An Acquired Taste Read online

  An Acquired Taste

  a novella of BDSM erotic romance by

  Jude Mason

  Phaze 6470A Glenway Avenue, #109 Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN 1-59426-945-9 An Acquired Taste © 2006 by Jude Mason Originally Published 2006

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cover art © 2007 by Debi Lewis

  Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

  www.Phaze.com

  Also by Jude Mason

  Pink Ribbon Stage Fright Jesse's Homecoming

  Chapter One

  "Damn!" The word exploded before she could stop it. Since Tom's death, she hadn't been able to visit that room without tears blurring her vision, forcing her to leave. Today was no different. In the seven years they'd had together, they'd become best friends. They'd known everything about each other. He'd been the only man who truly understood her and had been willing—no, eager—to put up with her idiosyncrasies.

  Hastily she turned and marched out, fighting back the feelings of loss and loneliness that had plagued her for the past six months. Softly shutting the door, she leaned back against it, and sighed.

  Cynthia Lyon, hardnosed businesswoman, weeping widow, scowled. Her ragged breathing finally smoothed out. Looking up, her eyes came to rest at the corner of the dining room. She spotted a dark patch on the ceiling. "No," she groaned, and cursed again. "Damn!" She walked across the hardwood floor to get a better look and felt her anger rise.

  The beam that separated the living room from the dining room looked fine, but on the dining room side there was a large, roughly circular patch that shouldn't have been there. A leak, perfect. That's all she needed. She'd thought their two bedroom cabin would be just right for her now that she was alone, but it seemed that no matter which way she turned, something happened to disrupt her life.

  She walked around the large, open living room/dining room, checking for more of the ugly stains. The rich oak walls in the living room soothed her anger somewhat, and when she found no more watermarks, she was ready to let her mood improve.

  The large picture window at the front of the room looked out over a lush green lawn with its island of shrubs set off to one side. The pathway leading to the river wound around clumps of bulbs and colorful perennials she'd planted the previous year. Turning away from the window, she spotted Tom's painting above the overstuffed forest green sofa, and felt a tug at her heart. He'd been an amazing artist, and each room held at least one ofhis wildlife paintings.

  She circled the room and checked around the fireplace to be sure there were no discolorations around the chimney. Relieved, she carried on, passed her bedroom doorway, into the dining room again.

  The oak table with its five high-backed chairs dominated the room, but the large window and the sliding glass door made it look as if she were almost outside. Two years earlier, she'd redecorated the dining room. Instead of the same wood walls as the living room, she'd put a chair rail around the room, and left the warm oak at the bottom, but the top she'd painted a calming, golden cream color. Two candleholders on the one wall framed a painting of a doe with her fawn resting beside a mist-shrouded river. It was one of her favorite paintings, but surprisingly, wasn't one of Tom's.

  She did a slow turn, admiring her small world—galley kitchen, all in pale gold and burnt orange, with white frilly curtains over the sink, the door to that special room, the one she had trouble visiting, even now. Beside it was the bathroom, the door ajar, allowing some of its brightness to creep into the room. That was her sanctuary, and the one room she'd totally redone. Large, nearly as big as the spare room and too large for the size of the cabin, the Jacuzzi tub was the only thing she could count on to help her relax. She'd done the entire room in a mottled gray slate, and loved it.

  Spotting Ginger, her cat, sprawled along the back of the couch, she said, "Well, Ginger, it looks like we're going to get the roof fixed." Going into the kitchen, she got a large glass from the cupboard beside the sink, filled it with pink grapefruit juice, and joined Ginger. Stroking the soft fur behind the cat's ear, she took a sip of her juice. The large feline rolled onto his side and reached for her with his front foot. Under her hand, she felt rumbling. He was purring. "I also think it's time for that sunroom I've always wanted." She pulled the cat onto her lap and together they watched the evening sunset through the living room window. Shades of bronze splashed across the floor as the sun slowly sank behind the distant mountains, reflecting off the few remaining rain clouds in the sky. With Ginger curled up in her lap, Cynthia thought of the calls she'd have to make in the morning.

