13 comments/ 34452 views/ 40 favorites Amazing Grace Ch. 01-02 By: D_Lynn Author's Note: I'm posting this story in its entirety, so subsequent chapters should come out daily. I've tried to group shorter chapters together while managing breaks between submissions where they make sense. I haven't checked for sure, but I believe every segment includes at least one erotic scene. This story does not contain hardcore BDSM elements that involve heavy humiliation. It is about an aspiring novelist named Grace and her first foray into the lifestyle. There will be bondage, spanking, paddling, whipping with a crop, role-playing, and a lot of sex. It is largely centered on the first time experience and overcoming anxieties. First and foremost, it is a love story. I've written follow-on short stroke-stories using these characters but from the Dom/Top POV. The first of these stories will be entitled "Ethan's Grace -- The Flogging" and will be posted as soon as this entire series is available. I welcome constructive feedback and comments, and genuinely appreciate your support. I sincerely hope you enjoy this story. -Dakota Lynn CHAPTER ONE Author meets Dom I can never quite tell, when I'm anxious, if it stems from fear or excitement. It's almost always a mix of the two, but in what proportion? It shouldn't matter but I can't keep myself from wondering. As I sat there waiting for my turn on the platform I wanted to know which one it was. You see, it all feels the same to me. Whether I'm 100% excited with 0% fear, or just the opposite. Elevated heart rate, sweaty palms, twitchy stomach, a hitch in my breathing like my lungs have shrunk, and the total inability to hold a single thought in my head no matter how hard I try. My eyes flitted across the crowd. I hadn't counted but there might've been twenty. Mostly couples. The spotlights cast serious shadows across the groupings from my vantage point so I could only detect dark outlines. In plain view behind them was a backdrop of every device known to the lifestyle. Or at least a fair sampling. It should be inspiring to me instead of intimidating. After all, it was partly my idea to hold the reading in that location in the first place. About a month earlier I emailed the webmaster of one of the larger local BDSM clubs. I was looking for some inspiration for my next novel. I hadn't written anything since ... well, it had been months. I'd been dealing with other personal matters that just put me in the wrong mood for erotic prose. The group leader suggested I come read samples of my work at their next meeting. Since this was not appropriate at the public munch, a private location was secured. I might have suggested renting the dungeon, having researched it before with some interest, or I merely agreed enthusiastically to the suggestion; I'm not sure which. At any rate, I consented to reading aloud a collection of my written works. It's a very different thing, reading aloud what you've written. Adding voice to the composition somehow makes it more personal. I was about to speak aloud words that just weren't used in every day speech. Pussy, for example. I seem to write that word a lot, but I can't recall the last time I used it in a casual sentence on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Cock. Ass fucking. Nipple, clit, cum. All of those words were present in my stories and so they were about to fall freely from my lips to a group of strangers, who in all likelihood, were about to get off to them in front of me. Does that scare me or excite me? I sucked a long breath into my constricted lungs in an effort to calm my nerves. The group leader was about to finish his announcements and relinquish the platform to me. I tried not to think of what that platform was usually used for, but with chains hanging overhead, it was difficult to ignore. A lone figure in the crowd caught my attention. He was so still I had to look twice to determine whether he was a statue, or was real. I kept glancing in that direction to convince myself. The other statue, the suit of medieval armor that stood erect before a red backdrop, kept throwing me off, too. I honestly expected that statue to move first. It was possible for someone to be in that suit. Not very likely, but possible. Being the skittish person I was, and so easy to startle, it kept me on alert. This is why I never visit haunted houses. Why are you even thinking about this? Concentrate. I practiced at home several times throughout the month leading up to the event. At first I simply tried to get used to my own voice. Then I tried to get through a sex scene without feeling like my skin was on fire. At last, I worked up to doing it in front of a mirror. It was excellent training, I thought to myself as I nearly strained a muscle patting my own back. It hardly seemed like enough in those moments just before I began, but it paid off in the end. In spades. When at last I stepped up to the makeshift