The guestroom bed was small but Pine didn't mind having Sable draped over him. She lay half on his chest quietly, having changed out of her exotic gear and into the fuzzy pajamas he was coming to know well. He himself had opted for his undershorts and a tee-shirt as they lay together.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," he told her through a little yawn. "I didn't mean to make you cry."
"Mmmm. Endorphins and release, not pain. I like the pain," Sable murmured. "At least, applied there. Hard to explain."
Pine nuzzled her hairline, feeling content with her warmth and weight on him; like an affectionate blanket, he thought, smiling. "Well it seemed to go all right."
"You did wonderfully," she agreed sleepily, "You're strong; I'm not used to that."
Pine hesitated; they were both drowsy and the question could wait, but he asked it anyway. "What are you used to, Simone? I mean, I really do want to learn, and I can hardly ask when we're in the middle of . . . things."
"Shhhhh, sleep," she told him. "Give us a few hours before anything else."
His eyes were closed already, and he nodded, wrapping an arm around her and reaching to turn off the bedside lamp.
When Pine woke later, he spotted Sable examining at her bare ass in the full-length mirror in one corner of the bedroom. This unexpected sensual sight had him fighting several responses, and he gave a little wolf whistle, making her turn and hurriedly tug up her pajama bottoms while making a face at him.
"What? I wasn't the one mooning the mirror," he pointed out, laughing as she climbed back onto the bed. Outside they both heard the rain's steady drone. Pine rolled to his side and propped himself up on one arm. "Everything all right on the, ah, south side?"
"I'm fine," Sable told him, striving for a little dignity. "Maybe a little sore but I'll live."
"I could always rub lotion on it," Pine offered half-jesting. "The least I could do."
She shook her head. "Such a sweet offer, but not this time. Are you hungry? I was going to make some ham and cheese sandwiches."
"Sounds good," he agreed. "I suppose we can finish off the wine, too."
Sable snickered, climbing off the bed. "Then you'll have to go rescue it from outside, Mr. Pine. I think it's still in the garden."
He made a face.
The kitchen turned out to be a cozy little corner of the house, complete with café table and chairs. Pine wolfed down his sandwich in a few quick bites, not realizing how hungry he was. Sable passed him a bowl of marinated cucumber slices and asked him if he wanted a second sandwich.
"Yes please," he admitted sheepishly. "As long as you're offering. This is really good," Pine added, digging into the salad. Cooking had never been his forte, although eating was.
"Thanks," she finished compiling the second sandwich and handed it to him before settling into the chair opposite and taking a dainty bite of her own. "Pass the mustard, please."
He did, and for a while they simply ate. By the time he was done and eyeing the salad bowl again, Sable sighed. "All right, you asked what I was used to, so I suppose this is a good time to talk about it, I guess."
"Ah, yes," Pine nodded, leaning back in the chair. He watched her brush her hair back and wanted to touch it, but restrained himself.
"I was married, seven years ago. Got it annulled a few years later," Sable admitted. "Mutual thing. He wanted a certain image, a certain life, and I didn't quite fit in with that. I don't hold it against him, but at the time it didn't help my own insecurities."
Pine nodded empathetically, and Sable drew in a breath.
"Went to Paris, and finished up my residency there, and met a man. He . . . was different. I guess I sensed it the first time we met, and after a few dates, he told me I was exactly what he was looking for. Heady stuff, especially since, well, we weren't . . . having sex."
"Oh?" Pine tried to keep his tone neutral, but a faint prickling of jealousy stirred within him. If Sable heard it, she ignored it, and picked at her cucumbers.
"He was a publisher, well-connected and well-versed in . . . games. Took me on as a tyro and taught me quite a bit, in fact. I owe him a huge debt, Jonathan. He not only let me figure out my dual nature but encouraged me to indulge both sides. And," she looked up, "I wasn't his only pupil."
"Really?" Startled Pine leaned over the table.
"Really," Sable echoed, smiling faintly. "Anyway, for two years I was a part of a relationship that taught me a lot about giving and receiving in games."
Pine held her gaze. "What changed?"
"He died," Sable murmured, looking down. "Pancreatic cancer. He hadn't told either of us he was ill, and afterwards we were . . . devastated. I found I couldn't stay in Paris anymore, so I submitted my CV to Médecins Sans Frontières and went off for the Congo and later in Madagascar. I spent a lot of time trying not to think. Finally my uncle told me he needed help here so I took him up on the offer."
"I'm sorry," Pine mumbled, aware of the pain in her voice. "Did you . . . love him?"
"I did," Sable sighed. "In my own way. He . . . gave me the freedom to understand my own needs, and to grow into them. For example, you know I like to be spanked. It's a physical high for me, particularly as the end of an inevitable outcome. I thrive on the potential threat of it, the anticipation not only of each blow but also where it will land and how hard." She fidgeted shyly. "And you do have strong hands, Jonathan."
