Things went great with Grace. But I still want you. You're stuck with me, kiddo. Dinner at my place tonight? And pack a bag of clothes for work tomorrow. Just sleeping. I promise. - XO, Jim
"Ohhhh, fuuuck!" Claire exclaimed, falling back into her bed pillows and tossing her phone. Her face was flushed and her heart was beating out of her chest. XO? How could two little letters make her feel like she might faint? It was so cheesy, wasn't it? So was signing your name on a text message. But she loved it. Except he was asking her to give up her Sunday. Well, Sunday night at least. Mistress held fast to her Sundays off— always. It was crucial that a Dominant not become so enmeshed with her subs and their needs that they neglected their own. They needed to be at their strongest for their partner, and that required time to recharge.
But honestly, the thought of recharging in Jim's arms sounded incredible.
What time? She sent the message with a defeated groan.
And that was how Claire ended up on Jim's doorstep in the Tricorner, backpack packed for the first overnight of her life. He answered the door in gray slacks and one of his classic button-ups with a thin black jacket overtop— very stylish. Something told her he must have gone clothes shopping this week, with them spending fewer nights in the club.
"Jim, you look so gorgeous," she told him the minute he opened the door. He gave her a proud half smile and drew her close, taking a deep whiff of her hair like he'd missed her scent. It had been awhile since they'd embraced— the last time being when he'd dropped her off after the airport Tuesday before last. And then of course some aftercare during their two sessions at the club. She closed her eyes and focused on the feel of his sturdy chest against hers, there on his old front porch with its faded lawn chairs and BBQ grill. It felt so right she wanted to cry, so she tucked her face into his jacket and squeezed his waist, hoping he'd stay like this until she could compose herself.
"You okay there, kiddo?"
"Mmm-hmm," Claire replied, staying buried until she felt Jim step back and coax her inside. He carried her backpack to his bedroom, and she hugged her arms around her sweater as she reacquainted herself with his house. He'd definitely cleaned up a bit — the dried up flowers now tossed, the piles of mail sorted, the kids' artwork still there but arranged neatly on the fridge without the lingering handprints on the kitchen surfaces. The house smelled like him — clean, manly, comforting. His TV was playing the nightly news on GCN, and a magazine was open to a recipe page on the coffee table.
"Bacon grilled cheeses?" she asked him when he returned to the living room.
"Yes, and tomato soup," Jim answered sheepishly. "I thought we'd start out easy."
"Yeah, but the goal was healthy eating, wasn't it?" teased Claire.
"Hey, it's cold outside. We need comfort food." He reached for her hand and brought her back into his embrace, his mouth finding hers before she could argue further. A moan escaped her just from the simplest kiss, and that seemed to encourage him to probe deeper. Her head was beginning to spin, and she was already thinking about what it would feel like to be fucked into that brown plaid sofa. She was certain he'd be up for it if she'd just consent. But her heart liked the idea of taking it slow... falling in love with everything about each other and not just the sex. With that aim in mind, she grabbed his wrist and the magazine and pulled him to the kitchen to get started on their meal.
"These aren't just any grilled cheeses, I'll have you know," Jim informed her with a grin. He began taking things out of the cabinet and fridge until he formed a lineup containing maple syrup, brown sugar, Dijon mustard, balsamic vinegar, and cayenne pepper. "We're making a glaze for the bacon, and I bought sourdough bread and Jarlsberg. No Wonder Bread and Velveeta for my Princess."
Claire giggled. "Princess... I like that name." The truth was Stan had used that name sometimes, but it made it no less thrilling coming from Jim.
Jim gave her a wink like he'd been testing the waters with that one and was pleased it met with her approval. Claire suddenly felt the hair raise on her arm as a warning bell went off. She was feeling giddy and tingly again, like their second night together in the club when he'd held her in the afterglow of her last orgasm with him. She suddenly imagined herself pinned beneath him, her hands tied above her head, face down on mattress. "Naughty, naughty Princess," he would mutter. Claire felt goosebumps rise up on her arm, and she could feel her panties become damp almost instantly when she pictured him landing a smack to her behind.
What the fuck, Claire?
"Care to share?" Jim's teasing voice awakened her back to reality. He had already begun measuring ingredients for his bacon glaze, lifting the measuring cups and kneeling down to the measuring spoons to ensure everything was precise. How... how was that a turn on? Why did everything about this man make her fucking wet?
