Dwelling in Desire Ch. 08

Get a grip you sick bastard!

"Come," I said firmly as I took her arm and led her up the cobblestone path to the bistro. I bit back a moan when I heard her sharp intake of breath at my purely accidental choice of words.

She had to be wet beneath that skirt. Wanting. Desperate for cock. Fuck.

"Good afternoon Mr. Donovan!"

"Afternoon Henry," I greeted warmly. "Table for two. In the garden if possible."

"Yes, yes! We have a garden table for you. By the fountain yes?"

"Perfect," I nodded. Someone was getting a fucking thick tip.

The man knew his stuff. He quietly led us to our table, presented the menus and specials, and then made himself scarce.

We'd arrived just after the lunch rush, so things were quieting down, and tables had been cleared and re-dressed. It was perfect for my first lunch with Bethany.

"So," Bethany smirked as she gracefully laid her napkin in her lap. "A really good pizza place huh?"

She raised her left eyebrow in an adorably accusatory fashion.

"Hey, they serve pizza," I chuckled. "I recommend the classic sausage."

"Is that right?" Bethany scolded me with her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.

"Hello, how are both of you this afternoon?" came a soft voice.

It was Victor. He was very soft-spoken, but always gave excellent service. The timing could not have been more perfect.

"Doing well my friend. Victor, this is Bethany. Bethany, Victor," I gave the intros.

"A pleasure Miss Bethany," he bowed.

"Likewise," she returned, as she blushed again.

"So can I bring you both drinks? Do you need a moment?"

"Bethany?"

"Umm, I'll have a lemonade please."

"Same."

"Two lemonades. And you need some extra time to look over the menu?"

"Well Curt, that classic sausage you mentioned doesn't sound half bad."

"You heard the lady," I grinned. "Thin crust classic sausage."

"Right away," Victor collected our menus and disappeared.

Silence.

I was grateful for the trickling sounds of the water in the fountain, and the soft classical music humming from the hidden speakers in the bushes.

"This is a really nice restaurant," Bethany mused as she took in the surroundings. "The garden is gorgeous."

"Five star," I added. "Best service of any place in the city that I know of."

"Yes," she agreed. "Service is everything. I can see why you like it so much, and I haven't even tasted the food yet!"

"Well I can hardly wait to see the look on your face as you taste it Bethany," I grinned wickedly. "It's the best east coast style pizza in Chicago."

"You prefer east coast style then?"

"Well it's where I'm from. I grew up in Boston, though it's been years since I've been back," I shrugged, my eyes instinctively diverting to the crisp white tablecloth.

Silence.

What was wrong? I looked up at Bethany, to find her making a sour face.

"What, you got something against Boston?" I chuckled nervously.

"No, not Boston exactly. Just the Sox."

I let out a full-bellied laugh.

"Hey, watch it," I teased. "We're very sensitive about our baseball."

"Sorry," she muttered, unable to wash the sour look from her face at the mention of my home team.

"Nah, don't be. I'm not nearly as sensitive about baseball as my brother is. More of a basketball man myself. Celtics all the way."

She nodded.

"Yeah, it's been interesting to see how they've adapted since signing Kyrie," she replied seriously.

Holy fuck.

"You follow basketball?" I tried not to gawk at her, lest she take offense.

"Yeah," she nodded. "My dad's a Bulls fan, and my mom's a Timberwolves fan, so I watched double my share of games growing up."

"Wow," I laughed. "A whole new dimension to Bethany. I have to say, I'm impressed. Decorator and sports connoisseur in one. I don't imagine there are many of you."

"Probably not," she smiled. "Just don't watch a game with me."

"What, do you get mouthy? Cuss and throw pretzels and shit?"

"I don't throw things, but I do get mouthy. And I'm loud."

I couldn't stop myself from grinning like a fox.

"I would pay money to see that."

"We'll see how hard up for cash I am come Christmas time," Bethany smiled.

"Deal," I agreed, just as Victor arrived with our drinks.

"Here are your lemonades. Your pizza will be out shortly," he bowed again and disappeared. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

"Speaking of Christmas, do you ever go back east for the holidays? You said you had a brother. Does he still live in Boston?" Bethany inquired.

I couldn't help it. I flinched. I could feel my expression darkening, and though I struggled to generate a poker face like Joe, I wasn't quick enough.

"I'm sorry," Bethany whispered. "I'm sorry I meddled. It's none of my business."