podium it was that preparation that wrapped me in my own suit of armor and gave me the courage to charge forward. And as I continued to relay the story I'd written, cocks and pussies, and whips and cages, and all, I reveled in the sea of writhing bodies before me. It was only then that I realized that my only fear was that they wouldn't get off on it. Or at least get revved up. In what felt like a very brief time later, I was wrapping up the last chapter of my short story. I was more than mildly aware of my own arousal. I'd only heard the response of the crowd, not actually seen it, and that was enough to put me on the edge. With a light directly on me so that I could read, I could scarcely see beyond the platform. It wasn't until the last word on the page was read and I stepped out of the light that I could treat myself to the view. The exposure of skin was immediately apparent. Nipple clamps were popular I could see, and that gave me a certain sense of pride because there'd been a few scenes centered around them in my story. I could hardly take credit, though, since the participants had to decide to bring them long before hearing my tale. Still, I was pleased. And relieved to be finished talking. The mysterious dark form was still there, perched against a spanking bench, in nearly the same position as when I started. If it had been the exact same position I would've talked myself into believing it was a statue after all. I froze and stared at the immovable form. For way too long, it seemed because I slipped into some sort of stupor. It was the group leader's mention of my name that snapped me out of my reverie. I'd offered to answer questions afterward about my novels, or about writing in general, or anything within reason, as long as it didn't include divulging my real name and occupation. They had the facility reserved for another fifteen minutes so the group was free to take advantage of that time in whatever way they wished. Many of the couples, being sexually charged from the reading, had no intention of spending their time talking to me, so I mostly sat and watched. There wasn't anything else to do. And I became immensely aware that I, too was being watched. It didn't feel exactly like they describe in books, with hair standing on end, prickling the scalp, it was more like a tingling sensation at the base of my skull that traveled down my body alerting every nerve ending. I was suddenly conscious of every breath I took, every minute movement of my shoulders, the way my tongue couldn't seem to stop licking my lips. I finally held my bottom lip between my teeth to stop it before I went mad. It was downright unsettling for someone who wasn't exactly in the best frame of mind at that point in time. For someone who'd just lost their husband. I tried not to think of it like that. It wasn't my husband's sudden death that was affecting my overall sense of self-worth. It was what I discovered after he'd died; the life he'd so artfully hidden from me while he was still alive and promising to be faithful. Her. I would've never guessed that one breach of contract could break me as completely as it had. Even if the contract in question was our marriage vow; our commitment to fidelity until death us do part. And how ironic it felt that only after the term of contract, after he'd passed away and was buried beneath the soil did I learn of the betrayal. It was this and not his death that devastated me the most. If I'd just found out sooner I would've had the opportunity to revolt. To say my peace in absolute righteousness without the tiniest speck of guilt. But his death had denied me that. I had no choice now but to suppress my outrage. Go on as if nothing had happened. As if I'd not been made a fool of for the last two years of my marriage. It's difficult to blame something, anything, on a deceased person. Once they're gone, all guilt goes with them, except of course the guilt that you feel for still being alive. That guilt continues to thrive inside you and spread like a virus until eventually it evolves from an affliction to a disability. Until it becomes apparent that there is only one person left to blame on this earth. Yourself. The general sounds of departure caught my attention. Low murmurs, hugs and handshakes. Another span of time had slipped from my grasp. It seemed to happen frequently, although it was getting slightly better. Rather than dazing through hour-long chunks of time, I was only skipping over five and ten minutes at a time. A definite improvement. "Thanks for coming today." The group leader was a very warm individual; a good choice for that position. "It was fun. Thanks for having me." "A few members have already asked if you could come back. What do you think?" "I...sure. That'd be great. About the same amount of time?" "I think so. Ethan is checking on availability for two weeks from today. Same time." I wasn't sure who Ethan was as I glanced around the