by Whitney G.
“I run too. Maybe we could go on a run sometime together?”
“That’d be—” I felt my phone vibrating. “Great. We should definitely do that. I apologize in advance for pulling out my phone. It’s probably my mother.”
“Probably. She texted me three minutes ago.” He laughed.
“Really? About what?”
“She just asked how our night was going.”
“What you’d say?”
“Amazing.” His deep brown eyes lit up as he smiled—making him look even more gorgeous, but I felt no attraction to him whatsoever.
“I wasn’t aware that your “mom” was a “man”...You two look nothing alike.” Jonathan.
I tried not to laugh. “What do you like to do when you’re not working, Michael?”
“I like to go rock climbing, visit car shows, and remodel old homes in the—”
“I love remodeling.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You’re joking with me, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m serious. I get a huge adrenaline rush whenever I’m in a hardware store or near a construction site. I can’t really explain it, but if I could ever do that for a living...”
“I’m part of a home improvement group that does projects every other Saturday. Would you be interested in joining?”
“Extremely.” My phone was vibrating again. “I would love that.”
“Is he a long lost friend?” Jonathan.
“None of your business.” I texted back.
Our waitress appeared and set down our dinner—a beautiful array of exotic shellfish and pasta. I wasn’t the biggest fan of seafood, but the scallops and oysters looked too delicious to pass up.
“Ask him if he likes your bracelet.” Jonathan.
I tossed my phone into my purse and picked up a fork.
“I like your bracelet.” Michael looked at my wrist. “Is it a Harry Winston? My colleague’s wife has a similar one...It’s a lot smaller though.”
It couldn’t be a Harry Winston...
“Um, I’m not sure what it is. It was a gift from a friend. It came in a blank black box...”
“Pretty generous friend.” He raised his eyebrow. “Are you enjoying the food?”
“Yes, it’s really good.” I swallowed a forkful of shrimp.
“My friend is the manager here. We can come back any time you like, even if they’re booked for the night.”
“Sounds great.” I put my fork down. “Would you please excuse me for one second?”
“Of course.”
Like the gentleman that he was, he walked over and helped me out of my chair.
“I’ll be right back, Michael.”
I made my way into the women’s restroom and locked myself into a stall. I pulled out my phone and logged into the Harry Winston website, scrolling down their gallery of bracelet images. Then I spotted the one that was just like mine...It was at the bottom of the page, near the bracelets that said “By appointment only.”
I clicked on the picture and read through the details: “an open lattice bracelet set in platinum with three hundred and forty small round diamonds.”
I wasn’t going to click on the picture to reveal the price, but I had to know: One hundred thousand dollars.
I gasped, holding my jeweled arm in front of my face—trying to comprehend why Jonathan would give me something so extravagant.
We barely knew each other when he gave this to me...
I unlocked the stall’s door, ready to walk out, but Jonathan stepped inside and slammed it shut.
“Are you on a date right now?” he said through clenched teeth.
“Clearly.”
“Is it going well?”
“It’d be going a whole lot better if you weren’t holding me hostage in the bathroom...”
“I thought you said you didn’t do the dating thing.” His eyes hardened.
“I guess I changed my mind. Is that a crime, Jonathan? Are you going to report me to someone?”
He narrowed his eyes and stepped right in front of me, breathing slow and steady breaths—making my heart race uncontrollably.
“Let me get this straight.” His eyes were blazing. “I’m good enough for you to fuck, but I’m not good enough for you to go out with me? Not even once?”
“Glad to see you finally saw the light!” I tried to move past him, but he slammed both of his hands against the wall, on both sides of my head.
“I’m just one of your little sex toys?” He hissed.
“Yes, except unfortunately you talk back and I can’t turn you off. Can you please get out of my way?”
“No.” He looked like he wanted to rip me to pieces, like he wanted to slap me into another world.
“Jonathan, please stop being childish. You and I have meaningless sex. That’s it. There’s nothing more to it. I’m sorry if you’ve started to like me, but I don’t like you—at least not in that way. I don’t think about you at night, you don’t cross my mind throughout the day, and I just use you for some much needed stress relief, so if you could just—”
He pushed me against the wall and forced his lips on top of mine, kissing me so hard I could barely breathe. He slid his hand underneath the slit of my dress—running his hands across my thighs. Then he twisted my panties and ripped them off.
“Jonathan—”
“Shut up.” He lifted my leg and hooked it around his waist. “Put your arms around my neck.”
“Jona—”
“I’m not going to ask you again.”
I placed my arms around his neck and heard him unzipping his pants.
“You don’t think about me when you’re alone in bed at night?” He looked into my eyes.
“No, I—” I suddenly felt his dick slamming into me, knocking my body against the wall. I tried to unhook my leg from around him, but he cupped my ass and held me steady.
“I never cross your mind during the day?” he whispered harshly.
“Never.”
