by JA Huss
But we’re too far gone. It’s over. I pull out and shoot my semen up and down the back of her blouse in long sticky streams as she collapses on top of the table and pants her little heart out.
“Perfect,” I say, just as breathless as she is. I grab a napkin and dip it into a water glass that is now only half full from the rocking table, and then clean myself up, tuck my dick back in my pants, and then stand her up and turn her around. “Here, baby. Kneel down on the rug. Relax.” She falls to her knees, her breath still ragged with release, and she looks up at me with half-mast eyes that make me want to take her all over again. “I’ve ruined that blouse, let’s take it off.” She looks down and watches my fingers as they undress her. One button, two buttons, all the way up to the last one between her perfect breasts. I lift the shirt away from one shoulder and let the soft cotton fabric slip down her arm. I repeat that with the other arm, and then she’s only in her black bra and skirt.
“Put your hands on your thighs, please.”
She obeys and I sigh a little with her compliance. She catches that, I’m sure, because she looks up at me and smiles. This night is going so much better than I ever anticipated. I wasn’t sure if she’d be mad about me showing up by surprise or not. It’s so hard to predict what might set her off. She is clearly a smart woman capable of many things. She probably thinks she doesn’t need a man. But she’s wrong. She does. She craves it, I can tell.
I straighten out the tableware as best I can, moving all the covered plates so they are within arm’s reach, and then settle back in my seat with Grace between my legs. I lift the lid off a small dish. The scent of meat fills the air with a puff of steam. “It’s still hot, good,” I say more to myself than her. I pick up a small bite-sized piece of tender beef and bring it to her lips. “I’m going to feed you, Grace. Open your mouth and take the meat.”
She complies and my heart swells a little. I wasn’t sure how she’d take this, to be honest. She might’ve got up and walked out, spouting off about how she’s perfectly capable of feeding herself. But perhaps she’s catching on? Or perhaps I just wore her down and she’s too satiated and relaxed to care that I’m hand-feeding her.
“Why am I feeding you, Grace? Why not just let you sit at the table with me?”
She looks up at me with her big blue eyes and smiles as she chews, taking her time before swallowing. “Asher, I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m hungry and tired. You could do almost anything to me right now.” I wince and she catches it. “Wrong answer?”
I nod, but stay silent.
“OK,” she says, pausing to think this time. “Let me try again.” She looks down at the sheepskin rug, her fingers caressing it for a moment, and then tilts her chin up so she can look me in the eye. “You… want to be responsible for me?”
I positively grin. “Dear Lord, you are perfect.” I lean down and kiss her gently on the lips and then grab another piece of meat and place it in her open mouth.
She chews slowly again, and then swallows with a heartfelt, “Mmmmm.”
“That’s why I gave you money, Grace. Not to buy you, but to care for you. If you want to give it all away, that’s your choice, But there will be more money in your account the second it goes below thirty thousand. That’s the threshold. Thirty thousand dollars is enough to leave me and move on, so that’s the dollar amount I need to stay in your account.”
“What?” she sputters, shocked by my words.
“Leave me, Grace. I’m not bribing you to stay. I want to make it very clear you are not being paid to stay. You are being paid to leave. I want you to be OK when you’re ready to walk away. When we get tired of each other. I want that money to be there for you so you never have to wonder if you can afford to break off our arrangement.”
Her shoulders slump over and she bows her head in defeat. I hate to spell it out so callously, but it needs to be said. She needs to accept it or she needs to take the money and move on. “Do you agree?”
“Can I think about it?” she asks quietly, her head still bowed. “And let you know?”
“Of course,” I say back and lift her chin up with my fingertips. “Are you very hungry?” I ask her as I grab another morsel from the plate.
“Yes,” she says, a little bit defeated. “I really am. I feel starved.”