room. No one was making their way toward us so I just nodded and shrugged. "Okay." My gaze automatically locked onto the spanking bench. My motionless admirer had left his perch. I scanned the group for anyone resembling his shape. It was difficult to tell. That is, until he was walking straight for me. I held my breath and froze in place. My mind reeled with possible explanations for his odd behavior. Was he bored with the story? Does he recognize me from somewhere? Work, maybe? God, that would be awkward. "It's all yours, John." "Thanks, Ethan. Did you have a chance to meet our author? Kimber Lee, this is Ethan, or more affectionately referred to as Master E." I extended my shaky right palm in greeting. "Nice to meet you." His hand sent a wave of static electricity to mine as he touched me and I flinched. Ethan tilted his head to the side with a half smile as he gripped my hand and nodded his greeting. A moment later he released my hand. It wasn't unfriendly, exactly, but it left me feeling even more uneasy. I was growing more certain by the second that he didn't approve of me for some reason. Although, I was also sure after seeing him beneath the light that I'd never laid eyes on him before. Because I'd remember that face. To categorize his face as handsome wouldn't be right, although it would be close. It was an interesting face. Bright green eyes that could penetrate steel with one determined look, and brows set low and straight so as to make him appear to be scowling at everything and everyone. I doubted he ever smiled; or if he did, the smile never reached his severe forehead. His nose was slightly crooked, with a dimple at the tip that matched the one in his chin. He had more than a few days of stubble along his chin and jawline and a fashionably sparse mustache. I surmised that it not only made him look rugged, but older as well. He very well may have been ten years my junior, but you'd never know it by his appearance. Or the way he carried himself. Overall, he was definitely attractive. Out of your league, Grace Kimberly Davis. It wasn't difficult to automatically categorize his acquaintance as 'never gonna talk to him again'. I mean, let's face it, we can usually tell in the first few seconds of meeting someone whether or not they're on the menu. He wasn't even in the same restaurant as me. Now, I'm not downright offensive looking or anything, but I was not the level of beautiful that I was sure adorned his arm on a weekly basis. He just had that sort of unspoken charm. The one that ladies flocked toward. In shameless hordes. "I'm hoping Miss Lee here will consider joining our club. I think she'd make an interesting addition to our group, don't you Ethan?" I reluctantly glanced up at Ethan. A deep crease had formed down the center of his forehead as if he was forcing himself to remain serious after John's suggestion. He nodded and tilted his head to regard me sideways. "Is that what you want?" I was stunned that he was speaking directly to me. And then a little miffed by his question. What is he suggesting? "I haven't really given it much thought, yet." The truth of the matter was that I hadn't given it any thought, whatsoever. This visit wasn't social for me. It was business. Ethan straightened up. A tiny smug grin settled on his lips. Something about it just made my blood boil. "I think it would be a good way to meet people. I might just do that, John." I could feel Ethan's emerald stare heating up the side of my face as I locked my attention on John. "That's great. If you decide that's what you want to do, I'll make the announcement at our next meeting. Oh, that reminds me..." John turned to the remaining crowd to announce that they'd reserved the dungeon again in two weeks and that I'd be reading another of my stories. The reaction was favorable, and for a brief moment I'd forgotten the steel stare. But finally it became too disturbing not to address. "Have I done something to make you mad?" I couldn't quite believe my own ears. If I lived for a million years I'd never come to understand how I summoned the nerve to confront him like that. Ethan recoiled at my question. "No." "Then why the look?" His face instantly softened. "You're intriguing." Intriguing? What the hell does that mean? "Are you usually this defensive?" I opened my mouth to take issue with his question and then snapped it shut. I could see where I might've come across as a tad defensive. I shook my head and attempted a smile. "No." A full mouth grin spread across his face and I could see that I'd been totally wrong in my assessment of his appearance. He was downright gorgeous. CHAPTER TWO Second Reading That next week I followed a similar routine as the month before, practicing reading aloud to the mirror. I'd chosen snippets from one of my novels along with a synopsis I'd written to fill in the gaps in the plot that I wouldn't be reading. I was fairly satisfied with the flow. My only other