All the Things We Need

by Megan Hart

  Now he was suffering the reception line of hand shaking and mazel tovs from everyone who’d come to the party at the hotel, which, despite my mother’s worries about her friends who wouldn’t drive on the Sabbath, turned out to be almost everyone except my father, as predicted.

  All that worry for nothing, but wasn’t that how it went? You worried and fretted and then it all turned out all right. If only all of life could go as well, I thought, but then pushed that from my mind.

  Now it was party time.

  I made it through the hora and one line dance and then a bunch of speeches, and a truly awful candle-lighting ceremony before I managed to escape to the bar just outside the ballroom. There wasn’t any booze being served at the party, but the bar was close enough to make it feel like I wasn’t bagging out of the party to get lit. Not that I was the only one—the entire area, open to the lobby, was filled with Bar Mitzvah guests grabbing a drink.

  And oh, there was Niall Black.

  “Ms. Klein,” he said from behind me, and I turned. He’d taken off his tie and had his jacket in one hand. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  I gave him just a touch of side-eye, thinking I’d have to holler at my brother later for not giving me a heads-up. “Hey.”

  Niall gestured toward the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “When a free glass of wine slaps you in the face,” I began.

  “You don’t say no,” Niall finished.

  I gave him an assessing look and took a seat at one of the chairs at the bar. “White, please.”

  He ordered a bottle of beer and settled next to me. “So…”

  “So,” I repeated.

  “So, it’s good to see you.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “You are…really…”

  “Intriguing? Talented? Clever? Handsome?”

  “Confusing, is what I was going to say.” I took the glass of wine from the bartender and sipped with an appreciative murmur. I could drink as much as I wanted; we’d all rented rooms here to visit with out-of-town guests and attend the brunch tomorrow morning.

  “Confusing. Huh.” He grinned, and damn it, he had a smile I found really hard to resist. “Do I want to ask you why you think I’m confusing?”

  “Probably not.”

  “You’re really not going to tell me?”

  I looked him over. “If I say no, I don’t want to, will you keep asking?”

  “Yeah, probably.” He grinned.

  I frowned. “Figures.”

  Niall’s grin faded a bit. “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” I said, “that like most men, you want what you want.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  I thought about that for a second. “Yes. I guess we all do.”

  “And you probably always get what you want,” Niall said.

  “When I can. Sure.” I lifted my wine toward him. “Cheers.”

  “So, tell me how it all works,” Niall said after we’d sat in slightly awkward silence for a few minutes. He took a long pull from his bottle of beer.

  I’d been waiting for the question. Under other circumstances, I’d have given him a cool smile and answered with a roll of my eyes, but what can I say? The wine was going to my head. Bar Mitzvahs made me emotional. And he was very, very cute.

  But he had blown me off, and that wasn’t something I could just ignore. I sipped from my glass and eyed him. “How what all works, exactly?”

  “The her on top stuff.”

  If I’d had any sense that he was asking for some sense of skeevy voyeurism I’d have shut him down immediately. Not that I had an issue with voyeurism—after all, far be it from me to judge anyone’s kinks. But I’d had my share of gross “wink wink nudge nudge” conversations with men who were secretly getting off on what I was telling them, and that was never okay with me, being the subject of some sort of underhanded beat-off material. I liked to be more in control than that.

  “You’ve never been with a woman who liked to be on top?”

  “Well…” Niall looked as though he were considering the idea. “Literally, sure. But not with the whips and leather and whatever.”

  I laughed, loud and long, turning heads.

  “What?” he said.

  “It’s not like that.” I shook my head and took a sip, letting the flavor of the good wine coat my tongue before I continued. “I mean, it can be like that, I guess. For people who like it that way.”

  “And you don’t?”

  I gave him a serious look. He seemed genuinely curious, so I gave him an honest answer. “No. Not really. I can play with the toys, sure, and the clothes can be fun. But overall? No. That’s not really what it’s about.”

  “So…what is it about? I just don’t get it.” He made a face. “What guy wants to be dominated?”

  “Lots of guys. Believe me.”

  He smiled, looking into my eyes. “Oh, you could make me believe it.”

  “Don’t flirt with me if you’re not ready to deal with the consequences,” I told him, putting the tiniest bit of edge in my voice, just to see what he’d do.

  Esteban’s gaze would’ve gone dark and shadowed; he likely would’ve shuddered a little, just enough for me to see. He would’ve made a small, low noise of arousal. His cock would’ve gotten hard, and I’d have known that, too.

  But Niall was not Esteban. He leaned closer, just enough to let his knee brush mine and his breath caress my cheek as he said into my ear, “Who says I’m not ready?”

  We were close enough to kiss, if I were the sort of woman to make out with a man I barely knew on a bar stool at a hotel bar during a Bar Mitzvah party. Instead, I let my cheek barely graze his before I pulled away and gestured at the bartender for two more drinks. Niall watched me for a second before sitting back.

  He watched me sign the tab with my room number before he said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “You can pay for them, if it really rubs you wrong. Or you could let that free beer slap you in the face,” I told him serenely and crossed my legs.

