Dirty Deal

by Crystal Kaswell

  A sigh escapes my lips. Half irritated, half desperate. My body is buzzing, shaking. He needs to touch me. Now.

  "Please," I say.

  Nothing.

  I press my palms into the mirror, undoing the arch in my back.

  His fingertips brush my inner thighs. Barely. It's enough to send a wave of pleasure straight to my sex.

  He strokes my thighs a little harder. A little higher.

  I press my eyes closed, taking in every touch, every breath.

  His fingers brush my clit.

  Fuck.

  That feels so good.

  Want races through me. Yes. There.

  He brings one hand to my chest and toys with my nipples. I arch my back, pressing my crotch against his hand.

  A sigh of pleasure falls from my lips.

  My body is pure anticipation.

  My universe is pure anticipation.

  Blake draws circles around my nipples with his fingertips.

  His other hand strokes me. It's so soft I can barely feel it. But that only winds me tighter.

  A moan escapes my lips.

  He strokes me. Harder. Faster. Then it's perfect. Yes.

  I groan. It's too loud. But I don't care.

  I don't care about anything but his hands on my skin.

  I let my eyelids fall together.

  My teeth sink into my lip.

  He strokes me, faster, harder, more. An orgasm rises up inside me.

  Almost.

  There.

  The next flick of his fingers sends me over the edge.

  The pressure inside me unravels.

  It spreads to my fingers and toes.

  My world goes white. Nothing but pure, deep bliss.

  I blink my eyes open. I watch him watch me.

  He's intense. In control. Demanding.

  And satisfied.

  I can feel his cock against my ass.

  He's hard.

  But he's satisfied too.

  I… I don't quite understand.

  But I'm not complaining.

  I spend the afternoon in the makeup department, attempting to understand the YouTube tutorials that load on my phone. A salesgirl takes pity on me and teaches me how to do a full face.

  I even manage to recreate the look myself.

  Sort of.

  Even so, I make an appointment to come back for a proper lesson. With Lizzy. It's on an afternoon I know she's free.

  I meet Blake for dinner at Lotus Blossom, the restaurant that rejected my job application without a second glance.

  He makes a show of parading in front of the asshole manager who ignored me.

  The place is packed, but we get a table instantly. It's right by the window. With a gorgeous view of Fifth Avenue.

  The city is as beautiful as always. Blue bleeds into yellow and cream.

  Blake slides his arm around my waist. It's a protective gesture. Sweet, even. But is that for show? Or does he really want to keep me safe?

  I'm not sure.

  He pulls out my chair. "After you."

  I sit, fold my legs, press my palms into my chiffon dress. The pretty pink one. I feel like a fairytale princess in it.

  Blake takes his seat. Opens his menu. Takes a quick glance.

  I bury myself in mine. Anything to avoid conversation. I have no idea what I want to say to him. We've got nothing in common. But he's going to be my husband.

  It's weird.

  A waiter drops off water.

  I read the menu three times, give up on using it as a distraction, and down my entire glass instead.

  Blake's eyes find mine.

  I stare back. Try to force a smile. I want to get lost in his eyes. I want to go back to his place and fuck him senseless.

  "Kat."

  "Yes?"

  "This only works if we're honest with each other."

  "I'm honest."

  "You're annoyed."

  "I'm tired. Hungry. Wanting…" I clear my throat. "My sister hasn't answered any of my texts. I don't know where she is. Your assistant seems to think my hair isn't good enough, and my face is sticky from all this makeup."

  He nods like my complaints are reasonable.

  Maybe they are. I'm lucky, but I'm tired too.

  This is surreal.

  My new clothes are beautiful. I'm now the proud owner of a bunch of high-end makeup. And I'm dining with the sexiest man in the room.

  I fold my arms in my lap. "You like me all cleaned up?"

  "Yes, but I liked you before." He reaches across the table, offering his hand. "Look at me, Kat."

  "I am."

