by Sam Mariano
Upon reflection, that better explained the outfit she was wearing out to meet him. Since the horny high schoolers she knew clearly didn’t make her feel safe, she was branching out, spreading the temptation around a bit. She did want him to find her attractive, but only to prove a point.
“If it helps, I find you sexually attractive and I’ve been able to control myself.”
Willow smiled slightly. “Well, sure, but I also haven’t tempted you.”
“What do you call that skirt?” he replied, raising an eyebrow.
The girl actually scoffed. “You think showing a little leg is my best effort to inspire lust in a man? I think you underestimate me.”
“Well…and the boots. Back at the restaurant—you weren’t trying to get a rise out of me?”
Shrugging unapologetically, she said, “I was curious if I could. I wasn’t exactly worried about you pouncing on me in the middle of a public restaurant either.”
“I would never willingly pounce on you if you didn’t want me to. I mean—you know what I mean. Obviously… circumstances being what they are… But if circumstances were different and… Regardless of the provocation, I would never ignore your right to refuse me.”
“No matter what?”
“Of course not.”
“If I stripped naked right in front of you and did the most erotic things you could possibly think of and you were turned on to the point of physical pain, but I was reluctant…?”
“I would remain in physical pain and not lay a single finger on you.”
Smiling a bit wickedly, she said, “What if I let you put a finger on me? But only a finger.”
The mental image she was creating for him was actually starting to rouse his fantasies, and he did his best to lock them down before he did become aroused like an asshole. “Same thing,” he murmured. “If a man is worth your time, he will respect your boundaries and not move faster than you want to—no matter what.”
“Maybe you should be my guinea pig,” she suggested half-jokingly. “You don’t expect me to fuck you, but you find me attractive enough that you want to.”
Just hearing her say that caused his cock to stir.
In a sense, he agreed with her logic. If she felt the need to be provocative, at least he could be sure no harm would come to her at his hands.
On the other hand, that absolutely was not an option.
“At least, I think you do,” she added when he didn’t respond, her face turning pink.
“I do,” he said brusquely. “I mean… I shouldn’t say that to you, but it also wouldn’t be a very convincing lie, all things considered.”
Willow nodded her head, absently tracing shapes on top of the food container. “I’m making you uncomfortable. Sorry.”
“No, I’m not…” Sighing, he thought about the ‘discomfort’ he had caused her, and how somehow she was still considerate of his feelings. “I suppose in a sense… it would be no different than going to a strip club, right? I mean, sex isn’t on the table, so…”
Her eyes widened a little—clearly even she didn’t expect him to even entertain the possibility. “I… right, yeah, I guess you could say that. I mean, I was just…honestly, it’s just a theory, I can’t even say for sure it would work.”
Ethan was quiet for a moment, then he said, “It’s your call. If you want to push the limits with someone in a safe environment…there’s no risk with me. I can prove what you need proven.”
Eyeing him up, Willow seemed to consider. “You wouldn’t think less of me?”
“Of course not.”
“Could we still be friends after, or do you think it would ruin it?”
Smiling a little at her naiveté, he assured her, “Yes, we could still be friends.”
For just a few seconds, his mind filled up with all of the things he could teach her about her sexuality, about the uncomplicated pleasure of sex… but of course he couldn’t, and even as a single man in his predicament, he wasn’t sure sex could ever be uncomplicated between them given the horror of her first experience and his role in it.
Emerging from the stirrings of those less than platonic daydreams, Ethan frowned slightly as she put her food in the floor.
Then she said, “Shall we move to the back seat?”
“I’m going to need a drink.”
Willow’s smile faded just a little. “Um, won’t that… I don’t know, lessen your control?”
Ethan shook his head. “No, I’m not going to get shit-faced, I just need a shot.”
Instead of going to a bar, Ethan stopped and bought a bottle of whiskey.
Willow hadn’t actually thought he would agree to it—had never expected to suggest it!—so as she sat silently in the passenger seat, watching out the window as he pulled onto the road, her mind raced.
Could she change her mind already? It wouldn’t prove much of anything, but she suddenly felt insecure. Ethan was a grown man, and she had never tried to seduce anyone before. What if she just looked stupid? What if it was incredibly awkward? What if it brought back memories that she didn’t want to surface? What if—worst case scenario—he was wrong and he did lose control of himself? Reliving her horror in nightmares was bad enough, but reliving it physically and all because of her own stupid idea? Well, that would destroy her.
He probably thought she was so dumb.
He was probably just agreeing out of guilt.
Then he pulled into a hotel parking lot.
“Um…what are we doing here?” she inquired, shifting uncomfortably.
“If we’re going to do this, we might as well do it right,” he reasoned.
“We’re not going to have sex though,” she reminded him, alarmed.
“I know. This will be more comfortable. Plus, whatever it is you’re planning, I really don’t want to get caught in the backseat of my car with an open container and an 18-year-old girl. This will give us some privacy.”
That was a good point. She hadn’t even thought of getting caught.