  Four years ago, they'd been financially burned when a contractor left without fulfilling his contract with them. Two months of trying to find him had proven fruitless. When Tom and she had tried to press charges, the judge told them they were in the right, but it was up to them to find the contractor before anything could be done. That left them with a gaping hole where the fireplace now stood, and a vow never to trust a contractor again. But, she also knew she wasn't capable of doing all the construction she wanted by herself.

  Stifling a yawn, she picked up the cat and her empty glass. After depositing the glass in the sink, she checked the locks on both doors. It was a quiet neighborhood to be sure, but she wasn't about to tempt fate. Ginger leapt from her arms as soon as she walked into her bedroom, landing with a soft thud on the small chair beside the door. That was his guard post, and she stroked his head for a moment before going any farther.

  When he'd settled comfortably, she straightened up and switched on the overhead light. The fan slowly turned and the room glowed with soft light. Deep burgundy carpet made the room feel warm and cozy. Large vases, filled with both dried and cut flowers scented the room. Facing the backyard was a door with a large pane of glass that opened onto a small, private deck.

  Drawing the crushed velvet, deep gold drapes, she remembered how Tom used to come up behind her and wrap her in his arms. She felt a sudden pang of loneliness and need. Tom, how she wished he was there to share her bed. A subtle clenching in her pussy reminded her of how long she'd been celibate. Masturbation was fine, for a while, but she missed the touch of a man.

  Slipping out of her blue silk blouse and the form fitting skirt she'd worn to the office, she admired herself in the full-length mirror. Black, curly hair framed an oval shaped face, and eyes the color of dark chocolate stared back at her.At five-eight, she knew she had more curves than was fashionable. A large bosom and way too much ass, she smiled remembering how Tom used to squeeze and caress her there.

  Skimming out of her pantyhose, she tossed them into the hamper. The blue lace bra and matching panties soon followed, leaving her naked and flushed. Frustrated, but unwilling to use the vibrator she'd recently purchased, she slipped into the white silk pajamas she'd left folded on her pillow. Her nipples puckered and the damp warmth between her thighs wasimpossible to ignore.

  She switched off the bedroom light, and climbed into bed. Cool sheets and the smell of flowers soon lulled her to sleep. Her dreams carried her into the arms she longed for. * * * * Morning coffee never tasted so good, she thought as she flipped through the pages of the phone book. Carpenters, construction contractors, the listings went on for pages; e
ach one made her cringe.

  Her assistant knocked softly and entered uninvited. Looking up, she smiled and nodded to the chair on the other side of the desk. She'd been expecting the slender blond man. His hair was too short; the white button-down shirt he wore was ironed to perfection, his light cream slacks looked as if he'd just bought them, although she knew that wasn't true. He was effeminate in his demeanor and gay, which seemed to make him easy to work with. There had never been any need to warn him off, or admonish his behavior.

  "Sammy," she said, still flipping through the phone book, "have you had any dealings with contractors or know of one that might be trustworthy?"

  "Not recently, hon," he confessed in a soft, deep voice. He crossed his legs when he sat and added, "A friend has, though. I can get you the number of his contractor if you like. Why? Are you having trouble with something at your cottage?"

  "Yeah, I need someone to look at the roof. That rainstorm we had last night—well, I think I've got a leak now and I want to get it taken care of before winter sets in."

  A colorful ad caught her attention: No job too big or too small. Third generation home renovation and construction specialist. There was a local phone number and address below the ad. "This sounds interesting.Three generations, that's got to be some kind of a record."

  Sammy leaned forward to get a closer look at the ad. "Jenkins and Son and Son, cute. Can't say I've heard of them. If they've been in the business that long, I'd say they either do good work, or look damn fine." He chuckled at his own witticism. "I'll check with my friend and let you know ASAP. He had mostly interior stuff done, but it was done really well."

