Vanilla. Megan Hart
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clearly eavesdropping. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. You just feel very far away.” His voice deepened for a moment, his impeccable English overlaid by that delicious accent that was as much about the spaces between his words as it was the way he pronounced them. Esteban sighed. “I need to see you.”
Before Esteban, there’d been other men. More than I wanted to think about, not because I was ashamed but because most of them had not been worth the effort. When you lose something you love before you’re ready to give it up, you look for it wherever else you can find it, and I’d looked for what I wanted in a lot of places before Esteban’s sweetly respectful message had showed up in my inbox at OnHisKnees.com.
I’m starving, he’d told me when we’d been talking for a few weeks. I’d asked him what he was looking for, why he was on the site. What he wanted. I’m hungry all the time for something I can’t seem to find.
I understood what he meant. About hunger. About how you could glut yourself on something and yet still be empty.
I couldn’t stop myself from liking Esteban. He was sweet and smart and funny; he made me laugh and challenged me mentally as well as gave me delicious orgasms. It wasn’t something we talked about, the tenuous emotional connection between us that wasn’t supposed to be there because what we had was meant to be only physical.
“I’m right here.” I cradled the phone against my shoulder as I put my items on the conveyer belt. I’d kept my voice low, cautious of giving the people around me a free show. “I’m at the store now, though. I have to go. Can you call me in about an hour? I’ll have some time to talk to you then.”
He sighed. “An hour until I get to bathe in the melody of your voice? Okay.”
I disconnected, bemused at his urgency. Flattered, a little. The melody of my voice? It was over the top and silly, but warmed me anyway.
I dropped off my groceries at home and got back in my car to head for the synagogue just as my phone rang again. I let the call ring through to my car speakers so I could drive while we talked.
“Are you driving?” Esteban asked. “I hear noise.”
“Yep, I’m in the car.”
“Drive to me,” he said. “Meet me!”
I didn’t answer immediately. It wasn’t like him to be so demanding, and though desire is an aphrodisiac, this game had never been about Esteban telling me what to do. I wasn’t about to start playing it that way now.
“Hush,” I said sharply. “I told you, I can’t. I have plans.”
I’d heard that same soft intake of breath often enough to know his reaction. It was my tone of voice. The idea of my disapproval and of facing the consequences of it. He’d be hard as a rock right about now.
Damn, I loved that.
“I’m sorry,” Esteban said, instantly apologetic.
I softened. “Hush, I said. I’m happy you want to see me. And normally, I’d love to see you tonight. But I can’t, as I said.”
“You have a date?”
“It’s not your concern,” I said, harsher than I wanted to be, but proving a point. “I told you I have plans. That’s enough for you to know.”
“Would he do for you the things I will?”
I didn’t answer right away, turning over my own reaction in my head before letting it take control. Other men had tried to bully me into giving them what they wanted, whether it was a blow job or an endearment. I had to remind myself that Esteban was not other men and had proven it time and again.
When I tied him up, I was responsible for making sure he didn’t get hurt beyond his limits. I was in charge of his body. I was also in charge, in some ways, of his heart.
“It’s not a date, Esteban.” His laugh sounded relieved, and I cut him off before he could speak. I believed I understood why he was acting this way, but that didn’t change our dynamic. “But if it were, it would not be your business.”
“I’m sorry. I should not have asked,” he said after a moment. Did I hear a tremble in his voice?
“What’s wrong, honey?” I relented. I was alone in the car, but my voice still dipped low. I imagined him, eyes closed, on his knees, leaning to press his cheek into my palm. Esteban’s hair is soft and light as dandelion fluff, and his golden skin is always warm. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
Another soft huff of indrawn breath. “I miss you, that’s all. Wanted to see you. I know it’s not our time, but I could make it work.”
I looked up to see the synagogue doors opening, people coming into the parking lot. William would be out in a few minutes. I made an offer assuming Esteban would say no. “I have to go. I can’t see you tonight, but I could meet you for coffee tomorrow morning...”
“Yes. Yes, I would like that very much. I just want to see you.”
Something was going on with him, for sure. “Nine-thirty, Morningstar Mocha. You know it?”
“Yes. Thank you, miss.”
It was odd to hear him call me that outside of a hotel room, but it still sent a shiver all through me. “I have to keep my boy happy, don’t I?”
The instant the words were out of my mouth, a chill swept over me. Then heat, creeping up my throat and into my face. Have to keep my girl happy, don’t I? George had often said that, and in the end he’d done anything but.
Not noticing my sudden silence, Esteban laughed and sounded more like his usual self when he replied. “Your boy is desperate for your touch, that’s all.”
“There won’t be much touching in the coffee shop.”
“It will be enough,” he said.
I spotted another small surge of people exiting the synagogue, but my nephew was not among them. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I disconnected, searching for signs of William. When the doors closed and he still hadn’t appeared, I got out of the car to go in and find him. I’d forgotten about the Saturday kiddush luncheon in the rec hall. Following the murmur of voices and the smell of toasted bagels, I spotted William talking to the rabbi at a table with plates of egg salad and tuna in front of them. William was nodding. The rabbi looked serious but then laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey,” I said, too aware of my jeans and tank top and the fact I hadn’t covered my head, though in this Conservative synagogue women weren’t required to unless reading the Torah. I was glad I’d shrugged into a cardigan so at least my arms weren’t bare. “Hi, Rabbi.”
“I forgot you were coming,” William said.
“Sit. Have some lunch.” The rabbi gestured toward the buffet table still set with platters of food, though the custodian was starting to put it away. “We have plenty.”
I’d only grabbed an apple on my way out the door this morning, so the thought of a bagel smeared with cream cheese and lox was tempting. Still, I didn’t want to linger. I hadn’t been to services in forever, so scarfing down a free lunch seemed inappropriate. And I didn’t want to fend off any awkward questions about when I would be attending.
I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks.”
“William tells me you’re going to be reading Torah at his Bar Mitzvah,” the rabbi said as William scraped his plate clean of the last bites of egg salad.
I nodded and tried to look excited. “Yep.”
“That’s great,” the rabbi said enthusiastically. “We always need more people who can read Torah.”
That was my cue to beat it out of there before he started hinting around about minyans or Friday