by Karen Gordon
I’ve lost all interest in eating; he has my undivided attention now. “I fascinate you? Me?” I stutter with confusion. “Why?”
He chuckles like I’m missing something so obvious. He takes a sip of his beer and fiddles with a French fry for a moment before answering. He’s deliberately composing his answer which makes me think he’s still hiding something. “Did you ever meet someone who, I don’t know, just seems to show up out of nowhere and be exactly what you need?”
I hate how obtuse his answer is but I play along. I think of Danny and how I felt when I first met him. I was sure he was the man for me. “Yeah, but it turned out to be mostly in my head. I made him into someone I wanted him to be.” That might explain why Sebastian thinks I’m someone fascinating, he’s built me up to be someone I’m not.
He shrugs one shoulder and concedes. “That might be. I don’t know you very well.” He drinks more beer and eats the last few fries. I sit and wait and watch him. Finally he says. “I want to tell you something but I’m trying to figure out how to do it and keep someone else out of it.”
This is too easy. I can easily guess who he is trying to protect. “The married woman?”
He blanches at my direct reply but then admits, “Yeah, her.” He won’t look at directly at me (for once) so I know this is troubling him. “She and I have…well shit, I can’t figure out how to do this without telling you the whole story.”
“I won’t tell anyone. I’m the opposite of a gossip.” I assure him.
He looks at me closely again and says. “I believe you. You got too much going on to spend time tearing someone else down. I like that about you.”
Damn, he nailed me. I’ve always hated gossip and drama precisely because they are huge time wasters. I am too damn busy to waste my time, always have been. Maybe he does know me better than I thought. Maybe I am fascinating and perfect for him. I’m definitely interested in finding out.
✈ ✈ ✈
“So Celia, that’s her name, dates because her husband doesn’t have a lot of interest in sex, and Celia does. “He settles in his chair, ready for a long story, so I do the same. “I met her at a fundraiser and after talking over drinks she invited herself back to my place. I told her no. I don’t date married women. So she tells me about her arrangement, or at least part of it.”
“Part of it?” I latch on to what has to be a key point because he’s being obtuse again.
“Yeah, for a while we would meet up when I was in town which was great for me. Not a lot of women are ok with my crazy schedule. She would always tell me about how her husband has absolutely no interest in sex and how lonely she is. But after a while she starts talking about all the kinkier things she wants to try that he won’t.” He pauses to check my reaction. “TMI, I know, but this has a point, I swear.”
I nod, letting him know I’m still game to hear him out.
“She wants to try BDSM. You know what that is?”
I smile, thinking of the books I’ve read. “I think I do. I’ve read about it.”
“That’s probably how she learned about it too. So she insists we take a trip together to New York to go to a dungeon. There’s one here but she was too worried about being recognized. The place was, interesting, but I don’t know…just not for me.” He smiles at his memory. “She bought me these clothes, leather pants and a leather vest.” He shakes his head. “I felt like a circus freak. I just couldn’t take myself seriously in that get up.”
I smile too at the image of him in a Master costume.
“But it wasn’t a total bust, we talk to a bunch of people, learn stuff, try stuff. It turns out Celia likes pain. I don’t.”
“As in you don’t like to be whipped?” This conversation has definitely taken a turn for the weird.
“No, haven’t tried that. As in I didn’t like giving her pain. It definitely didn’t turn me on; in fact it bothered me.”
I nod, wanting him to go on. If nothing else comes of my time with him, I will definitely remember this story.
“But I did like having her submit—a lot.”
He leaves that hanging between us and waits for me to respond. I see where this whole story is going now.
“And you think that we…that I…would want to?” Now I think that he doesn’t know me at all. How could he get me so wrong?
He takes my hand and waits until I’m looking at him. He chooses his words carefully. “I think that you are an incredibly strong woman. You are competent and smart and successful.” I’m waiting for, “but”. I know it’s has to be coming. “You don’t let people help you easily. You really like to be in control. Am I right?”
