tagBDSMDwelling in Desire Ch. 12

Dwelling in Desire Ch. 12


Hey Beautiful,

Don't go anywhere. I just ran to the store to get a few things.


I smiled as I read the thoughtful note he'd left on his pillow.

Beautiful. He kept calling me beautiful.

I'd always been called this. All my life. Frequently enough that it had grown tiresome, and I wondered if anyone gave a damn about my other qualities.

But I wanted to hear it from Curt. I wanted to be everything he wanted.

Looking at the alarm clock on his bedside table, I saw that it was almost eight a.m.

Ordinarily, I wouldn't feel so chipper at such an early hour, but it occurred to me that we had gotten to sleep rather early. And on empty stomachs at that. But there was no question as to why food had been the last thing on my mind.

We had slept together.

Curt, that man-God-being, had taken my virginity. Or rather, I had given it. And while things had not aligned exactly with my vision, it had been nothing less than amazing.

Yes, it had hurt, as I'd expected it would, but the sharp pain had passed eventually, to be replaced with a dull ache. A dull, beautiful ache that paired exquisitely with the intensity of Curt's eyes as he thrust urgently into me.

I couldn't fight off a sultry grin as I recalled Curt rolling on me during the night and taking me a second time. I had been sore, but eager to give him whatever he desired. And if he desired to come inside me...

But I had been the one to insist upon that little detail hadn't I? I'd begged him that first time. Begged him to release inside of me. And he'd grudgingly relented. After which he'd been distant. Curt had seemed conflicted, possibly even regretful.

I felt my expression turn bleak as I recalled his look of barely veiled anguish.

He'd said afterward that he wanted it. And would want it again.

Or had I dreamt it? Was I dreaming now? Was my fantasy being dangled before me, only to be ripped away?

But as I fisted my hands in the brand new Egyptian cotton sheets, I knew it was not a dream.

I flinched in surprise as I heard the garage door activate. He was home!

Moving from the bed, I realized I was totally naked and my clothes were again in need of a wash. Looking around frantically, I dashed naked through the bathroom to his closet as I heard the kitchen door downstairs.

Finding a navy blue robe on the hook by his closet door, I thought of how sexy it would look...how crazy it might make him. Me wearing his robe.

With a mischievous smirk, I quickly wrapped myself in it, becoming pleasantly dizzy from the masculine scent that enveloped me. Scurrying back through the bathroom, I checked myself quickly in the mirror.

Yup. Sexy.

After licking my lips and fluffing my already volumized hair a bit for good measure, I flounced cheekily from the master suite and down the stairs to greet him.

The tone-deaf whistling bouncing obnoxiously off the cathedral ceilings had me wearing a goofy grin as I reached the bottom of the stairs. I quickly masked it, donning a coy expression upon entering the kitchen.

Curt had turned on the fan above the range as he warmed the pan, so he didn't hear my approach. His hair was mussed and his morning scruff was tantalizingly dark.

"Beth, you're up!" Curt did a double-take as I breached his peripheral.

I smiled sheepishly as I took him in. The bland combo of white t-shirt and black track pants had never looked so good.

"As are you."

"Yeah well, I didn't want to wake you until I had breakfast ready. And I didn't want to bore you with plain ass scrambled eggs again, so I ran out and got some bacon and cinnamon rolls."

"Impressive, Mr. Donovan," I purred, leaning against the island provocatively. I wondered what had gotten into me, as I observed him swallowing in what looked suspiciously like nervousness.

"Yeah, by the way uh, you look..." he trailed off.

I grinned at his obvious lack of concentration from my ensemble.

"Just amazing," he shook his head in defeat at not having found better words.

But his words worked just fine for me.

"Thanks. Sorry I stole your robe."

"Keep it, I insist," he laughed. "It looks far better on you anyway."

I doubted that very much, having seen how lethal he looked in a towel. But if there was one man I wanted compliments from, even false ones, it was Curt.

"I thought you said you only knew how to make eggs," I teased as he turned to lay the bacon in the pan.

"Eggs-n-bacon falls under the category of eggs," Curt declared matter-of-factly.

"Mmm, lucky me," I grinned. "I love bacon."

"Well I hope you like it extra crispy, 'cause that's how I make it."

"My dad makes it that way too," I laughed. "Ever since I was a little girl."