  His gaze flickered to the glimpse of thigh and stockings I’d given him, albeit not quite on purpose. “You’re not going to insist?”

  “You really do have it all wrong.” The wine I’d just finished was working to loosen my tongue.

  “You said that, but you haven’t told me what it is like.” Niall turned his bottle around and around on top of the bar. “So, tell me.”

  “You want to know why I think you’re confusing?”

  He blinked at the change of direction but said, “I do. Yeah.”

  I leaned toward him. “You took my picture home. You asked me out. We went out. Then you blew me off. Said you’d call and didn’t. Said you wanted to take me out. Didn’t.”

  “I…something came up,” he said lamely.

  I raised a brow.

  Niall looked shamefaced but didn’t say anything else. Around us, people laughed and chattered. On the dance floor not so far away in the ballroom, couples were getting down to The Electric Slide. Niall gestured toward the dance floor, a question in his eyes, but I shook my head.

  “But you could go out there. Find yourself some cute young thing as a partner.” I looked past him to the crowd beyond then met his eyes again. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  “You’re not keeping me from anything. I want to talk to you.”

  I laughed, and an uncommon flush of heat rose in my cheeks. I toyed with my wineglass and gave him a sideways glance, not certain why I found it suddenly difficult to meet his eyes. “Why?”

  “Because you’re beautiful,” Niall said simply. “And fascinating. And there’s nobody else in this place that I’d rather be sitting next to.”

  My stomach dropped like I’d crested the highe
st hill of a roller coaster and begun that throat-clogging plummet. I swallowed wine to keep myself from saying something stupid like “no, I’m not,” or “I’m sure there could be.” I gave my head the faintest shake, though. Not so much in denial or disbelief as a warning. I’d meant what I said about consequences, though he’d clearly disregarded me.

  “You want to know what it’s like, for me?”

  “Being a dominatrix? Yeah.”

  I didn’t laugh, though a small and somewhat indulgent smile tugged the corners of my mouth. “I’m not a dominatrix. That sounds like someone who does it professionally. Like a job. I am a dominant woman, but I don’t like the labels, and I don’t charge my lovers for my services, either.”

  “Lovers,” Niall said in a low voice, leaning close again. “I’ve never met a woman who called them that.”

  “Well. They weren’t boyfriends. What would I call them? What do you call women you slept with, but didn’t date?”

  Niall’s eyes went wide for a second before he laughed, startled. “I don’t… I guess I never… Flings? One-night stands?”

  “I’ve never had a one-night stand.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s because you’re too shy. Or reserved.”

  “No,” I told him, leaning closer to be sure he could feel the gust of my breath on his neck and ear. “No man I’ve ever taken to bed has been satisfied with just one time.”

  Again, we were close enough to kiss. This time, I didn’t pull back. Not right away. I breathed him in.

  “You smell delicious,” I said.

  “Don’t flirt with me unless you’re ready to deal with the consequences,” Niall said.

  There, right there, was when he had me.

  “Clever boy,” I murmured. “Who says I’m not ready?”

  Niall eased back on the bar stool and looked over his shoulder toward the lobby elevators. Then back at me. His smile, an invitation I discovered I wanted to take.

  I slipped off the bar stool and put my hand out. He took it automatically, which was what I’d expected. He might not be submissive, but he was a gentleman, I’d seen that already. I squeezed his fingers then leaned in once more to say into his ear, “Come dance with me.”

  * * *

  There’s a part of every wedding reception or Bar Mitzvah party where things start to go sideways. Sometimes it’s when Grandma gets a little out of control after too many gin and tonics, or that couple on the verge of breaking up decides now’s the time and place, or the bride’s brand-new mother-in-law loses her shit about that whore her son married. Most of the time, it’s just toward the end of the night when jackets and shoes have been tossed and people start getting down to the Chicken Dance because they’ve lost all sense of what constitutes appropriate dance-floor behavior.

  I love that part of the night.

  “C’mon,” I told Niall with my hand out for him to take. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  A lot, as it turned out. The DJ had started playing “Wobble” by V.I.C. just as we entered the ballroom, hard on the heels of “You Shook Me All Night Long,” so anyone who was going to dance was already on the parquet dance floor. The paid dancers who’d been showing everyone how to do the latest group dance now started putting people in lines to do the steps to this song. I already knew them, but seeing Niall jump in without hesitation, adding his own flair to the drops and turns, totally made my night. It wasn’t only that he knew how to do the dance, but also that he did it unapologetically, with enthusiasm. And style.

  Oh, I was a goner.

  The song ended with us both laughing. He pulled me into his arms as the music slowed a little. Not a slow song, thank goodness. This DJ knew what he was doing to keep the party hopping even as it was winding down. But slow enough that it felt okay for Niall to ease me a little closer.

  “Your grandma’s watching us,” he said into my ear before twirling me out and then in again.

  He dipped me, and I let him. “That’s not my grandma.”

  “She’s clearly someone’s grandma,” Niall whispered into my ear.

  “Then you’d better behave.”

