Crush Me

by Black, Stasia

  But I don’t. I take it calmly, unzip it and slip it over my head.

  “Help with the zipper?”

  I don’t say a word as I settle the dress on and then turn my back to him. His knuckles graze my spine as he slides the zipper up. If he notices the chill I get, he doesn’t say anything.

  “I’ll be needing that thong now.” He says it calmly.

  I’m not surprised. At least he let me put the dress on first. He offers me an arm to steady me so I can take the damn thing off. What a gentleman.

  I smile at him as I refuse his arm. Look at that, I’m getting my own array of smiles now. This one I’ll call my sugar-snake smile—it’s all apparent sweetness but with venom underneath. I slip my heels off so I’m not off balance while I pull the thong down my legs as discretely as I can. I ball them up and hand them over to him.

  He brings them to his nose and inhales.

  I arch an eyebrow at him as I slip my heels back on. “So crass?”

  He looks at me with genuine surprise while he sticks the underwear in the inside of his suit coat pocket.

  “Watch out with that wicked tongue.” He steps close. For a moment I think he’s reaching forward as if to adjust something on the front of my dress, but then he grabs my breasts and tweaks at my nipples.

  I yelp and pull back but he just keeps plucking at them while he talks as if nothing’s amiss. “I like to play with the wicked. There.” He looks down at my breasts in satisfaction. “See that your nipples stay like that. I want them puckered when we walk into the restaurant.”

  I’m breathing hard as he turns away.

  Damn him. I want to run forward and kick him with the tip of my pointy high heel. For a second there, a second, I felt like I was on an equal footing with him. And then, just like that, he stole it away from me. Put me back in my place.

  I follow him but I’m breathing hard, feeling stupidly like I want to cry. But fuck that. I bite it back. I’m sure he would get such a kick out of my tears. Humiliation is this guy’s high, after all.

  “Don’t forget your tablet,” he calls over his shoulder. “This is a business lunch.” He says it like I’m a moron who’s slacking on the job.

  I smooth my hair as I hurry back into my office to grab my tablet and purse. I barely make it to the elevator before it closes. Just as he intended, I’m sure.

  * * *

  Gentry doesn’t speak to me the entire ride over to the restaurant, which is fine by me. We’re in the back of a luxurious town car and he leaves plenty of space between us on the bench. He stares at his phone. I suppose I could be doing the same, trying to keep up on the endless emails that I’m sure are stacking up. But trying to read in a car makes me nauseous. In addition to the nerves already roiling in my stomach. Fuck. I am not in over my head. I’m not. I can do this. I can handle whatever Gentry throws at me. I have to. No matter what’s going on inside, I resolve to show nothing. I make my face a perfectly pleasant mask while I watch the busy streets.

  It’s not a long drive. When the car slows, Gentry only looks up long enough to stare at my chest pointedly. I don’t even bother to wonder if he’s serious about wanting my nipples perky. I pluck at them myself, even twisting them a little. They’re sensitive from his handling of them earlier, and they harden right up. I don’t meet his eyes, and I’m glad when he opens the door. He gestures for me to step out first.

  I give him a disingenuous smile as I slide past him to exit. He follows me and then puts a hand on the small of my back. It immediately puts me on alert, but I don’t pull away. I won’t let him know he’s disconcerting me. It would just feed his ego or whatever head-trip controlling me gives him.

  “This way,” he says in my ear, guiding me forward.

  I stiffen under his touch and clutch my purse a little tighter.

  “Relax,” he laughs. He squeezes my waist. As if that’s supposed to help. “This is a meeting with a very old and dear friend. I know you’ll be my good girl.”

  What a condescending assh—

  Before I can finish the thought, we’re inside and being greeted by a hostess. Gentry has his charismatic smile out, and I can tell the hostess is entirely dazzled by him. She looks like she’s still in college, all doe-eyes and impressionable.

  “Mr. Gentry,” her face lights up. He must be a regular. “We have your private dining room all ready. Just this way!” She beams at him and I don’t miss the way she pops her chest out. I inwardly smirk. It’s a good move, after all. The dude is a boob man. She sways her hips as she leads us forward into the dark and intimately lit restaurant.