  "Like you love me."

  I draw a circle on his palms with my fingertips. Make my eyes as big as they'll get. Part my lips like I'm desperate to kiss him. "Like that?"

  "It's good. But I need more."

  I slide back into my chair, pulling my arms to my sides. Gaga couples can't be gaga all the time. Especially not when they're starving and waiting to order.

  People get into fights. Isn't the passion the whole appeal of a passionate love affair? Passion isn't just long, desperate kisses and bodies thrashing together in ecstasy. It's screaming and fighting and slapping too.

  "Kat."

  "Yes?"

  "Have you ever loved anyone?"

  "No. I already told you that." And he said my look was perfect. What's changed in the last week? I dig my nails into my thighs. "Maybe you should show me what you want."

  He slides out of his seat and kneels next to me.

  Heads turn.

  He is in the perfect position to propose. He lifts himself up, so he's a few inches from me. His eyes get wide, soft. His lips curl into a tiny smile.

  Warmth spreads through my body. It's not like before. It's not a desperate heat. It's in my chest, not between my legs.

  Blake takes my hand and rubs the pad of his thumb against the skin between my thumb and forefinger.

  I look away—this is too intimate—but he reaches for me.

  His fingertips graze my cheek. It's a feather-light touch.

  It makes me warm everywhere.

  It makes me dizzy.

  It's bright in here. Loud. But, somehow, I can't hear or see anything except him. I can't help but stare into his eyes. That look is pure affection. It's love. I almost believe it. No, not almost.

  I do believe it. Warmth swims to my stomach and cheeks. He loves me.

  But he doesn't.

  This is all pretend.

  He leans closer. Closer.

  His lips are an inch from mine. It's not like before. It's not carnal.

  It's sweet.

  His hands slide into my hair. My eyes flutter closed. I forget everything except the feeling of Blake's lips.

  They're soft. Sweet. With the faint taste of lemon.

  He pulls back and brings his mouth to my ear. "It's pretend, Kat. It's all pretend."

  I nod like I believe him. "I know."

  "Can you do that?"

  I don't know. But I already agreed to it. I nod.

  He shifts back to his seat. His eyes stay glued to mine. "Good."

  "What?"

  "The way you're looking at me. I believe you."

  "Oh, yeah, of course." I press my palms against the chiffon, but the fabric does nothing to absorb the sweat. We nearly had sex in a dressing room. I shouldn't be nervous over a kiss and a few sweet glances.

  But I am.

  I am staring at him like I love him.

  And I'm going to keep doing it without falling in love with him.

  Somehow.

  Chapter 7

  The limo ride back to Blake's place is slow and not at all fun.

  He quizzes me on the biographic details of his life. It's not personal. It's facts, plain and simple.

  His father died when Blake was fourteen, he went to Columbia at sixteen on a scholarship he didn't need, he graduated at nineteen. His company was up and running by the time he could drink legally in New York State.


  It's like reading a Wikipedia entry. Even when he tells me about his hobbies, he lists then without tone or joy.

  Blake plays chess and watches sci-fi films, but they don't seem to make him happy. Is Blake ever happy? I don't know.

  He claims he loves his daily workouts.

  That he gets all the satisfaction he needs from work.

  That he takes great pleasure in cooking elaborate dinners in his free time.

  But I'm not sure I believe it.

  Blake never looks happy. Not with me.

  By the time we arrive at his building, I'm grieving for the loss of joy in his life.

  I've had it hard the last few years. But I do find pockets of happiness. Brunch with Lizzy. A great graphic novel. Running around city streets. Catching snow on my tongue. Lingering under the cherry trees. Sketching.

  He leads me through his building's sleek lobby. Straight to the shiny silver elevator in the back.

  He hits the penthouse button.

  The doors slide together.

  The elevator moves slowly. There isn't enough space in here for how much I want him. It's sucking up every ounce of oxygen.

  Finally, the doors slide open.

