by JA Huss
He looks at me. Sternly. And the few moments of silence that come with that look make me squirm. “I didn’t say house, Nadia. I said home.”
OK. Just give in, Nadia. It’s easier. Get the night over with and then you can go—
“Why are you playing?”
“Why are you playing?” I ask. “If all you get out of it is disappointment.”
“I was hoping we had come to an understanding.”
“Why? Because you’re blackmailing me?”
He scoffs.
“You are,” I say. “Blackmailing me.”
“So quit the game. You’ll save me a few million dollars.”
“You could quit too,” I say. “And save yourself.”
“Jordan laughed when I texted him your choices.”
“Did he?” I say. Fucker. He hasn’t called me at all. I spent a good amount of time this morning listening for the phone to ring and Chris’s soft steps as she came to tell me I had a call. But he never called. It seems he’s abandoned me to Bric.
“He said these aren’t your choices, which I already knew since you told me traditional. And then he laughed again.”
“Does it hurt your feelings when he laughs at you, Elias?”
The sneer he shoots me makes my heart skip a beat. “You’re trying to control me. And I thought we already had this talk. I’m the top, you’re the bottom. You exist to please me. And when you please me, I please you.”
I look out the window, too angry to trust any words that might come out.
“This is a power struggle,” he says. “And I like it.”
I look back over at him, confused. “You do?”
“Of course. What good is a dom/sub relationship if there’s no power struggle? It makes things exciting. I break you down, you learn something about yourself. If I do it right, you don’t get hurt. So I learn something about myself as well.”
Is he serious right now?
“I was telling you this last night but you weren’t listening. Humans are violent. You’re violent,” he says.
“I said I was sorry.”
“But you like it, Nadia. That’s my point. You like the violence if you’re the one dishing it out. Which is why I asked if you were abused when you were younger.”
“And then you made fun of me. ‘Did your daddy beat you, Nadia?’” I spit the words out.
“Did he?” Bric asks.
“I told you no.”
“Then why do you like it?”
“It’s a game, Bric.”
“Elias,” he growls.
“That’s all. And Jordan liked it. If you don’t like it, I won’t do it. How’s that?”
“That’s a good start. Because you will not slap me again.”
“And you won’t slap me either.”
“Fair enough. But you’ll miss out on some good sex if you give me that rule.”
I huff out some air. Frustrated.
“Where do you draw the line, Nadia? With the violence?”
“I don’t want to be hit.”
“But you want to do the hitting?”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. You told me through your actions.”
“What are you? Some kind of psychiatrist? Stop reading into things, Elias. It’s just a game. You said so yourself.”
He doesn’t answer because we pull into a driveway, pass through an open iron gate, and come to a stop behind a black Mercedes.
The Spanish house.
A man in a suit gets out of the Mercedes, younger than Bric but definitely older than me.
“Can you see yourself living here for the rest of your life, Nadia?”
I stare up at the house. Ugly orange, Spanish tile roof. Curved exterior walls covered in white stucco. Neighbors so close you can see into their windows.
“No,” I say, being truthful for once. “I can’t.”
Bric presses a button on his door and his window rolls down as the man in the suit walks up to our car. “We’re gonna pass on this one, Law. Let’s see the next one, OK?”
“Fine with me, Bric. Meet you over there.”
Bric tabs the window back up and we back out of the driveway. The next house is only a few blocks away. The contemporary one. We don’t even bother to pull into the driveway this time, just idle in the street. “How about this one, Nadia?” Bric sighs.
“No,” I say.
Law comes up to our window again. And again Bric says, “Next.”
The guy just shrugs, gets back into his car, and we follow him to the third place.
The castle with turrets.
The gate is larger than the last two and the driveway is longer, which means the lot is bigger and no neighbors can see into the house. There’s trees along the property line. Tall, skinny ones that create a wall of sticks that might even be pretty in the summer.
“Do you even want to see it before we move in? Or should we just surprise ourselves next week?”
I stare at the house. It looks cold. And old. It’s all gray-brown stone and appears to be something out of history.
The window rolls down. Bric says, “Offer five million cash. Three-day possession.”
“Don’t you want to see inside?” Law asks.
“I saw the pictures online,” Bric says. “It’s good enough.”
“Uh, OK,” Law says back. “I’ll write it up and email you.”
The window rolls back up. We sit in silence.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say. “I have a place to live.”
“I didn’t do it for you, Nadia. I did it for us. Would you like to have dinner? Or do you want to go back to your apartment?”
“Is Jordan coming?”
“No,” Bric says. “He says he’s busy.”
I let out a long sigh. “Is he quitting on me?”
“No,” Bric says, a little bit of surprise in his voice. “Why do you think that?”
“Because ever since you showed up he’s been conveniently missing.”
“He’s got some big case, Nadia. Don’t internalize things.”
“Is he going to move into this house with us?”
“As far as I know,” Bric says. But he doesn’t sound very sure of himself. “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow. Do you want dinner?”
“Sure,” I say. But I feel sad all of a sudden. I feel like I just lost something even though Elias Bricman just purchased a five-million-dollar house that I will soon be living in.