“It’s just pretend though,” she insisted, more for herself than for him. “Just…a test.”
“Of course.” He glanced over at her. “If you’re nervous, we don’t have to do this.”
It was the out she had just been considering, but suddenly having him offer it changed her mind. Shaking her head, she said, “No. I may never get a chance like this again and… I would be pretty horrified if during my next actual sexual encounter I have a panic attack or something. I want to do a test run. This was my idea.”
Ethan nodded. “If you change your mind at any point, just say so.”
Since Ethan obviously didn’t want to be seen checking into a hotel room with her, he told her to stay in the car while he went inside and got a room.
While she understood the need for discretion, it also made her incredibly nervous to sit in the car by herself. She kept fidgeting with her hands and looking out the window. The parking lot was well-lit, but she still kept imagining some goons showing up outside the door and ripping it open, yanking her out of the car kicking and screaming, taking her away to her own personal hell—again.
One would think that having a father with an illegal criminal organization at his disposal might allow for some kind of security, but apparently that was not the case. It actually pissed her off how little he seemed to care that she had been abducted by bastards purely because she was related to him.
Absently checking her phone—as if he would call her that late, or at all—she saw that nothing had changed
Since her brain had the worst timing ever, it chose that moment to throw her back into the past, lying on a dingy mattress in the dark room, then that bastard coming in to get her and hauling her out to the main room where she would eventually see Ethan for the first time. He was dressed like the other flunkies—his jeans were a little baggy, his t-shirt a size too big, his raven hair was a little mussed, a shadow along his jaw betraying the fact that he hadn’t shaved recently. His eyes stood out though—alert, not fo
ggy like the other guys, who were always high. Also, they were a striking shade of blue, which she might have appreciated if he hadn’t been in the process of making her worst fears a reality.
Back in the present, she wondered, Do I really want to do this?
Then Ethan stepped through the doors and made his way back toward the car, and a rush of warmth washed over her. He looked so much different as himself. Less rugged—his hair wasn’t messy, no hint of stubble on his jaw, and he was actually wearing a suit, which is what she usually saw him in, so she assumed he must dress that way for work. It made sense—it made him look more professional…and more delectable, since a man in a suit pretty much always looked good.
Still, her first impression of him was flitting around the edges of her memory and putting her slightly on edge. What would her emotional response be if she put herself in a similar situation all over again?
Then again, maybe it would be the same even if he was anyone else, and then she would have to explain her freak-out to whomever that happened to be—and she did not plan on sharing that event with anyone in the future, if she could help it.
Ethan approached the passenger door and opened it. “All right, we’re good to go,” he told her.
Nodding a bit anxiously, she put a foot out of the door and stood, watching him close the door behind her and following him to the hotel entrance two doors down.
“Should we move the car closer?” she asked.
It wasn’t far, but since she was still constantly in fear of being attacked at night, even a couple of yards closer would make her feel better.
“Before we leave I’ll pull the car closer,” he assured her. She nodded, satisfied, and watched him open up the door and gesture for her to go inside.
Immediately upon entering the room, she felt intimidated. Red carpet covered the floor of the large unit, and along the center of the left wall was a giant bed with crisp white sheets and a red blanket folded up, draped across the bottom. More pointed than that, when she took another step forward, she looked to her left and saw a corner with mirrored walls behind a big Jacuzzi tub on a white raised dais.
It was a room for sex, not sleeping.
Ethan’s hand moved to rest lightly on the small of her back and she jumped, not expecting it.
“Is that okay?” he asked, glancing at her face.
Nodding despite her uncertainty, she assured him it was.
The door closed behind them but she didn’t move any closer to the bed. In front of the bed was a dresser constructed of cherry-veneered wood, a mid-size television on top of it. Beyond the bed, in front of another door—maybe a closet—was a big beige chair with a matching ottoman.
“Want to watch TV?” Ethan asked lightly.
It was just the right thing to say. Willow cracked a smile and turned toward him, shaking her head no. Then, without a word, she decided to dive right in.
Her hands went to the lapels of his jacket and she began to peel it off of him. Surprise flashed across his features, but he let her do it, helping when one of the sleeves got caught. Just in front of them, before the dresser, was a mini fridge with a microwave on top, and once it was off, Ethan discarded his jacket on top.
“I forgot the whiskey in the car,” he murmured.
“You don’t need the whiskey,” she replied, her voice a little less steady than she intended. Maybe she needed the whiskey. This was no way to pretend-seduce a man.
Before he could respond or remark on her clear uncertainty, she reached for the hem of her black crochet sweater and pulled it over her head, tossing it in a heap on the floor in front of the fridge.
Ethan swallowed, his gaze moving down her body—slowly, in no hurry that time, not trying to hide it. The appreciation in his gaze made her feel more confident, and acting on instinct alone, she placed one hand on his chest and pushed him backward until he was pressed against the wall.
