Chapter Thirteen: Asking For Help

I walked towards the slick black car that was sensible yet sleek and masculine. I knew it was his car, having seen it several times in his driveway. But it wasn't until that moment that I realized it suited him almost perfectly.

My agitation had reached its boiling point by the time he unlocked the car. I didn't know what I could say or do to defuse the situation. I really wanted to fix it, but the words just wouldn't come.

He put the bags in the trunk, then opened my door. Only when I was safely secured in the car did he close the door and get into the driver's side. He put the key in, then paused and breathed slowly in and out as if trying to calm himself.

"I know you don't know me that well… but, whatever is going on with you… you can tell me, and I will help you. I promise," Mr. Jones swore.

His dark eyes caught mine and held me there. I could see the plead deep within them. He wanted me to tell him, to let him help. But, what if he thought the worst of me.

"Thank you," I told him earnestly. "I-I um think he got the hint."

Mr. Jones raised an eyebrow at me but didn't say anything further. He let out a loud sigh and murmured something before he started the car.

I sat back with my brows furrowed in confusion, trying to figure out what he had said. I could have sworn he had said something like: "This would be easier if I could just beat her ass."

But that had to be wrong.

When he pulled up to my house, he jumped out quickly and came around, and opened the car door for me. He really was the perfect gentlemen, I thought to myself as he reached for my bags and took them up to the door. I let him in and watched him put them on the counter.

"Here alone?" he asked as he looked around.

If someone else had asked me, it would have sounded creepy. But Mr. Jones seemed more concerned that I was alone as if he was worried about my safety.

"Yes, my parents are up north for the weekend," I told him.

The butterflies came back as I realized I was alone… with him. I didn't have anywhere to go, nor did I have anyone that would come in on us.

"Would… do you want…" I stuttered, trying to get the invitation out.

He chuckled and winked at me.

"Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?" Mr. Jones teased.

I blushed harder and took a deep breath.

"Would you like to stay and have dinner with me?"

The smile on his face grew wider.

"That is a wonderful idea. Whatcha cooking me?"

Elated, I put my groceries away and tried to think of a good meal that could be easy to make. Not to mention it would have to go well with the cherry pie.

"Oh no! I never did grab the cherries!" I exclaimed, horrified.

He looked into the last bag and grimaced. "I'm sorry, little one. I rushed up out of there too fast. I'll run back and grab you some."

"That's not necessary!" I protested. "I'll just grab some tomorrow and make the pie then."

"Absolutely not. It was my fault that you forgot. So, I'll fix it," Mr. Jones insisted.

"You really don't have to help me," I insisted.

He walked around the kitchen island and touched my cheek gently.

"That's what I do, my dear. I am here to help you and fix problems. Even if you had forgotten them without my interference, I would still run back and grab them."

He kissed my forehead gently.

"But-"

"But, nothing. I will prove you can lean on me," Mr. Jones insisted.

My heart melted at his words. Let someone else fix a problem? That sounded magical to me.

"Now, pick out what amazing dinner your gonna make me. If you are missing something-" Mr. Jones wrote his number down on a piece of paper, "let me know."

Dumbfounded, I nodded as I stared at his number. He grasped my chin and raised it up. His eyes snagged mine and held them until he knew he had my full attention.

"Use your words, babygirl."

"Yes, Sir,"

"Yes, Sir, what?"

"If I need anything for dinner, I will let you know immediately."

Mr. Jones's gaze turned thoughtful. "Actually, make that… 'if you need anything at all, call me."

"Really?" I questioned, startled.

"Yes, really. Now repeat after me: I will call you if I need anything at all, Sir."

"I will call you if I need anything at all, Sir," I parroted dutifully.

He smiled widely and pressed another kiss to my forehead. "Such a good girl," he praised me.

My stomach sprouted those happy little butterflies again and let them flutter around. Mr. Jones's words of praise meant so much to me that I had to stop myself from doing a happy dance. He took a look at my face and chuckled.

"I love how happy you are with such small praise. It's going to make giving you a real reward so delightful," Mr. Jones said as he rubbed his thumb across my bottom lip.

My eyes grew larger at his words, and my butterflies began to swirl around my stomach faster.

"Your cherries."

"What?" I breathed out.

"I need to get your cherries," he reminded me.

"Oh, yes," I responded, still feeling as if my mind was lost in the clouds.

He chuckled again, then brushed a soft kiss to my lips. As he left, he took all the air out of the room with him. I sagged against the counter and stared sightlessly out the door that he had disappeared through. What was I doing? I had never kissed a boy, now this week alone, I had kissed one twice. I must be out of my mind! I shook my head to clear it and turned back to the kitchen. I began putting things away and started checking on the ingredients for dinner. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, I didn't have to call Mr. Jones and ask him to pick up anything else.

I kept busy preparing the pie crust and getting dinner ready. But, every once in a while, Mr. Jones's face would pop into my mind. When it did, I would have to stop what I was doing just so I could remind myself to breathe again.

I was so involved I almost missed the sound of the front door opening. My world stopped on a dime at that moment, and without being able to see who it was, my body knew it was Mr. Jones. His voice drifted to me, awakening the butterflies once more. He was speaking to someone and didn't sound happy about whatever they were discussing.

"Fine, damn it. I'll be there," Mr. Jones growled as he entered the kitchen.

Angrily, he jabbed the end call button and looked at me. "Sorry, babygirl. That was my foremen. I'm going to have to take a rain check. There are some problems with the building, and the owner won't make a damned decision unless he talks to me first," he snarled, obviously annoyed at this man.