He slammed into me again—over and over, making me scream so loudly I was sure the other people in the restaurant could hear me. He grunted as he squeezed my ass and impaled me—going deeper and deeper with every stroke.
I clawed wildly at his neck, wanting him to stop this passionate torture, but I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘stop’; it felt way too good.
He yanked the top part of my dress down and began kissing my hardened nipples—sucking them greedily, nearly sending me over the edge.
I was sure I was going to cum right then and there, but all of a sudden he pulled out.
“You honestly only use me for stress relief?” He teased my entrance with his dick, circling it around and around.
I didn’t answer him. I looked down and tried to catch my breath, tried to gain back the resolve he’d so easily broken.
“Answer me.” He pulled me by my hair and forced me to look up at him.
“Yes...You’re nothing but stress relief...”
And with that answer he plunged into me even deeper. “Why are you lying to me, Claire?”
“I’m...I’m not...” I couldn’t focus anymore; he was moving in and out of me at a teasingly slow pace, hitting every tender spot. “I’m not lying...”
He reached down and wrapped my other leg around his waist, gazing into my eyes as he gripped my hips and moved me up and down.
“Claire? Claire?” Michael’s voice sounded from the other side of the room. “Are you in here?”
“Yes...” I felt Jonathan increasing his rhythm, gripping me even tighter.
“Are you alright? Did the food upset you or something?”
“No...I’m...” Tremors started racking through my body and my hips began to jerk. “I’m....I’m...”
“What did you say? I can’t hear you, Claire. Are you allergic to shellfish?”
“I’m...” My entire body shook violently and I bit Jonathan’s shoulder to prevent myself from crying out. “I’m...I’m amazi—great...I just....” I sucked
in as much air as I could and tried to pull myself together. “Some food went down...Some food went down the wrong pipe and I’m just waiting for it to move completely... I didn’t want you looking at me while I tried to force it... It’s not very appropriate.” I scowled at Jonathan.
He scowled back.
“Oh...I’m so sorry.” Michael actually sounded sincere. “Well, that’s okay. I would’ve helped you if you needed me too...Do you need anything? Water maybe?”
“No...” My breathing was still erratic. I was still feeling the aftershocks. “I’m fine...Thank you.”
“Okay well, I’ll go ahead and order dessert. Is chocolate soufflé okay with you?”
“That’d be perfect... I’ll be right out.”
I heard the door shut and Jonathan set me down on the floor.
Without saying a word, he took a few cloths from the dispenser and wiped between my thighs.
He pulled the dress back over my breasts, deftly securing the fabric into place. Then he reached down and smoothed my hair—attempting to make it look like it did before, even removing a bobby pin and sliding it where it used to be.
He raised his eyebrow at the Batman Band-Aid, and possessively ran his fingers across the Harry Winston bracelet.
It took me several minutes to completely catch my breath, to wrap my head around what had just happened. I shook my head, still in disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with you, Jonathan? Are you insane?”
“No, but you must be. You had the nerve to bring a date here of all places.” He scoffed.
“I didn’t pick this place, but even if I did, how was I supposed to know that your business meeting would be here?”
“The restaurant is called Statham, Claire. I own it. It’s also right down the street from corporate and my picture is in the hallway. There’s always a chance that I could be here.”
“Fine. A major oversight on my part, but that still doesn’t give you the right to interrupt my date.” I spun away from him and walked out of the stall, over to the mirrors.
“Do you like him?” he asked.
No...
“I don’t know yet. I think I need to get to know him better before I come to any conclusions.”
His eyes met mine in the mirror. “You plan on going out with him again?”
“Yes. He seems like someone who wouldn’t give me a childish jealousy fuck in a public restroom.”
He rolled his eyes and walked towards the door. “Get rid of him after dinner. Let me know when you make it home so I can pick you up. We need to talk.”
“And if I don’t feel like talking to you?”
“Then we don’t have to talk.”
Chapter 11
Claire
I wasn’t sure why I called Jonathan to let him know I was at home. A part of me was furious about what he’d done to me in that bathroom, but another part of me—a part I couldn’t explain, was happy that he’d showed up and interrupted my night.
As he steered his Bugatti through the city and past the suburbs, I sat back in my seat and wondered when he was going to start talking. He hadn’t uttered a word since he’d picked me up, and he hadn’t looked over at me once.
Why do I even care? I’m not supposed to like him...
He sped through the sandy lanes of Ocean Beach, way past the familiar common areas that I was used to going to. There were no more lampposts or sparkling sand lights that helped lead the way along the shore. There was nothing but darkness and the pale glow of the moon from above.
After what felt like forever, he pulled in front of a massive wooden house and turned off the car. He stepped out without saying a word, and then he walked over to my side and opened the door.
He reached for my hand and led me up the porch’s steps, pressing a few buttons on a keypad. As his finger tapped the last key, the door slowly opened and he pulled me inside.