"Am I that transparent?" I muttered.

She read me like a book. Not that I hadn't given her plenty to work with.

"I wouldn't say you're transparent Curt. But it seemed like I hit a nerve, and I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's okay," I shook my head slightly. "My brother..."

"What?"

"No, that's a road I don't want to go down with you. Not right now anyway. Let's just enjoy lunch!"

And thank Christ, a beautiful pie appeared before us.

"Damn Victor, that looks fantastic!" I crowed.

"May I serve your slices?" he offered.

"Sure!"

Quietly and efficiently, Victor served Bethany first, then me.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Are you good Bethany?" I checked.

"I'm good. This looks amazing!" she licked her lips.

Instead of groaning at her little pink tongue slipping out for that split second, I turned to Victor. "We're okay for a while Victor. Thanks."

When he was out of earshot, my inner brute surfaced again.

"Eat," I ordered.

"Yes sir," she mocked me, but there was a twinkle in her eye as she did so.

Dear God.

I watched as she lifted the slice to her mouth, and took her first bite.

Her eyes closed.

"Mmmmmm," she moaned. "Mhhmmygodd, that's good. Mmwow."

I bit my lip, relishing the sounds of pleasure I drew from her, however indirectly.

And now that I was good and ready to split through my pants, I focused my attention on eating.

"Mmmmmm," I moaned in consensus, taking my first bite. "Ffcckkyyyeah."

I chuckled as she looked up in surprise at my pizza muffled expletive.

"Sorry," I chewed.

"No," she giggled, "It's that good."

"Mmmhmm."

Four slices and two lemonades later, I sat back in my chair with a sigh, and basked in the classic aura of satisfaction and remorse that was food coma.

"Ufff," Bethany sighed. "Now I'm ready for a nap."

"Well the seats in the Jag do recline," I replied before I could stop myself.

"Ha! Nice, Curt," she laughed, shrugging off my stupid remark.

Who can really be mad while in the thick of food coma?

Before I could think of anything more idiotic to say, she piped up, all business again.

"You know Curt, since our appointment today was all but derailed out of consideration for possible house guests, perhaps we should discuss that a bit further. You've a huge guest suite in the downstairs. Any particular friends or relatives you expect to entertain? It would help me to know who I'm designing that space for."

"Ah, that makes sense. Well let's see, I suppose my ma. I've been meaning to have her out for a while now. I want her to be comfortable in the house if I'm at work, and be able to do everything she would do in the comfort of her own home."

"Naturally," Bethany nodded. "Does she have a particular design style? Or a favorite color?"

"Ha, design style I can't comment on I'm afraid, but she always loved purple."

I frowned in concentration.

"Yeah, purple. That's the best I got," I shrugged.

"No worries," she laughed. "I'll see what I can do. As it happens, I like purple too. And, it just happens to be in this season."

"Marvelous," I groaned. "Just promise not to make the walls purple okay? I want her comfortable, but I don't want the room to look like Barney exploded. I have to pass by it every day after all."

"You can keep the door closed," Bethany teased.

"No Barney!" I ordered, trying to stifle my laugh.

"Okay, okay!" Bethany giggled. The laughter was contagious, and I savored the way her face turned all rosy.

"Maybe I'll have her out for Christmas. I know she will love whatever you do."

"No pressure or anything right?" Bethany smiled.

"She will love it."

I looked at her with conviction, and she lowered her eyes shyly. She was so fucking modest. I hadn't even seen her work, and already I knew she was going to knock my socks off. I could sense it.

"Well I sure hope I don't let you down."

Victor appeared again, with annoyingly pertinent timing.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Bethany?"

I prayed she'd order dessert. A coffee. Anything.

"Nothing for me thank you. I'm full," she replied with her signature demure smile.

"That's it for me too Victor, thank you."

Victor knew me well enough not to place the check mid table.

"Please let me Curt," she begged.

"No," I replied simply. Resolutely.

Some things never changed, and in my book this was one of them.

She must have expected I'd refuse because she said nothing further on the matter. It didn't take a genius to read her, as far as her financial situation. She couldn't afford the price point of this place.

I'd brought her here to impress her. Like a fucking love sick idiot. What was I doing?

"You know, I'm supposed to be serving you, not the other way around," Bethany teased.

I looked up at her after depositing several bills in the leather folder.

"Is that what you want Bethany? To serve me?"