“You have to go slow, so you can enjoy it. Otherwise you might eat too fast. And that will never do. You can’t enjoy our time together if you’re busy scarfing down food. Just be patient and know that you will be satisfied when we’re done. Even if it takes longer to get there this way, understand?”
“OK,” she says.
I don’t like her defeated attitude at all. I prefer feisty Grace over this demure imitation. But I need that contract signed tonight, and this was the only way to get that. “Now tell me about your day, sweetness. Tell me about your new job.”
“It’s just a job. I don’t want to talk about it with you. If you’re not really interested in me as a person, and this is just about conquering me during sex, then I’m not interested in sharing my day with you.”
“That’s not all I’m interested in, Grace. I’m just trying to be honest with you, that’s all. I don’t want to hurt you. I want us to enjoy each other. I think we can have a nice relationship.”
“Relationship?” she huffs. “This isn’t my idea of a relationship. A relationship doesn’t come with walking-away money.”
“So give it all away.”
“You’ll just put more in my account.”
“So give that away too. Give it all away. When it ends, you can give that last thirty thousand away as well. Problem solved. You can spend every minute with me practicing your role as a philanthropist.”
“This isn’t—” She looks up at me and swallows. “You’re not anything like the man I fantasized about.”
“Hmmm, I think being unrealistic is a trademark of all fantasies, don’t you?” She doesn’t answer, just stares up at me. “But since we’re talking about it, you’re exactly the kind of woman I fantasized about.”
“Is that my consolation prize?”
“Grace,” I say, placing the meat from the plate up against her lips. She opens and takes the morsel, chewing slowly. “You’re sending me mixed signals again. Did you think this was a serious relationship? Did I lead you on?”
She shakes her head and then swallows the food. “No, it’s just not very romantic to be told you’re getting money to walk away.”
“Ha!” I say. “I am the romantic one in this arrangement, Kinsella. You’re the one who never wants to get married! You practically admitted you’re not romantic. I sent you flowers today. I sent you a happy-first-day message. I arranged this perfect evening of sex, and fun, and food. Not to mention the titillating conversation. What more do you want?”
“I want it to be real,” she says defensively. “And not something fake. Not something you do because you’re looking to get something in return.”
“Real? Really? Then why do you keep comparing me to your fantasy?”
She sighs and then collapses back onto the rug, her long legs stretching out on either side of mine. “OK, never mind. My feelings don’t count. I get it.”
I lie down next to her, propping my head up with my elbow. “I never said that. Why are you so conflicted? Just have fun, for fuck’s sake. Just enjoy this. Smile, be happy. Tell me about your day.”
She eyes me suspiciously with a sidelong glance. “If I tell you about my day, then you have to tell me about yours.”
“Deal,” I say quickly.
“All of it. Even secret stuff.”
“What kind of secret stuff?”
She lets out a long sigh and then smiles. “I don’t know.” She laughs and the tension releases. “Personal things, so I don’t feel so… impersonal.”
I drag a stray length of hair out of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. “I can do that. Every time we meet, I will tell you something no one else knows. Will that make you happy?”
/> She nods. “Tell me something now. Something that happened today that no one else knows.”
“Hmm.” I lie all the way down next to her and fold my hands over my stomach. “No one knows how happy you made me today.” I look over at her and she’s shaking her head.
“Nope, that’s not gonna work. It can’t be about me.”
“OK, I have this adopted daughter—”
“Daughter?”
“Uh, yeah. I mean, she’s not my daughter, but I think of her as one. Felicity’s a senior in college. I adopted her when she was sixteen. So anyway, I hired my brother to hack her phone today so I can keep track of her.”
I look over at her and her mouth is gaping open. “Oh my God, that is so wrong.”
“I know. It’s a secret. You wanted one, so there. You got one. I’m spying on Felicity because I’m a controlling asshole who can’t let go. I wish she’d been mine from the beginning. It makes me sad to think that she had all those important moments in life and I missed them. I get torn up inside when I think about how many shitty birthdays she had before she came into my life. Or how many Christmases she had to endure with no family to love her.”
