by Lilly Black
“Then it is my loss,” he says staring into my eyes as he emphasizes each word. I can see how this routine could work for him. Ten days ago, it might have worked on me.
Both men stand up, and Mason gives Cain a handshake, pulling him in for a partial hug.
“Just friends, my ass, Ballantyne. I think she likes you,” Steel whispers loudly.
“It’s good to see you, man,” Cain says back. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Good to see you too,” Steel says, then he turns back to me, looking me up and down. “And it was very good to see you.” I smile and give him a slight wave, then he’s gone, the door closed behind him.
“I won’t stand in your way,” Cain says as he sits back down. He sounds like he’s joking, but I think he’s actually jealous.
“Cain Ballantyne, if a woman can resist you, resisting Mason Steel is child’s play,” I say.
“I’ll try not to read too much into that,” Cain says.
“I assumed that was the reason you put him up to coming onto me,” I say. Cain laughs incredulously.
“Mason came onto you because you’re a beautiful woman and he’s a dog.”
“But the way you thanked him when he left seemed like…” I stop midsentence, realizing that my paranoia is ridiculously unfounded.
“I thanked him for doing the show, not for coming up here, though I had planned to take you backstage. We can still go if you like.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve already been hit on by Mason Steel. It’s all downhill from here,” I tease. “Well, that is unless someone truly arranged this show just for me.”
“You heard Mason,” Cain says.
“I thought it was just a line,” I say. “How did you…are you and Mason Steel really friends?”
“Since high school.”
“So his accent is fake?”
“No. His family moved here from Sheffield sophomore year.”
“You went to high school together? Somehow I just can’t picture Mason Steel at La Jolla Rich Kid Prep,” I tease.
“Actually, I went to public high school.”
“Are you telling the truth or is this another case of borrowing a old Toyota to impress me?” I ask. Cain laughs.
“It was important to my father that we not be isolated from the real world.”
“Yet here you sit in this private box above the common, unwashed masses isolating yourself from the real world.”
“I’m isolating you…from people like Mason Steel,” he says.
“Yet you offered me to him, saying I’m not yours when only this morning, I received flowers with a poorly coded message that said the opposite. I don’t think you know what you want.”
“Little girl,” Cain begins, moving in close and speaking deliberately. “I know exactly what I want, but as long as you insist on continuing this charade, I will not claim you as mine again until you beg to hear those words from me.” I stare at him, stunned at how the same cocksure attitude that floods my mind with contempt floods my body with excitement as he leans back, a satisfied smirk on his face.
“I don’t beg,” I hiss.
“Not yet,” is all he says.
“Are you hungry?” Cain asks, abruptly changing the subject. “We may as well have dinner while we talk.”
“I am, but I don’t want to be in a restaurant right now. Can we just drive through somewhere or something?”
“We can stay here.”
“Aren’t they closing?”
“I can leave whenever I’m ready. What are you in the mood for?” Cain asks as he stands and draws the curtains at the front of the box. There are still stragglers down on the floor who haven’t accepted the waitress’ chant “you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
“Do you have a menu?”
“We don’t need a menu.”
Okay, then… I narrow my eyes. “Soft shell crab with Creole choron sauce.”
“What do you like with it?” Cain asks, unfazed.
“Surprise me,” I say, annoyed with myself for thinking I could stump him. I’m talking to a man who can get an internationally successful rock band here on a few hours notice. Soft shell crab after 10:00 pm on a Monday is nothing.
“Well. Let’s hear it,” Cain says after texting our order.
“Impatient, aren’t we?”
“I have shown boundless patience with you already,” he asserts, the heat in his eyes and the coldness of his tone a heady mix that makes me feel desired and dismissed in the same moment. There’s something about it that makes me want to please him, and there’s something about that that disturbs the fuck out of me. When I open my mouth to speak, no words come out, and seeing me struggle, Cain takes charge.
“I agreed to be your friend, Evan, and that’s just what I’m doing. I promised never to claim you again until you beg for it, and I will honor that to your own detriment. Now you want to remind me that although you are very much enjoying my company, I am to have no expectations of you. Does that about cover it?”
“Uh-huh,” I say meekly as he reads me like a book.
“I refuse. I do have expectations of you and will continue to have them. I expect you to be irrational. I expect you to be unreasonable. I expect you to be difficult, uncooperative, and a complete pain in my ass who fights me at every turn, but I also expect you to come around in the end, and when you do, I expect that any effort I’ve put into seducing you will have been well worth it.”
Wow! I’ve never seen anything like him. He’s condescending as fuck, yet he spins it so well, I sit here, feeling like I’ve been given the highest of compliments.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says after a moment, but he’s wrong. I just don’t know how to make him understand why I’m afraid without revealing too much because no matter what happens between us, I will ultimately lose him. I feel it. I know it. I expect it.
“Cain, there’s just…” I sigh. “There’s just no way this could possibly end well.”
“So who says it has to end?”
“Look, I want to be here with you right now, but I just can’t promise you anything more.”
