter to myself. It’s actually quite liberating not to have to talk.
“How was your day at work?” he finally asks as if we’re having a normal meal together. I suppose it would be kind of normal if I wasn’t naked, wet, still just a simmer below horny as hell, and didn’t have my tits hanging out.
“Long.” I say the word with great feeling. It had been the longest damn day of my working life, especially that last forty-three minutes. He chuckles evilly, obviously
Thankfully, Doug doesn’t try to put it on me. He simply hands it to me and goes back to what he was doing. At first I wonder if he means for me to put it on myself, but since he didn’t actually tell me that, I’m content to just hold it in my hand. I suspect it is a tangible reminder and a warning of sorts—speak and I will end up wearing it.
I don’t plan to speak.
In fact for the next twenty minutes I not only manage not to speak, but I also manage not to wind myself toward a panic attack. It’s actually kind of nice not to feel the need to fill the silence. When it comes to friendly chatter, I suck at it anyway. In fact, by the time the buzzer goes off on the oven, I’m wondering why I even bother to strike up a conversation with some people.
I really do need to work on my social skills. My entire adult life seems to be awkward conversations with people who don’t really want to talk and boring conversations with people who don’t want to listen. And somehow I’ve missed the social “gene” that tells me how to cope, how to not talk when I don’t need to, and how to politely leave a conversation when I want to.
It’s certainly a skill I could have used the day nearly a month ago when Lisa was ranting about women’s rights.
Of course all of these quiet, meandering thoughts bring me to my absent best friend. It’s true in the past year or so that we haven’t seen each other very often, but we do speak almost every day on the phone. I smile at the clause Doug and I have written into my submissive’s training contract—half an hour each day is my time to speak to Lachlan. It cannot be denied for any reason, not even as a punishment for appalling behavior. It was the one thing I was determined to hold sacred, so I’d been almost surprised when Doug didn’t argue with me on it.
Lord knows he’d held fast on everything else.
I’m not sure what being able to continue talking to Lachlan each day means about mine and Doug’s relationship—such as it is. Technically he is a Dom training a sub, nothing more. Maybe I’m being very silly and more than a little naïve, but I wouldn’t have let him write sexual touching and full intercourse into a contract if I hadn’t felt some sort of connection to him. Perhaps the emotion is only on my side, but for now I choose to keep my illusions.
“Come on,” he says as he carries our dinner into the dining room. I’m very relieved to see that one of the chairs has a thick, fluffy towel covering the leather seat. He places the plates onto the table, helps me into my seat, and then sits down. He’s arranged the place setting at the corner of the large dining table, him at the end, me sitting at a right angle beside him. I’m close enough to touch him, but still able to see his face.
Considering that he leans over and caresses my breasts gently before asking me if I want salad, I think that’s the point. Until that moment I’d actually forgotten I was naked on the top half, too.
He grins at the soft moan that escapes me.
“Eat,” he orders. I nod and lift my knife and fork. It truly smells delicious. Even if he didn’t make this himself, it’s obvious that he knows how to pull together a decent meal. It makes my freezer full of microwave meals look rather pathetic, actually. We eat quietly for several minutes. Again I somehow manage to keep my inane chatter to myself. It’s actually quite liberating not to have to talk.
“How was your day at work?” he finally asks as if we’re having a normal meal together. I suppose it would be kind of normal if I wasn’t naked, wet, still just a simmer below horny as hell, and didn’t have my tits hanging out.
“Long.” I say the word with great feeling. It had been the longest damn day of my working life, especially that last forty-three minutes. He chuckles evilly, obviously
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