  We move through the hallway. He pulls out a key, unlocks his apartment door, and holds it open for me.

  "Thank you." I step inside.

  It's huge.

  Four times the size of our place. It reeks of money.

  Hardwood floors. Black leather couch, stainless steel appliances, thick oak table, floor-to-ceiling windows.

  There's a balcony. An enormous balcony overlooking the park. I move towards it without thinking.

  "Careful," he says. "It's cold out."

  Somehow, Blake beats me to the sliding door. He pulls it open. Cold air rushes inside.

  My dress blows in the wind. It would be gorgeous in a panel—a girl alone on the balcony. Or a girl with a beautiful man, her dress blowing behind her, his hand under her chin, his eyes on her.

  Like he loves her.

  Like she loves him.

  But that part is fake.

  Blake reaches up to turn the heating lamp on. It glows bright orange.

  I move towards the edge of the balcony. The railing is cold against my hands. Against my waist.

  I peer over the edge.

  That's a long way down.

  My knees wobble. His hands go right to my sides.

  He pulls me backwards. "Careful."

  "Girl overboard. That would raise your insurance. And the whole death could be an accident or suicide or homicide thing." His swanky pad would be perfect on an episode of Law & Order. The setup is classic. The rich guy who always gets what he wants. The pretty young woman found dead in a cocktail dress and heels. A wisecrack about an unfortunate ending to a party. Hell, it writes itself.

  His hands dig into my sides. "I'd hate to lose you."

  "Because I'm useful?"

  His hands slide down my hips, all the way to the hem of my dress. "Because I'd hate to lose you." His fingers skim the outside of my thigh. "You can admit you're nervous."

  "I'm just kidding."

  He drags his fingers up my thigh, until they reach the outside of my panties. "You're scared."

  My eyelids press together.

  The wind rushes around me. It blows my hair in every direction.

  Yes, I'm scared.

  But it's not the sex that scares me.

  It's everything else.

  The possibility of falling in love with him. Of losing track of what's pretend and what's real.

  Of him breaking my heart.

  "Kat?"

  "A little."

  He drags his lips over my neck. Slides his hand under my dress. His fingers dig into the straps of my thong. "Have you ever heard of a safeword?"

  "Yes. Do we really need that?" Is it getting that intense? I'm not sure if I can handle anything intense enough to require a safeword.

  "It never hurts." His breath warms my earlobe. "I'm going to make you feel so much that you're going to want to scream no, I can't take any more."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I've done this before."

  I can't argue with that. And it never hurts to be cautious. "Okay."

  "How about chess?"

  I can't help but laugh. "Chess?"

  "Yes."

  "Because it's the only thing you do besides work?"

  "Because it's easy to remember and hard to confuse." His fingertips graze my neck. "Do you have another word in mind?"

  "No, I guess chess is fine."

  "Good." He brings one hand to my hip. The other goes to my lower back.

  His fingers close around my zipper.

  Slowly, he undoes my dress and pushes it off my shoulders.

  Cold air hits my skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat racing through me. I'm on display for anyone on a nearby balcony. Anyone at the park.

  For him.

  The thought makes me hotter.

  There's a power in being looked at. I never noticed it before. But I can feel Blake's gaze on my skin. Even with him behind me.

  He unhooks my bra and tosses it aside.

  He slides his hand over my chest, cupping my breast and rubbing his thumb against my nipple.

  Mmm. He's way too good at this.

  I lick my lips. Tilt my head. Press my neck against his mouth.

  He scrapes his teeth against my skin. It's soft. A tiny burst of pain. But that only wakes up my nerves. It makes everything sharper.

  Blake lets out a low grunt as his hands find the edges of my panties. He bends to slide them to my ankles.

  I step out of them. Somehow, I stay upright. These heels are sturdy. Comfortable even.

  "I'm in charge now, Kat. All you need to do is feel."

  My sex tightens. My body gets light.