  The Bay Area doesn’t lack for all kinds of eateries, and I didn’t check out the name before I was ushered inside. From the décor and dark wood paneling and aroma, I’m guessing this is some kind of European inspired cuisine. Italian? French? I can’t tell.

  I follow Gentry, and to my surprise he isn’t watching the perky waitress—he’s looking at me. Scrutinizing me. Like he’s watching me take everything in. It’s unnerving and I start moving again, quickly catching up to the hostess where she’s waiting ahead at a set of double doors that lead into what I’m assuming is the private dining room she was talking about.

  Gentry keeps right beside me, arm at my back.

  When we step inside, our other party is already waiting. The man stands up as we enter. And. Holy. Shit.

  It’s Jackson Vale, the founder and CEO of CubeThink. Everyone knows he’s Bryce Gentry’s former best friend and collaborator—together they wrote that breakthrough robotics algorithm I studied in college—and though they compete in different markets, their drones now rival one another for technical prestige.

  So why the hell are we sitting down to a cozy lunch date with the guy?

  “Jackson,” Gentry says with a breezy smile. He rounds the table and gives the man that half-hug-slap-on-the-back thing guys do.

  “Bryce,” Jackson returns. His voice is stiff and it’s only when Gentry pulls back that I get a better look at the other man. Jackson is slightly taller than Gentry. Where Gentry is sleek, Jackson is built and muscled. Gentry has always seemed like the most intimidating man in the room just because of his bearing and charisma.

  Until now.

  My gaze is caught on Jackson. It’s not charisma he exudes. He’s not smiling or even outwardly attempting any charm I can see. He’s just got… presence. Physically because he’s such a big man. Brown hair so dark it’s almost black. He’s smooth-shaven but I can see the outline of his five o’clock shadow even though it’s only noon.

  And his eyes. They’re so dark. Not because they’re brown. I think they might even be blue. But there’s a darkness there.

  I can’t help but take the slightest step back when his eyes move from Gentry to me. My heart’s suddenly slamming a hundred beats a minute in my chest and my eyes flick to the doors that the hostess shut behind her. Six feet from me to the door.

  Shit. Fight or flight. Gentry’s one thing. Somehow, I’ve always felt I can handle him. But this man…?

  “And this is?” Jackson addresses the question to Gentry, but his eyes don’t leave me. My feet seem locked in place. I want to whimper. My palms are sweaty. You’re in a public place, Cals. He can’t do anything to you. Because that’s why I’m whimpering, right? Fear… right? But there’s something else happening, too, something even more fucked up. Those nipples Gentry wanted perked up? They’re hard right now. And they’re pointing like rock-tipped arrows aimed straight at Jackson.

  Gentry’s arm slips around my waist. “This lovely creature is my new personal assistant, Miss Calliope Cruise. Isn’t she just a vision?” He pulls back and stares at me with pure adoration on his face. I can only gape. The fuck? Not once has he ever looked at me with anything like what his expression is now. I try not to let the confusion show on my face and keep my features pleasant.

  “Not only that,” Gentry turns back to Jackson, “but she’s pursuing a degree in advanced robotics from Stanford.”

  Again, I
struggle not to reveal my surprise. When Gentry interviewed me, he made me feel like a college dropout, but now he’s putting the best spin on everything. Like he’s showing me off. And suddenly it clicks. He is trying to show me off. He’s trotting out his prize show pony to impress Jackson.

  The possessive hand around my waist suddenly drops and pinches my ass. Right. Time to get with the program and perform. I can wonder about the why later. I smile up at Gentry graciously and try to channel the hostess from earlier, adding a touch of awe in my expression.

  “And I can’t thank Mr. Gentry enough for giving me the real world experience of working at such an amazing company,” I gush. “I’m learning so many things by getting to see the inner workings of how he develops and grooms new ideas through each stage of production.”

  “Ah, yes,” Jackson says with a mocking tone. “Bryce always was good at taking other people’s ideas and pretending they were his own.”

  I don’t miss the tick in Gentry’s jaw at the jab.