“Then I’ll leave it all up to you,” he says. “In fact, as testament to my dedication to our friendship, I promise never to even kiss you unless you beg for it.”
“You seem awfully sure you can get me on my knees, Ballantyne,” I scoff.
“I can, and I will,” he says just before we hear a knock at the door, and the same tall, stunning brunette who parked Cain’s car earlier comes in wheeling a cart of covered dishes as if we’ve ordered room service from a luxury hotel.
“Thank you, Lucy,” Cain says as she steps back from the table when finished.
“Is there anything else, Mr. Ballantyne?” Lucy asks.
“Evan?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Call me if you need me,” Lucy says as she wheels the cart back out the door.
Cain opens a bottle of Riesling, pours two glasses, and we have a very enjoyable dinner followed by a rich chocolate crème brûlée that Lucy brings in right on time for dessert. Though Cain and I talk about various things, I am barely cognizant of the words coming out of my mouth as the sexual energy between us is so palpable that I need my focus almost entirely on resisting the urge to break my rules with him right here on this table. But wanting sex has never been my problem.
August 27
Last night I fell asleep before Nicole got home, but this morning when I tell her that Cain brought Sweet Mary to the Tor for me, she’s completely in awe of him. Then I tell her about Mason Steel’s visit to our private loge and what it was like when he sat opposite me, his legs spread in his tight jeans.
“Shut up!” she snaps.
“I swear I didn’t have the slightest urge. Maybe it was because he was all sweaty…”
“Or because he’s not Cain Ballantyne,” Nicole says. “The day before you met him, you would let Mason Steel do you on the bar at Prometheus,
and if nothing else, you would have gotten off on the fact that you were with the guy you’ve been fantasizing about for five years.”
“I do not fantasize about Mason Steel!” Really, I don’t. I think he’s sexy, but I don’t fantasize like that. It just makes me sad.
“Not anymore,” Nicole snipes. “Now you fantasize about Cain.”
“Do not!”
“You do, too, so when are you going to stop making him jump through hoops?”
“That’s pretty much what he said.”
“And don’t you think he might get tired of your rejection and move on?”
“I’m not rejecting him. I’m just afraid.”
“If you don’t give him a chance, you’ll never know.”
“I already know he seems way too good to be true.”
“He isn’t. I looked him up on the internet. He’s the most eligible bachelor in San Diego county.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes.
“I can show you if you want. His family is all over the society pages.”
“I doubt that. Cain went to public school. I think maybe he’s self-made.”
“You don’t really know anything about him, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“His mother’s family owns the AsgÃ¥rd Distillery. He was a trust fund kid who’s now loaded in his own right.”
“Well, that sucks!”
“How does that suck?” Nicole asks. Really? Do you know me at all?
“When he told me he went to public school last night, I started to think maybe he earned it all himself…”
“He did,” Nicole corrects me.
“Right, but he also comes from money. He can’t possibly understand where I’m coming from if he has never had a day in his life where he didn’t get exactly what he wanted handed to him on a silver platter.”
“Evan, he has had ten days where he didn’t get what he wanted since he met you,” Nicole reminds me, and that thought pleases me immensely.
August 27, Late Night
At work, time drags because I’m impatient for closing time to come. Cain is picking me up, and though I don’t know what plans he has for us starting after 2:00 am on a weeknight, I don’t care what we do as long as I get to be with him, breathe in his scent, and enjoy the guilty pleasure of his seduction as he pretends to be my friend. I’ve kept my phone with me all night so I’ll know immediately if he calls or texts, and finally, around 11:00 pm, I feel it vibrate inside my apron. I pull it out, excited to find that it’s a text from Cain, but his words take the wind right out of my sails.
Evan, an urgent business matter has come up, and I have to leave for Boston immediately. Sorry to cancel our plans on such short notice. I’ll to make it up to you when I get back on Thursday.
How the hell does “urgent” business just come up at this hour? And he just texted it, not even bothering to call me?
Whatever, I type, pissed, but before I hit send, it occurs to me that this is entirely my fault. Whether he really does have urgent business or he’s doing it just to make a point, as a friend, a text is all he owes me, and he didn’t even have to be apologetic about it. I wouldn’t expect more out of Nicole, would I? I decide to take my medicine, texting Cain to say that I understand.
I miss him already.
August 28
Wednesday. I had trouble sleeping last night, and now I’m depressed about having to face the better part of two days without Cain. To clear my head, I get up, throw on some workout clothes and head down to Pacific Beach for a run, and a few hours later, sweaty but otherwise unchanged, I come home to find a package waiting for me on the kitchen table. It’s addressed to Cain at his downtown apartment, and the return address says only XP, Inc.
“Some woman dropped it off,” Nicole says. “I think she was his chauffeur.”
“Was her name Lucy?” I ask, shaking the box.
“Dunno. Open it!” She hands me the scissors to cut through the packing tape, but just as I’m just about to, the phone rings. It’s Cain.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he echoes, and his voice just makes me melt. “Sorry about having to cancel.”
“It’s okay.”
“Listen, I’m about to go into a meeting, but I wanted to know if you have opened the package that Lucy delivered.”