alternative was to read some of the FemDom stories I'd written but I wasn't sure how well they'd go over with this largely MaleDom crowd. After a long day at work, I went one more round in front of the mirror the Friday prior to the scheduled event. I was on edge, more nervous than I was expecting to be by that point. After all, I'd already done this once in front of the same crowd of people in the exact same location. What was there to be anxious about? Ethan. Oh, dear God, no. Let it go, Grace. I'd had some difficulty getting him out of my thoughts since the last meeting. I hadn't exactly been obsessing about him or anything like that, but his face did pop into my mind a few times at totally unexpected moments. Take the shower that morning, for instance. I was about to squeeze body wash onto my shower sponge when a vision of his steely stare randomly appeared in my brain. I slathered the gel onto my hands instead. Then went to work washing my chest, tweaking my nipples to achingly hard points. All the while being locked in the gaze of those green eyes. After lunch it happened again. I don't even know what triggered it that time, or any of the times for that matter. The visions always just popped out of nowhere. I wondered if maybe I should just give in and stop trying to suppress them. It was becoming tiring. And the closer it came to the date, the more frequent they appeared. I crawled into my bed without giving it further consideration though and settled into sleep in record time. Sometime in the middle of the night, well, okay, it was 3:27 to be exact, I was roused by a dream. A sexual one. In the shadowy corner of my room I could barely see his outline. He was watching me. Still. Quiet. I knew what he wanted, what he expected; hell, what he was commanding me to do. I slipped my panties down to my ankles and pulled my feet through the openings as delicately as I could, then kicked the covers off my body. "Your nightshirt, too." I nodded and swallowed hard, feeling uncomfortable at the thought of bearing myself to him, but also more aroused than I'd felt in years. Slipping the soft cotton fabric over my head, I was instantly aware of my protruding nipples. They were an obscene display of my shameless want. "Spread your legs." I slid my feet slowly across the mattress. "Wider." I complied, even as my sensible mind warred with me. I knew I should stop. I was in serious danger of losing something. What? I don't know, but it isn't right to do this. My hips began to rock of their own volition, my back arching with my wrists still high over my head in silent offering. This feels so right. Please, please just touch me. "I want to watch you play with yourself. Start with your breasts." I slowly lowered my arms and then scooped my breasts into my hands, cupping them for his display. My thumbs rolled over my hard nips a few times, causing the points to pucker even more. Then I pinched them between my fingers and thumb and rolled them. "Harder." I pinched until my buttocks lifted off the bed and I gasped. "Oh, God, yes." My hands alternated from kneading and caressing to tweaking my nipples again. For an infuriating long period of time, until my body was filled with need. I began to plead in my mind to him. Please, please fuck me. I need to feel you inside me. Please. My hips were undulating in the most lascivious display. "Show me what you want. With your fingers." My right hand rapidly slid down my tummy to my center, my fingers moving directly to the opening. So wet. So slick and hot. I peered down between my open thighs to lock onto his gaze. His face was expressionless as the tip of my two fingers began to penetrate. Slowly into the slick heat they forged until my remaining knuckles were resting at the opening. "Add another finger and fuck yourself, like I would fuck you." I nodded. Yes. My third finger crammed in with the other two in a few careful strokes to get them lubricated. It's been a long time. Too tight. My fingers stretched the tissue uncomfortably but it only added to my arousal. It felt more like the real thing than just my one or two delicate fingers. "Harder. And faster." I obeyed, jamming my fingers as far in as possible with each stroke. Yes, yes, yes, oh, yes. I bucked my hips, meeting my hand with each thrust, desperately seeking my finish. "Come for me, Grace. Come now." His steady voice was my undoing. My muscles tensed with the last few poundings of my curled hand. Then all of my muscles went weak at once, my limbs collapsing against the mattress as if my bones had fallen out of them. My fingers were expelled in one of the aftershock convulsions and I merely dragged them across my hip as my elbow came to rest at my side, not noticing or caring about the sticky trail I'd just created. Amazing Grace Ch. 01-02 My chest heaved a sigh in an effort to catch my breath between pants. It had been one of the most powerful climaxes I could remember. I glanced beyond the foot of the bed and almost chuckled at myself. My aberration was gone. I pulled my legs together and rolled onto my side. Lifting my head, I glanced at my bedside clock. 