Both of his eyebrows lifted in surprise and she fought the urge to ask if that was okay—she wasn’t going to ask permission. Once he was there, she wasn’t altogether sure what to do with him, so she just moved closer until her body brushed against his. Leaning in, she nuzzled her face against his neck while her daring hand left his chest and dropped lower, caressing his growing erection.
Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and barely stifled a groan. Bringing her other arm up to wind around his neck, she trailed her kisses up to his ear where she experimentally took the lobe lightly between her teeth and tugged. One of his free hands moved to her waist, tugging her a little closer, and as her pelvis pressed up against the evidence of his arousal, a little gasp of her own slipped out.
“Sorry,” he said roughly, releasing her waist and dropping his hand to his side. “I forgot the rules for a second.”
Biting back a small smile, she said, “Well, don’t do that. It’s kind of the whole point. But you can put your hand back if you want, you just surprised me.”
He merely shook his head, his hands remaining at his sides.
Instead of resuming her exploration, she took a step back. “I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick, I’ll be right back. You can… get comfortable,” she said, gesturing to the expanse of the room.
“Maybe I should go get the whiskey,” he suggested.
She flashed him a smile over her shoulder, then disappeared behind the door.
Without delay, Ethan opened the door and headed to the car.
Ethan was in hell. He had to be.
He also had to be absolutely insane to have agreed to this to begin with.
After three generous gulps of whiskey, he put the bottle down on the nightstand between the bed and the Jacuzzi—then, looking at the Jacuzzi, he reconsidered and took one more gulp.
His phone was still in his pocket, so he took it out to make sure he hadn’t missed any texts or phone calls. He even considered texting Amanda to let her know not to wait up. Guilt tore at him then, but he didn’t want her to worry either. Before he could reconsider, he quickly sent a message to let her know he would be out late, and as soon as it sent, he turned the phone off and put it on the table beside the whiskey.
How had his life gotten so fucked up? Mere months ago there was no imaginable scenario that would have put him where he was, and yet… there he was.
Even though it was her idea to begin with, he wasn’t even sure Willow was on board. He didn’t know her well enough to know how she was going to feel about even a mock-seduction, since it was obviously going to involve very real touching and sexual arousal. It seemed from her comments like she was okay with it—or could at least rationalize it in some way—but he couldn’t say whether or not that was a front.
He might also feel less like an asshole if part of him didn’t want to be there. If he could actually say the only reason he had agreed was to reassure her that she could trust a man not to force her into something she didn’t feel comfortable with, and no part of him just wanted to touch her again.
None of that was true, however. Willow intrigued him; he couldn’t figure out all of her responses to him in particular, and she seemed to have such a different perspective from anyone else he knew. Perhaps it was her age, the resilience of youth, but he didn’t remember being so pleasant or casual about his own bad experiences immediately after coming out of them. He only remembered being an angry bastard.
It took him much longer to get to a place even remotely like the one Willow had been in all night, and he didn’t understand.
But it impressed the hell out of him.
The bathroom door eased open and he sat up a little straighter, his eyes jumping to the little entryway she would emerge from, but she didn’t immediately come out.
Then she did, and the erection that had dissipated started to come back to life.
Her clothes had been discarded, and as she approached him, she wore nothing but a light pink bra and panty set—both lace. Her feet were bare, with maroon polish on her toes, somehow highlighting her age in his mind.
Her breasts seemed fuller than he remembered them being, but she was probably wearing a push-up bra. Since she had such fair skin to begin with, the pale pink lace only served to enhance his awareness of her near nudity.
Not touching her was going to be absolute fucking hell.
Agreeing to such lunacy was a huge mistake.
Without a word, he reached for the whiskey and took one more swig.
Willow cracked a smile as she approached the bed—and him—and stopped when her legs were maybe an inch from brushing his knees.
Oh, God, up close was even worse. His fingers itched to reach out and touch her skin—it was smooth, he suddenly remembered, and then all the other thoughts were flooding back, the bad ones he had been able to brush off in recent weeks. His hand stung with the memory of smacking her on the ass, and he was consumed with the desire to pull her closer, grab that ass, and yank her into his lap.
Instead of fulfilling his momentary fantasy, he placed the whiskey bottle into her outstretched hand.
She took a much smaller drink than he had, made a face, stuck out her tongue, and put the whiskey back down.
“Gross. That’s…that’s gross.”
“You’ve never had whiskey before?” he asked.
She shook her head, then she looked down at him, seeming to drink in the sight of him slowly. When she finished her perusal, she ran her fingers through his hair and said, “You can touch me if you want to.”
Oh, how he wanted to.
Since he couldn’t do anything about it though, he thought it probably wasn’t a great idea.
Still, he didn’t want her to feel self-conscious…and he really, really wanted to touch her.
Starting just below her breasts, his knuckles skimmed her sides, coming to settle on her hips. Slowly, so she could pull back if it wasn’t okay, he drew her closer, spreading his legs so she could stand between them, then he bent and placed light kisses along her stomach. He felt her quiver, felt her breath quicken, and allowed one of his hands to brush the curve of her ass.