"Oh," I commented as I dropped my eyes to hide my disappointment.

"Eyes up, little one," Mr. Jones reminded me gently.

I took a deep breath and tried to plaster a happy smile on my lips.

"That's okay. Maybe, next time," I replied brightly.

He set the grocery down with a smile, then took my hands in his own.

"Tell me how you are really feeling," he instructed me gently. "Because I can tell you that I'm pissed as fuck that I finally get more than a moment with you, and I have to run," he said.

My eyes grew wide, and I felt my heart melt a bit.

"Not to mention… I, yet again, have to miss out on tasting your delicious cherry… pie," he said with a rakish smile.

I had an odd feeling that he wasn't talking about the food, and my cheeks flushed bright red. The insinuation that he might mean something beyond a good dinner made the butterflies move up to my chest.

"Now that you know how I feel, open up to me," he requested.

"I-I am upset because I was really looking forward to making you dinner and spending some time with you. I am sad that we can't," I said slowly.

Each word felt easier to say than the next one.

"Better?" he asked. I gave him a genuine smile.

"Yes, Sir," I responded, happy when he didn't seem upset.

"Good. You can always share your feelings with me honestly and openly. As long as you are respectful when you speak to me, I'll listen," Mr. Jones explained.

I nodded my understanding.

Mr. Jones bent down and pressed his lips to my forehead again. "Good girl. I have to go."

I nodded sadly again.

Mr. Jones pulled me close and held me tight, surrounding me with his scent. The world melted away, and we were completely alone. I almost whined in protest when he pulled back slightly but managed to bite it back. He tilted my chin up and gazed deep into my eyes.

"I really should go," he reminded me softly.

It seemed like he was telling himself more than me.

I couldn't move away from him… didn't want to move away from him. The desire, the need, the desperation for him overwhelmed my stern inhibitions.

"Sir," I whispered so softly I almost didn't hear it myself.

"Yes, babygirl?" he whispered back.

"Please… will you kiss me again?" I pleaded.

"Ah, sweet girl," he said reverently cupped my face gently. "You continue to play with fire."

"I have no idea what you mean, Sir. But I know that I need to kiss you again."

"Well, far be it for me to deny a little subby of what she needs," he agreed, his lips inches from mine.

"A what?" I whispered.

Instead of answering, his mouth took mine. His tongue pressed my lips apart and plunged inside, tasting and teasing. He rubbed his tongue against my own, flicking and tormenting. I moaned softly as the motions sent pleasure rolling through me. My nipples hardened and pressed against my bra. The caress of the fabric tormented me in the most delicious way.

My body responded on its own, pressing tightly against the large expanse of his chest. He growled erotically, sending shivers down my spine and fueling my need. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me tightly as his mouth ravished mine.

He possessed it, owned it.

He pulled our hips together, and a distinct bulge pressed into my stomach. Oh! My desire clouded brain thought. That was his… Oh! My panties were completely soaked. The need to rub that area against the hardness began to overwhelm me. My clit was began to ache unbearably.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood up on my tiptoes, wanting so badly to get closer. Out of nowhere, he picked me up and slowly walked over to the table, then laid me out on it like a feast he wanted to devour.

His lips released mine.

"Fuck," he whispered as he looked down at me.

"What?" I breathed.

"You are so beautiful it hurts and so wet that I can feel it through my pants," he replied.

"I-I'm s-"

He cut my words off with another toe-curling kiss.

"Don't apologize. It's an amazing thing," Mr. Jones whispered against my lips. "It means that you are quite enjoying your Dom's attention."

"Oh…" I replied dreamily. "What's a Dom?"

He was brushing his lips against my cheekbone when I asked, and his words made him pause.

"Nothing you need to worry about right now, little one," he brushed off my question.

I opened my mouth to ask again, but the words turned into a cry of pleasure as he spread my legs further and pressed himself against my throbbing core.

"Mmmm, little one. Make that noise again," he demanded and rubbed that area again.

"Sir!" I cried and pressed back.

My hips would not settle after they felt the pleasure of moving against him.

"Oh, fuck, babygirl. Yes…" Mr. Jones growled against my neck while pressing kisses and nibbles.

My hips moved faster and harder. It felt so good… oh god, my mind shut down as sensations rolled from me and began to build.

"Please," I began to beg, needing more… needing release.

"Yes, babygirl. Come for me. I want you to come apart in my arms for me," Mr. Jones whispered in my ear.

He moved back against me… that intriguing bulge rubbing perfectly against my clit.

"Sir!" I screamed as the building, boiling pleasure burst and slammed through me.

His teeth bit down on my shoulder, and I could have sworn he whispered "mine". That simple word made my world burst and tumbled, then settle.

Mr. Jones held me tight to his chest as I trembled and tried to catch my breath. I was boneless… melting against him, wondering if I should feel ashamed or horrified. Instead, I so badly wanted to beg him to do it again… to do more. He stepped back and allowed me to lay against the table before gently lifting me into his strong arms against his chest.

He whispered for me to tell him how to get to my room, and I murmured some sort of random direction. I was too exhausted to be much help or to argue with him.

I didn't even want to leave his arms.

He laid me gently on my bed and snuggled my blankets around me. Without missing a beat, he handed me my penguin.

"You were perfect, little one," he whispered, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"Thank you, Sir," I murmured, feeling myself drifting off already.

The last thing I saw before succumbing to the exhaustion was Mr. Jones's eyes and smile. They both looking pleased and affectionate. A beautiful sight to take with me into my dreams of him.