Her eyes widened. The silence stretched like raw egg refusing to drop from its shell.

Fuck. I was such a royal fucking moron.

"Don't answer that Bethany, I'm sorry," I apologized, quickly standing and helping her out of her chair.

"Come," was what I wanted to say, as I took her arm more gently than before, and escorted her quickly back to the car. I needed to stop this. The fucking double entendre. The teasing. The reckless domination. I was driving myself crazy, and it wasn't fair to Bethany.

Even if she was enduring the same excruciating arousal as I, Bethany had been a perfect lady. I was the jackass making things difficult. If having her was even possible, I didn't fucking deserve it.

Fuck fuck fuck.

We rode in silence for a while before she finally spoke.

"Well, thanks for a delicious lunch, Curt."

Sweet. Professional. Appropriate. Fuck.

"It was my pleasure Bethany. Truly."

I didn't have to look at her to know she blushed. It was in her nature. Just like other things. Obeying. Pleasing. Submitting.

Submitting.

I shook my head at the lustfully conjured imagery. I had to stop thinking of her this way. She was my decorator, nothing more. I needed to get her away from me.

We pulled into the dark garage and into my space. I needed her to get out of my car before I fucking raped her. The pressure was thick, tingling in my balls. I needed to get her away. Immediately.

But now that I'd established this fucked up pseudo Dom-sub etiquette I expected her to comply with, which she did, I couldn't deviate from it. It wouldn't do.

I clenched my fists over the steering wheel in silent frustration. If nothing else, I would have this. Her submission, as I helped her in and out of my car. Simple as the act was, it was powerful and intense, and spoke volumes of our sexual similarities. It was a drug. And I wanted it again and again.

"Stay," I ordered, more subtly than before.

I didn't bother to try and conceal my erection this time. What would be the point? I'd already made an ass out of myself. The cat was out of the bag.

As before, I took her bag before grasping her tiny hand and helping her out.

Wordlessly, solemnly, I straightened and led her promptly to her car.

"Curt?"

"Yeah," I responded gruffly.

She didn't deserve my clipped tone, but I had to get her away. Any more lollygagging and I'd have her bent over the hood fucking her brains out, heedless of any resistance, and to hell with the consequences.

"What do you say we call a truce?" Bethany asked softly.

"Sorry?" I blinked, confused.

"Look," she sighed, "I know what's going on in your mind right now."

I seriously doubted it.

"And I feel the same."

What the...

"But we can't do this to each other anymore. We need to keep things professional. You can't do that if I'm always with you, tempting you. And I can't focus on my work if you're always around, tempting me, teasing me and...seducing me."

"Just a second," I protested before she cut me off.

"No, it's alright. I'm guilty as well. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She gazed up at me with genuine remorse.

"That's why we have to call a truce."

This girl was amazing. So smart. Intelligent. Sweet. And honest.

She felt the same. She felt the same. She felt the same.

So what was the problem? I needed to take her home with me immediately and tie her to my bed. I'd call Joe and tell him I was taking the week off. Better yet, two weeks. It would take at least that long to exhaust the heat that had been simmering for what felt like decades in my groin.

"You're right. And I'm sorry too. I've been a jackass."

Bethany shook her head.

"You've been very kind, if a bit bold. We're attracted to each other. I don't want to deny it anymore. But this is no way to work together. We have to make a pact to fight it. Together. Apart," she laughed.

"Alright," I nodded. "You have my blessing to proceed as you see fit, and I'll do my best to stay out of your way."

"Well thankfully, at this juncture, it shouldn't be too difficult," she smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. "All the furniture will be on order, and we pretty much just wait. It will be a couple months or so before everything is in and I can schedule deliveries and installations and such."

"Great," I muttered. But I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut.

She was right. I needed to back off. It was the correct thing to do. Correct. But it felt wrong. All I felt was pain and despair. Never mind the fact that I was horny as hell.

I barely managed a smile as I opened her door for her one last time.

"Drive safe," I warned.

She cast me a sideways glance, one that hinted at dirty thoughts mirroring my own. She said nothing. Just gently shook her head as she smiled and shifted into gear.

I turned as casually as possible, and walked briskly back to the office. I didn't need to watch her drive away.

---

So it was a woman. Bethany Jenkins, to be specific. I'd called my PI the minute I spotted a rather youthful looking Jetta in one of the reserved spaces for Donovan & Martell. Curt's Jag noticeably absent.