3:43. My head fell heavy on my pillow and a moment later a shiver ran through me. I reached down and pulled the covers up over my nude frame. My mind was still. Not focused on anything but the tiny, familiar noises of an empty house. I pulled the covers tighter to my chest and curled my torso, bending and tucking my knees as close to my body as possible. Then the tears came. Like they always did. It was more than just loneliness. It was the nagging belief that it would always be just like this. For the rest of my life. That even if I did find someone with feelings for me ... if that was even possible ... I didn't deserve to be loved. I'd pushed my husband into the arms of another woman. I knew that now. It was my fault that my marriage had failed and I just didn't deserve another chance. Ever. *** The room was filled this time. It appeared as though there were twice the number of people as the previous meeting, not that I had a free moment to count. From the first minute I arrived until we were seated for announcements, I'd been inundated with questions and comments. Many of the women confessed to having bought my books after the last meeting. It was what I'd hoped for. The community being as tight-knit as it was, word of mouth spread fast. They were a very gracious group, many of them offering to help in any way they could. I found it difficult, but finally summoned the courage to ask for public reviews. It was the one thing struggling authors needed most to be successful. Only time would tell if they'd follow through. I honestly had no time to think about him until John was on the platform. I glanced over to the spanking bench. The shadowy outline of a couple was all I could see, and the man was definitely not Ethan. It dawned on me in that moment that Ethan was most likely with someone. How could he not be? Last time was a fluke. His girlfriend probably had a cold or something. I decided for my own sanity to not look for him. What's the point? John's mention of my latest book and his brief introduction of me drew my attention back to the task at hand. Showtime. I was far more relaxed than I was at the first reading. The crowd was on my side for sure this time, I knew it. I glided through the synopsis and then the snippets and chapters I'd chosen with great ease. I ended the reading with a drawn-out sex scene that heated up the group considerably, judging from the rustling of leather and grinding of metal zippers. Once again I moved away from the spotlight after the last word was read and allowed my eyes to adjust to the dark shadows. It was my own personal brand of torture. I wanted to see what I couldn't have. A brief thought crossed my mind. He's out there somewhere. Maybe with two women at once. God knows he's beautiful enough. The notion didn't even sadden me as I thought it might. He deserves to have everything he wants. I shuddered at the next sentence that popped into my thoughts. John didn't wait very long before stepping up to the platform. There wasn't much time left. I'd tried to keep the reading at about the same length as the previous meeting, but being more relaxed, I read slower. I glanced up apologetically at John as he cleared his throat to gain the attention of the impassioned crowd. He'd reluctantly abandoned his own half-dressed partner on the chair next to the stage. Clothes were hastily dragged back onto bodies in an effort to get to their cars or home to take advantage of their prevailing libidinous buzz. The appreciative glances as they made their way to the door was all I required for thanks. A couple approached the platform and the man peeled off to speak with John. The young redheaded woman stood with flushed cheeks. It was fairly obvious from her glow that she'd just been brought to climax. A consuming wave of envy caught me off-guard. In our best days together, Robert hadn't been able to do that for me. It took some serious hard pounding for me to even get close, and no one could be expected to last that long. According to Robert, anyway. I'm sure he's right. And my quick release the other night was just a fluke. A product of going so long without. One of the things that kept drawing me to this particular lifestyle was the openness. I watched the redhead waiting for her lover to finish talking. Her hair was disheveled and her clothing was barely covering her, yet she stood there unashamedly replete. And the adoring expression he greeted her with when he turned around made my heart stop. He was completely in love with her and didn't try to hide it from anyone. He lifted her chin and kissed her deeply, then paused to gaze into her eyes for a silent moment. The understanding that passed between them twisted my stomach in jealousy. He gripped her to his side as they