Previously: He jumped as he noticed her feet, then leaned back and looked up. She was wrapped tightly in her robe, hair still wet, and looking down at him. “It’ll do, until I get you some glass cleaner. But it wasn’t done before I got back, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to suffer. Just remember who wrote ears are for hearing orders on their list during this next part.”
He glared. “This is beyond humiliating.”
She smirked. “Is that why I’m enjoying it so much? Or is it something else? Maybe because you seem to prefer to dress like a hobo?” Her hand slid down the front of the shirt, smoothing it, then she frowned back at him. “Try on the blue one. Ears. Orders.”
He sighed and took the shirt into the changing room, undoing and redoing buttons. She waited outside, sitting cross-legged on the stool for trying on shoes, fingers flicking across her phone.
He came out of the changing room, sighed, and held his arms out from his sides. She looked him up and down, then tilted her head, then finally nodded. “It’ll do. Thirty percent less hobo. In fact, you almost look like a grownup.”
He started unbuttoning the shirt and headed back for the changing room. “Looking like a grownup is vastly over-rated, and their clothes are itchy.”
She dropped her phone in her purse, and stood up. “Pay for it and meet me in the food court.”
He paid for the shirt, grunted responses to the cashier’s attempts at small talk, and trudged through the mall. He walked through the food court, looking from side to side. She saw him first and waved him over, then looked up at him. “Hey cutie, get me a slice of cheese pizza and a soda, and pick up whatever you want.”
He chuckled and dropped the bag on the table, then walked over to the pizza counter. He watched her at the table, probably playing a video game on her phone judging from the way her fingers moved and the look of concentration on her face, and whistled tunelessly as the long line wound its way past the counter. Finally their order was ready and he walked back to her table. The tray dropped on the glossy imitation granite top and he slid it across to her side, then grabbed his own soda and pizza and lifted it towards his mouth.
“Uh-uh, wait until I’m done.” She took a delicate bite from the pointed end and raised an eyebrow as she chewed. “Well?”
He put the slice of pizza back down in the flimsy cardboard container, and raised an eyebrow back at her. “I’m finding ears are vastly over-rated at the moment.”
“The terrible torture of being you.” She ate slowly, but deliberately, enjoying the site of him drumming his fingers on the table, checking his email, and putting his phone away. The last bite disappeared into her mouth, and she took a long drink of soda. “Go ahead, you’ve earned it, surly-pants.”
He took a large bite, chewed, and swallowed. He counted to ten in his head, and then shrugged. “This just wasn’t I had in mind when we started.”
She leaned back, and spoke slowly and carefully. “I know. But these are things we need to do, you looked like you needed a break, I definitely needed a break, and it seemed like a good way to kill both of those birds with one stone.” She looked into his eyes then flicked her gaze away. “Sorry if it’s not sexy fun times for you.”
He chewed, swallowed, took another bite, and chewed. “It’s just that, if we’re going to take a break, I’d like to take a break. This is weird, it’s very mixing vanilla and d/s, and I’m not sure where to go with it or how to process it.” He took a drink, and glared at the ceiling. “The music doesn’t help, either. Never in the history of d/s, with its long and gloried list of monumentally bad decisions, has someone thought John Denver’s Christmas album would help them get their kink on.”
She laughed and the tension eased out of her shoulders. “Okay, fair enough. You’re off the hook. I’ve got three more errands I need to run, and you can be your usual surly, snarky, horrible self until we get them finished and are back home.”
“Thanks.” He smiled and offered her the last bite of pizza, and she shook her head. He popped it in his mouth, chewed around the words, and tried to look innocent. “What happens when we get home?”
She licked her lips, and wiggled in the hard plastic chair. “The break is over, and your nose gets clamped, my friend. My advice: Drive slow and enjoy these errands.”
Preview: Noses are for being clamped? WTF was I thinking when I wrote that? The nose is like, the least erogenous zone ever.
Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.