“I hope you’re okay since...since your husband died.”
“Oh, I’m fine. He left me with plenty to get by,” she said, in gross, gross understatement. “But I need to figure out where I go from here.” She didn’t want to tell Eliot the truth, with his earnest kindness and helpfulness, that she had more in her slush account than he’d probably make in a lifetime, and untold more tied up in investments and real estate.
“Well,” he said, scraping his fork across his plate, “you should definitely take the time now to consider your options. This has got to feel like a crazy time.”
“Yes, it does.” She couldn’t eat anymore. She was full. She could see across the diner that Eliot’s friends were squaring their bills and preparing to leave. “Still, pie helps,” she said.
“Pie helps everything.” He looked over his shoulder. “Well, I have to go. It was a pleasure meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you here some time again.”
She nodded. It took so little time to scarf down a piece of pie. Yes, maybe she’d see him again. Did she want to? She felt conflicted. He started to leave but then came back toward her table.
“Listen, is there a day you’re usually here?”
“I’m usually here on Fridays. Around noon.” The lie came out so easily. Eliot grinned.
“Cool. Maybe I’ll see you then.”
She watched him leave. He wasn’t her type, really. He was young, so much younger than her. Maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, for God’s sake, and she was thirty. Maybe next Friday at noon she’d be miles away from here, doing something reasonable. She hoped so. But she doubted it. She really, really adored his smile.
Chapter Five: A New Friend
Mephisto watched Molly across the table from under his lids. She was fidgety, nervous. Something had happened. He was sure of it, but he wouldn’t pry. She’d been doing so well, getting back out into the world, staying busy doing healthy rather than unhealthy things.
These nightly mealtimes were a ritual he was becoming alarmingly attached to. And disturbed by. The physical pull to her was excruciating, but the emotional pull even more so. He wanted to shelter her. He wanted to improve her. God, he wanted to touch her. By this point he was losing his mind a little.
He wanted to fuck her raw.
Don’t. Don’t think about her that way. He couldn’t let himself dwell on those kinds of thoughts or they’d start to manifest in the way he treated her. He’d start trying to manipulate her, ease her along a continuum so she was giving him what he wanted before she even realized what was up. He could do it every bit as handily as Clayton and he knew it, so he guarded against it. He’d promised Clayton to help her find the life she wanted. Molly. Her choice, not his.
But this was hell. Trying to help her find independence, self-actualization, when it only distanced her more from him and any possibility of them ever being together. So be it. He didn’t want to manipulate her into his service and spend every minute of every scene feeling guilt for the pleasure she brought him. If she came to him—if she ever came to him—it would be with full knowledge, free will, and want. God, Molly, want me. Damn you.
Molly was making a mess of the Pad Thai on her plate. Mephisto tried to distract himself from the sight of her delicate fingers, her pursed lips. It was Friday night. He had to be thinking about the club. Friday night was one of Club Mephisto’s busiest nights and the staff would be arriving soon. Molly hid away on club nights, stayed in her room until Mephisto locked the door around two-thirty in the morning, after he checked on her. Then he’d fall into bed, exhausted. Sometimes, before Molly, he’d allow a slave to serve him. Now he slept alone.
“Are you coming to the club tonight?” he asked when she pushed her plate away. He wanted her to understand the option was there. If she wanted to start playing again, even with someone other than him, he wanted her to understand it was okay. There weren’t many unattached doms of Clayton’s caliber at Club Mephisto. Most were snapped up by savvy submissives within a few weeks, but there were a few worthy ones who were still looking. If Molly wanted to get back into the fray by playing with them, it was fine with him.
Liar. Okay, not fine with him. But if she wanted to...
To his relief, she gave her usual shrug. “I don’t think so.”
“You could, you know. Even to watch. Even to hang out.”
She bit her lip and shook her head. “No. Not yet.”
Not yet. Interesting. A step beyond her usual flat no.
“It’s okay. Whenever you want to,” he persisted. “If you want to get back into the scene...”
“I met someone.” She looked up at him, then down again at her plate. Mephisto waited for more, but nothing came.
“You met who?”
She shrugged. Talking to Molly could be a frustrating study in shrugs and shuttered facial expressions. He longed to be able to snap at her to sit up straight and answer clearly. He drew in a breath and let it out.
“You met someone at the Family Center today? Or at the gym?”
“I went to lunch at Mack’s Diner. I met someone there. A guy.”
Mephisto waited. Stared. Felt a frisson of jealous alarm spread wide in his chest. If Molly had met someone who interested her, h
e would owe it to Clayton to fan the flame. Ugh.
“What kind of guy?” Mephisto felt himself boxed into the dad role, drawing her out about a new suitor. “Nice guy, I guess?”
She smiled. “Nice? What does that mean? He was some delivery guy on a lunch break. But he was...yeah. Nice. He bought me some pie. I talked to him a little about Clayton.”
Mephisto’s eyes went wide. “What about Clayton? Everything about Clayton?”
“No, just that he died.”
“You didn’t tell him who he was? Who you are? You have to be careful telling strange guys about your money.”
“I didn’t tell him anything, except that my husband died.” She put her shoulders back in a gesture of annoyance. “Anyway, it wasn’t like that. Like he was honing in on me with some ulterior motive. He was just a friendly person. We ate pie and chatted for like, five minutes.”
“You can eat pie with whoever you want. Just be careful.” Okay, Mephisto had to back off, regroup. Jealous, petty anger coated all his words. “I think... I think it’s great that you met a friendly guy who bought you some pie.” There were long minutes of silence, his fork clinking on his plate.
Molly toyed with her napkin. “He was... I don’t know. Really young though.”
“Kinky.”
“I don’t think so.”
Mephisto chuckled. “No, I meant it’s kinky that you’re going after a younger guy. But he’s not kinky, you don’t think?”
Another shrug. God, to be able to forbid those shrugs, and punish every one of them. They’d be in the dungeon for a week. “Who knows?” Molly said. “I don’t think you can always tell, but my dom radar is pretty developed and it didn’t go off. Still, it was nice to talk to someone normal. To make a friend.”
In other words, Mephisto wasn’t normal. Or her friend, in her eyes. He suddenly hated this Pie Casanova with a vengeance. He forced approving words from his lips. “I’m happy for you, Molly. Sounds like it was a good day. Do you think you’ll meet with him again?”