  "Thanks, Sammy." She made a note of the number for Jenkins and sons, then closed the book and tossed it into the top desk drawer. "I'll give these others a call too. Maybe I'm ready to check out some eye candy." She laughed at her assistant's exaggerated look of shock.

  "Ms. Lyon. My goodness," he sputtered in his soft voice. He fidgeted, his fingers having a minor war in his lap, and squirmed. Finally, he laughed and blurted, "It's time, Cynthia. Six months is long enough. I'm sure Tom wouldn't want you to go through life alone."

  Her breath caught, and for a moment, Cynthia didn't know what to say. Her heart pounded. She knew he was right, but it still felt as if she was cheating even to think of another man. How insane was that?

  Her body, however, sent signals that it was definitely time to get back into life's forward lanes. "You're right, Sammy," she said in a hushed voice. "It's just that…Tom's death was so sudden." She closed her eyes and took a couple of breaths before going on. "I cursed the drunk driver for months. He took so much away from me, from anyone who knew Tom. Damn it, I'd planned on a lifetime with him." She bit her lip to keep from screaming. When she could finally take a breath, she added, "It really is time to move ahead."

  Sammy smiled, "I'll get you that number right away. Did you call me in here for a reason or just to tell me about your house woes?"

  "Actually, I wanted to let you know I'm taking the afternoon off. I'm going to make it a long weekend and see if I can't get some work done in my garden. It's mid-June and I've got more weeds than plants." She reached for her planner and flipped the page until she found the day's date."I've got one more appointment this morning at ten-fifteen, and then I'll be leaving. I expect you out of here by two. You could use a long weekend, too."

  "Great," replied Sammy enthusiastically. He pulled himself to his feet and gave her an extra swish when he waltzed out of her office. Calling over his shoulder just before he closed the door, "I'll phone my honey and let him know I'll be home early." He quietly shut the door behind himself.

  Cynthia sat in silence, drinking her coffee. The last appointment for the day wouldn't take more than a half hour, she hoped. Her catering company was moving into the big league, or at least a bigger league. She'd contacted one of the big chain restaurants and asked about supplying their local outlet with a variety of fresh baked goods. Seems she'd come in at just the right time and they'd jumped at the chance. Her lawyers had been very impressed with the offer and urged her to agree. Today would see the final signing of the contract.

  Sammy's soft knock on the door indicated that her new clients were right on time. He opened the door, ushered them in, and handed her a small slip of paper. "The number and name you were asking about." "Thanks," she said, and rose to meet her clients. An hour later, the contract was signed and she was free and on her way home. She was on the road early enough not to have to worry about traffic. Instead of a grueling half-hour commute, she actually enjoyed the drive. Pulling into her driveway, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It was good to be home, scruffy looking garden, leaks, and all.

  Once inside, she kicked off her shoes and made for the kitchen. After putting a pot of coffee on, she found the piece of paper Sammy had given her and the one she'd copied from the phonebook. His read, BuildIt, Inc. The phone number indicated that the business was located in a town at least thirty miles away, but there was no address given. She wasn't crazy about that, but Sammy said his friend had been pleased with their service, so she'd begin with them.

  Coffee ready, she got a cup and went to the phone. Dialing, she perched on the chair and waited, and waited. Finally, a harried male voice answered, "Build-It Inc."

  "Hello, I've got a roof that needs either some repair or totally redoing." She took a deep breath then went on. "I'm also thinking of adding a small sunroom on the back of the house. Is there any chance someone could come out and have a look at the roof and maybe explain how I'd go about finding designs for the sunroom?"

