Twenty-Seven Evelyn #2
"Ah, that. Nearly more disappointing than when you wanted to—what was it again?—teach?"
There was the distant clattering of what sounded like pans from downstairs.
"Well, I didn't. I should get going, though." I needed to recollect myself and wanted to shower before finding Vanessa, having been too tired to last night.
"Of course, never time for me, sweetie." I closed my eyes, holding back from pointing out her blatant hypocrisy.
"Have a good day," I replied simply, sick of asking her to stop calling me sweetie.
I let out a sigh of relief when she hung up on me, giving my complete attention to researching the university. I finished reading the job information, too captivated to stop, just torturing myself with the possibility and wasting time I could be spending with Vanessa.
Forcing my still tired body up, I headed into the bathroom. The shower floor was still damp, with little droplets covering the sliding glass doors. Vanessa had already showered, and I needed to hurry up.
There were two different knobs for the detachable shower head and another for the larger one from the ceiling. Each one had several different settings. I turned on the overhead one, feeling the warm, misty, rain-like drops fall all around me.
I used a few of her many shampoos and soaps before switching on the detachable shower head for more pressure to rinse out the soap suds.
The high pressure of the shower jets felt like a head massage as I played with the different settings.
Moving the nozzle down my body to rinse off the remaining soap, my tense muscles relaxed under the warm stream.
An unexpected burst of pleasure shot through me when I carelessly moved it between my thighs.
Once all the soap was off, I moved it back, enjoying the short-lived pleasure.
I'd woken up in the mood, as I usually did, as if in the middle of a wet dream.
There had been times I woke up grinding against pillows in my sleep—luckily never at Vanessa's place.
If I ever had, she surely would've teased me about it, and it would’ve been her I'd have pressed myself against—which surely I’d never done.
Still, I couldn't appreciate the pleasure right now; it felt wrong, and I couldn't pinpoint why. Before purchasing my vibrator when I moved out, shower heads were a constant part of my self-care routine. I never had any shame in my sexuality—this feeling was something else.
I’d become so accustomed to needing Vanessa's permission to come that it felt impossible to release without it. I wasn't hers; she hadn't asked me to be, so my pleasure didn't belong to her. But regardless of that, my body seemed to have already decided it did.
I conditioned my hair before bringing the shower jet back to my center to try again. I knew I'd most likely not be having any more sex with Vanessa today after how intense last night was, so it would be better if I could get this out of my system now.
Still, it wasn't working, and after spending far too long trying, I was only getting more frustrated. I hung the shower head back up, wrapped towels around myself and my hair, and left the bathroom to get changed.
Walking downstairs, I smiled to myself at the sight of Vanessa at the stove, pre-cooking vegetables as if about to make omelets.
"Impeccable timing. I was about to wake you. What do you like in your omelets, darling?" she asked as I hugged her side.
I glanced around at my options, still clinging to her. "Um, the peppers, tomatoes, onions, spinach, and the cheddar. Can I help at all?" I asked, hoping for a distraction.
"No, honey. You just sit pretty for me," she said, lifting my hand from around her waist and kissing it, silently asking for space to continue cooking.
I reluctantly let go of her, feeling unusually clingy this morning. Though I was set on blaming these feelings solely on how intimate last night had been and the growing mindset of her as my domme.
Sitting at the counter, I watched her work, not particularly enjoying the feeling of being left alone with my repetitive thoughts.
"Actually, sweetheart, if you're in the mood to, why don't you prepare us some fruit? Whatever you would prefer," she said, meeting my absent stare.
"Sounds good, I really don't mind cutting fruit. It's relaxing." I got up, getting to work enthusiastically.
"Noted. All the more reason I need to find ways to spoil you," she replied, kissing my shoulder as she grabbed a plate beside me.
Declining a call from an unknown number, I began to cut a juicy pomegranate. Having not cut one before, I was unsure of the technique, resulting in the juice covering my hands. Of course, just then, my phone started dinging with messages.