"You're just cute, Jim Gordon," she answered, leaning up on the counter to watch him at work. He just grinned and kept at it, checking his recipe after every tiny step.
Claire finally got hold of herself enough to help, laying the bacon out on a foil lined tray in preparation for the master concoction he now simmered in a saucepan on the stove. He watched it with a furrowed brow, antsy as he every so often flicked the knob for fear it might burn.
"You can start the soup if you want," he directed a few minutes later. "Carton is in the cabinet. We're not going the homemade route with this one— but I did spring for the carton, not the can."
"Mmm, fire-roasted garlic tomato," Claire laughed. "Fancy-schmancy."
"Only the best," Jim replied with another adorable wink. "Pot's in this cabinet down here." He pointed to the one just in front of where he stood buttering slices of sourdough, but he didn't budge. Claire just shook her head as she brushed up against his legs while searching for the correctly sized soup receptacle. She was pleased to see he was quite turned on by this ridiculously mundane scenario of domestic bliss as well; of course she had to look. Jim caught her red-handed and continued to smirk. Mistress was already thinking of mild punishments appropriate for merciless teasing and making her plans for when they would return to the club next week.
XXXXXXXX
Jim watched his gorgeous Claire bend over and search for the pot, his gaze drifting between the view of her cleavage below the scoop neck of her sweater, and the way her light blue denim pulled over her voluptuous ass. It was just wrong to want someone like this; it had to be. The lines of her curves haunted him while he slept and while he attempted to work, making him lose both sleep and focus. He just craved her all the time like a damn drug.
When he'd sent the text message early that Sunday morning, he knew he was taking a gamble. But he had to throw in everything he had — it was too big a reward not to take the risk. And he'd passed her test last night, hadn't he?
As they sat across from each other at the Gordon family table, enjoying what actually turned out to be a delicious grilled cheese dipped in fairly decent tomato soup, Jim decided to bravely broach the topic.
"So, about last night..." he began slyly.
Claire squirmed a little mid-bite. He could tell behind her big green-gray eyes with their smoky plum makeup, she was bracing for the worst.
"Have you talked to Grace?" he asked.
Claire hesitated. "Yes. I had to, Jim."
"Oh yeah?" He knew he was teasing her, but it was rather fun.
Claire sighed. "I had to know what happened or I would have driven myself crazy. But she didn't tell me much. She was really vague. Basically saying I'd accomplished my goal and everything was fine. And that she adored you and told me I better not screw this up. Then she said the hospital called her in for a shift so she had to go. I still don't know if I believe that or not."
Jim chuckled. "I adore her too."
Claire blinked a bit at this news. "Oh?"
His chuckle turned into an all-out laugh at this point, and he reached for her hand before it could grab her soup spoon.
"It was a very educational evening between friends and fellow subs who would bend over backwards for their Dominants. And who would like a little more out of their relationships with them."
Claire nodded slowly. "What kind of education? What did you learn?"
"Oh, no, my dear. Those are surprises for another day. Does my Princess like surprises?"
She glanced down at her bowl warily. Jim had never seen her so quiet and meek. He liked this side of her. Hell, he liked every side of her — tumultuous and confusing as they may be.
"No, I don't usually like surprises. At all."
"Because you want to be in control of everything."
She nodded, taking a bite of her sandwich instead since he held her right hand. Jim stroked it lovingly with his thumb, tracing over the smooth baby pink of her painted nail.
"Can you trust me with just a few?" he challenged her. "Trust me to keep you safe and make you happy? And to make it up to you if I accidentally screw up?"
Jim watched as her chest visibly exhaled and her shoulders relaxed. She seemed to fall into it with relief, like she'd been wanting to do that her whole life.
"I'll try, Jim. I really want this."
"Me too, Claire. More than anything. I'm not bashing my first marriage; Barbara is a great person and I loved her. And I will always honor her as the mother of my kids. But I've never been head over heels like I am for you. You're everything I need. Even the parts of you that make me crazy. I'll do what it takes to make this work."
She gave him a small smile, and Jim could tell she was still holding something back, for some reason. But he dismissed it, knowing it would take some time for her walls to come down.
