Worth The Wait Read online

  "Nothing at all to be sorry about, Char. These things happen. You've given the crew a chance to feel so proud of themselves they'll be puffed up like roosters at the after party. Are you sure you're okay?" Julie gave her a critical look. She looked a little pale and drained. "Because if you and Tony have to pull out, it's okay. Your health is way more important than this."

  "No. It wasn't a bad one. I really think I could have gone on sooner, but Tony wouldn't budge on that." Her cheeks flushed. "He doesn't usually go all Master-like on me in our day-to-day life, but he did this time. I was too weak to jump him for being overbearing."

  "Well, he loves you."

  "Yes, he does." Charlotte dimpled.

  "Silly woman in love. There he is, out there waiting for you." As the cue for the final act came, Julie nudged Charlotte forward. She was glad to see the woman move onto the stage with no apparent nervousness, dressed in nothing but a burlap smock she would soon be shedding.

  The first time Charlotte had stripped for a run through, she'd had no self-consciousness at all. Julie had remarked on it that day to her, how she admired a woman with no self-consciousness about her size. While Julie immediately worried she might have offended Charlotte with the implication of her weight, Charlotte had offered her friendly reassurance to the contrary.

  "I wasn't always that way. I was focused on being model thin, not on understanding why I was mistreating my body, making it harder for it to take care of me. I've been unable to lose weight most of my life. Yet since I became part of the lifestyle and collared by Tony, I've lost twenty-five pounds. I hope to lose about fifty more. I'll still be heavier than magazines think I should be, but my lab numbers are going down and my doctor couldn't be happier. Tony showed me that I don't need to lose weight to be lovely. I want to be healthy, not thin."

  The woman had smiled, showing even, white teeth and generous, moist lips glossed with a salmon-colored lipstick that complemented her skin tone. Whenever she came to the theater, she wore lovely, well-accessorized outfits that reflected her positive self-image.

  "For the first time in my life, I don't care about being the size of a pencil. I just want to be in good health so I can enjoy my life to the fullest. You'll find a lot of that in the BDSM world. Fat, thin, tall, short, big dick, small dick, old, young, it doesn't matter. It's about the give and take, seeing the soul within. Which to my way of thinking is what every relationship should be, vanilla or kinky. Maybe I'm biased, but BDSM seems more open to that idea. At least where and how we enjoy it."

  Returning to the present, Julie watched Charlotte's Master crook an imperious finger at her. Tarps were spread out on stage, and a draped table held a vat of misting liquid nitrogen, along with a line-up of knives and fire wands. The music was a dramatic piece that evoked witches dancing around a cauldron. The flickering light against the brick painted scenery suggested a dungeon lit by braziers.

  Tony was dressed as an Inquisitor in dark brown robes. The fifty-something nuclear plant engineer with a handsome head of silver hair and a goatee was one of their few cast members with theater experience, having played Arthur in a Raleigh area production of Camelot, and Don Quixote in Man of La Mancha. His dramatic abilities showed now. "Strip, witch," he commanded in a booming voice that vibrated through the audience.

  Charlotte unlaced the neckline of the smock and let it drop. While Tony had more theatrical experience, Charlotte's reactions were natural and un-choreographed, a compelling combination. She sank to her knees as if prepared to plead with the Inquisitor, bending to kiss his foot. His expression stern, he bent and wrapped his hand in her hair. When he yanked her up, preparing to drag her back to her feet, he paused, as if suddenly caught by the picture she made, on her knees to him, her head tipped back and hands loose, offering herself to him.

  He traced the curve of her breast and her lips parted, tongue sweeping across them in unscripted reaction. Lifting her to her feet, he brought her to the tarp with a solid black backdrop flanking it on two sides, creating a protected corner. He put her hands on the wooden stake that had been erected on the tarp, as if that was where he might bind and set the witch on fire.

  "Do I need to tie you, or do you submit to my will?"

  "Don't you mean God's Will, Inquisitor?" Charlotte asked, batting her eyes at him, sending a ripple of laughter through the audience.