I stew in that as Bric makes his way across town and we unexpectedly end up back in front of my building. “I thought we were going to eat?” I say.
“I don’t want to be around you if you don’t want to be around me. So I’ll take a raincheck on that.”
I stare at him with squinted eyes and say, “Well, that’s just fucking great,” as the valet opens my door. I slip one leg out of the car, but Bric grabs my wrist and holds me tight. I look over my shoulder at him. “What?”
“If you invite me in, I’ll come up. We can order takeout. Kiss a little.”
I glance at the valet, who blushes and backs off, then look back to Bric. “Would you like to come upstairs?”
“I would, Nadia Wolfe. Thank you for the invitation.”
The valet helps me out and then Bric is beside me, offering his arm. I take it and let him lead me inside, to the elevator, upstairs, to my door.
I fish my keys out of my pretentious purse and then Bric’s hand is on mine, taking them from me. He unlocks and opens the door, then waves a hand for me to enter, like this is his place and not mine.
God. Does everything have to be a power play with this guy?
But I shrug it off and go inside, and then he’s there, taking off my stupid cape and hanging it up in the coat closet. He does the same with his coat, unleashing an expensive suit on me that makes him look like Adonis with clothes.
“Chinese?” he asks. “Mexican? What do you feel like?”
“Mexican,” I say.
&
nbsp; He pulls out his phone, tabs a contact, and then orders for both of us. I want to stop him. Tell him not to do that. I can order myself. But he chooses sea bass tacos and I know the restaurant and I love those tacos. So I let it go. For once, I think in my head. I can let it go because he did everything right.
“It’s gonna be an hour and a half, they said. So we have time to kill. Something dear,” Bric says, changing the subject abruptly. “What’s that mean exactly?”
“What?” I ask.
“The other night. You told Jordan you wanted something dear to us. What’s that mean?”
I shrug. “What’s that mean to you?”
“Do you always do that?” he asks. “Get another opinion before you give yours?”
“That’s not what I do.”
“Yes, it is. You want to know what I think of it because you don’t want to be judged on what you think of it.”
“It’s something meaningful, Elias.”
“Like Jordan’s car.” But then he laughs. And I do too. Because fucking Jordan, right? He’s so materialistic.
“Not his stupid car,” I say, still smiling.
“I know that, Nadia,” Bric says, coming towards me to take my hand in his. Jesus. He’s a player. “So just tell me what it means.”
“Just personal.”
“Like a secret?” Bric asks, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. A familiar tingle runs through my body at his tender touch.
It’s a game, Nadia. He’s playing you like an instrument right now. This whole afternoon has been a game.
“Sure,” I say. “A secret. But more than that, an insight, I guess. Into who you are. Who both of you are.”
“Do you think you know Jordan?” he asks, pulling me close to his chest. He shifts his hands so they’re gripping my waist, and suddenly we’re dancing. My hands on his shoulders, my face near his neck.
“Better than I know you,” I say, staring out the window on the far side of the room.
“If I give you insight into me, will you give me insight into you? Or is your body my only reward?”
What the fuck? “Whatever you want, Bric.”
“Elias,” he corrects me. “You know, it’s painfully obvious that you call me Bric in your head. You make that mistake too often for it not to be true.”
“Sorry,” I say, suddenly feeling weary. My legs are aching like crazy. And my feet are tired in these boots. “It’s just how I know you, I guess.”
“Then you need to know me in a different way. Until Elias is the default and not Bric. Show me your apartment. Let me see your secrets, Nadia.”
Everything about him is exhausting. And I guess that’s his plan, right? Wear me down, make me weak, bend me backwards.
So why fight it? It makes me tired to fight it.
“Come with me,” I say, slipping away from his tight hold on my hips. “I’ll show you the only room that matters.”
Chapter Twenty-One - Bric
I grab hold of her hand before she gets away, not wanting to let her go. But she tugs me and brings me with her down the long hallway, on the opposite side of the apartment from her bedroom.
I have a million questions as she leads me into her ballet studio and flicks on the lights.
“This,” she says, “is the only room that matters.”
It’s fairly large as far as rooms go in downtown apartments. But this place is company-owned so it makes sense they’d have a studio for their resident dancer. The floors are blond hardwood. One of the long-sided walls is covered in mirrors and has a ballet barre running its length. The opposite wall is aged red brick.
“I like the mirrors,” I say.
She snickers. “I bet you do.”
I turn to her, place my hands exactly where they were back in the living room, and grip her hips tight as I pull her close again. “Stand very still, Nadia Wolfe.”
She scrunches up her eyebrows, like she’s about to ask a question, but my hands are already sliding down the curve of her hips, then her thighs, and then the soft leather boots hiding her calves as I crouch down.
Her pussy is right in front of my face. But there’s plenty of time for that later. I’m interested in her boots.
I reach around the back of one leg and tug the zippier down. “Don’t fall, Nadia,” I say, lifting up her foot as I pull the boot off.