  “If that’s what you really want. I thought maybe,” Niall said as he twirled me again, this time so that I ended up with my back against his chest, “you’d want me to be naughty so you could give me a spanking.”

  I turned to face him as the music ended so the DJ could make some announcements neither of us cared about. “If I thought you’d like it, I totally would.”

  “Who says I wouldn’t?”

  “Your eyes,” I told him.

  Niall looked faintly surprised. “Really?”

  “Yes.” As the DJ kept talking about wrapping up the party, Niall and I inched our way off the dance floor. “I might not always be able to tell when a man’s into it, but I sure can tell when he’s not. It’s all in the eyes.”

  “What do my eyes say?”

  I studied him. The lights were coming on, the party dispersing. My brother and sister-in-law, both looking exhausted, were standing near the gifts table. I knew I should offer to help them gather and clean, but frankly, that’s what they should be paying someone to do for them. I didn’t schlep boxes or bag up trash on my own account, and I wasn’t about to do it here.

  “You want to get out of here?” I asked him, pretending not to see Susan’s mother trying to catch my attention. No good could come from whatever that woman wanted. She made my mom seem like Mary Poppins. “We could go next door. Have a couple more drinks. Do a little more dancing.”

  Niall grinned. “Sure.”

  Before I could get roped into helping with anything more to do with my nephew’s grand event, I grabbed Niall by the hand, and we escaped the ballroom. The bar attached to the hotel had a reputation as being a little on the skeezy side—the hunting ground of businessmen and cougars. But the drinks were reasonably priced and on a Saturday night, there was a nice mix of live music and a DJ who played in between sets. Tonight’s band was a local favorite that played covers of everything from AC/DC to the Rolling Stones.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Niall asked. “Or do you want to dance?”

  The truth was, my feet were starting to hurt. I did love my high heels, but damn if they didn’t start to pinch a girl’s toes after a bit. I waved at one of the high-top tables that had opened up. “Can we sit for a bit?”

  “Drinks, then. Wine for you? Or something else?”

  I sat with a sigh at the relief of pressure on my toes. “Surprise me.”

  “Uh-oh. That’s never a good thing,” Niall said mock-solemnly. “When a woman says she wants to be surprised, it’s usually a test.”

  “Let’s see if you pass it, then.”

  Oh, the banter. It was like putting a match to a pile of dry leaves. I’ve always been a sucker for a man who can keep up with me, and so far, Niall Black had been doing an admirable job.

  He brought me back something in a squat glass, his drink matching. “Whiskey sour.”

  “On top of the wine? Are you trying to compromise me?” I took it, though.

  “Something tells me you’re not a woman who’s so easily compromised.”

  “You’re probably right.” We lifted our glasses to clink them.

  “You didn’t tell me what you meant. About the eyes.”

  I sipped the drink cautiously then licked my lips and enjoyed watching how his eyes followed the stroke of my tongue. “Mmm. Good choice.”

  “I passed?”

  “You passed,” I told him. I let my shoe dangle off my toe as I nudged his calf with my foot. Classic flirting move, no subtlety in it, even though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to fuck him or just fuck with him. The line was there, and I hadn’t yet crossed it. “As far as the thing about the eyes goes, it’s something I’m not sure I can really describe, especi
ally after a couple glasses of wine and now this.”

  “I really want to know,” Niall said.

  I gave him a curious look. “Why?”

  “Because I find you fascinating.”

  I didn’t have an answer for that right away—it seemed like a genuine comment, meant as a compliment, yet I couldn’t help feeling the tiniest bit like a museum display. “Kinky girl, circa 2014.” I should’ve been used to questions. People who don’t play the way I do seem to forget that sex is still private even when to them it seems as though what I like and do is exotic and somehow therefore open to examination. Be the light, I had to remind myself often enough. Educate people. Still, I am who I am in all ways, in all times, and I couldn’t help but give him an arched brow and a lift of my chin.

  “Complex equations are fascinating. So is art made by monkeys splashing dung. Fascinating is a word people use to describe things they’re not sure they like or understand but feel compelled to explore anyway.” I took another sip of my drink.

  Niall shook his head. “Wrong. I’m sure I like you.”

  “You barely know me, Niall.”

  He leaned a little closer. “I’m trying to get to know you, Elise. But you’re making it kind of hard.”

  We stared at each other across the small table while all around us the crowd laughed and danced and drank and flirted. At least I assumed that’s what everyone else was doing in that bar. All I could see, just then, was Niall.

  “You have this idea about me. About leather and latex and whips and chains. You probably got it from watching movies, not even necessarily porn, or from the media coverage of that popular book trend. You think that men who like to bend to the will of a woman are pussies or weak,” I told him. “So you make jokes to me about getting a spanking because that’s what you think you know, but here’s the thing. I’ve had lots of men joke with me about getting spanked, and the ones who really like it and want it, all of them, every single one of them, can’t stop from showing the truth in their eyes. It’s something really subtle, the faintest look, sometimes the way their pupils dilate or even how they might cut their gaze away, if they’re somehow ashamed of wanting it. But the eyes always give it away.”