Guilty on all counts. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“What I see in you is a woman who might really like letting go if she could just trust someone enough to try.”
This hits me hard. There is a part of me that gets sick and tired of having to be in control, always having to take charge if anything is going to get done and done right. The idea is interesting but seems so unrealistic. I can’t imagine anyone who I could trust to that level, even this beautiful man proposing it to me.
“What if I say no? What if I don’t want all that?” I research my options.
He pulls his hand away from mine and sits back in his chair. “Then I’ll help you with your step-mom tomorrow and tell you it was nice to have met you when you leave.”
Fuck, this is not good. I want to get to know him and have some fun. But what he’s proposing is intense, way more intense than I was looking for. I try to explain my perspective without making it sound like I just want a one-night stand. (Although that’s pretty close to the truth.) “As you know, I travel a lot for my job.”
He sits a little more forward, interested in what I have to say.
“And I’m not attracted to a lot of men. It’s pretty rare that someone catches my eye. So, when I met you, and was attracted to you…” I get quiet because it’s still hard to say this to his face. “I was hoping we could, you know, just have some fun while I’m here.”
I get a small smile in reply. Definitely not the hell, yes I was hoping for.
What he does say both disappoints me but makes me like him even more. “A few years ago I would have jumped at the chance. But now, I want more. I hate to bring her up again, but Celia was the first woman who tolerated my schedule enough for us to get past one-night-stand sex. It made me want more. I want to get to know someone, really get to know them. I want to build the kind of trust that lets some great power play happen. It takes things to a whole new level. Trust me.”
I see his point and I like it but I don’t see how this applies to me. “I travel as much as you do, when would we even be able to get together?”
“We’d have to make plans, but, it could work. You wouldn’t be sitting home, hating me for being gone so much.”
“Ok, that’s definitely true.”
“You fly. I fly. We could work this out.” He’s full of enthusiasm now and it’s contagious. I’m a little more interested but I can’t completely let go of my fear of being out of control. He pushes,“Will you try to trust me, just a little? I’m not asking for much right now. Earning your trust won’t be easy, I know that, but that’s what makes it so appealing. I want to work for it.”
“But what if I fail? What if I can’t do it?” I voice my biggest fear, that this will be a repeat of me and Danny. “What if I really am a control freak?”
He smiles at this and takes my hand again. “You are definitely not a freak. You are an amazingly-complicated challenge—one that I want to figure out because if I do, we’ll both win.”
Chapter Fifteen
So many voices in my head are telling me to say yes: Dom, Lucca, Annalize, Mikel. But are they stronger than my fear? Stronger than the voice that reminds me that I loathe giving up control, that my instinct will be to fight him the entire way?
“If I were to say yes, and that’s a big if, what would you want to do tonight?” I realize that even if I say
yes, this could be a one-time thing. I might not be able to give him what he wants.
He smiles and points out the irony of my question. “That’s just it. I can’t tell you. You would have to trust me.”
His last two words set off warning sirens. “But, aren’t we supposed to draw up some sort of a contract? I’ve read about this. There’s safe words and limits.” I want structure! And no surprises! I hate surprises.
He stands up and takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen. “I don’t have a contract. We can make a safe word but I don’t think you are going to need it, at least not tonight. You definitely won’t need to tell me your limits tonight.”
Ugh, I hate how he plays with me, won’t give a direct answer. He likes to keep me off balance, something I despise. I don’t see this working and I’m disappointed to my core. Why am I attracted to men who want to control me? It’s like I’m programmed for disaster.
He stands in front of me, deep into my personal space, and lords his height over me. I’m tall, but without shoes he has a good four or five inches on me. “What if I promised you that you would have fun?”
