Let's Play a Game

11 - Blonde Haired Slut

Blonde haired slut

1 oz jagger

1 oz peach schnapps

1 oz pineapple juice

Shake over ice and strain. Top with a lemon peel

"You found her?"

Reuben and I stood at the far edge of the bar, both of us holding a drink; him sweet tea, me an old fashioned. At the other end of the bar, Jack was loudly lecturing a couple about knife play and alcohol not mixing. Behind us, Noah cleaned and stocked glasses.

The lounge was busy today. Reuben was teaching a Shibari safety course starting at eight, and the room had been transformed to resemble a university lecture hall, with a raised stage in the middle, and chairs and tables lined up and filling the empty space. I had been anxiously standing by the bar talking to Jack, nervously wondering what lay in store for me today when Reuben had come in, and smiled at me.

For the first time in so long, I felt like I could look him in the eye. I didn't have the words to explain it, but something had definitely changed. He hadn't been my Dom for a long time but... now, he didn't feel like it.

We'd spent a few minutes catching up, he asked about my job and my life, and I asked about his. "You found the girl in your dream, didn't you?"

"I did, actually..." he smiled over his sweet tea. "She popped up where I least expected her to. I should know to expect that by now."

"And how is it going?"

"Oh, she has no clue who I am yet, and we don't have a relationship at all. But she's a wild, loud, obnoxious brat, and she's going to be fun as hell to get under control."

I choked on a laugh. I could not see Reuben Weston with a brat.

"And you?" he asked, setting his drink down. I finished my drink and put it behind me. Silently, Noah took the glass and threw the ice out.

"I'm... so happy. I can't thank you enough," I said.

"I'm so glad to hear that. I know he probably isn't what you expected."

"No, not at all. I expected you to put me with a rough, demanding sadist. A hard Dom. Whips and restraints and a cage, that kind of thing. But you gave me a soft dom," I laughed. "He's... he's just... fun. God he's so much fun," I laughed. "And I feel like I barely know him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," I thought. "We've been at this almost a year now. And I know so little about him. But I have so much affection for him, and I trust him implicitly. And I know he trusts me," I smiled, and fingered the lock on my collar. "I just feel like I only know half of him. I want to know the rest. I want to know his favorite color, and his favorite food, and the Christmas presents he got as a kid, and what he likes to do on his day off, and the movies he likes to watch, and what shit pisses him off, and where he works, and the names of his coworkers. I want to know his friends and his family, and hear the embarrassing stories that only your loved ones are willing to tell about you."

Another drink appeared at my elbow. "I love the game. It's been a ride. But I want to love him for all of him." I turned and reached for the glass, my hand wrapping around it, feeling the cold condensation against my fingers, and I froze.

He stood there, behind the bar, leaning on his forearms, his hands clasped together and his sleeves rolled up to just under the elbows. I stared mutely, my eyes focused on his hands, on that cut on his right hand, and the long gash on his left, the tattoos I knew so well, of birds and vines and a moon and a knife all weaving together and traveling up his arm. Slowly, halfway confused and halfway terrified, my eyes traveled upwards. His white button-down shirt was unbuttoned at the top, and I could see a thin chain around his neck. A small silver key hung from it. Terrified, I met his gaze.

The way he looked at me... I'll never forget it. He looked at me like I was a rose blooming in front of him. Like I was a rainbow after a hurricane. Like I was beautiful, and special, and like I might disappear if he blinked.

I blushed, and gasped a little. Those warm brown eyes met mine, his tousled brown hair messy from his long shift, his skin glowing from exertion.

Slowly, hesitantly, Noah leaned forward, and whispered.

"Hey there, pretty girl."

I was speechless. I was confused, and lost, and terrified, and thrilled, and speechless. I felt my mouth open to say something but nothing came out.

He kept my gaze as he came around the bar, and slowly approached me, standing toe to toe. I couldn't stop looking away from his face.

How had I not known? He was exactly the right height. His hands were always in front of me. I had gotten countless drinks from Noah over the past several years and yet somehow, I'd not known? How many times had our fingers brushed when I took my drink? How many times had he brought my food out to me and set it on the table, him standing just inches from me? I felt a little guilty that chemistry hadn't betrayed him.

I kept opening and closing my mouth, trying to say something, but unable to talk. He looked a little shy, almost embarrassed, as he brushed a thumb over my face, wiping away a tear I didn't know was there.

I closed my eyes.

When I did, it felt right. It felt like him. I opened my eyes and looked at his hands, my favorite hands, the hands that knew me. I looked at his face again.

It did feel right. He did feel right. I smiled. "Hello Sir."

His lips twitched, and then he smiled, a beautiful, warm, happy grin that made me giddy. Gently, keeping his eyes locked on mine, he put his hand behind my head, fingers in my hair, and leaned forward. I melted into his kiss, sighing and trying to take in every inch of him. I felt like my heart was dancing.

He pulled back from me, just a little, looked me in the eye and said, "Let's play a game."