One in Waiting (Reedsville Roosters Book 2), page 8
Someone needed to talk. Emilie. Ren. Both.
He gave Emilie a little nudge with his beer bottle and she met his gaze again. “Tired of what?”
“Everything. Being a Beaudelaire and just…being.”
That sounded defeatist to him. Emilie had never had an overabundance of passion when he knew her, but she’d never been depressed. Or had she been? Could she have been all that time and he was too immature and ignorant to know it?
“Sometimes, people don’t want to fight over every little thing anymore,” she said softly. “To constantly try to assert themselves in an environment where they could be anything but themselves.”
“What would they have you be?”
“I don’t know now. I’m a lost cause. When I was a teenager, I was being groomed to be someone’s pretty little wife. Someone with nothing interesting about her besides the health of her checking account, because obviously I wasn’t intelligent enough to aspire to a worthwhile career, right? I wasn’t going to be shepherded into any of the family businesses and groomed to run them like Henri. I was just supposed to wait until someone decided what my purpose was and put a ring on my finger.”
At the word, Leary looked down. Her finger was bare, of course, and Emilie probably liked it that way. He couldn’t help but feel that was a shame. She could have been someone’s wife. There was nothing unlovable about her. Never had been, even if he hadn’t really understood why she was the way she was. And wasn’t that why he’d liked her so much in the first place—because she was a bit unpredictable and unusual?
She turned to Ren. “Are you ready?”
He looked up from the picture and finished off the rest of his beer. “I guess so.”
“You can wait for me in the guest bedroom. Second door on the left. The light’s on. Make yourself comfortable.”
Ren cut his gaze to Leary. Leary nodded. Ren was a consenting adult. Leary wouldn’t get in the way of him experimenting, assuming he wasn’t going to see permanent harm from it. Of course Leary would step in then.
Ren started for the hallway. When he was out of earshot, Emile said, “There’s a box of albums and mementos in the living room television cabinet.”
“Alison’s?”
Her nod came slowly. She opened her mouth as if to qualify the response, but pressed her lips together without saying a word. She followed Ren’s footsteps down the hall, and a moment later, the door closed.
Leary stood frozen by uncertainty. He wanted that box. Would grab it and run with it if he thought he could get away with the theft. At the same time, he felt obligated to escort Ren. He didn’t want his lover to think he wasn’t curious or didn’t care, but he wanted time to himself to sort through the photos and who knew what else without anyone watching or scrutinizing his reactions. Emilie and Ren could keep each other busy for a little while. Hopefully, he wouldn’t consider that a mistake later.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Emilie leaned against the dresser, hands clasped over her belly, and watched Ren’s foot twitch and his persistent flicking of this thumb nails against his cuticles. He sat on the foot of the bed, fully dressed, and looked at her, but not. His gaze flitted from her face to his feet to the ceiling fan and all over. She hadn’t gotten the impression that he was the sort of man who couldn’t hold eye contact, but circumstances had changed. The power balance had tipped the moment he’d decided to step into the room. Perhaps he didn’t know what he was getting into, but he’d made the conscious decision to explore his limits. She wasn’t even sure why she’d agreed to help him. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have. She didn’t play dominance and submission games with people connected to her in some way, and Ren certainly counted as being connected. He was Leary’s lover, and given their strained relationship at the moment, she should have stayed far away from him.
But she couldn’t. His neediness had been evident when he followed her to her truck. She’d thought at first he was going to advocate on behalf of Leary, but he’d surprised her. He’d wanted something he thought she could give him. And she could, probably. She just wasn’t sure she should.
Slow and easy. Think twice, act once.
She closed her eyes to shut out some stimulus, drew in a long breath, and let it out slowly as she unclenched her fingers. When she raised her eyelids, Ren was watching her out of one side of his eyes and picking at his nails.
She’d need to get him calm before she did anything. Simple enough to manage, though.
She turned on the two bedside lamps and shut off the bright overhead light, moving slowly around the room with Ren’s gaze following. “What position do you play?”
“Position?”
“Mm-hmm. On the team. What’s your position?” She rested her hand on the closet’s knob and waited for his response.
“I’m the right-fielder.”
“Has that always been your position?”
“Up until I was twenty. Played shortstop mostly before I got pulled into the major leagues. Team needed a right-fielder, so that’s what I became.”
“Leary played first base.”
“Still does. Or did.” He grimaced. “Not real sure what our team status is right now.”
“And how do you feel about not knowing?” She opened the closet door, and again, waited.
He raked a hand through that dark, thick hair, and then stilled both his hands. “Shit. I don’t know.”
“Not bothered by the chance you might not go back?”
“Less bothered than I should be.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I’m like Leary and have given lots of thought to other things I could be doing. Or what I’m going to be doing after baseball.”
“You don’t have a drive for it anymore?” She was curious about his profession, yes, but wanted to ferret out a bit about his personality. He may have presented himself as alpha, and he likely was that in many ways, but he probably had some parts of his life he wanted to cede control of. She wanted to know those—what his soft spots were.