Curt's back was turned to me as he focused on the stove, but I sensed something was wrong.

"Is that right?" Curt mused after a long pause.

"Yeah, so...can I help at all?" I offered.

"Uh, well...it looks like the oven has preheated so maybe you can handle the cinnamon rolls?" Curt suggested hopefully.

"Absolutely!" I smiled. "Where are your cake pans?"

The blank look on Curt's face had me debating over whether to laugh or just start looking through cupboards.

"Where do you keep your pans?" I simplified.

"Below there," he indicated to his left.

I nodded and began sifting through the cabinets, before pulling the closest thing to a cake pan I could find.

"This'll do," I muttered. "The rolls are in the fridge, yes?"

Curt nodded before returning his attention to the bacon. My mouth watered in anticipation as it sizzled and popped in the pan.

Once the rolls were in the oven, I hopped onto a barstool and observed him once again.

"So, this is...different," I broke the ice.

"Yes," Curt affirmed, "But in a good way, obviously."

His expression turned serious, and for a moment he abandoned his focus on the bacon. My heart skipped a beat as he pinned me with his gaze.

"Do you regret last night Bethany? Don't lie."

Those amber eyes were so intense. Filled with such fiery lust and dark secrets. Secrets I yearned to uncover.

"No," I answered honestly.

His mouth quirked a bit, but he said nothing as he returned to the stove.

We were silent for the next nine minutes as we waited on the cinnamon rolls. Curt set the bacon aside to cool, and expertly broke the eggs, one after the next. It was laughable how business-like he was about it.

Pulling the rolls from the oven, I began glazing them while Curt finished the eggs.

"Now all we need is some fresh squeezed orange juice," I mused, more joking than anything else.

"Fuck!" Curt cursed harshly, startling me. "I forgot to get juice!"

"It's okay Curt," I assured him as I giggled in amusement. "All that you've done here is amazing. I was kidding about the juice."

"No, I should have gotten some," he shook his head. "You obviously don't care for coffee."

It warmed my heart to know that he'd been paying attention. Feeling the need to comfort him, I abandoned my task and approached him.

"Look at me Curt," I said firmly, my hand moving to his thickly stubbled cheek, turning the tables on him for once. "You. Are. Amazing. Fuck the juice."

He grinned, and my bare toes curled on the cool marble tile.

"That's a dirty mouth you've got on you, little girl."

I bit my lip at the way he growled "little girl". My body tingled all over. I found myself flustered and shy, but wanting more.

"I don't normally swear."

"I know," he chuckled. "And if the eggs weren't ready, I'd bend you over that island and spank you for it. But alas, little girl, they are ready."

My eyes nearly popped out of my head at his amused but confidently issued threat.

Was he seriously talking about spanking me? And why did such a ludicrous suggestion fill me with butterflies?

"On the other hand, they're just eggs," he said with a sinister laugh. "If you want, I can make us a fresh batch after we get done."

"Get done?" I stammered.

His cocky grin firmly in place, Curt leant in and whispered into my ear, "Fetch us some plates, little girl."

Sweet heavens.


The look on her face was unmistakable. And unbearable. She wanted it. And here I had to go and make breakfast, instead of focusing on more important things like the warmth and wetness of her young tight pussy.

But the rumbling in my belly reminded me again that I had deprived us of dinner last night, and if we were to...engage in further activities, sustenance was required.

But damn it I wanted her. Now.

Even more so when I recalled that look of guilty desire in her eyes as I uttered the words "little girl" before I could think better of it.

She was begging to be bent over that counter. Not literally of course. My Bethany was far too virtuous for that. No, it was the cute pink polish on her toes peeking out from beneath my robe, the fluffy well-fucked look of her hair, the blush of her cheeks, and the sass hurled at me like curve balls driving me insane.

It was all of her. All of her made me want to just...possess her. Take her. Punish her. Again and again.

I knew right then and there what I wanted. I wanted it all.

But I reminded myself that Bethany had no real reason to commit. She was young, still able to do so much with her life. Not to mention incredibly desirable to any number of eligible men, many much younger than I, to be certain.

Why then did she pick me? She'd waited years longer than most women, and for what? Some fucked up sadistic old man?