We sit there in silence for a few seconds and I wonder how she’ll take this.
“I think,” Grace says in a low whisper, “I think that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Good,” I say with genuine relief. “I’ve redeemed myself. I just hope Felicity doesn’t find out, she might not think it’s so sweet. Now,” I say getting to my feet, and then pulling her up as I sit in my chair. “Come back here and tell me about your day while I feed you.”
And she does. Pausing every few sentences to take in the food I feed her, but then picking up right where she left off after she swallows it down. I take that time to feed myself, cutting my own steak and enjoying her conversation as I listen with an attentive ear while I chew. And then I tell her about mine. About lunch with my agent. About production schedules, and other mundane things that people talk about at dinner. We trade off that way, her talking while I eat, me talking while she eats.
We’ve already found our stride.
By the time we’ve finished everything on the plate, she looks exhausted, but I don’t want to deny her dessert if she desires it, so I let her choose. “I have berries, sweets. Do you want some berries before you go to bed? Or are you too tired for dessert?”
She sighs as she looks at the door to the building. “I am tired, but I don’t want to go to bed just yet, so berries, please.”
“Here, come closer. Place your head on my thigh. Rest and let me feed you some raspberries.”
She does as I ask, situating herself snugly between my legs and placing her cheek on my thigh. I can feel her hot breath though my trousers and it’s turning me on again. But we’re done fucking. She’d be too tired to enjoy it properly.
I take a raspberry from the bowl and bring it to her nose, “They smell delicious, don’t they?”
She inhales and closes her eyes. “Mmmm, they really do.”
I place the berry against her lips but she does not open her mouth, so I trace the soft fruit along the thin line. The berry bruises easily and the juice bursts forth, staining her lips with a few drops before her tongue darts out and licks it off. I place the berry on her tongue and she closes her mouth, chewing slowly in a way that lets me know she’s enjoying herself.
“Are you happy with our evening, Grace? I don’t want to spoil this, but I want you to sign the papers tonight. I think this date sets our standard. If you agree, you can expect more nights like this. Although how often, that I can’t promise.”
I offer her another berry, but she tightens her lips and gives me a small shake of her head. Having her mouth in my lap, so close to my cock—well, that’s something I could get used to. And I have to admit, I haven’t gotten so much pleasure from a date in a very long time. Maybe ever. Tonight, after all the sexual frustrations were put behind us, we melded together like a key in a lock.
“I’ve had the best time tonight, Vaughn,” she says as she opens her eyes and gives me a smile. “Really. All of it was perfect. But I’m still not sure what you want from me.”
“This, Grace. Tonight. That’s what I want from you. Why is that so difficult?”
“It’s not what we’re doing that’s difficult. It’s how I feel about what we’re doing that’s difficult.”
“I understand. You might feel used, or degraded, or out of control. But you’re looking at it the wrong way. You just need to trust me to take care of you. Give in, let me lead, and I swear, I’ll make you happy. I’ll take you places beyond your wildest expectations. Both figuratively and literally. We can travel, if you want. We can stay here. You can come see me in LA. We can meet on Saint Thomas again. Whatever. All that is up for negotiation.”
She sighs and closes her eyes again, staying silent as she thinks things through. I play with her long golden hair, picking up the strands and letting them slip through my fingertips. I stroke her head a little, petting her like one might a small kitten. Her breathing deepens and for a moment I almost fear she’s fallen asleep.
“I’ll sign,” she finally says, easing my fears about slumber.
It’s almost unfair to ask her now. She’s too tired. But her capitulation elates me. I lean down and kiss her on the head and then send off a text as Grace resumes her silence in my lap. A few moments later the rooftop doors open and the notary steps into our magical world. Grace stiffens and begins to rise out from between my legs, but my hand, firm on her head, tells her to stay put. She’s either too tired to argue or is playing out her role as my sub. Either way, I’m happy when her cheek remains on my thigh as I talk.