He ducked his head. "I was worried. I know I could—can- seriously hurt you if I'm not careful."
"And . . . restraint," Sable said quietly. "Being . . . constrained. Cuffed. Tied up. That also sends me very much into my zone but that sort of play requires a lot of trust as well."
Pine shifted a little himself, feeling his body responding to her words and the heated undertones. "So those are your more passive delights; what about when you're . . . in charge?"
"I take my cues from whoever is under me," she told him with a wink. "That's the person with all the power anyway. You know that, right?"
He thought about that. "How? That doesn't seem to make sense."
Sable picked up her plate and took it to the sink rinsing it off. "Who can use the safe word at a moment's notice?"
"Well both players I suppose, but it's more likely to be the sub," Pine admitted.
"Yes, but—it's the passive player who gets to control the intensity and pace," she pointed out, "Since it's their sensations that are the focus. Strange as it seems, Doms give, and subs take. The game is always played for the one receiving."
"But," Pine scrunched his nose up in confusion, "I like being the one in control-wait, I mean-I like the . . . doing . . . all right, now I'm not sure what I mean."
"You like pleasing people," Sable told him. "And when it gets too much, you like being pleased."
He stared at her; she shrugged.
"Nobody should be able to read me that well," he accused, but lightly.
"You were the one who wanted answers."
-oo00oo-
They curled up again to watch a movie; Pine wasn't sure what it was since he drifted in and out, but he liked having Sable half in his lap as he dozed. It was sensual without urgency; comforting and comfortable in one. When it ended, Sable unwrapped his arms from her and sighed.
"Off to church. Did you want to wait for me to get back, or do you have things to do?"
"Nothing major," he assured her. "I thought we might drive down to Costa da Caparica and go sailing."
She gave him a serious look. "That sounds suspiciously like a date."
To his surprise he found himself blushing. "Yes well . . . not all of our time together needs to be focused on . . . games. And you're . . . marvelous company in your own right, you know."
Sable twisted up her mouth for a moment. "I'm so bad at this, truly. See, if I had you cuffed on the bed I'd knowexactly what to do and say Jonathan, but it's been a long time since I've just . . . gone out with anyone."
He heard the uncertainty, but also the hint of loneliness, and gave a little sigh himself. "Well, I could go it alone, but down at the sail rental pier they have one of the best gelato stands in all of Portugal, Simone. Forcing me to eat their luscious chocolate all by myself would be exceptionally cruel of you."
"All right," she agreed after a moment. "If only to save you from a fate worse than death, I suppose."
"You doctors, always so selfless," he murmured, grinning.
-oo00oo-
The day ended up being overcast with little gusts of wind; the beaches weren't crowded at all. Pine almost preferred it, and kept an arm around Simone as they made their way down the long pier past fishermen and tourists toward the boat rentals. He secured a small catboat, and endured good-natured taunting from Simone as he managed to raise the sail and take them down the length of the beach thanks to the fresh breeze.
By careful tacking back into the wind Pine managed to turn the catboat and bring them back to the pier within an hour and they celebrated their safe return with the promised gelato which Simone did in fact, rave about all the way back to the little house on R. Leonor Pimentel. Although it was early afternoon, Pine knew both of them needed to get a few hours of sleep if they were to make it through their shifts at Castelo Do Mar, so he left her there to do that.
"See? Not awkward, not strange at all," he reassured her. "And even though you clearly hogged the gelato, I'm chalking that up all the walking on the pier."
"I did not hog the gelato," came her indignant retort, half-stifled through a yawn, "and I had a very good time. Thank you."
She gave him her lovely smile again, this one tinged with shyness.
Pine drifted closer, crossing into that intimate space between them.
"I can't believe," he murmured, "that I haven't kissed you yet."
"At your own risk," Sable sighed, raising her mouth to his.
Pine moved slowly, savoring the heat of her lips, the faint taste of gelato there and then the luscious flick of her tongue against his. Suddenly sleep seemed unimportant, along with moving, breathing or nearly anything else. Pine brought his hands up, cupped her face and kissed her again, wobbling a little because his sense of balance wasn't any too steady now.
Simone's moan vibrated against his mouth and she pulled back, opening her eyes. "All right: officially terrifiednow," she rasped. "Very good, Jonathan Pine. Almost too much for me. Better go."
He nodded, bending forward again to slowly brush his cheek against hers for a moment. "Até a próxima vez," Pine murmured and turned away, moving slowly towards the motorcycle, not daring to look back.
At his home the cat refused to acknowledge him; at least not until the official opening of the can of sardines but Pine didn't even realize it, going through the motions without thought, climbing into his bed a while later.
He slept and dreamt of winedrops.