Drawing in a deep breath, I wondered how I'd repressed those sadistic tendencies with Bethany. And despite my desperation to be with her, I hadn't forced her. Hell, I'd never forced a woman in my life—but Bethany had been the first to test my self-control. Really test it.

I'd had her consent. I'd required it before touching her. Before my common sense had gone to shit. I cursed myself as my cock hardened in recollection.

Being with Beth had been heaven. And coming inside her...it was more than I deserved. Why had she allowed, begged even, for me to come inside her unprotected?

Beth was a smart girl. She knew what it meant. She had to.

I definitely needed to address this with her, but how to go about it? The last thing I wanted was for her to run away from me, to abandon the budding relationship that had been so painstakingly cultivated. I couldn't lose her.

She wouldn't meet my eyes as I served up the eggs and bacon on the plates she'd fetched. Was it shyness? Or sadness? Or regret?

As we settled finally at the table, the silence stretched.

I was trying to figure out a way to confront her when she spoke first.

"Mmmm, yum. Your eggs are amazing Curt, again!" she laughed, licking her lips clean of the yellow egg yolk. I licked my own lips at the sexy image she made.

"So why, pray tell, are eggs the only thing you know how to make?"

I frowned as I considered her words. I hadn't thought on it in years. Even now, I hesitated to conjure the memory.


"Sorry Beth, I just..." I trailed off.

She shook her head, clearly disturbed by my lack of reply.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Not at all. The eggs, I guess, I mean, it started when I was young." I tripped over my words, unsure how to begin. Or how to finish.

"Did your mom teach you?"

I smiled, more bitterly than intended.

"No. It was my older brother, Jake. He taught me, the morning of my first hangover, how to make sunny side up eggs. Said it worked like a charm, and most mornings, it did."

"Most mornings?"

I winced at my slip-up, and grudgingly continued. I'd never told this story to anyone. The memories had been buried deep, but the breakfast ritual had been thoroughly ingrained.

"I uhh..." I cleared my throat in procrastination. "I struggled with alcoholism for many years, starting when I was about nineteen. My dad left when I was four, and my ma worked two jobs to support us, so most of the time it was just me and Jake."

As I felt her cool hand gently cover mine, I realized both my hands were tightly fisted, breakfast all but forgotten.

"I'm sorry I pried," she whispered. "I didn't realize it would be such a sensitive topic."

"No," I chuckled remorsefully, "I don't imagine you would. It's a rather unconventional story. One I've not discussed with anyone in fact, for nearly twenty years."

"We don't have to talk about it," she offered.

"Well it certainly isn't my topic of choice after sleeping with a woman," I laughed.

When I felt her hand suddenly withdraw from mine, I realized what a dumbfuck thing it was to say. Shit.

"There've been women before me," Bethany murmured absently, her eyes now studying the table.

"Bethany," I cleared my throat, "I won't lie to you. There have. I've got decades on you after all."

Beth nodded, but didn't look at me.

I'd been her first. My former relationships were understandably a sore issue for her, to know that I'd been around the block. What could I say?

But it was what she said next that baffled me.

"I wish I could have given you more."

Fury brewed in my gut. This insecurity of hers needed to end, immediately.

"Listen to me," I ordered. "You are perfect Beth. Be sorry for nothing. Do you understand me?"

She nodded again, but still stared at the table.

"Eat," I commanded. "Now."

We ate, trading awkward conversation for the shitty symphony of chewing noises and screeching forks.

I felt unpleasantly full when I finally shoved my empty plate away, wincing as I watched Beth struggle to finish hers.

"It's alright Beth, you don't have to finish," I offered.

"Uff, good! I can't eat another damned bite," she groaned, nudging her plate toward my own discarded one.

"There you go with that dirty mouth again," I chuckled, delighting in the worried look she cast me. "Don't worry Beth, I'm teasing you."

"You like to tease don't you?" she frowned.

"Not always. But you do tend to blush when I tease you. I can't help that it's so delightfully addicting."

I laughed again when her blush deepened.

"Yes, like that."

"Whatever Curt," she rolled her eyes. "So what do we do now?"

Sighing, I rose from the table.

"Something less pleasant, I'm afraid. Come," I held out my hand to Beth, leading her to the sofa.

Situating us both upon the supple leather cushions, I turned her to me, and looked into her eyes.

"Beth, I think we have a problem."

Her sudden look of terror made my stomach turn.

