Author's note:
This is the sequel to my story Claiming Khym. I hadn't initially planned to go further with these characters, but with encouragement from readers (thank you!) I realized there was more to their story.
As with the first installment, I had assistance with the female perspective. A friend of mine (a Lit contributor) read drafts and fragments of the story as I wrote it. Her assistance was vital for getting inside the head of the female character, Khym. I hope that my writing does justice to that help.
This is a work of fiction. All characters are over age eighteen. Thanks for reading!
*****
"Full house, tens and twos. Pay up, ladies!"
"Son of a bitch!" said James, throwing his cards down in disgust. Kelvin gleefully collected the pot as the others groaned, leaning back in their chairs or staring ruefully at their shrinking piles of chips.
James, though he had lost more hands than he cared to admit, nonetheless smiled. The evening of male companionship, poker, and whisky was the perfect antidote to a rough week at the office. Blues played in the background.
"You're doing well tonight, Kelvin," Marc said. He was the youngest of the group, and the newest addition to their sporadic poker night ritual. "You sure you don't have something up your sleeve?"
Kelvin had finished collecting his winnings and now stacked chips into neat piles. "No. I have something in my pants, though. You wanna see?"
"Sure," said Marc. "Lemme get a microscope or something."
Neil snorted. The four were gathered around James's dining table, well into their second hour of cards. James, who handled his liquor well, was wrapped in the pleasant glow of a mild intoxication. His glass was empty.
"Kelvin," he said. "Your turn to pick."
"Huh? Oh." Catching James's meaning, the stocky man went to the liquor cabinet to peer within. "Did we try the Balvenie? The fourteen?"
"The Caribbean Cask? No." All four men shared an appreciation for Scotch.
"Love this one," said Kelvin, bringing the bottle to the table.
It was Marc's turn to deal, but the group took a break to enjoy the spirit. A favorite blues guitarist played. The track deserved to be louder, but James was too content to get up and adjust the volume.
"Just a touch sweet," James said to no one in particular.
"I can't make that out," Neil said. "I like it though."
James's phone buzzed in his pocket. A rare text on a Friday night. He checked.
Miss you
Khym. Irritated, James pocketed the phone. She knew not to pester him, especially on the weekends. Didn't she have a life?
"Marc, you still bangin' that chick? That tall chick?" This from Kelvin. As the youngest, Marc's sex life routinely was the object of curiosity.
"Yeah," he said casually. "We bang. What about you? You bangin' anyone?"
"No," said Kelvin. "I'm married. Married guys don't bang. It's like you're not paying attention, Marc." Both Neil and Kelvin were known to gripe about their home lives.
"She's alright," Neil said, referring to Marc's girlfriend. "Any chick who'll let you out on a Friday night and bang you on a Saturday is a keeper. Don't lose that one."
"Don't lose her," agreed Kelvin. He took a sip. "And don't marry her."
James's pocket vibrated, announcing another text. Sighing inwardly, he checked it, and almost choked on his whisky. Instead of a text, Khym had sent him a photo of his backyard. The young woman must be in the alley. Incredible. He considered his options. Absolutely, his sub couldn't be ignored. She'd be sure to become increasingly anxious, creating in her mind fantastic scenarios in which James had lost interest in her or found another sub. Equally concerning, she shouldn't be lingering in the alley. James's urban neighborhood was gentrifying but still rough around the edges. A beautiful young woman like Khym would be nothing more than prey.
"What is it?" Neil had caught James gaping at his phone.
Making up his mind, James made a loud, exaggerated sigh. "It's my neighbor. He's hauling out a piece of furniture and wants my help. Just take a few minutes." He rose.
"What?" asked Marc. "It's almost ten. You want some help?"
"No, it's cool, thanks." James turned up the volume on the stereo. "This is a great track!" Before anyone else could object, he popped down the stairs.
James's basement was in transition. The previous owner had laid it out as a kids' playroom. Having no need for such a space, James had pulled up some of the carpet to make room for a workbench. In addition, he had roughed-out a small room that he planned to finish as a wine cellar. For now it was little more than studs, wiring, and a bare patch of concrete floor. A small guest room and bath remained.
Still cursing with irritation, James flicked off the outside security lights and stepped into the late spring night. His eyes slowly adjusted. He caught a glimpse of movement.
"Master," Khym said quietly as James approached. They stood on either side of the chain-link gate that separated James's backyard from the alley. "I'm sorry! I missed you!"
"What the fuck, Khym?" James shook his head in disbelief. Khym had come to the house once with Chip when they were still dating. That must be how she'd known where to find him.
"I'm sorry, Master!" Khym repeated. Dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a torn tee, she looked feminine and enticing. She wrung her hands nervously about, darting a look down the alley before returning her gaze to James. "It's been a month. I... I didn't know..."
"It's only been two weeks, Khym. Goddammit!"