“Dunno if I do. I mean, I like playing, don’t get me wrong. I like stepping out on those fields and having my glove and cleats on, but is baseball my everything? Nah. Never has been.”
She turned on the closet light and scanned the row of boxes atop the shelf. “But you went into the major leagues. Obviously that was a goal at some point.” She stood on tiptoes and grabbed the sides of a short, wide, gray box.
“And once I got there, I felt like I’d already hit the pinnacle. It was kind of like, ‘yay, I did it. Now what?’ ”
She set the box on the floor just outside the closet and turned off the light. “I’m guessing baseball wasn’t your career goal when you were a child.”
“Nah.” He shrugged again. “I figured I’d be just another ranch hand at my granddaddy’s place, and I was content with that idea. He was the one who pushed me to do something else. He wanted me off the ranch. Out of the dirt, he said.” Ren chuckled. “Funny that I just ended up in a different kind of dirt. That red clay’s hard to wash out.”
“You like the dirt, then.”
“I sure as shit don’t mind it.”
She carried the box to the right-side nightstand and removed the lid. She hadn’t yet decided what she’d be using from that box. Quinn had been easy, but annoying. He asked in specific terms for what he wanted, but Ren only had a general idea of what he wanted. She’d have to adapt along with him and change course when necessary.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked.
“You can ask me whatever you’d like. That doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” She turned and found him craning his neck around to see her. His pale gray eyes were fixed on the empty air where her ass had been before she’d turned.
He looked away quickly. She couldn’t even get mad. He was only a man.
“What was your question?”
“What did you want be when you grew up? I can’t imagine that a society girl from New Orleans would picture herself on a ranch in the middle of nowhere.”
“You’re right. I didn’t, although I liked the idea of middle of nowhere very much when I was a child.”
“Why’s that?”
“I was tired of having people around me. I was born into a family in which appearances were as important as being seen. I didn’t want to be seen. I did everything I could to avoid it, and in my family, that was considered a major personality flaw.”
“I don’t see it as one.”
“It’s the least of my failures, I can assure you.”
“I think you make yourself out to sound more unpleasant than you actually are.”
“Sweet of you to say, but Ceria would disagree with you. The truth is, I didn’t give much thought to what career I’d pursue, because I assumed I wouldn’t have one. I figured I would go to college, sure, but my parents never encouraged me to study any particular thing like they did my brothers. Ending up on this ranch was…probably the best thing that could have happened to me.”
“Accidental rancher.”
She nodded, realized he couldn’t see it with his head turned, and said, “Yes. That’s a good way of putting it. I was surprised when I inherited it, but the Waynes explained I was the logical choice. I think they left it for me to pass to Alison.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Good people. They always said they’d get their rewards in heaven. I like to think they are. Also, there was no one else to run it. Their children had their own ventures or wanted to live closer to people.”
“And you didn’t.”
“And I didn’t. Right.”
She didn’t know why she was telling him. She wasn’t much for sharing, and in fact, avoided it as much as she could. Ceria knew almost everything about her now, but even she hadn’t known Leary’s name up until recently. Emilie’s strategy had always been to spread the misery around—tell a little bit to a lot of people. Never enough information to one person that they could put it all together in one tidy package and judge her.
But she was telling him, and…and it felt good. Perhaps it was because they were things she should have been telling Leary, but couldn’t. Ren was like a proxy. She was under no pretense that he wasn’t going to pass everything he learned along, and she wasn’t going to tell him he couldn’t. Having the buffer would make it easier for her. She wouldn’t have to look at Leary’s stern expression and tell him in her own words how fucked up she was. And she wouldn’t have to stand there and read his disappointment.
“I don’t know what you expect from me, Mr. Ardent.”
“Call me Ren.”
“In this room, I’ll call you Mr. Ardent. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. I don’t know what you need, and I won’t pretend to make myself out to be more than what I am. I may be experienced, but I don’t know everything. I need some time to learn what your limits are and see what buttons to push.”
“How much time do you need?”
“How much do I have? If all you want is sex with some extras, I could certainly fiddle your knobs while Leary fucks you.”
“I could get that from anyone. Not like women haven’t offered to be in the middle of our sandwich before.”
She bet there were plenty who’d love to be in that place. “Didn’t want to take them up on it?”
“Not really.”
“Not into threesomes?”
“I didn’t think I was.”
She chewed on the mysterious response for a moment, and then sat on the edge of the bed. “How long will you be here?”
“We’ll be here at least until the end of your Camp Out.”
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.
“That long enough?”
“Doubtful. You need some time to process. Recover.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Easy to say until you get into the thick of things. We’ll just scratch the surface. See what you like, and you and Leary can experiment more at home. You need to be able to tell him what you want. Let’s start with you taking off your clothes. Fold them neatly and leave them on the chair beside the bed.”
He cast a quick glance at her over his shoulder and stood. He wrestled his boots off and stuffed his socks into them.