"Are you...dumping me?" she squeaked.

"What? Beth no!" I gathered her hands in mine. "Jesus, how could you think that?"

"You're sitting me down on the sofa, preparing to give me unpleasant news after a night of passion. What am I to think?"

"No Beth," I declared firmly. "I meant what I said last night. This is not a fling for me. I like you. A lot. In all honesty, you were never just a decorator to me. I knew that I..."

I debated over whether to say it.

No. Too soon.

"I knew that there was more to us than a business transaction. Early on, I knew. I hope I'm not alone in that."

"I suspected that you liked me," she admitted shyly. "But men tend to like what they see when they look at me. It was nothing new to see...attraction, in your eyes. I've seen it in many."

"And yet I'm your first."

She nodded, embarrassed.

Why'd you have to fucking point that out? Dumb fuck.

Just say it!

"Beth, I'll come right to the point. The problem, or potential problem rather, is that we both gave in to temptation last night, giving little thought to the repercussions."

Her eyes drifted down to her lap. She knew exactly what I meant.

I swallowed anxiously, continuing my unrehearsed monologue.

"Trust me Beth, there is nothing in the world I would rather do than make love to you unobstructed, to have you as completely as a man can have a woman. But you're young. Independent and active in your career. You don't want to get pregnant right now...isn't that true?"

She didn't answer right away, and a part of me lurched in desperate lust.

"Yes," she whispered. "I mean, it wouldn't be the best thing. We're not..."

I waited, giving her a chance to gather her thoughts.

Bethany made a face, clearly conflicted on whether to speak.

"We're not married."

I couldn't help but smile at her naivety.

"We don't have to be married to have a child together Beth. But you obviously love your career. I don't want to be the one that takes it away from you, and a baby would jeopardize the time you could commit to it."

She nodded, but continued to fidget and avoid eye contact.

"I think, at least for a while, we should err on the side of caution. I'll use a condom when I'm inside you, and if you want to use an alternate form of birth control, I am open to that."

As I waited for her look of relief, I was perplexed by a strange expression of what couldn't have been anything other than disappointment. She tried to mask it, but it was clear.

I wanted to say something—like the truth. Like the fact that I wanted to make her pregnant. That I wanted to caress her firmly rounded belly with my hands, to kiss it passionately in worship for its fertility. That I wanted to see her holding my son close to her chest, rocking him gently to sleep as her belly swelled with another.

I wanted a family. For the first time. And I had to want it with a fucking career woman, twenty years my junior.

If Beth thought she wanted a child now, it could only be due to her newly sex fogged brain. It would pass. And when it did, I didn't want her to hate me.

"Beth, I... I don't want you to think that I don't want you, that I'm avoiding commitment or some shit," I tried to explain.

Lifting her chin, I looked into her eyes seriously.

"But we shouldn't rush into that. Let's just enjoy each other, get to know each other, and we'll take it one step at a time, okay?"

A small smile bloomed on her adorable face, and I thanked God that I hadn't fucked things up. Yet.

"Okay," she whispered.

"Good girl," I smiled.


Being this close to him, seeing the unguarded look of desire in his eyes, hearing and feeling the timbre of his sexy voice...I knew there was little hope for me. If this didn't work out, and there were few reasons why it should, I would be nothing less than devastated. And that was just the emotional side of the coin.

As for the sexual side, well, I was in a vulnerable state to say the least. Curt needed only ask. He needed only look at me with that expression of hunger, and I was done. I would do anything for him, and I didn't even know what anything was.

Goodness, I was already shamefully moist between my legs, and without any panties, it wouldn't be long before my legs grew slick. Which reminded me...

"Umm Curt, I think I'll be needing your washer and dryer again."

"I certainly hope so," he grinned. "I hope you'll need them regularly."

We both laughed at his goofy romantic gesture, but I felt a glimmer of hope at the implications. Needing his laundry room regularly would mean me being here regularly. Being with him. For a while, if not the long term.

"Well at some point I'm going to need some extra clothes," I stated seriously.

I needed to make a stop at my house to gather some things, and explain my uncharacteristic absence to Mrs. Hathaway.

"We can swing by your place in a bit," Curt nodded. "But first, let's take care of that laundry...and a shower."

"A shower?" I repeated stupidly.

"Yes," Curt smirked. "I wanna show you my shower."

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