Letting Go (Letting Go Series #1) (6 page)

“A shade over six feet.”

Tall is
good, since I’m taller than average for a woman..

“Body type?”

“Fit. I weigh somewhere around one hundred and ninety.”

Typical guy—only has an estimate of his weight
, but willing to share it freely. Most women know their weight to the ounce, though we usually would rather die than divulge the number.

“Hair and eye color?”

“Light brown, cut short, and green. A very nice green, I’ve been told.”

Mmmm
…I love green eyes. A picture of him is beginning to emerge. I’m sure it’s not exact, but maybe it’s at least in the ballpark.

“Are you good looking?”

“That’s a very subjective question, Jennifer. How about if I answer you this way: while you won’t find my picture in a men’s underwear catalogue, I don’t think you’ll be at all disappointed.”

Well, I certainly didn’t expect an answer like that. I guess he’s probably okay looking, at least. I hope
so, anyhow.

“How old are you?”
I ask.

“I’m
exactly ten years older than you, Jennifer.”

I’m glad he’s older than me. I still haven’t decide
d where this is going, but there’s no way I could do it with someone younger than me, or even my age, probably. Older is definitely good here. Older means wiser, and more mature.

“What kind of work do you do?”

He hesitates for just a moment. “I think I’ll keep that to myself for now. Continue.”

Hmmm…not a big deal, but I wonder why he won’t tell me. Maybe he’
s too identifiable in his field, or has a career, like politics, that could be harmed if this particular proclivity came out. Oh god, I hope he’s not in politics. That would be much too scummy. I don’t think I could do something like this with someone who was a politician.

“Did you go to college?”

“Yes, and grad school, too. I have a Master’s Degree, no pun intended.”

I smile.
“In what?”

“Psychology.”

“Ahhhh, that explains it?”

“Explains what, Jennifer?”

Why you’ve been living inside my head, I think to myself. I don’t want to say that, though, so instead I say, “Why you seem to be so good at knowing what I’m thinking and what I’m feeling.”

“Have I been good at that, Jennifer?”
There’s a teasing tone to his voice now.

“You know
that you have.”

He chuckles. “
Perhaps I have. But it’s not from anything I learned in school, believe me. I’m not a therapist or a counselor of any sort, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Well, cross it out of your mind. I’m nothing close to that. But I’ve always been good at listening to what people say, and to what they don’t say. And I’ve been doing this for some years now, so I guess I’ve sharpened my skills in this arena.”

I take a moment to decide what to ask next. Sir doesn’t seem to mind
the pause. I realize I haven’t asked him what might be the most important question of all. I hope he won’t be offended.

“Are you single?”

“Yes, Jennifer, I am. I would not be doing this if I was married. I’m monogamous by nature.”

My heart beats a little faster. I’m glad to hear him say that
—just in case.

“So you don’t have any subs now? Or slaves, or whatever you call them?

“No, Jennifer, I do not. Hence my ad.”

Some butterflies must have taken up residence in my stomach, because his response makes them begin to swirl inside me
. I didn’t expect to be so glad to hear he doesn’t have anyone right now. I hope he’s telling the truth, but I’m struck by the realization that I have no way to know. After all, he could be a major league player. He certainly seems good enough at this to have a flock of women at his disposal.

I shake the thought from my mind.
I have more questions I want to ask while he’s in such a revealing mood.

“Do you smoke?”

“No, I abhor cigarettes. I don’t do drugs, either, but I do enjoy a drink now and then.”

“I’m glad
to hear that—I’m the same way.” I want to go back to building my picture of him. “Do you have any facial hair?”

“No, I don’t. What about you?”

I can’t tell from his tone whether he’s serious or not, but then I hear a soft chuckle through the phone. I’m glad he has a sense of humor. It makes this whole thing a little less frightening.

“I have a
bushy black mustache,” I say, returning his jest. “I hope you like hairy women.”

He laughs. “Not generally,” he says. “But a
razor will deal with that, if necessary.”

Uh, oh.
I may have stumbled into a scary area. I can’t tell if he’s still joking or not. I’m trimmed quite neatly—but will he want me shaved down there? I don’t think I’ll open that door by asking at this point. Better to let sleeping dogs lie!

I’m feeling a bit nervous now, so I get up and start walking around my apartment while
I retreat to safer conversational ground.

“What part of town do you live in?”

He tells me without hesitation. He lives about five miles from me—close enough to be nice and convenient, but not so close that we’d be likely to run into each other at the grocery store if this whole thing goes awry. And I could very easily see something like this going awry.

I go back to what he lo
oks like.

“Do you have any tattoos?”

“No, Jennifer, I do not. No piercings, either.”

I’m glad to hear that. A pierced ear would be okay, but anything else might be too scary for me.
If he was pierced in any of those more personal places, he could have similar plans for me. I definitely don’t see
that
in my future.

“
Is there any chance you would send me a picture of you, Sir?”

He pauses, considering my request, I think. I hope I haven’t overstepped my bounds.

“I could do that, Jennifer, but it might ruin things.”

Huh? Ruin things?
What does that mean? Maybe he’s not as good-looking as I was imagining. Is he worried I won’t like the way he looks?

“Don’t worry,” he continues. “I’m not concerned
about your reaction to my appearance. I told you that you won’t have any problem with my looks.”

