Caught in the Rain

Caught in the Rain

A Contemporary BDSM Romance

by

Keta Diablo

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author and publisher.

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 and author.

Copyright © Keta Diablo

Cover Artist © The Book Khaleesi

About Caught in the Rain

Clare is keeping a big secret from her husband. After six years of marriage, there’s something missing in their lives.

Attempting to fill her lonely existence, Clare signs up for a kinky chat group. After weeks of chatting she agrees to meet with a Dom for hire.

Will she go through with it? Does she dare? Will this mean the end of her marriage, or is it just another path to fulfillment?

* * * * *

Chapter One

I sip my coffee at the kitchen table and look out the window. Looks like rain again today. I can’t linger long, mull over the hundreds of questions rambling about my sleep-drugged brain.

Bacon sizzles in the skillet, and the eggs are ready to be poached. What good would it do anyway to go through all the what-ifs, or if only I had done this, and if only he had done that?

When did our marriage become so baseless, so null and dull? When did we begin making something out of nothing? Or making nothing at all?

Michael calls down from the second floor, his smoky voice breaking into my reverie. “Clare, are you burning the bacon?

I ease myself from the chair. Nothing can induce me to leap or bound into action anymore. See, what I mean? Why can’t he be gentler with his words, like, “Clare, honey, is the bacon burning?”

I don’t shout but raise my voice enough to carry it to the second level. “No, I have it under control, Michael.”

I walk to the stove and flip the bacon. Looks fine to me. After turning on the burner, I drop three eggs into the poaching pan, put the lid on and reach for two blue and yellow butterfly plates from the cupboard. They’re not Royal Copenhagen, but their sentimental value is priceless. Michael bought me the set shortly before we moved into our first apartment together.

Upstairs, I hear the muffled sounds of Michael getting ready for work—a shoe hits the hardwood floor with thud, a dresser drawer squeaks shut. He’s almost ready, which means he’ll bound down the stairs any second for breakfast.

I wish we could have a normal conversation, a pleasant discussion about nothing in particular and everything that’s on our minds, like we did the first six years of our marriage. More and more these days I fantasize about having sex on the dryer or the kitchen table, or dream about Michael calling into work sick so we can have wild sex all day.

The timer blares and I remove the poaching pan from the burner. After loading the bacon onto a small platter, I pour a cup of coffee for Michael and load the serving tray.

Everything is ready for him when I settle into the chair I left several minutes ago and look out the window again. Yep, a light drizzle is falling from the sky.

My mind wanders to an article I read yesterday on the seven-year itch. According to several life-coaches, the phenomena is real. They claim at or around the seventh year of marriage couples tend to drift apart. It has more to do with little things not being right rather than one major big problem.

“That’s the problem, lots of little things, because I can’t pinpoint anything major that’s happened,” I say to a rain-soaked Robin Redbreast—that’s the name I’ve given him—looking for his breakfast in my window feeder.

One marriage counselor went so far as to say the novel becomes the routine and the best way to combat boredom in a relationship is to fill your life with an exciting adventure you can look forward to. The words play in my head like a sonata . . . fill your life with an exciting adventure, fill your life with an exciting adventure . . ..

Michael enters the kitchen. The leg of his chair screeches when he pulls it out and settles in. “Good morning, Clare. Sleep well?”

“Uh-huh. You?”

He plucks the newspaper from the corner of the table with one hand and stabs a piece of bacon on his plate with the other. “Yeah, dead to the world.”

“Work’s been a little stressful lately, I guess.”

He doesn’t look up from the paper. “No more than usual.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth the payoff, you know, owning your own construction company. Seems like you’re always stressed these days.”

He glances up at me. “You like our lake home, right? How about that Acura Sport Sedan parked in the garage?”

A flush comes to my cheeks, I feel it rise up from my throat. “I didn’t ask you to buy those things, Michael. I’d rather have you.” I drop my chin, look away from those luminous blue eyes and whisper, “The old you, that is.”

His penetrating stare lingers on me. I don’t have to glance up to know he’s dissecting my words. At last, he speaks. “You have me, Clare. I’m sorry you don’t appreciate my hard”—”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything you . . ..” Way to go, Clare. Open mouth, insert foot.

He gives me a no-big-deal wave while taking a bite of eggs. “Here, let me read our horoscopes for the day.”

I know he’s as eager as me to move on to neutral territory. “Shoot, I’m ready.”

“Oh, you’re going to love mine.”

“I’m all ears.”

“While Leos are loving and loyal, they sometimes struggle to remember that a relationship is a multiplayer game. Leos are confident and ambitious and sometimes have a problem with putting their own needs first.”

Silence descends for a brief time until I find my tongue. “Well, they sure have the confident and ambitious part down pat. That’s a compliment and fits you to a tee, Michael. What’s mine say?”

He clears his throat and snaps the paper. “Fire sign Aries is the sign of walking the walk. They’re full of ideas and fantasies. Aries is driven and ambitious. They like to set goals and see them through to fruition.”

I take a sip of my coffee and think about how fitting mine is, as if someone probed my brain and siphoned out my feelings. Don’t be stupid, Clare, a horoscope can pertain to a gazillion people at any given time.

Michael comes to his feet, pushes the chair in and skirts around to the opposite side of the table. He leans down and gives me a peck on the cheek. “Gotta run. Thanks for breakfast.”

“Have a good day.” After the door closed behind him, I say, “You’re still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

The kitchen is quiet after Michael leaves the house, too quiet. I switch on the radio, and listen to the Top Ten Countdown from Yesteryear, KSAL’s standard menu that airs every morning at nine a.m.

As soon as I’m done tidying the kitchen, I plan to head upstairs to the home office Michael and I share. Right now, I cock an ear toward the radio and focus on the lyrics to the Rupert Holmes’ hit song from 1979, Escape. I’m fairly confident that to this day, half the planet knows most of the lyrics to that pop tune.

If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape; I'm the love that you've looked for, write to me, and escape.”

Holmes made millions off that song. I think he had the right idea, not only in the catchy words but how those words resonated with people.

Eager to log onto the computer, I turn off the radio and head for the stairs leading to the office. The words of Homes’ lyrics falling from lips. “Yes, I like Pina Colodas, and getting caught in the rain. I’ve got to meet you by tomorrow, and cut through all this red tape, at a place called O’Malley’s where we’ll plan our escape . . . plan our escape.”