None of our clients drove a Jetta, or even had kids who drove one. It had to be her.

Curt had foregone his usual take out or Cup-O-Noodles for some mysterious "meeting" that he refused to comment on.

I'd had enough of his crap. Curt was supposed to be the reliable one. Mister Practical. Mister Dependable. Mister Predictable.

Miss Bethany Ann Jenkins resided in the modest suburb of Des Plaines, and was twenty years his junior. I sure as hell wouldn't have predicted that.

Holy Christ. Kate and I had nearly the same age difference. I was old enough to have fathered her. But until now, I'd barely thought anything of it.

Was I really any better than Curt? The more I thought on it, the more my consciousness replied with a "Hell. Fucking. No."

If anything, I needed to aspire to be more like him.

Curt was discreet about his affair, respecting the privacy of his new girlfriend, whereas I had disrespected Kate in the worst way. Fucking her against her will, parading her around in public like a trophy, humiliating her just because I enjoyed it, and then taking ownership of her when I had no right.

I was the sick asshole. Not Curt.

Sure, Kate had fallen in love with me in the end...or had she? Was it real? Was everything romantic between us simply an illusion?

Jesus. Was Curt right? I replayed his blunt but powerful monologue in my head.

"Is she still in love with you? Or has she finally come to her senses?"

The prospect of our love being an illusion, founded on an act of violence no less, made me physically ill.

What if Kate didn't really love me? What if she only thought she did? What if this was all a product of my demented perverse need to control? To lay claim.

"Margot, can you get Dr. Greenberg on the line for me?" I asked as I strode through the waiting area to my office.

"Yeah," she replied absently, staring at her monitor as she picked up the receiver.

The woman was a workaholic of sorts, but not to the extreme of Curt or I. She was efficient, discreet, and after twelve years, utterly indispensable.

Closing my door behind me, I saw my phone light up as she paged me, "Dr. Greenberg on line one."

I sighed with a combination of appreciation for her competence, and dread for what I was about to do.

"Greenberg," I greeted. "Yeah, it's been a while. Look I'll come right to the point. I need a shrink. Anyone you can recommend?"

As I jotted down names, I felt disturbingly numb. Resigned.

I'd just found Kate. The woman of my dreams. And I had to prepare myself to let her go.

---

I entered my apartment like a fucking zombie. I'd rehearsed what I was going to say, over and over again, and it still didn't sound right. Nothing sounded right. Nothing could be right about sending away the one woman I'd ever truly loved.

"Joe!" she came running up to me.

I smelled cookies and pot roast. God the woman was perfect. Perfect. So much so that it was starting to make sense why I shouldn't have her.

"Hey baby," I greeted as cheerfully as I could.

She pounced on me, hugging me tight. I kissed her softly, and gently grasping her shoulders, I walked her backward step by step until we reached the sofa.

"Darling, I need to talk to you about something," I began, sitting her down gently.

Her eyes sparkled. She was so beautiful. So perfect.

"What is it?" she scooted closer to me, a mix of youthful eagerness and motherly concern.

"Darling, I've made an appointment for you with Dr. Andrea Rafferty. She's a psychiatrist, recommended very highly by my physician. I want you to go and see her. Talk to her about what happened between us. What you say will be kept confidential, and she will not judge you."

I was gripping her hands in mine now, staring down at them, so petite in comparison.

"I need to know that your feelings for me are legitimate, and not simply a product of my pressure on you...my control over you," I explained.

Swallowing and looking up at her finally, I continued, "Kate, I raped you. I fucking raped you. I took what was not mine to take. I...hhit you. I abused you. I degraded you in the worst fucking ways. I hurt you. And I need you to come to terms with that before you agree to stay."

I forced myself to look her in the eyes, though it killed me as they shone bright with tears.

"I love you Kate. I love you so fucking much. I still want you so badly it hurts. But this isn't right, the way things have gone. I understand that now, and I'm sorry. I wish I could offer you something better than that. I'll pay for the doctor's visit, and any other...appointments you may need to deal with this."

At that, Kate ripped her hands from mine.

I prepared myself for impact, and sure enough she smacked me one good. I winced from the pain. The burn was sharp, and far too short-lived.

I wanted it. I needed it. It was one step closer to redemption.

"I'm pregnant!" Kate shouted, tears running down her beautiful face.

My jaw dropped, and I inhaled sharply.