“Grace, this contract”—I reach out and take it from the woman standing a few paces off—“states that everything we do together, from phone calls to text messages to Twitter conversations, every single interaction we have, is private and you agree not to discuss any of it with anyone unless given explicit permission to do so. Do you understand and agree?”
“Yes, Mr. Asher, I agree.”
“Good girl. Here you go, sweets. Sign your name and then Mrs. Lancaster will fill out her book and sign after you. May I send in a server to get your identification from your apartment, Grace? An ID must be presented to make the contract legal.”
She sighs again, but she agrees.
And fifteen minutes later, we have our documents. Two originals, both signed, both binding. I dismiss the notary and pet Grace’s hair again. “Are you ready for bed?”
“Yes,” she says sleepily. “I’m ready for bed.”
I scoop her up in my arms and carry her down the stairs. She’s fully asleep by the time I get her inside and strip off her bra and skirt. The new luxury sheets on her bed, along with the fluffy down comforter, envelop her in a puff of white cotton. I had a team of workers come in and transform her bedroom while we were on the roof, fucking and dining.
I kiss her on the head one more time and then pen her a quick note and leave it on her bedstand on top of her copy of the NDA.
I look at her one more time before I flick the lights off and make my way downstairs to the waiting limo that will take me down to the Centennial airport where my private jet awaits.
I’m not sure when I can come back, that note said. But I’ve taken liberties to ensure she’s well cared for in my absence.
I smile all the way to the airport. Grace Kinsella is mine.
All. Mine.
Chapter Thirty-Two - Grace
#Don’tWantToLoveHim
I WAIT for Vaughn’s footsteps to fade and the front door to close behind him before I let the tears stream down my face. This is a huge mistake, I already know it, and the ink isn’t even dry on that contract. This is a huge mistake because this night was perfect. This Vaughn Asher was the man of my dreams. Attentive, distant, rough, gentle, sexy, mundane, soft, hard, silent and talkative. He’s everything a girl loves and hates in a man, all wrapped up into one com
plete package. I loved our dinner. I loved him feeding me. I loved the sweet scent of that raspberry when he pressed it against my mouth, the way the flesh broke and the juice spilled out as he traced my lips. I loved the tender steak he placed on my tongue and the time he gave me to chew it completely before expecting me to talk. I love that he filled my chewing time in with talk of his own day.
And even though almost none of what he told me about production schedules and agent luncheons made any sense, I loved the tone of his voice and the laughter in his speech as he recalled it for me. I love that he listened to my day and even asked questions about the Big Guys. Not quite jealousy questions, but protective ones.
I love that he fucked me hard and soft. I love that rug he had me kneel on. The soft sheepskin was a delight on my weary legs. I want that sheepskin right now, and for half a second I contemplate going back upstairs to see if it’s still there.
I love Vaughn Asher.
I don’t want to, I really don’t. I want to convince myself he’s a selfish asshole who will use me up and throw me out. And he will, I know he will. He’s done it to every girl who came before me, and there have been a lot of those.
But I love him. I’ve been dreaming about him for years. I’ve had fantasy dates with him that didn’t even come close to the night he gave me this evening. And I’m hopeless. Hopelessly in love with a movie star who made me sign a contract to see him again.
The tears stream out now. Tears of contentment. Tears of joy. Tears of fear. Tears of shame. Tears of submission.
I cry long rivers of regret, but with every new breath, I am secretly thankful for my good fortune. I’m secretly thankful that I was the one Vaughn Asher chose to use this time. I’m beyond excited that I will be part of his life in this pathetic way.
I hate myself for it.
But I can’t say no. I’m a yes-girl and I want to say yes to him for everything. Yes, use me. Yes, fuck me. Yes, take whatever you want. I won’t be telling him no. I don’t have it in me to deny myself this chance at my fantasy, even though I know what’s coming.