  Tony picked up a paddle and whacked her generous bottom with it, earning a yelp. "Insolent witch. Answer the question." He spanked her again and she let out a gasp that hinted at something other than discomfort.

  "No Master, you don't need to tie me. I submit to your will."

  She curled her fingers around the stake and spread her legs. He bound up her hair in a tight knot, pulling on her scalp roughly, and stepped back. He drizzled alcohol on her back and then lit a fire wand. As he passed the bundle of cotton gauze over her flesh, it appeared as if he set her on blue fire, but he doused it with his hands immediately, stroking her that way, over and over.

  "The fire does not burn your pale flesh," he said. "You are God's gift to me, witch. You will serve me."

  He pressed up behind her to caress her flanks, and between her legs. "You like the idea, I think," he muttered, and she gasped in response.

  Charlotte had lost all awareness of the audience as soon as Tony motioned to her from across the stage. Several times tonight, Julie had watched her players experience that transition, insulating themselves in a scene together. When Charlotte gasped at Tony's touch, Julie could tell Tony crossed that threshold himself.

  Stepping away from his wife, he picked up the bouquet of roses that had been left on the draped table with the wands and blades. After he selected one of the blooms, he held it up to the light. Putting his hand on her back, he stroked her silken skin as he considered the silken petals. He lifted the bloom to his nose to inhale the scent, and then ran it between her spread legs and brought it to his nose again. Charlotte kept her forehead pressed to her overlapped hands on the stake, but a visible quiver ran through her as he trailed the rose over her back.

  Returning to the table, Tony donned a rubber glove. Dipping the rose in the nitrogen, he pulled the blossom free, pivoted and slapped it hard against her back.

  The rose exploded, leaving a red mark on her skin and showering frozen petals around her. Charlotte clung to the post, shuddering from the cold. He rolled another fire wand over her skin. He began to alternate the two stimulus, fire and ice, making it a dance, her body moving in reaction to the two sensations, him moving with her.

  Then he brought her to stillness as he jerked her up against him, turning her toward the audience. Producing a short curved blade that looked like a bird's beak, he ran it along her throat, under the curve of her breast, harrowingly close to her nipple... Charlotte was motionless against him, a moan caught in her throat, her eyes glazed.

  Julie suspected very few in the audience were still seeing an obese woman or a white-collar man in his fifties, past what most would consider his sexual prime. They were seeing a Master and sub engage in an intimate, fascinating power exchange. The energy of it changed their lenses, let them see the beauty of two souls struggling to connect with one another, taking joy in one another. Charlotte was immersed in everything her Master did to her, and he in turn was ensorcelled by her response.

  For the same reasons, Julie knew the moment Desmond was standing behind her. She knew his energy, and didn't know how to explain that, except to know it was true. He gripped one side of her podium, propping himself behind her so he bracketed her body, his other hand caressing her waist. He didn't speak, the two of them watching the scene progress. He was still a little sweaty from helping with the prop and scenery rearrangement. He was also still shirtless.

  His hand slid up to cup her breast, cloaked in shadows. Fortunately, no one like Billie was keeping her company now.

  "God, I want you," he muttered against her neck. "I'd fuck you right here if I could get away with it. You've been amazing tonight. Watch this next
part."

  Tony had returned Charlotte to the stake. Picking up another rose, he dipped it. This time he didn't use it like a flogger. He smashed it against Charlotte's ass using his hand, rubbing the coldness in and making her squeal. He picked up a bouquet of daisies, and struck her with them, one by one, after he treated them to the same nitrogen dip. They left more red marks on her, and Des whispered that flowers with thin petals felt like tiny bee stings.

  Tony had one rose left. He turned Charlotte around, guiding her to lean back against the stake as he handed her the flower to hold. He coated his hands with alcohol, so he could put fire on his palms and run that flame over her breasts, her arms. Dousing them against her flesh, he retrieved and lit a fire wand. Dropping to his knees before her, he blew its heat between her legs with pursed lips. The flame was inches from her and didn't touch her tender regions, but the rippling effect was clear. She pressed harder against the stake when he exhorted her to stay perfectly still. As he blew that heat against her, over and over again, her cheeks began to redden, her nipples hardening even further. She had the rose clutched hard in both hands.

