Twenty-Three Vanessa
I’d given what we would make tonight a lot of thought, recalling how much she loved pumpkin pie. In the end, I decided a pumpkin soup and truffle ravioli would be adequate, based on what she’d enjoyed in the past. I'd already handmade the pasta dough when the doorbell rang.
She stood there in a light pink dress, her brown curls falling over her shoulders, pausing to admire the sweeping waterfront view and soaring glass walls of my home in awe.
With the sun setting behind her, bathing the Sound in shades of gold and rose, the sight looked as though it had been lifted straight from a movie.
Hearing the door open, she turned to me, eyes twinkling. Stepping forward, I pulled her in for a kiss, which she eagerly returned, clutching onto me.
“So… what are we making?” she asked as we broke apart, me leading her into the kitchen, which she ogled all the same.
“Pumpkin soup and ravioli. The ravioli can be stuffed with cheese alone, or other vegetables like mushrooms or spinach too, depending on what you prefer,” I answered, appreciating how she still hadn’t let go of my forearm.
“That all sounds so good. I haven’t made ravioli in ages, and pumpkin soup is my favorite—a very impressive guess,” she said, hurrying to pick up the abnormally large, already roasted pumpkin sitting on my counter.
“It’s like the size of my head!” she exclaimed, holding it up high for me to see with so much genuine joy, I couldn’t help but smile myself.
“Yes, I’m aware. I’m the one who picked it out and also roasted it, actually,” I teased, matching her contagious grin. Regardless of it not being in season, I’d managed to find one because canned pumpkin would never compare nor meet my standards. “And it wasn’t a guess, love. Remember the pie?”
Predictably, her face flushed at my words; she was so fun to tease.
“Oh god, let’s talk about something else,” she groaned, starting to peel the pumpkin.
I laughed, handing her a knife and cutting board before continuing to shape the ravioli. I decided not to tease her anymore; there would be plenty of time for that later.
"Alright, sweetheart. How did you learn to cook?" She’d made quick work of the pumpkin, dicing it into even cubes without wasting a scrap. She scraped them into the blender with seasonings, not bothering to measure anything out and never once glancing at a recipe. It didn’t appear careless—she obviously knew what she was doing, and her confident half-smile made it clear she was enjoying herself.
“Well, it’s always been one of my hobbies.
My dad cooks, so when I was at his place, it was our thing.
Probably one of my favorite childhood memories too.
But then when he got older, I began cooking for him.
When I go to visit him now, it’s like my way of saying thank you.
” She paused to look up at me with a wistful smile.
“I miss having someone to cook with, so this is really nice.”
“I’m glad we’re doing this then. Cooking alone isn’t the same. But go on—what other things interest you?”
I enjoyed listening to her talk about her passions—running, reading, and once again teaching. Her enthusiasm when she spoke of what she loved was endearing, and within an hour, dinner was prepared.
The soup, which I played no part in making, tasted like something out of a Michelin-star restaurant. Telling her that, her whole face lit up, her smile so sincere the corners of her eyes wrinkled.
Evelyn ate rather quickly, likely due to more than just the quality of the food.
Once we were finished, I poured myself a glass of wine, offering her some tea instead. I was not going to allow anything to happen tonight if she was not completely sober. That was one of my hard limits.
Leading her into the sitting room, I shifted the topic to something more intimate, which she caught onto quickly.
Sipping on our drinks, we covered everything from needs and loves to hates and hard limits.
The atmosphere between us was nothing but warm and comforting.
She knew I wouldn’t judge her as she shared the most personal parts of herself with me.
We spent some time deciphering how much we wanted this dynamic to be present outside the bedroom—as if it hadn’t already been—and seemed to be on the same page.
"I have a tendency to coddle people I'm involved with beyond the bedroom, I've probably already been doing that to you out of habit. You're an independent person which I respect, so if it's ever too much, I want you to tell me."
"I don't mind when you do it, it makes me feel looked after, and I like that feeling of being pampered and cared for, of being someone's,” she paused, a bit flustered with what she already shared. “As long as I'm respected. So like not in a slave play way," she added quickly.