  The thought of giving up control terrifies me.

  And thrills me.

  I… I don't know if I can do this.

  But I want it so badly.

  It's on my tongue. Chess.

  It's a strange thought. And a strange word. But I can't give up now. I have to do this. I want to.

  "I… what if I can't handle it?" I ask.

  "You can."

  I don't know why, but I believe him.

  "Do you want me to fuck you?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you trust me with your body?"

  I don't know. "I think so."

  "Then listen. And breathe. Okay?"

  I nod. I can do that. Probably.

  His hand slides around my waist. "Come with me."

  I follow him inside.

  He closes the door behind us. Stops. Stares at me like I'm a painting hanging in a museum.

  He studies every inch of my body with wide-eyed appreciation.

  I've never felt particularly beautiful or desirable.

  But I do right now.

  Right now, I feel like the most beautiful woman in the universe.

  His gaze meets mine. "Are you on birth control?"

  "No," I say. "I don't date."

  "I'll make you an appointment."

  "I can handle it."

  "I'm clean. I'll send you the test results if you'd like."

  "Okay."

  He leads me into a bedroom.

  It can't be his. Everything is too clean, too warm, too feminine. The bed is dressed in white cotton sheets. A chiffon curtain covers the window. It's the same pale pink as my dress.

  Blake opens the drawer and pulls out a condom. "Sit on the bed."

  My head thinks up all sorts of objections, but my body cuts through every one of them.

  His voice gets low. Rough. "Now."

  I plant my ass on the bed. It's firm. An expensive foam mattress.

  Palms flat behind me, I lean back.

  Blake's brows raise. His gaze moves over me slowly.

  "You're fucking gorgeous." He reaches into the dresser and pulls out something black. "You own my thoughts, Kat."


  "I do?"

  He nods. "I keep drifting off during meetings. Thinking about splitting you in half when I should be thinking about numbers. It's a disease, but I don't want a cure." He shuts the dresser drawer. "Lie down, arms above your head."

  The expression in his eyes commands me.

  I obey immediately.

  I shift onto my back and lift my arms.

  He shifts onto the bed. His knees plant outside my thighs. His crotch presses against mine.

  It's not enough.

  I need more of him.

  Blake reaches for my hands and ties a black rope around them. Then he ties the rope to the railing of the headboard.

  He tests the strength of the knot. "Okay?"

  I nod.

  "What's the safeword?"

  "Chess."

  "Good."

  He slides his jacket off his shoulders. Then the tie.

  I shift back, testing my mobility. My legs are free. I can do whatever I want with them.

  But my arms are in place.

  I'm at his mercy.

  It's equal parts scary and intoxicating.

  I can't see him from this position, but I can feel him.

  The warmth of his body. The weight of him shifting the bed. The sound of his breath.

  Buttons undo. Then a zipper. Pants hit the ground.

  He comes into view. One hand plants outside my shoulder. The other brushes hair behind my ear.

  His eyes lock with mine.

  It's sweet.

  Caring.

  Then his eyelids are pressing together and his lips are on mine.

  He tastes so good.

  Desire collects between my legs. He's been teasing me all day, offering this all day.

  I need him to make good on his word.

  I need him. Period.

  His hands slide down my chest. His thumbs brush my nipples. Then he's dragging his hands lower.

  Below my belly button.

  His lips follow his hands' path.

  He kisses my neck. My chest. My stomach.

  Lower.

  Lower.

  Almost.

  My breath catches in my throat. No one has ever been this close to me. I don't know how it's supposed to feel. If I'm doing everything right.

  His fingers curl into my thighs.

  He pins my legs to the bed. "You smell fucking amazing." His voice is a low growl. It's raw. Animal.

  It's the complete opposite of the Blake I know. That guy is an uptight suit. This one is completely undone.

  My body relaxes as he groans against my thigh. He wants this too. He must. He has me tied up. He has me under his control.