walked toward the door. My eyes followed them until they were out of sight. "What is it about them that you find so interesting?" I turned toward the voice, fully knowing who it was even before I laid eyes on him. I glanced around him, left and right, and then settled my gaze on his curious green eyes. "I don't know." "Yes you do." I shrugged in an effort to render his question, and my subsequent answer, meaningless. "I guess it's just how into each other they seem to be." "They are. It's touching. You shouldn't be embarrassed to admit it." "I'm not." That annoying half grin reappeared. "Your defensiveness is showing again." "You have this way of bringing it out." "I make you nervous." I started to argue with him and then stopped myself. It would only come across as defensive. Again. Besides, it wouldn't be the truth. He did make me nervous. Very nervous, even. "That's a little better." "Why? Because I didn't argue with you?" "No. Because you took a deep breath and relaxed your shoulders. You probably had no idea you even did it." I shook my head briefly. "When you're not trying so hard to fight me, you soften." I sighed deeply and rubbed my forehead. Talking to him was a tad exasperating. "Why do I feel like I'm being scrutinized around you?" Ethan shrugged dismissively. "I don't know, probably because you are. I can't quite put the pieces together. It bothers me." "What does?" My voice came across as almost shrill. I hadn't realized how much his dissecting was beginning to trouble me. "You're so different in person than you are in your writing." "I'm not the characters in my story." Ethan chuckled. "I'm not talking about the characters, I'm talking about the way you see yourself. You finished your last novel less than a year ago. What has happened since then?" I shook my head and huffed at him as I tried to hide my disbelief over how perceptive he was being. I wanted to avoid his question. More than I wanted anything in the entire world at that very moment. I considered a feigned attempt at shock so I could make a quick exit and hightail it home never to return. But it would've come across as so completely fake. My cheeks began to flush at the thought of how it would look. Especially since he hadn't said or done anything appalling. Yet. By way of a small miracle, John intervened. "We need to get going, don't we?" Ethan held my gaze for another moment with that familiar crease in the center of his forehead, then he glanced at his watch. "Julian is due here any minute to lock up. I'll wait around for him; you guys go ahead." John nodded at Ethan and turned toward the door. I took a step to follow him out but was stopped in my tracks by Ethan's hand on my arm. "Please stay." My eyes rose from his hand to his face and locked onto his gentle gaze. His expression had changed drastically from perturbed to pleading. It stole my breath. I nodded and swallowed back the bile that was about to rise from my nervous stomach. Ethan held onto my arm until John and his friend were through the door as if I might suddenly change my mind and bolt. The thought had crossed my mind. He motioned for me to sit in the nearest chair. I got the distinct impression that my refusal would be insulting to him, so I sat. Ethan pulled the stocking beanie he'd been wearing off his head and ran his fingers through his hair for a few moments before heaving a huge sigh. "How did we get so off track? I'm no good at games. I want to talk to you without all the bullshit." "Okay. What do you want to know?" Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts for a moment. Then he sat down on a stool opposite my chair. "Did you think about me at all these past two weeks?" I wanted to lie but I knew it would end the conversation right there. "Yes." "While you were masturbating?" For a fleeting moment I thought maybe he had set up cameras in my house. My cheeks became enflamed. "Yes." He blew out a lungful of air and nodded. "Thank you." My mind was set to reeling. I had no idea how to interpret what he'd just said. I wanted to ask him but I couldn't find the courage. Instead I just planted a confused look on my face and waited for him to continue. "Listen, Julian is going to be here any second. We can't stay here but I don't want to end this conversation like this. I really needed to know if you were acting this way toward me because you hated me or liked me." "Oh." I hadn't really considered how I might feel about him. I mean, he was so out of my league there was no point. But of course I didn't hate him. "I don't hate you." Ethan tilted his head to the side and grinned. "Well, good. I guess that's a start." "I didn't mean..." A loud crash startled me in mid-sentence, followed by a shouted expletive. Ethan laughed and rose from his stool. "You alright, Julian?" "Yeah. Tripped over a fucking cord." He walked up to us and nodded to Ethan, then turned toward me. "Hey, how ya doin'? Julian." "Hi, Julian. I'm