  “Why don’t we sit so we can enjoy this delicious lunch I took the liberty of ordering for us?” Gentry holds out his arms to indicate the table.

  Jackson continues standing still as a statue except for his eyes. They sit on Gentry for several long seconds, flick to me, then move back to Gentry.

  “Drop the shit, Bryce.” Jackson’s voice is a deep, rumbling base. “You said over the phone you’re finally willing to discuss negotiation on the CQ-9 patent. You’ve never had any use for it and have held it all these years just to spite me. So why on earth would you change your mind now?”

  Gentry sits and again waves to the chairs at the table. I glance toward the door one last time, but then take the seat Gentry indicates for me. I try not to stare at Jackson, wondering what his next move will be. Will he stay or go?

  Everyone in the tech world knows these men are rivals. I’m curious as hell about Gentry’s motives. I can almost taste the tension between them in the air. There are rumors of what happened to set the former friends against each other, but no one really knows. Was it a woman like some of the online gossip sites have suggested? Or a parting of philosophies like my machine-learning professor thought—Jackson was more interested in commercial ventures while Gentry wanted to pursue government-funded research? Either way, what would bring them together in this room if they are competitors and enemies? And what the fuck does Gentry expect my role to be in all this?

  “What if I told you I wanted to let bygones be bygones and allow the past stay where it belongs? In the past.”

  Jackson’s hard stare remains immovable. “I’d say I know you better than that.”

  Gentry laughs, a big bellowing laugh from his stomach. He shakes his finger at his old friend. “See? Now that’s the kind of honesty I miss! Everyone around me these days just tells me what I want to hear. Yes men. Yes, Mr. Gentry,” he mocks in an obsequious voice, “of course, Mr. Gentry, whatever you please.” He shakes his head. “Fucking ludicrous.”

  Gentry sits up in his chair, the humor replaced by earnestness. “I miss you, Jackson. I miss the machines we used to build, the concepts we dreamed up when we put these two brains together.” He gestures back and forth between their heads.

  Jackson scoffs and looks like he’s about to walk out of the room when Gentry continues, “Have lunch with us. Listen to what I have to say. No matter what, you walk out of here with your father’s patent. Give me an hour of your time.”

  That peaks Jackson’s interest. Mine too. How does Gentry have one of Jackson’s father’s patents? What’s the story there?

  Jackson stares hard at Gentry, like he’s trying to figure out his angle. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.” Gentry holds up his hands. “I’m a different man from the boy you used to know. Get to know the new me.”

  Jackson doesn’t look like he’s buying what Gentry’s selling, but he does sit down at the third seat at the table. The private room we’re in is large, but this table is almost uncomfortably small. It makes the whole space feel too intimate for two men who may or may not be reconciling rivals. Especially with me here as an uncomfortable third-wheel.

  I take a sip of my water in the silence that’s quickly grown awkward.

  “So, Jackson,” Gentry asks, “how’re things with you? How’s the company? And Miranda?” His voice is cajoling, like one might sound when ribbing a friend. “Still enjoying fucking my former fiancée?”

  I choke on my water at the same time as a waitress pushes open the door with appetizers. I grab my napkin to wipe at the water dripping down my chin and glance back and forth between the two men. So it was a woman!

  Gentry never loses his pleasant, happy-go-lucky smile and Jackson continues to sit there looking formidable and impassive. To be fair, it’s the same expression Jackson’s had on the entire time we’ve been in the room, so I can’t tell if he’s reacting at all to Gentry’s comment.

  The waitress sets down a basket of buttered garlic bread and two trays of small finger appetizers. Mini crab cakes and bruschetta as well as a selection of other antipasti.

  My mouth waters just looking at all the delicious food. I get so little time with Charlie that I got caught up playing with him a little bit this morning after he crawled in bed with me. I was late feeding him and when I realized the time, I was a madwoman rushing to get ready. I didn’t get time for breakfast myself.

  Still, I don’t want to be the first one reaching for food. Again, I look back and forth between the two men. They are still locked in a stare-off.

  I smile and gesture toward the platter. “Appetizer anyone?”

  Jackson’s eyes finally break from Gentry’s and look to me, as if just remembering he and Gentry aren’t alone in the room.