She steadies herself with two hands on my shoulders. “Don’t drop me, Elias.”
I grin up at her, tossing the boot aside. Then go for the other one. Two seconds later her bare calves are in front of me and my hands can’t help themselves. I press my palms against her well-toned muscles and lean my face into her thigh, kissing the soft skin between her legs. When I nip, she sucks in air between her teeth and places her hands on the top of my head. Urging me on. Practically begging for more.
I stand up instead, place my hands on her shoulders, and turn her around. “Lift up your hair,” I say.
She obeys. Which is a very nice change after all the power plays we’ve had over the past several days.
The zipper on her dress comes next. I peel the soft cashmere off her shoulders, let it fall down her arms, and then it rests on her hips for a moment, until one small tug gets it around the curve of her ass and it puddles at her feet.
“Turn back,” I say.
She faces me. Studies me as I study her. Bites her lip as all the questions flood her mind.
She’s wearing light pink lingerie. A beautiful satin demi-bra. Not the girlish kind with lace or bows, but the womanly kind with no trim, just purpose—because her breasts don’t need decorations. I take a moment to touch them, looking Nadia in the eyes as I squeeze her. Fondle her. Then I lean in and kiss her.
Her fingertips are in my hair and it’s a passionate response. Her longing and desire a total turn-on.
When I break eye contact it’s to look at her panties, a matching pink satin thong that can’t hide the fact that her pussy is bare and smooth. I place my hand between her legs, one finger positioned between her folds, and push a finger against her clit.
The panties become wet.
I nod my head to the corner of the room where she’s got a few pairs of pointe shoes scattered around. “Put on the shoes, Nadia.”
She looks over to the corner, stares at it like her brain needs a moment to catch up with the request, then looks at me.
I’m waiting for another fight. I’m not sure what she could possibly object to with that request, but I’m sure she’ll think of something.
But I’m surprised again. Because she turns away, walks over to the shoes, and sits down on the floor. One leg up, bent at the knee, the other resting on the floor so her legs are open.
She doesn’t smile at me or try to take control—and I think that might be my favorite thing about her right now. Not her body, or her beauty, or the potential for a great fuck tonight. But her compliance.
She slips a pad over her toes, her eyes flicking up to mine before returning to concentrate on her assigned task. I study her fingers as she slips her foot into the shoe, tugging on the elastic, and then twists the long satin ribbons around her ankle.
She repeats this on the other foot. She stretches her feet out, flexing and pointing to make sure they’re comfortable, and then she looks up at me and says, “Now what?”
Such a good girl tonight. I almost don’t know what to make of it.
“Now,” I say, crossing the distance between us until I’m looming over her and she has to crane her neck to look up at me. “Now you’re going to pay for not being on your best behavior tonight, Miss Wolfe.” I extend my hand, she takes it, and I pull her to her feet. “I bought a house to make you happy and I don’t think you were happy.”
She stares at me, with a look of genuine fascination on her face. “Thank you,” she says. “And I mean that. I don’t need the house, Elias. But it’s a grand gesture, for sure.”
“I’m invested, Nadia. I want you to understand that.”
“I get it
,” she says.
“I don’t think you do. If you did, you wouldn’t have treated me so badly tonight. I’m afraid I can’t stand for it.” Every word comes out crisp and clear. But there’s no anger in them. No animosity.
“So punish me,” she says, unable to hide her smirk.
“I plan on it. Go to the wall,” I say, pointing at the brick. “And stand in second, en pointe.”
She bites her lip but doesn’t say another word.
She likes this, I realize. Everything about this moment is easy for her because she likes it. She likes the shoes, she likes this room, and the thought of me challenging her in her element makes her happy.
I’ll have to remember that.
But she gets it wrong immediately, and that makes me smile. “Face the wall, Nadia.”
“OK,” she says, coming off pointe so her feet are flat on the floor. She turns and faces the brick, then places her palms on the wall to steady herself and rises up, legs slightly spread apart.
God, she’s beautiful. I can see every muscle in her legs. Her back is straight and firm. Her head is high, neck stretched long, and her shoulders relaxed.
Her element.
I walk over to her and stand right behind her. Wishing for the wall with the mirrors so I could see her face. But then she’d be able to see my face too, and we don’t want that.
I place my hands on her waist and press my groin into her ass. She looks down for a moment, losing her concentration. “Do you want me to fuck you, Nadia?”
“Yes.” It comes out as a breath.
“I bet you do. But we’re not even close to that yet. I have to punish you, remember?”
“Yes,” she breathes again.
“How long can you stand like this?” I ask her.
“Long time,” she says.
“Give me a number, please.”
She takes a moment to think. And I wonder if she’ll shortchange herself to try to spare her muscles some pain tonight.
“Ten minutes,” she says.
“OK,” I say, taking out my phone and pulling up my camera. “I’ll be back in thirty. And just in case you think you can cheat, I’m going to film you, Nadia.” I set a timer on the phone, walk over to the other side of the room, adjust the camera so it’s front-facing, and prop it against the wall, positioning it until she’s centered in the frame.