I have to look directly up at him to answer, definitely not a power position. He’s already playing the game. The question is, does he realize that I’m aware of it. I try to back up a little but the kitchen counter is directly behind me. I’m pinned. So do I look up like some forlorn child or just talk to his adam’s apple? I can’t help myself. I make an opposing move and look down and talk quietly to the floor, knowing he will have to strain to hear me. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
He moves in so we are hip to hip with my back against the counter then uses his hand to gently lift my chin. His slight smile tells me that he’s already enjoying the game. He likes the challenge. I guess I do too, but he has me cornered, physically and emotionally. Between my massive attraction for him and the gentle intimacy of his hand on my face, I’m turning to mush.
“Come on Vivienne, try this. Give it a chance.” He holds my gaze as he asks.
I swallow down the fear that is rising and shouting, no! I want to do this, but I don’t. “What do you want me to do?” The sentence sticks in my throat and comes out dry and breathy. My heart is pounding as he slowly slides his hands to my hips and squats slightly, then lifts me up so I’m sitting on the kitchen counter in front of him. That helped with the height difference which makes me smile. He smiles back, relieved that I seem to be enjoying this a little now.
His hands move slowly, so damn slowly that I feel the heat of their path as he moves them down my legs to my knees. He pushes them apart. His look makes this so much more sexual than it should be considering we are both completely dressed. When he says, “Legs open, and keep them that way,” my libido jolts. He just gave me an order and it turned me on. What the hell?
But I like it. He’s made sitting here talking to him feel dirty and sexy. He’s good. And now I’m dying to see what else he has up his sleeve.
✈ ✈ ✈
He convinced me to close my eyes and keep them closed until he tells me to open them. Ok, I’m game but I still ask him, “And if I don’t. Will you blindfold me?”
His tone tells me he likes my challenge. “I might.” I can hear him moving around the kitchen; drawers opening, the clink of silverware, a tearing sound that might be plastic wrap coming off something. I’m so tempted to peek but I don’t. I have to admit I am enjoying this. I tease him some more. “Is this where you tie me up or take me to your red room of pain?” The truth is I’m only half joking. I don’t think I could stand to be tied up.
He comes in close to answer and I can feel the heat of him. “Only if you ask me to.” This makes me laugh. I can feel his hands on my thighs through my jeans and it feels nice. I don’t want him to move away. “Why is that so funny? You might.”
I’m still smiling and I breathe out a chuckle. “Never going to happen.” I assure him.
He’s toying with me now, his cheek so close to mine I can feel movement as he speaks. “You doubt my skills? You will ask me to tie you up, wait and see.” I shake my head and still feel him just out of reach. I want him to touch me and he knows it. I consider leaning in to him but I’m sure he will pull farther away. He steps back but keeps talking to me as he moves around the small kitchen. “Of course, the question then will be if I will give in and do it for you.”
His cockiness is sexy and I hope that he can live up to his words. I can’t imagine trusting a man that much. It would definitely be miles from my current comfort zone. He uses the microwave then gets something else from the refrigerator. Then I’m pretty sure he’s standing in front of me but he’s far enough away that I can’t feel him. I reach out with my feet, and he corrects me. “Uh, uh, no touching. Only I touch you.”
I try not to get irritated but damn it, he’s not playing fair. I’ve been a good girl and played his game and kept my eyes shut. I should get a reward. I want a turn to be in charge. “I don’t like that part.” I tell him but still keep my eyes closed. I agreed to and I’m a woman of my word.
“Patience, chére.” Calling me dear in French definitely lessens the sting.
I figure I might as well tell him now. “Patience is not one of my virtues.”
“Really?” He’s mocking me. I guess he already knew.
The room now smells like dessert, specifically vanilla and something a little spicy. I hear a spoon scrape against a bowl and I anticipate him feeding me a bite of something. Only no food arrives. He’s chewing. And moaning at how good it is. The bastard!