Kimber Lee." "Oh, yeah, you're the, uh, writer. Right?" "Yeah." Julian turned to Ethan. "You guys finished in here? Cause I got some work to do in back if you want some time." Ethan shook his head and slapped Julian on the shoulder. "No, man. We're just waiting on you." Julian followed us to the front door where we said quick goodbyes to him before turning toward the near-empty parking lot. "How far do you have to drive?" "About 30 minutes. North." "Me, too. Are you familiar with the Lewisville area?" "Yeah. It's not far from where I live." "On the corner of 121 and Stemmons, there's a coffee shop. You can follow me." I nodded without even thinking. "Okay." "Good. I'll see you there." I walked to my car and suddenly wondered if I would even remember how to drive. I was having trouble walking and I'd been doing that for much longer. The drive actually calmed my nerves a bit. The soothing chords from Bob Dylan's guitar coming across my speakers helped a great deal. The classic rock station I regularly listened to was highlighting songwriters from the 60s. And the numbing feel of just following a pair of taillights and not having to decide where to go was so comforting to me, somehow. I was tired of making decisions. Of everything falling on my shoulders. So tired. I parked my Honda sedan next to his late model Volvo. We came together at the back of the vehicles and he motioned toward the door, placing his hand at the small of my back to direct me there. I got the feeling he was worried I'd back out. Once again, his instincts were spot-on. I still wasn't sure what I was doing there, and the only thing keeping my feet moving toward that door, other than the reassuring, warm hand at my back, was morbid curiosity. We waited behind an older gentleman who was ordering at the counter. Ethan leaned toward me to speak in a low voice. "What would you like?" "Oh. I can get mine. You don't have to..." His perturbed glare stopped me from continuing. "Um, something without caffeine." Ethan reacted with a tiny triumphant smile. "They have an excellent assortment of herbal teas here." "That sounds great." Ethan nodded and stepped up to the counter, ordering two of the same type of tea. I briefly wondered if he'd done it to make me feel comfortable, or he just happened to not drink caffeine in the afternoons, either. I didn't have to wonder for very long. "If I drink caffeine after noon, it keeps me up all night. I've never been a big tea drinker until I came here. I love this brand. I even stock it at home now." I nodded, not sure what to add to that tiny confession. I was completely out of sorts, even more so than usual. I kept wondering to myself, what am I doing here? What could he possibly want with me? We sat with our drinks at a small table for two against the windows. I anxiously lifted and dunked my tea bag several times, thankful that I had something to keep my nervous hands occupied. All the while repeating the mantra: Don't panic. Don't panic. "I didn't think to ask before, but are you seeing someone?" His question was so absurd to me I nearly burst out in laughter. "No." "Oh, good. Because I'm really not in the mood to be confronted by a jealous boyfriend." "Are you ever in the mood for that?" Ethan grinned and shrugged. "Yeah, sometimes I am, actually." I chuckled and took my first sip of tea. As he was taking his first taste, another thought jumped into my head. "How about you? Am I about to get my eyes clawed out by some raving ex beauty queen?" Ethan's eyes grew wide and then he smiled. "No. I wouldn't be caught dead with an ex beauty queen. Too complicated." Well, then that really takes me off your radar because I'm an utter quagmire. "How long have you been writing?" I was relieved for the conversation to turn. "Three or four years, maybe." "How did you get started?" "It was a fluke, really. I just sat down to write something short one day and before I knew it, I'd written seven chapters." "You're good at it." I could feel the color rising to my cheeks. "Thanks. I'm okay. My vocabulary is a little weak, I think. I'd die without a thesaurus." "People don't read stories for the fancy words. Especially not the type of stories you write." I nodded. "You're right. I think they mostly read my stuff to get off." Ethan frowned. "It's more than that. You cut yourself short. I think most people just like to escape for awhile. Get lost in something other than their own life." "Is that why you read?" "Actually, to be perfectly honest with you, I don't read all that much." "So what you're saying about my writing is actually more hypothetical." "No." His voice came across as somewhat disgusted. "I read all your books. And your short stories, although I liked hearing you read them better." It felt like flames were overtaking my entire head. "I just don't read that much in general. I prefer to live in the here-and-now than dwell on fiction." "What about role-playing? That's a pretty big