After the seventh buzz, I turned on the sink to wash my hands and end our ears’ suffering.
"Darling, it's alright. I've got it," Vanessa assured, stopping the frequent buzzing. "It seems you have several people trying to reach you. I won't be bothered if you have to make a call, honey."
"Odd. I'll check in a sec," I answered without much thought, preoccupied with learning that slowly pulling apart the pomegranate was the most efficient method.
I washed my hands after finishing with the fruit before grabbing my phone and reading Meghan’s spam.
I'm giving my friend your number.
She absolutely loves her job and wants to talk to you herself.
Did you look over the job information?
What do you think?
3 missed calls from Meghan.
Hi, I'm a friend of Meghan's, she said you're looking to be a professor here.
I'd love to speak with you about my work whenever you're available.
1 missed call from an unknown number.
Fully shutting off my phone, I glanced over at Vanessa, who was walking to the table with two plates of potatoes, buttered toast, and omelets.
"Here, sweetheart," she said, placing the plate in front of me as I drafted a text to give Meghan a piece of my mind.
She knew I was with Vanessa—was she trying to sabotage my life?
"Thanks," I muttered, forcing myself to look up from my phone so as not to be rude.
"I honestly won't take it personally if you have something to attend to," she insisted, sensing my mind was elsewhere.
"No, I don't. A friend just needs help with something, but it can wait." I took a bite of the omelet, humming at the taste.
"Alright, but I don't want to hold you back, sweetheart."
I frowned at her words. They felt far too relevant to my current situation. And fit the texts regarding it too perfectly.
"Did you read any of my texts?" I asked abruptly.
"No, of course not. I caught a mere glimpse, but I have not given what I did or didn't see any thought," she answered, simply disregarding the accusation.
"You couldn't have just silenced my phone without looking?" I questioned, annoyed with her vague response.
"Angel, I did. I'm talking about last night, when I used the flashlight," she corrected as kindly as one could.
"You shouldn't have taken my phone without asking," I stated plainly.
"Maybe so, but may I ask where this is coming from?"
"No, some things aren't for you to know," I snapped, shutting her down.
"I respect that. I meant if something in particular I did bothered you, I want to understand."
Her words were a much-needed reality check before I could self-sabotage this. "No, I'm being unreasonable. I've just been stressed about some personal stuff recently. But I don't really want to talk about it, if that's okay."
She nodded. "Of course it is, sweetheart, as long as you know you can."
"Mhm, thank you, Nessa. This is really good, by the way." I gestured toward the omelet with my fork.
"Thank you, darling. I take it you are feeling better this morning, as you are no longer on your knees?"
I blushed. "Yes, I'm fine." I looked down at my eggs, still ashamed she saw me like that.
"I'm glad, though I wouldn't mind you kneeling before me in a different context."
I finished before she did, having been starving from last night, and sat patiently waiting for her to finish before we moved to the couch. I snuggled into her, still longing for affection.
"The weather is better today. Would you still like to go out, darling?" she asked, playing with my hair.
"Yes…and I'm sorry for being curt with you before," I said, leaning further into her touch.
It was almost painful not being able to tell her everything.
She was such a good listener, and she always knew exactly what to say.
Part of me still saw her as my domme—someone who needed to know these things so she could understand me, take care of me, and make sure my needs were met.
But she was also my boss. Telling her the truth could change how she saw me, damage the professional relationship we’d built, disappoint her, or even cost me my job.
The risk of losing everything we’d worked so hard to create kept my mouth shut, no matter how badly I wanted to confide in her.
"It's okay, honey. No offense was taken. I knew there was something on your mind,” she said, parting my hair neatly down the middle. “Now, would you like to go shopping or to the spa?" she asked, raking her fingers through my curls.
I didn't enjoy shopping—Blair always forced me to go with her. But my eyes widened slightly at the mention of the spa, imagining how good a massage would feel.