“I was just getting ready to.”
“Don’t. She brought you the wrong box, but she should be there any minute with the right one.”
“So what’s in this one?” I ask.
“Nothing of interest to you,” Cain says.
“Is that your way of saying that it’s none of my business?”
“That’s my way of saying that you will find the other package much more appropriate, my friend…ah, Lucy’s out front. You get the door, and I’ll get to my meeting. I’ll talk to you soon, Evan.” He hangs up just as Lucy rings the bell with my gift.
“I am so sorry!” she says. “Thank God you hadn’t opened it.” I thank her, and she leaves me with a new box. This one is about the same size as the other, but there is no name on the return address. Excited, I open it to find the complete works of Sweet Mary, signed by all five members.
Received your gift, I text Cain. Thank you. It was very thoughtful.
Glad you liked it, Cain texts back. It makes me happy to know he’s texting me from his meeting, and for the rest of the day, I’m content. I miss him, but I know he’s thinking about me. I don’t even give the box from XP, Inc. a second thought until Nicole reminds me on the ride home, wondering why both Cain and Lucy made such a big deal about me not opening it.
I decide to look up XP, Inc. on the internet, and the first thing that comes up is an online store called eXtreme Playthings. Initially, I think it must be a coincidence, but according to the search engine, XP, Inc. is in Portland, Oregon like the return address on the box. I click the link, and…
Fuck. Me. eXtreme Playthings is an online adult store, and not just the kind that sells massage oils and vibrators. eXtreme Playthings is a place to buy S&M gear!
What the hell is Cain ordering from this place? I wonder, and when it hits me, it hits me like a ton of bricks. I grab my phone, furiously tapping out a text.
I looked up the company the wrong box came from, and now I see what you meant when you asked what it would take to break me. I will never bow down to any man, least of all some rich, playboy asshole! Fuck you, Cain Ballantyne! You can go straight to hell! I hit send, then I turn off my phone because I don’t give a fuck what he has to say for himself. There is no way in hell I will be made to crawl around naked on a leash or whatever women do for twisted fucks like him! Fuck that, and fuck him!
August 29
I wake up around noon Thursday, still seething from last night. When I turn on my phone, I find that I have several missed calls and a text message from Cain.
I don’t understand what you’re so upset about, he texted.
Fuck off, Cain, I respond and turn off my phone again. I don’t have to work tonight, and I sure as fuck don’t want to sit around talking on the phone to anyone when I am feeling like this. I don’t even want to talk to Nicole about it, and I hope to hell she hasn’t thought to look up XP, Inc.
When Nicole leaves for work in the early afternoon, I let her take the car because I have nowhere to go, and the second the front door closes behind her, that thought overwhelms me. Yesterday, I had Cain, and today I have nothing. I was right all along, and though what I really should feel right now is vindicated, I feel used and dirty. For once in my life I let myself believe that a man like Cain could see me as more than just a piece of ass, foolishly getting swept up in his clever, well-planned seduction, ignoring my instincts and that little voice inside my head who has protected me so well for so long, but now I see that not only am I just another prize to be won, he also wants to tie me up and beat me. I feel sick.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, then I sit down at my computer to catch up on some work
for my online classes. When the computer wakes up, the internet browser is still set on extremeplaythings.com, and just as I’m about to close it, I notice that at the bottom of the menu down one side of the screen, below all of the things that pissed me off and freaked me out are tabs for lingerie, lubes, toys, and erotic books. In a moment of uncertainty, I wonder if I have overreacted. What if that box just contained something innocuous? I click on the tab, and a page of subsections comes up. There are costumes, medical wear, PVC and vinyl, but most disconcerting is a tab labeled “sexy lingerie”. He shouldn’t be buying me lingerie, but as I look at that tab, I have a sinking feeling that I might have jumped to an eXtreme conclusion. Then I remember what Cain said Monday about wanting to see someone in black leather.
Trying to prove that the glass is half empty I click the “leather lingerie” tab instead, and what I find is not at all what I expected. Wearing the leather like a power suit, many of the women in these pictures are holding whips, and my interest is piqued. As I browse the site, I start to consider the possibilities, particularly the idea of being one of these strong, confident women I see wielding riding crops and other implements of discipline. I very much like the thought of a man at my mercy…a man like Cain Ballantyne maybe.
Which might be just what the arrogant son-of-a-bitch needs, I think with a wicked smile, and just as I decide to text Cain to let him know maybe I’m not so pissed anymore, I hear the doorbell.
I open the front door to find Cain standing there, looking down at me, his eyes blue in the afternoon sunlight, intense and boring through me. He steps inside, swinging the door shut behind him.
“Please,” he says, reaching out and touching my cheek lightly. “Please, Evan. Don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad,” I say.
“Then don’t be sad…or disappointed…or…”
“I’m not. I was, but I’m not anymore.” Cain’s expression melts into a smile.
“You could have told me that before I cancelled everything and flew back from the east coast.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I trail off deliberately because it’s a lie. I’m thrilled that he did that for me.