part of the BDSM scene, isn't it?" Ethan shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. I suppose. I don't think of it as pretend while I'm doing it, though. I like to play out real situations with real emotions and fears. Anything other than that just doesn't interest me." What he was saying made perfect sense. Even though I wrote fiction, probably to escape from reality myself, I couldn't see myself participating in any sort of play-acting. And like him, I preferred to keep my fiction as close to reality as possible. "I want to go back to something I said in the dungeon. Something you reacted to before we were interrupted, but I don't want to scare you off. I get this feeling that you have one foot out the door already." A weak smile tugged at my lips. I lowered my head in absolute guilt. He'd been nothing but pleasant and honest with me and I was acting like such a first-class coward. "I won't run. I promise." "I was right about something happening recently, wasn't I?" I nodded my head and cast my eyes to my lap. "Is it too personal for you to talk about?" "No. Just a little painful. I lost my husband last November. It was very sudden. A brain aneurysm. He was only 35, so you can imagine the shock." Ethan nodded. A concerned look had crept across his face and I felt instantly guilty about it. I quickly tried to remedy the situation. "It feels like ages ago now. I'm fine." "Were you in a D/s, M/s type of relationship?" "No, not anything like that. We never, you know, did anything like that. All my limited experience comes from before I met Robert. I just like to write about it." "I can tell his death has changed you. You seem to be so much more unsure of yourself in person than you are in your writing." I nodded and shrugged. I couldn't decide if his close examination of my psyche was bothersome because it was true, or because it was more personal than I was ready to deal with at the moment. "I'm making you uncomfortable again. I don't mean to." Ethan reached his hand across the short tabletop and pulled my clenched fist into his warm palm. "I'm not judging you, Kimber." I blanched at his use of my pen name. It didn't sound right. If we were going to get personal, he should at least know my real name. "It's Grace. Grace Davis." Ethan ran his thumb over my knuckles and I instinctively loosened my fist. He was smiling at me as his thumb worked its way into my half-closed palm. "I'm really okay. You don't have to feel sorry for me." "Sorry? Is that how you think I feel?" "Well, you're being so nice and everything. I just want you to know you don't have to be on my account. I really can handle myself." "Whoa. Where did that come from? Nice?" He lowered his voice as if talking to himself, "I've never been called that before." Ethan huffed a sigh and frowned at me, all the while still holding my hand. "I'm not here because I'm trying to be nice to you." "Why are you here, then?" "Because I want to be. I don't do anything I don't want to do. Don't you read your own books?" I winced at his question. "I meant ... damn you're so frustrating to talk to. I meant that it should be obvious to you that I'm interested, otherwise I wouldn't be here." "But, interested in what? I mean, I'm obviously not your type." "You're not? What exactly is my type, then?" "I don't know. Young, attractive, killer body, I'm sure." "And you don't think you're any of those things?" I shrugged and glanced around us to see if anyone could hear our conversation. Ethan leaned forward, tilting his head to the side and lowering his voice. "Where is this coming from?" "What?" Again, my voice was approaching that shrill defensive tone that he drew from me so effortlessly. "This gross misconception of your self. Did your husband do this to you?" "No. How could he; he's gone." Even as I said the words, I felt sickened by them. They were only partly true. Ethan was so close to drawing out the most personal thing that I could imagine about myself. I didn't want to give it up. If I said it out loud, he'd see me for what I really was. He'd see things the way I saw them and I wanted to hold onto this lovely little fantasy for just a few more seconds. I wanted to believe, even if for only a moment, that he found me attractive. With a sigh, he spoke gently. "I think people can have a long-lasting effect on us if we let them. Especially if we love them and they hurt us in some way. Is that what happened, Grace?" Amazing Grace Ch. 01-02 He was so right it scared me. I nodded my assent but it felt more like a surrender. "He didn't leave you on purpose. I'm sure he'd rather be sitting here in my chair if he could." Of course he didn't die on purpose. I needed to set him straight. The last thing I wanted was for Ethan to think I was a nut case. "It wasn't him. Not his death, anyway. "And you're wrong about him wanting to sit in that chair if he were here. He'd only want to sit there if she were sitting here. Not me."