  "Come, witch," Tony ordered, and Charlotte climaxed, her orgasm gushing onto her thighs in small, trickles. Tony never touched her between the legs, merely letting the manipulated fire create the magic. In the aftermath, she was so sensitive that when he pressed his mouth to her cunt, she cried out in erotic agony.

  He took the rose from her hand, pressed it between her legs, and kissed it. "A gift from God is what you are, witch," the Inquisitor said. "I will be glad He made you mine for all my days."

  She dropped to her knees, pressing her forehead to his boots, ending the skit the way it had begun.

  As the curtain closed, there was a harrowing pause, the audience digesting the scene. Then the applause began, continuing and building into a strong response. Julie let out a thready sigh of relief. While the enthusiasm might be heavily salted by the BDSM community members in the audience, Julie predicted the rest had been swept up in the approbation.

  Curtain calls began. The first set of performers, the priestesses and their chained sub, took the stage for a bow. As they stepped back and the next cast members entered from the opposite stage wings, Julie's body was matching the audience's fervent response, because Des was paying no attention to anything but her.

  "I want you to stay after everyone goes home tonight," Des said against her ear, both hands kneading her breasts in those useful shadows, his pelvis firmly against her ass. "I have something I want to do to you, and I want to do it here, while all this energy is still pouring through the place."

  After a performance, she was temporarily euphoric, followed by exhausted. Yet she wanted him with a throbbing fierceness that wouldn't be denied.

  "Okay."

  "It wasn't a request," her Dom said, nipping her ear and sliding his hand down between her legs behind the podium as the cheering built with each performer. Billie Dee-Lite was doing a sashay and pivot to wild cheers.

  "Des..." She caught the edge of the podium, shocked when the tiny, intense orgasm rolled through her from the demand of his fingers. He carried her through it, even as those on stage motioned to the wings, calling his name, wanting him to come out and take a bow. Missive appeared at his side a mere heartbeat after he took his fingers away from Julie. It told her he'd stayed aware of their surroundings and protected her privacy. Though Missive pulled on him with a smile on her face, he held onto Julie an extra second, making sure she was okay on her feet.

  "Go on," Julie said. "Take your bow. You deserve it."

  Her breathy voice earned her a cocky grin and she snorted. "Not for that, you ass."

  "Could have fooled me." He winked, but his eyes conveyed a lot more than casual humor as he slid away. His hands left behind burning needy sensation, not just where they'd touched, but all through her.

  Julie heard the cheers swell to a roar comparable to that for Billie. Des had been their unexpected star tonight. Yes, Missive was part of that. But it was the young woman's utter trust in him that had made it all work, and that trust had to be earned.

  Was there anything about Des that wasn't going to rock her world, take her by surprise?

  Then they were yelling for her to come out, and for Madison to come up on stage. Julie did a quick check to make sure there was nothing inappropriately disheveled about her, though the madness of intermission had probably made a wreck of her hair and outfit. But to hell with it. She trotted out on wobbly legs to meet Madison and waved Harris out of the wings so he could take his well-deserved bow. Madison hugged her, squeezing the life out of her.

  "I love you," the Naughty Bits owner said. "You did this."

  "We all did it," Julie said. "To many more successes. Long live Wonder."

  "Long live Wonder." Madison threw up her free hand and shouted it. The cry was immediately echoed by the performers, and Tony and Billie's booming voices carried it across the audience. In one of those magical, spontaneous moments that only the theater--and love--could provide, the audience answered in a roar.

  "Long live Wonder!"

  Julie was sure they'd just birthed the closing tradition for their new theater. She loved it.