“Leave those under the chair.”
He did. By the chair, he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his lean, muscular torso and sculpted pecs. Broad-shouldered and long-armed. Built well for baseball, just like Leary.
“No tattoos?” she asked, leaning back on her elbows.
“Nah.” He unbuttoned his jeans and let down the fly. “Can’t think of a damned thing I’d want to advertise on my skin. Leary’s got a bunch, though. Forearms and biceps. Across his chest, too.”
“I didn’t notice.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, you were pretty distracted.” As instructed, he folded his jeans and shirt and left them in a tidy pile on the chair. Crooking his thumbs beneath the waistband of his briefs, he looked up at her. “Underwear, too?”
She canted her head, considering. It wasn’t necessary. She didn’t plan on fucking him. Didn’t really need to touch him there, and she generally avoided it with submissives. If they needed to come after all was said and done, she preferred letting them handle their own business. Sex was rarely in the equation because she simply wasn’t aroused.
But, if she was going to help him sort out his kinks, his dick or ass might have to come into play.
She nodded.
He stepped out of his briefs, folded them over once, and set them on top of his clothes. He was unabashed in his nudity, and stood with hands on hips, not so much for her inspection, but likely because he was used to it. He certainly had plenty to show off.
His cock, even flaccid, hung thick and heavy between his muscular thighs. She’d seen a hint of it back at the hotel beneath those thin swim trunks, but in the flesh, it was even more impressive.
“Leary’s a lucky man.”
“Tell him that the next time he complains about deep-throating.”
She pushed up an eyebrow. She simply couldn’t imagine Leary doing it. Leary on his knees to do anything but grab a baseball?
“I mean, it’s good-natured,” Ren said quickly. “He does it because he wants to.”
“You don’t have to explain yourselves. The dynamics of your relationship are none of my concern.”
“I just…I didn’t want you to think anything was wrong.”
“Why would I?”
“I mean…” He put up his hands. “Here I am. With you.”
“Exploring BDSM doesn’t constitute a relationship or even infidelity, and besides, you’ve already stated you have an open relationship and his consent to be here. No one’s hiding anything.”
He put his hands back on his hips, then apparently changed his mind and clasped them together at his back.
“You seem anxious.”
“Thinking too much.”
“That’s usually my problem. What’s on your mind?”
He gave his head a hard shake. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. I’m not going to play with you if I make you uncomfortable.”
“You don’t make me uncomfortable. I mean…” He grimaced, closed his eyes, and shook his head once more. “You should make me uncomfortable, but you don’t. And that bothers me.”
She said nothing, just watched. He pulled that full bottom lip between his teeth and tapped his foot against the hardwood floor.
“My life would be so much easier if you were a witch.”
“You don’t want to do scenes with a witch, Mr. Ardent. Trust me on that.”
“I don’t mean that part of my life. I mean the part after this—where I have to go home with Leary.”
Once again, she waited for him to clarify his thoughts. She wouldn’t probe, because in her experience, it wouldn’t help him think. When he had some words, he’d give them to her.
“If I were Leary, I’d be thinking about trying to win you back and playing happy family.”
“That seems out of the blue.”
“It’s not. You’ve got that perfect kid. Don’t tell me you don’t look at Leary and wonder if you could pull yourselves together for her.”
“I honestly haven’t.” She was too busy trying to pull herself together to worry about coupling.
“Not once?”
“Not even once.”
“So, you don’t want him?” The pleading quality of his voice told her his line of questioning was more about fear than pride. An excess of pride, she might try to correct with her crop or with some humiliation. Fear was seated in emotion, in history.
“He’s yours, Mr. Ardent. You don’t need to worry about there being any fireworks between the two of us.”
“You don’t love him?”
Love? Love and Leary in the same sentence…did they even belong together? Once, she would have thought so. But she’d been a child back then, and so much of her worldview had been gauzy, her mind a muddle of heightened emotion and crippling self-doubt. Love. What’s that?
She sighed and lifted a blindfold from the box. “No. I don’t. Mr. Ardent, have a seat on the bed. When you’re ready, we’ll begin.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
She sounded like she meant it. Unflinching and sincere, as far as he could tell. She didn’t love Leary. Somehow, that didn’t give Ren the amount of relief he’d hoped for. All the same, he moved to the bed and sat on the edge, folding his hands atop his lap.
“I’m going to cover your eyes, Mr. Ardent. Blindness will add to your sense of anticipation and prevent you from trying to subvert me before I’ve had a chance to explain what I’m doing.”
He picked at the cuticle on his right thumb. “You’ll talk me through everything you’re doing?”
“Hands still, Mr. Ardent.”
He stopped fidgeting, but the compulsion remained.
“Yes, I’ll talk you through everything and give you the chance to refuse. I’m assuming nothing tonight because I don’t know you well enough to do so. Guessing can be harmful, not just to your physical wellbeing, but to our budding trust.” She slipped the blindfold over his eyes and tightened it behind his head. “All dark?”