My jaw dropped as soon as I stepped forward. The vaulted ceilings were at least fifty feet high and they were made of black glass. There were paintings by Renoir and Amadeo—the originals, gently tucked in their own gilded frames that hung high. The room was filled with earth-toned furniture—soft brown sofas, emerald green chaises, and bronze accent pieces, that all reflected against the windows on the back wall.
This is beautiful...
“Take off your shoes,” he ordered.
I slipped out of my flats and followed him into a kitchen so grand I wasn’t sure if it was real. It reminded me of the royal British kitchens I’d seen in Architectural Digest, the kitchens I would’ve killed to visit someday.
He motioned for me to sit down on one of the silver barstools and then he switched on the stove.
He turned his back to me and began preparing food—never once looking over his shoulder or saying anything to me. He took his time measuring different oils and sautéing meat, shaking his head every few minutes.
While he was chopping vegetables, I looked at my watch and realized an hour had gone by since we’d made it to the house.
“Here.” He turned around and slid me a plate of chicken, potatoes, and salad. “I didn’t see you eat much on your date.”
“Thank you...”
We ate dinner in complete silence; the sound of forks scraping against the plates was the only noise between us. I looked up at him several times, trying to see if he would look back, but he didn’t; he kept his eyes on his food the entire time.
When he saw that my plate was empty, he grabbed it and tossed it into the sink. He put on his jacket and walked to the frosted glass door that was across the room.
“Come here, Claire.” His voice sounded neutral, but there was still a look of coldness in his eyes.
I took my time walking over to him and he wrapped a warm blanket around my shoulders. He opened the door and I realized the Pacific Ocean was only a few feet away.
I thought we were going to walk along the beach since I was still barefoot, but he led me onto a beautiful black yacht that was docked nearby. He helped me up the steps, and signaled for a man—who appeared out of nowhere, to start the ship.
He started tugging me through all types of elegant rooms—tea room, sun room, living room, Jacuzzi room—and then he suddenly stopped.
He turned around and stared at me, looked at me long and hard, as if he were contemplating what he wanted to do—what he wanted to say.
“I don’t like being lied to.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed me, pressing himself so tightly against me that I could feel his erection through his pants.
He possessed my mouth with his tongue, hardly ever giving me a chance to breathe—instantly turning me on.
I knew he was upset, but I wanted to feel him inside of me again. I wanted him to take me right then and there so I reached down to unbutton his pants, but he broke off our kiss.
“Why did you do that?” He snarled.
“What?” I panted. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t give me any fucking sarcasm...”
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t stutter.” He pulled me down onto a couch. “Why were you on a date with that doctor?”
“It wasn’t by choice...” I leaned back and touched my swollen lips. “My mom set me up... I showed up to her house ready to go to the opera, but she told me she’d set me up on a date with him.”
“But someone like him is who you want to date, right?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Someone your age or older?”
“Yes...”
“Explain that to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Explain why you feel that dating someone your age or older is what’s best for you. Better yet, just tell me why I’m not good enough, because that’s clearly how you feel.”
“It’s not that you’re not good enough, it’s just that...” I saw him clenching his jaw. “Whenever I do decide to date again, I want to date someone with a little more life experience—someone who didn’t have everything handed to him, you know? Someone who knows what
it’s like to love and lose and someone who would go out of his way to make sure neither of us felt that again...”
“And because he’s older with life experience, that means he’ll treat you right?”
“There’s a greater chance of that. Yes.”
“For the record, I didn’t have anything handed to me. Believe it or not, I had to work for every dime that I have. I know exactly what it’s like to love and lose, and I would never ever hurt you. If you—”
“You never had anything handed to you?” I scoffed. “Have you read your bio in the company handbook lately? You were born and raised in an upper class Boston family and you went to an expensive prep school—Phillips Exeter Academy, in New Hampshire. And you and your—”
“All of that shit is a lie, Claire.” He hissed. “I had my best friend, who happens to be my security director, make up a past for me. I even paid Phillips Exeter to create an old transcript and Photoshop my face into old yearbooks...I didn’t think trailer trash kid with meth-head parents who almost killed their own kids sounded very inspiring.”
What?
My mind went blank. All these weeks I’d been trying to come up with excuses to use should this very conversation ever happen, but his lack of life experience was one of my biggest ones.
“I’m...I’m so sorry about your parents, Jonathan. I didn’t know...But still, it’s only a matter of time before you find someone your age or younger and you’ll want to date her—which is perfectly normal and understandable. I mean, the past couple months have been fun, but I honestly think you’re going through a MILF phase.”
“A MILF phase?”
“Yes. Mother [You’d] Like to Fuck. I don’t think that—”
“First of all, I’ve already fucked you—numerous times, so consider that point null and void. Second of all, I’ve told you over and over that I don’t give a damn about your age. I don’t know how else I can make that fact any clearer. What do you want me to do? Send out a company memo about it?”
“I just don’t want you to think that you and I could ever have something serious...I know you say you don’t care about the age gap now, but that’ll change with time. It always does...And while I’m extremely flattered by your little crush—”