  “Of course.” Jackson takes one of the small plates and begins to load it with appetizers. His hands look gigantic next to the dainty little portioned food. Gentry and I fill our plates as well, but I can’t take my eyes off of Jackson’s hands. For a second my mind wanders, thinking about what they say about the size of a man’s hands…

  God, because that is a completely appropriate thought to be having right now. Shit, is this my thing now? Instead of being a nervous eater, I’ll start thinking about dick sizes and what his cum face looks like. I steal a look at Jackson’s face and my mind starts trying to rearrange the features. What would this man who always seems so controlled look like lost in pleasure? What the Christ, Cals, you’re doing it again!

  “CubeThink is doing very well,” Jackson says as if there was no awkward lull in conversation. I take a sip of water and look down at my plate of food, mortified at my own thoughts.

  “As I’m sure you well know,” I look back up just in time for Jackson to glare in Gentry’s direction before continuing, “Our stock prices have never been higher and the same goes for consumer confidence. Our quadcopter was the highest grossing commercial drone in the country last year. As for Miranda,” a look of rich amusement cracks Jackson’s stoic façade for the first time, “I thought you’d heard through the grapevine that we’ve tired of each other.”

  I don’t miss the slightest tick in Gentry’s coolly-aloof expression. A tell. One he hates himself for giving away, no doubt.

  Jackson seems to have seen it, too, because the amused expression on his face settles deeper. I should be disturbed that he’s taking satisfaction in digging the knife in his former friend’s gut, but I can only stare. Jackson only looked foreboding and frankly, a little scary, earlier. But the amusement softens his sharp features. The cut jaw and sharply angled eyebrows don’t seem quite as menacing now. And, oh help me God, there’s a dimple. Just on one side of his face, but still. That’s just not fair to the female population. Seriously.

  Gentry smirks. “Couldn’t keep the faithless bitch in line either, huh?”

  The ugly words make me stiffen in my seat.

  The softness leaves Jackson’s face, dimple disappearing. “Our parting was by mutual agreement after we both enjoyed ourse
lves, that was all. Maybe if you’d known how to treat a lady, she wouldn’t have gone seeking fulfillment elsewhere.”

  I expect Gentry to explode in fury. Instead, he laughs amiably. He’s firmly adopted his charismatic persona for the moment. I breathe out and reach for another crab cake. I’ve just popped it in my mouth when I feel Gentry’s hand on my knee. I struggle not to choke on the bite I’ve just swallowed as his hand slides up my thigh and toward my pantyless crotch. But surely he’s not going to—

  I jolt in shock as he does it. He sticks a finger inside me. Right there at the table with Jackson sitting not two feet away from me on my other side. I exhale in shock and look down at my plate. What is Gentry thinking?

  It’s not as if he’s being discreet about this. His left hand is obviously reaching under the fucking tablecloth. And moving around.

  Oh God. Does Jackson know what he’s doing right now? Does Gentry want him to know? I can’t look up at the other man or I’ll die. I’ll die right here where I’m sitting.

  “Well,” Gentry says amiably, “good for you and Miranda. I’m glad you both became so enlightened. And yes, I have seen that CubeThink’s stock was on the rise lately. In fact, that’s why I wanted to ask you for this meeting. In the past, we’ve had such… How shall I put it—” Gentry pauses, and as he does, he pushes another finger into me. I can’t help squirming against it. It doesn’t hurt because I stretched myself as part of my self-love session in Gentry’s office bathroom, and I’m even still a little moist. But Christ, why does he have to do this here? Now?

  “—fruitful collaborations,” Gentry finishes with a smile.

  “Collaborations,” Jackson says. I dare a peek over at him and see a dangerous and disingenuous smile on his face. As if he can feel me watching, his eyes meet mine. Then he looks back to Gentry. “Is that what we’re calling it when you steal things that are mine and then market them as your own? But then, you always did like putting your mark on things.”

  I’m still watching him as his eyes drop to where Gentry’s arm disappears beneath the tablecloth. I feel the blood drain from my face even as Gentry’s fingers work in and out of me more forcefully than before and his thumb starts rolling circles over my clit.