“You.” He tips his head as he stares at me. “Even when you do finally retire for real, you won’t be sitting around on your ass all day. You’re incapable of not working. I predict in less than six months you’d be doing something, if not practicing law full-time again. Lecture circuit, guest professor—anything that stimulates your mind and feeds your need to put more into the world than you take from it.”
“You know me so well.”
He stretches out next to me again, gathering me into his arms. “It’s my job to know you, babe.” He kisses me. “I’d be a shitty husband and slave if I didn’t know you better than anyone else.”
* * * *
Eventually, we drag ourselves out of bed. Normally, I pitch in with chores around the house, because I’m not an asshole. It’s a large house, but we don’t have a maid service here. It’s just the two of us, and we don’t need one. Every six months, we have someone come in to help with a deep cleaning—basically dusting all the nooks and crannies we miss during our normal routines—but we treasure our privacy too much to have more than that.
It’s also a matter of money. We can afford to have a full-time housekeeper, but Daniel argued early on against it.
He did capitulate on the grounds. The property is ten acres. While most of that is woods, it’s…a lot. So we have a guy who comes in regularly to deal with that. It’s time we don’t have, anyway.
The townhouse we own in DC is much smaller, a three-two, with one room holding “exercise equipment.”
Most of which can double as items to use when we scene together.
But there’s no yard to tend, and at a fraction of the size of this house, we spend less than an hour a week on housekeeping there.
Upon retiring, I’m looking forward to maybe starting a small herb garden here, out back behind the kitchen patio. What little time we get to spend cooking together is something I cherish. Growing our own herbs, maybe some tomatoes and greens, would be a bonus.
I take his locking leather collar from its usual place on the dresser and turn to find he’s already kneeling and waiting.
It makes me smile every time. “My good boy.” I hold the supple leather collar to his lips for him to kiss it before I buckle it around his throat. Pausing for a moment before I snap the lock shut, I wait until he takes a deep breath and his shoulders slump a little in relaxation.
He’s happy.
With a softclick, I close the lock and he nuzzles my thighs. “Thank you, Master.”
I hook two fingers around the leather. “You’re very welcome, boy.”
Another moment pausing like that before I tug and he stands, kissing me. Then I turn and on my way to the closet, I stop by the suit-draped chair, where I start picking up and sorting clothing. Some will go into the laundry and some we’ll drop at the cleaners tomorrow so we’ll have it back before we leave for DC.
Daniel walks over and wraps his arms around me from behind, tightly hugging me. “I’ll never forget that day,” he quietly says.
Instinctively, I know what he means. He’s mentioned it before, but it’s spooky that my mind flashed to that same moment in time earlier. We do that a lot, though. Mirror what the other is thinking.
It’s one of the things I treasure about this dynamic of ours.
“Me, either.” I stare at his dark purple silk tie, which I picked out for him this morning and tied for him after removing his collar.
Another ritual I cherish because I don’t get to do it enough for him.
He kisses my back between my shoulders. “I thought you were insane to spend that much on a suit for me.”
“You deserved it. You were working full-time for a congressman. You needed to look the part so people would take you seriously. Wouldn’t do for people to think you were just another college intern.” I have purchased him many suits throughout our marriage, usually taking him along with me when I need to buy new ones.
He always protests I spend too much money on him, because he has no problem finding suits that fit him off the rack.
With my height and long, lanky limbs, it’s not as easy.
Still, one of the things I demanded of him early in our relationship is that when I want to spend money on him for something he hasn’t hard-limited on—like his car—he’ll let me do it.
It’s not a frivolous expense, either. It’s for his career.
Releasing me, he steps around me and takes the shirts out of my hands. “I’ve got this. How about you check to see if the steaks have defrosted?”
I kiss him. “Distracting me?”