  As she took her bow, she caught Des's eye. The possessive heat, the knowledge that he'd just brought her to climax, was there, but it was mixed with something even more distracting. Maybe she was riding a performance high, but she'd always believed she saw things most clearly in moments like these.

  He was genuinely happy for her success. In his countenance, she saw not only desire, but awareness of who she was down through every layer. He wanted everything there. She wanted all of him, just as badly.

  The smile died from his face, as if he sensed how overwhelmed she was by those truths. His expression shifted, reflecting the powerful intent she'd felt from him when he'd pressed against her at the podium.

  I have something I want to do to you, and I want to do it here, while all this energy is still pouring through the place.

  He didn't break eye contact until she and Madison separated to sweep their arms out to encompass all the performers and crew, and offer them another ovation.

  Julie made her own silent offering to the stage.

  Thank you for giving me this so many times. No matter what happens with him, whatever I'll end up screwing up, or whatever shoe will drop, I am always grateful to have this.

  She wished that comforted her as it normally did. But she didn't want a safety net when Desmond Hayes inevitably disappeared from her life.

  She wanted him. Now and forever.

  Chapter Nine

  Julie drew in a deep breath, let it out. It had been a success. Consent had worked out better than even Madison and she had anticipated. She grinned, remembering Madison rushing up to her after the reception in the lobby, where they'd served sparkling water and hors d'oeuvres.

  "Oh my God, reviewers from the Charlotte and Greensboro papers were both here. The one from The Charlotte Observer asked me a bunch of questions and seemed personally excited about what we have coming up. I'm half sick and half exhilarated about what kind of review she'll write. But she didn't act like we were some kind of sleazy sex club. She said..."

  Madison paused, closing her eyes to recall it. "'Tonight's performance is evidence of the growth of erotic performance art as a legitimate cultural offering to the mainstream.' Freaking amazing. She sounds like she's already composing her review, right? At least that's what I think, and Logan agreed with me."

  While Julie didn't doubt Logan's concurrence with his wife's opinion, she'd be surprised if he'd been able to wedge in more than a nod of agreement. Madison was running wide on all cylinders.

  "I reminded her a play is the next thing on our schedule. Monday we have to start planning with Lila. She says her script is all finished..."

  That had been several hours ago. Now the theater was quiet, everything put away, the doors locked. The cast and crew had enjoyed a small but enthusiastic after party and
then headed home with or to family.

  Julie stood on stage. She was elated, content. She spun in a circle, tipping her head back. Nothing brought her the sense of satisfaction a good performance did, the culmination of weeks of hard work, coordination and creative talents coming together. Having shared that with those like Harris, Billie and Madison, who understood the significance, added to the lovely sense of fulfillment.

  But tonight there was another component to her happiness, taking it to an even higher level. Des. The single person's mantra that career could fill the hole where a significant other should be was crap. At least for her. Career could be a nice, thick curtain over that empty space and, as long as she hadn't looked behind that curtain, happiness was possible. Some people were eventually able to turn that curtain into a wall, and maybe for them the mantra became truth. But Julie's life was all about what happened when the curtain rose, so she'd never been able to shut down that possibility.

  Which was why she'd reached this spot. She'd found someone who awakened the longings inside that empty space, and he'd pulled back the curtain. She remembered watching him walk onto the stage, hand in hand with Missive, and take a bow, the other performers urging him forward for a second ovation, generously acknowledging that his segment had taken the whole show up a notch.

  Loving performance art as she did, how could she resent his expression of it with another performer, capable of showcasing his talents as brilliantly as Missive had done?

  He was an artist, as much as Thomas was. She wished she could figure out the magic spell necessary to instantly get past all her fears and hang-ups and truly believe Des could distinguish between the art he made with other subs, and what he made with her.

  She was getting there, though. As she'd watched him elevate and felt him inspire the audience, she'd known then she was falling in love with him. There was no chance of scrambling back up that slope, because it wasn't the fleeting stage adulation that such brilliance commanded. No, she loved the man who'd offered to share his carrot sticks and who had an aversion to talking about his health because too much of his early life had focused on it.