  The exasperated sigh at the other end didn't sound promising. "A new roof, maybe. A new room add-on—lady, you're fishing here for sure." Another sigh, punctuated by a yawn, then he added, "I can have someone come and have a look in about three weeks. Course by then it'll be getting close to fall and rains, so it's going to be a mess. The room—"

  "Hold it," Cynthia interrupted. "Three weeks and that's not even when you'd start?" "That's right, lady," he replied sharply. "I'm sorry, but I really don't want to wait that long." "I'm sorry, too." The line went dead. He'd hung up on her. "Bugger," she exploded and hung up. Instead of just ringing the next number, Cynthia walked outside to cool off. Her temper had flared and she didn't want to get off to a bad start with the next contractor. When she'd finished her coffee, she returned to the phone and dialed. "Good afternoon, Jenkins and Sons. How can I help you?" answered

  a deep masculine voice. A shiver went up Cynthia's spine. "I've got a roof that's leaking. I'm not sure if it just needs to be fixed or if I need a new roof. I'd also like to see someone about designing, and building a small sunroom off the back of the house." Her words came out all in a rush; as if she needed to say it all before she took another breath, or before he growled like the last one had. Her face suddenly felt warm. Was she blushing? What on Earth for?

  "Sounds like you're looking at some major renovations." He paused. She heard papers shuffling, then he went on. "I can come out and have a look in the morning, if that's all right with you?"

  Blinking, surprised at how much difference this outfit was, compared to the last, Cynthia took a moment to reply, "Y-yes, tomorrow would be great. Not too early though, say around ten?"

  His answer was a soft laugh first, then, "Ten will be just fine. It'll give me a break fromearly morning get ups, too." "Perfect, do you need anything?" "Your name and address might help." "Right," she blurted, feeling about as dumb as a brick. "I'm Cynthia Lyon. The address is 162 Wavecrest. I'm south of town about fifteen miles."

  "Yeah, I know it well. We're almost neighbors. I'm about a half mile north of you on Seaview."

  She heard him rustling more paper, before adding, "I'll be at your place at ten-thirty. I'll be driving a ninety-nine, three-quarter ton Ford pickup, red." "I'll have the coffee on." "Perfect.I'll see you then." "Bye," said Cynthia and hung up the receiver. For some inexplicable reason, she felt as if she were about to embark on something spe
cial, something good. She shook it off and went about making an early dinner. Ginger got underfoot, meowing for his dinner and some attention. She picked him up, carried him with her to the dining room, and sat him on a chair beside her. Purring, the cat circled before he curled into a ball and promptly went to sleep, for the moment food was forgotten. She checked the ceiling where the discoloration had appeared and was glad to see that it looked dry, but the stain was still very visible.

  After her meal, she changed into a pair of ragged cut-off jeans, an old shirt and sandals. Her gardening gloves were in the shed at the back of the yard, as were the tools she'd need. She loved the garden, and hated that she'd allowed it to get so overgrown with weeds. The afternoon and evening flew by as she worked. She didn't realize how long she spent at it, until the sky began to darken. The sun had touched the treetops, and would be down soon.

  Muscles aching, she looked around the beds and smiled at the progress she'd made. Satisfied, she returned her tools and gloves to the shed and went inside for a bath.

  She stripped just inside the door. Sandals first, kicked into the bottom of the closet. She peeled off her sweat-soaked shirt that clung to her belly and back. The cut-offs felt as if they'd been glued to her hips when she wriggled out of them. Panties and bra, sticky with perspiration were next to transparent. Nipples puckered as they hit the air.

  The tub filled with water, scented with lavender oil, while she waited, impatiently. A glass of wine in hand, she was ready to relax. "Yes," she sighed when she finally settled into the warm water. Caressed by the gentle waves, she could almost forget that the house was empty but for her and the cat. Her back ached and she longed for someone to give her a massage. Her thoughts strayed to the voice on the phone, those few hours earlier—soft and deep, with a touch of humor. She felt herself blush when she recalled how dumb she must have sounded.

  Her hands floated above her tummy, but with a little urging, moved to her breasts. Cupping them, she rubbed her nipples with the tips of her thumbs. An instant of pressure and each turned into rubbery pebbles. Goosebumps raced up her chest and around her neck, she shivered. Her pussy clenched. Frustration mounted as she rubbed her thighs together. She slipped a hand from her breasts and eased it down to the sopping curls between her legs. The instant her fingers slid across her clit, her hips jerked forward.