There he is, back inside my head again.
If he’s going to live there, I should start charging him rent.

“What, then?” I ask, confused now.

“Remember our little game yesterday?”

Of course I remember. How could I forget?
Maybe it’s a trick question.

“Yes, of course.”

“Remember that when you entered my home in my scenario, I remained hidden behind the door? And then I blindfolded you? You never saw my face the entire time. Tell me, did that add to your excitement?”

I think back
to yesterday. I’m pretty sure it did—increasing the air of dangerous mystery. My excitement is increasing right now just thinking about it. I sit down on my couch.

“Yeah, I think it did.”

“Well, you have your answer then. If I send you my picture, that aspect of our play will be lost forever. You don’t want that, do you?”

Wow, how do I answer that?
Imagining it is exciting, but could I ever really even think of doing something like this with someone I’ve never seen? I don’t see how. That’s just not me.

“You’re won
dering if you could ever do something like that, aren’t you, Jennifer,” Sir asks, reading my thoughts once more.

“Ye
s. To be completely honest, I don’t see how I could do it.”

“Com
plete honesty is the only thing I demand from you at this point, Jennifer, so thank you for that. Let’s not worry about the picture right now. I can always send you one later, if we decide it’s necessary for you to continue down this path. This way, we retain the possibility of mystery, just in case. How does that sound?”

“It sounds okay,” I admit
, happy that’s he’s asking my opinion and giving me a choice. I wonder how long that will last. “Okay for now, anyhow,” I add.

“
You told me you’re completely new to this, right?”

“Yes. I
’ve never done anything even remotely like this.”

“No boyfriend has ever tied your hands, just for fun, or blindfolded you?”

I wish. Maybe if one had, my sex life wouldn’t have been quite so unsatisfying.

“No, never.
There haven’t been all that many guys, and it’s always been very vanilla.”

“Did you enjoy the sex?”

“Sometimes…but never all that much.”

“Then perhaps it’s time to try something new.”

“Maybe,” I agree. “But if I do, the question is what to try.”

“I think we both know the answer to that, Jennifer. There were all kinds of ads you could have responded to, yet you chose mine. Unless, of course, you replied to lots of them, but I don’t think you would do that.”

“You’re right. I only answered one—yours. And even that wasn’t easy for me.”

“I’m very glad you did answer mine, Jennifer. And I think you’re glad, too—despite your reservations.”

He nailed that right on the head. I am very glad I answered his ad, but I definitely have reservations.

“Yes, I’m glad,” I reply, “but as you said, with reservations.
Big reservations.”

Somehow, I’
m pretty sure he’s smiling at my reply.

“Perfectly understandable,” he says. “My job now is to
help you feel a bit more comfortable.”

I raise my eyebrows.
That’s going to be some trick. I wonder how he plans on doing it.

CHAPTER 10

As our conversation has become
more personal and more intense, my mouth has been growing dry. I could simply go to the kitchen for some water or juice, but I decide to ask Sir’s permission first.

“May I get myself a drink please, Sir?
My mouth is getting pretty dry.”

“Of course, Jennifer.
It’s nice of you to ask.” I can hear in his voice that he’s pleased, which makes me smile. “Take your time,” he adds. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I get up from the couch and head for the kitchen, carrying my cell with me. Orange juice sounds good, so I pour myself a glass and then take a seat at the table.
I swallow two gulps of juice, enjoying the sweet, cool taste. I take a deep breath and put my phone back to my ear.

“I’m here, Sir.”

“Welcome back, Jennifer. Ready to continue?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you know anything about limits and safe words?”

“I do, yes. I
’ve read the Fifty Shades books.”

“
Good. Those books paint an overly romanticized picture—there will be no four thousand dollar shoes or private jets here, I’m afraid—but at least I won’t have to explain what those terms are. Let’s start with your safe word. You will choose one to your liking, so you’ll never forget it. Some Masters tell their subs to use “red” for stop and “yellow” to slow down, but I prefer you be more creative. When
you
choose the word, you own it, which I think is much better. Does any word come to mind right now?”

“Let me think for a moment.”

“Remember, it needs to be a word that will be totally out of context, so that if you ever say it, I’ll register it instantly and immediately stop what I’m doing.”

I smile as a word comes to me.

“Spaghetti,” I say.

“
Spaghetti, huh? That’s a pretty good choice. It should definitely be out of context—unless we’re having dinner, of course.”

I hadn’t thought of needing my safe word at dinner. Not for the first time, I wonder what I’m getting myself into.

“Should I change it?” I ask.

“
No, it’s fine. Since it was the first word you thought of, you’re less likely to forget it or get confused. Besides, I’m hoping you’ll never have to use it, because our communication will be so clear and our trust so strong. Still, you need to have one.”

I’m glad to have one, too. Even more, I’m glad
that he’s the one who insisted on it. It shows he’s looking out for me.

“Yes, I think it’s a good idea, just in case.”

“Now, on to your limits,” he says. “This is going to be a bit more complicated, but even more important. Do you know what hard and soft limits are?”

“I think so. Hard limits are
things I’ll never do—no way, no how. Soft is stuff I don’t think I want to do, but I leave open the possibility of change as I learn more about myself—and about you.”