They did the dishes together, probably having too much fun with bubbles, working in an assembly line where he washed and she dried, to save her pretty painted nails. Jim listened to her laugh dancing along the sad and lonely yellow walls of his kitchen and knew he never wanted to be without that sound again. They retreated to the living room next, cuddling in front of the television to the familiar "dings" of Vanna White turning letters on the screen.
"Moonlight Sonata!" Claire cried when there were only three letters visible.
"How did you know that just from that?" Jim marveled.
"What can I say? I'm good."
"Smart cookie," he agreed. "I'm going to keep hounding you to go to Academy. I could use more sharp minds in the field."
"Then who would take over my picture perfect monthly reports, Commissioner?"
"Oh, I'd make you still do those too. No one else would ever know how I like it."
"Mmm, I definitely know how you like it." Claire sighed and slid closer, running her hand down his trail of buttons before fondling his leg. Jim caught her hand with a "tsk tsk."
"Not tonight, kiddo."
"Don't you want me?" she inquired with a pout. "Or was Grace so good you need recovery time?"
"Of course I want you. But I understand what you mean now... about the roles. Just because Mistress and Toy went 0 to 120 like a thrill ride doesn't mean Jim and Claire can't be a nice, slow lift and fall like a Ferris Wheel. And maybe Daddy can take Princess for a ride or two also... what's her favorite?"
Claire covered her face with both hands. "Oh, my god, Jim. You didn't just say that."
"I believe I did."
"I didn't know you had such a daddy kink."
"Me neither."
She buried her face in his shirt, and he could feel the vibration of her giggle on his chest. He kissed the top of her hair before handing her the remote.
"Find us a movie, kiddo. Your pick. Show me what you like."
"Comedy... always. I need to laugh."
"Me too," Jim agreed. "I usually watch good guys shoot bad guys, but I suppose that's not the healthiest form of entertainment for a guy like me, is it?"
Claire gave him a squeeze and found something to fit the bill. They stayed snuggled together for the whole movie, their hands surprisingly well behaved, though every once in awhile Jim could feel the angsty tension of a teenager building within either her body or his, as if they both were afraid of going too far. It was hot, and he loved it. As the end credits rolled along with a blooper reel, Jim stood, stretched, and pulled Claire with him toward the bedroom. He watched her hug herself nervously as she surveyed his quilted bed, and she darted to her bag seemingly for security more than anything else.
"You take the first turn in the bathroom," he offered, hands in his pockets, nearly as nervous as she seemed to be, even though it was his own turf. Claire nodded and skipped away, soon returning in navy plaid flannel pants and a gray tee that hugged her assets painfully tightly... at least for Jim. Luckily she seemed to have thrown some kind of sports bra on underneath, which he met with a sigh of relief. He really wanted to keep his promise to her.
Grinning, Jim grabbed his own flannel pants in green along with an undershirt and took his turn across the hall after inviting Claire to turn down the bed. When he arrived back to see her snuggled into the pillows, her clothed breasts peeking above his quilt, her eyes and smile sexy and daring— he felt his lips purse and trap a sigh within his chest. It was surreal to see another woman in his bed — a bed he'd slept in for nearly three decades with someone else. Part of him had known it was a big step, but he hadn't prepared himself for how he'd react. It wasn't a bad feeling... but it was complicated.
"Are you okay, Jim?" Claire asked quietly. "I can leave if you're not ready."
"No," Jim shook his head quickly. "Don't leave. Please." He moved forward with resolve and leaned over to kiss her, his hand cupping her face forcefully. He broke the kiss long enough to look in her eyes, their noses still touching. He noted the amber ring of fire that encircled her pupil and kept the light sage iris from making her eyes fully green. He noticed a small beauty mark on her right cheekbone, straight over from her nose, which was normally hidden by makeup. He kissed it next, then crawled over her to reach his side of the bed. Claire watched him, reserved and respectful, until he turned off the light and pulled her close. The instant they met again, Jim's brain cells started firing feel-good chemicals left and right.
"Goodnight, Jim," she said, and he felt her meld into him as she let out a contented sigh.
"Goodnight, Claire." He brought his arm around her and squeezed, holding her in silence until the movement of snowflakes in the streetlight outside his window grabbed his attention. He made a move to tell her, but she was already breathing deeply with sleep, smiling atop his chest.
Damn, I really do love her, was one of his last thoughts before he joined her. His actual last thought was that he hoped he wouldn't snore.