Her rushed clarification was adorably unneeded, but laughing would make her clam up and get the wrong impression. I wanted her to be mine, exactly how she described, just not yet.
She nodded along when I spoke, asking clarifying questions. She was taking this conversation just as seriously as I was.
"Respecting your limits is not only about using your safeword, it's about separating what you actually want and what you want solely to earn my praise and validation.
" Being able to trust her to not pass her limits and voice her needs was crucial, and Evelyn's need for validation seemed to come from a personal place.
She paused to think. I didn't need to elaborate; she understood exactly what I meant without my having to be specific. With her, that tendency extended far beyond the typical submissive's desire for a dominant's approval.
“That can be really hard for me, especially in subspace, when all I want is to please you."
"I know, sweetheart, and I promise I'll never abuse that power—not when you're in that headspace, and not at any other time."
"I promise I'll try, it's just," she took a deep breath choosing her next words carefully. "I can become so overly reliant on it."
"I understand. I never want you to think I'd be disappointed in you for using your safeword or telling me you're not enjoying something.
If anything, I'd be proud of you for speaking up.
Your enjoyment means more to me than anything we could ever do together, and knowing it wasn't there—that I failed to notice...
" I bit my lip, the thought leaving an uneasy weight in my chest. "That would hurt. "
"You've already noticed this," she said, though her words carried the uncertainty of a question. "That I'm sensitive to how you feel about me. That's why you apologized on my second day, isn't it?"
"Yes, and it's not something you should ever be ashamed of, okay? It's just something I am very grateful you trusted me enough to communicate tonight. I'll keep it in mind."
"Vanessa that means more than you could understand. You asked me about possible triggers, do you have any?"
She had been honest so it was only fair I was.
Especially because it shaped how fiercely protective I was of the women I cared about.
It already had affected her with the way I stopped her so persistently late that evening on her second week to make sure none of the men were trying to take advantage of her.
I knew since the first day she wouldn't be interested in them based on the way she looked at me—and only me—instead, but that never seemed to stop them.
"I was assaulted a while back. It doesn't impact me much anymore, but as a result, I am more reserved when it comes to letting people touch me." I didn’t have to specify what I meant by touch, she had picked up on my lack of interest in her reciprocating during our trip.
"I'm sorry that happened to you. Would you be comfortable with me touching you tonight, or would you want to wait?" She knew this wasn’t the time to pity me and was simply a necessary part of our conversation.
"Tonight would be nice. Though I doubt you'll have the energy after what I plan on doing to you later.” I paused, resisting the urge to change the topic before she did. “But in all seriousness, I appreciate how you took the hint and didn't push me."
She looked down before nodding. "Of course. Is there anything else we should discuss?" Her previously solemn expression shifted, now more antsy. “And you don’t need to thank me for being a pillow princess.”
"I feel I've gotten out and heard everything I need to.” I smirked. “I'm ready if you are."
Learning more about her only made my need for her grow, and I could see this conversation was having the same effect on her. She kept unconsciously drifting a little closer every time I spoke, and her gaze would linger on my lips a heartbeat too long.
"Come here," I breathed, pulling her onto my lap and into a heated kiss. She parted her lips slightly, letting me claim her mouth.
Her hands began to wander, moving down from my neck to my chest where she mindlessly palmed at one of my breasts.
I didn't feel the need to stop her, pulling her closer to me by the small of her back and letting her do as she pleased.
I enjoyed just savoring the smell of her sweet shampoo and the way her lips yielded to mine.
I didn't attempt to regain control of the situation until she began grinding herself down onto my thigh.
Evelyn was worth far more than a quickie, I didn't do quickies and I had far better things to utilize than a couch.
While I knew she couldn't make herself come from simply humping against me, I wanted to see just how wet she really was.
Slowly, my hands slid beneath her thighs, wrapping around them before lifting her with ease. Her legs immediately circled my waist, accepting the wordless invitation as she clung tightly while I carried her into the bedroom.