Cassie giggled at Ivan’s ravenous tone and Samson’s answering growl. “And how exactly would that be more comfortable for me?”
Samson chuckled. “In a nutshell, baby, if I knew you wore it to please me, it would please me very much indeed.”
“I asked you how I should dress tonight. Pleasing you…does it for me.” He smiled at her as she worked it out. “If I don’t want to wear the fetish apparel because it makes me self-conscious, then by submitting and wearing it anyway, I please you, and in the process, it takes my self-consciousness out of the equation. If I have given over the control for how I’m dressed, I’m submitting to you.”
Samson nodded.
I’m still confused, but that at least makes a little sense. “Okay, but that means you’re responsible for what I wear to the club.”
“I’d be delighted. So glad you asked,” he said and then laughed along with her.
Wait. Did I just agree to walk around this damned place in my underwear? Holy crap!
“And if those dimples continue to bother you when you wear it, we could always have a dimple-flattening party. Then everyone would notice my handprints on your juicy, red ass rather than some inconsequential dimples.”
“You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”
“There’s more than one way to please a sadist, baby.”
* * * *
Ivan woke late that night to a cool spot on the bed between him and Samson. He hadn’t even moved yet when Samson rubbed his hand through his hair and said, “She couldn’t sleep and got up a little while ago. She knew you’re going in for Sunday brunch this morning, and she didn’t want to disturb you.”
“She okay?”
“I think so. She said she just has a lot on her mind. I heard her pick up the guitar case before she left the room.”
“I’m gonna go check on her.”
“Sure,” Samson murmured as he rolled to his side. “Coffee shop’s closed today so she can nap later if she wants to. I’ll get up and make the coffee in a few more minutes.”
Ivan grunted a reply as he pulled a pair of sweats from his overnight bag and tiptoed down the hallway. Joseph and Tamara were both staying with friends, and Delicia’s bedroom was on the other side of the house, but he still didn’t want to chance waking Cassie’s mother up. Her health had improved since she’d moved in with Cassie, and Ivan didn’t want to wreck an arrangement that was clearly working by stumbling around like a clumsy bear, waking and potentially embarrassing either of the women. That was another reason they’d held off on a ménage. They’d both wanted complete privacy so Cassie wouldn’t worry about noise, at least the first time.
He paused at the sound of a guitar chord and headed toward the back door. Cassie had dusted off her guitar on Thanksgiving Day, and had managed a few of songs before one string had broken, followed quickly by another. She’d evidently found time in her schedule to pick up some new strings.
Peeking out the window, he spotted her sitting at the patio table, wrapped up in a heavy blanket, a jar candle providing a little light and a weight for the sheet of paper she was writing on.
“I’ll be damned. Is she writing?” Samson asked softly from behind him.
“Shhh, listen.”
Setting aside the pencil, she tucked some hair that had come loose in the wind behind her ear and then took the guitar pick, which she’d held between her lips. Her fingers moved with supple grace over the strings as she plucked out the melody. Goose bumps danced on his arms and shoulders as she hummed along, her voice clear, sweet, and high as she sang the notes along with her instrument.
He gulped and didn’t look behind him when he heard a slight sniffle. It affected him, too. Samson whispered, “I’ve missed that. Remember? She used to hum and sing all the time.”
She stuck the pick back between her lips and picked up the pencil again, her gaze moving off to the east where the sky had gone from black to pearly gray. Her profile was peaceful, and some thought she had made her smile tenderly as she removed the pick from her lips and looked at it. As if ready to focus once more, she sat up straight and began writing on the paper again, which he could see was sheet music, filled with sweeping lines and notes.
Ivan cleared his throat as quietly as possible. “I was considering going out there, but if she’s feeling inspired, I don’t want to disturb her.”
Samson nodded as he watched her. “I was thinking about it, too, but she’s been out there a little while. We ought to at least take her another blanket and some coffee.”
“Good thought,” Ivan said. And a good thing there was enough ambient light in the kitchen for Samson to make coffee without turning on the overhead light and disturbing her concentration. “I’ll go shower.”