I so want to open my eyes. I have to take a deep breath to steady my nerves. I want to ask him what he’s eating but that’s what I think he wants me to do. I’m playing that chess game in my head, trying to counter moves he hasn’t even made. I should stop and just go with the flow. Surely he won’t leave me like this for long. He takes another bite and makes more moaning noises. If I swing my foot out and kick him could I play it off as a twitch?
“Am I supposed to enjoy you being mean to me?” I finally ask.
“Am I being mean? Did you want some?” There’s a tiny bit of smugness in his voice that I hate. He thinks he’s winning. Can I let him?
No, I can’t. I don’t ask for a bite, letting him have the upper hand and control my food. Instead I start an argument of logic. “Of course I want some. That’s the whole point here, isn’t it? You torture me until I relent and I’m forced to ask you what it is and if I can have some.”
He takes another bite before he answers. “And that would be a bad thing? If you were to ask me for a bite?”
“In this game, yes.”
He’s quick to question me. “So if you don’t ask for a bite are you winning?”
“Yes. I’m not giving you what you want.” The whole argument is extra silly because I still have my eyes closed. I am a study in contradictions.
“Hmmm.” He thinks about my answer with a mouth full of whatever he’s eating. “But wouldn’t you be winning if you were getting some of this incredible bread pudding?” He takes another bite and talks through it. “With bourbon sauce.”
Nooo! I love bread pudding and now that I know what it is it smells extra good. Yes, I would be winning if I got some of it. But do I hate to give in to him more?
He prods me with another question. “What if I won by you having to ask and you won by then getting some?” He takes another bite. “Wouldn’t that be a win/win?”
He’s right. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I’m pissed because he’s smarter than me. Or at least he outsmarted me this time. He knows how to do this so much better than me. Just wait till I figure out my strategy.
“Vivienne.” He says my name softly and stops me mid mental rant. “I will not think any less of you if you have to ask me for something.” I can hear him set the bowl aside, which feels like he’s suspended the game so we can really talk. “In fact, knowing how independent you are, I would think more of you.”
That sucked the fun out of this. Shit just got r
eal—really real. I slump down some as the fight drains out of me. I blew it. I can’t do this. I let him down and me.
I hear the clink of the spoon when he picks the bowl up again. Then I smell the fabulous dessert right under my nose.
“Bite.” He commands, and I do. Oh god, it is good. I feel so much less defeated with this in my mouth. “Thank you for keeping your eyes closed.”
I have to laugh at myself, the fighter who follows all the rules. “I told you I would. I always keep my word.” He feeds me another bite and I let him. My eyes are still closed.
“I always keep mine too.” I get another bite from him. “Just so you know.”
✈ ✈ ✈
I keep my eyes closed and let him feed me the rest. I push the uncomfortable feeling of not being in control down by focusing on how much more intense the pudding tastes. “Nutmeg, raisins, vanilla, bourbon.” I’m guessing the ingredients. “But there’s something else. The bread is somehow different.”
“Yep.” I know we finished it when I hear the empty bowl clank on the counter next to me. “It’s Margs’s secret ingredient. Can’t tell you.”
I’m glad he won’t. It’s more proof that he can be trusted. He uses the pad of his thumb to brush the crumbs off my lips then slides his thumb into my mouth. I lick the sweetness from it, suck a little then bite down gently and hold it in my mouth with my teeth.
This makes him laugh. “How did I know you would bite back?” It’s like he wants me to push back. Like he would be disappointed if I just kowtowed and gave in.
I lick where I just bit and when he pulls his thumb out I say, “Just a nibble.” I start to open my eyes, assuming the game is over but he lightly kisses them closed again.
“Can you keep them closed a little longer?”
It’s much easier to say yes when he asks like that. “Sure.”
Again I hear him moving around the kitchen. Glassware clinks and I hope its cocktail time. I might get my wish. I hear liquid being poured. He supports the back of my neck with his hand as he places the cool glass to my lips and tips back. Mmmm, wine. It’s red, a smoky, intense red that goes really nicely with the sweet bread pudding.
