by Hannah Ford
“Is that what you think I’m doing? Having my way?”
“Yes! You just ordered for me! When I specifically said I wasn’t going to be eating.”
“You need to eat, Charlotte,” Noah said. “You have a hectic schedule, what with working for Professor Worthington and going to school. Not to mention anything else you might get up to.” He grinned wickedly when he said this last part. “You need to keep your strength up.”
I twisted my napkin in my lap and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. How was it that he was always able to do this? Any situation, any time I had the upper hand, he was able to turn it around so that he was the one in control. Was it because deep down, I wanted him to be in control? Or was he able to do it because he was just so good at it? Was he playing me or was I letting myself be played?
My thoughts swirled and burned in my head, making me feel like I was going crazy. I felt my eyes fill with angry tears and I hated when I saw Noah notice them.
His face softened.
“I didn’t kill Katie,” he said.
“You keep saying you didn’t kill anyone,” I say. “And yet people keep ending up dead!”
“I know,” he said. “I know it doesn’t look good. But you said you trusted me.”
“That was before I found out you were fucking Katie. And that you lied to me about it?”
He frowned. “You found out what?”
“That you were having sex with Katie.”
“I wasn’t having sex with Katie.”
“I saw the emails, Noah. You gave Professor Worthington your password, remember?” I took a sip of water. “You can imagine how exciting and interesting it was, reading about how good you thought she was going to taste.”
A look of confusion clouded Noah’s face, and then he laughed. “Those emails? Charlotte, that’s what you’re upset about?” He shook his head. “Charlotte, those emails are nothing. Yes, Katie did try to start something up with me when she first started working for me. But I put a stop to it.”
“You put a stop to it by asking her how she tasted? That doesn’t sound like putting a stop to it, Noah.” I took another sip of water, hating the way I sounded. I sounded like a jealous girlfriend. The issue here wasn’t supposed to be whether or not Noah was fucking Katie. It was supposed to be whether or not he murdered her.
“I flirted with her a bit,” he said. “It was six months ago, Charlotte. And that’s as far as it got. A couple of dirty emails. If you’d kept reading the chain, you’d see that was it. It didn’t even span a week or even a few days. It was over in a couple of hours.”
I swallowed. “I’m not… you still lied.”
“You asked me if I had a relationship with her, and I said no. It was the truth.” He made a motion with his hand, like it was nothing, like he couldn’t believe I was getting so worked up over something so trivial.
“Stop doing that!” I said, pounding my hand down on the table. “Stop acting like anything I feel means nothing!”
I expected him to soften, to try and comfort me or convince me, but my words had the opposite effect. They seemed to make him angry.
“Is that what you think I’m doing, Charlotte?” he demanded. “You think I’m acting like how you feel means nothing? How do you think it makes me feel when you accuse me over and over again of lying to you? Why do you think I’m here right now, trying to convince you that I haven’t done anything wrong?”
“I think if you wanted to convince me, you could just tell me the truth.”
“I did just tell you the truth!” he said, his voice raising now. “I told you those were just some emails sent months ago, before I even knew you.”
“And the pictures of her in your file folder? How do you explain those?”
He sighed. “Those weren’t taken by me. They were taken by a private investigator who I hired to follow her.”
“And why were you following her?”
“Because I thought she was leaking information to someone on a case.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I thought she was giving the district attorney information about a client I was representing,” he said. “And I was having her followed to see if I could catch her.”
“And was she?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful!” I said. “Means, opportunity, and now motive.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“Do you see how this looks to me, Noah?” I asked. “Do you see how all of this looks? You keep everything inside, you keep everything secret and hidden. I’m a logical person, and when I start looking at everything logically, there’s really no way to believe anything else.”
“So you lied to me when you said you trusted me.”
“I want to trust you, Noah, but every single thing that happens points to you being a liar and probably a killer. So how can I?”
“That’s what trust is, Charlotte. Believing someone when the evidence points otherwise.”
“Yeah, well, do you see how hard that might be for me?” I asked, throwing my hands up in the air. “Do you see how that might not be that easy? And do you see how you might be making it even harder?”
He balled up his napkin and threw it onto the table. “I’m not making this easier for you? How do you think it felt, Charlotte, having to give my email passwords over to Worthington? How do you think it felt when Nora died? Do you think any of this has been easy for me, Charlotte? I’m doing the fucking best I can.”
His voice was laced with pain and anger, and I felt the emotions swirling around in my chest, threatening to take over the logical part of my brain, the part that was telling me I should walk out of here and never speak to him again.
“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t think this has been easy on you. I’m just trying to explain to you how I feel. And how would I have known any of that? About why you were following Katie? You don’t tell me anything, Noah. You don’t let me in.”
The waiter returned then, setting our food down in front of us. A perfectly cooked filet mignon with a skewer of shrimp drizzled with a rich lobster cream sauce. It was all expertly plated, the food arranged just so around a scoop of quinoa and kale salad. It was beautiful, and I had no appetite.
“Compliments of the owner,” the waiter said, pulling out an expensive-looking bottle of red and pouring Noah and me each a glass.
“Thank you, Graham,” Noah said, his voice even. I marveled at his ability to go from seemingly about to lose it to being calm and in control.
“See?” I pressed as soon as Graham was gone. “Do you see?”
“Do I see what, Charlotte?” He’d folded his hands in his lap, seemingly not hungry, either.
“Do you see how hard it becomes to believe you? You were just about to get upset, and then the waiter comes in and you’re somehow able to tamp that down, like it’s nothing.”
“And you think this makes me a killer?”
“I think it makes you a person who’s able to turn their emotions on and off.”
“And this makes me a bad person?”
“Stop trying to talk to me like a lawyer!” I said, balling my fists up in my lap and struggling to keep control of my emotions. I took a sip of the wine Graham had set in front of me, hoping it might take the edge off my nerves. It was smooth and crisp going down, and I took another big gulp, letting the alcohol warm me as it moved down my throat.
“Then stop interrogating me like one,” he said. He sighed and leaned forward. “Look, did you ever stop to think that maybe the fact that I’m able to hide my emotions isn’t some deep character flaw or personality disorder? That maybe it’s something I’ve had to learn to do to survive?”
“No!” I said. “No, I haven’t ever stopped to think about that, because you’ve never told me that. You’ve never told me anything.”
“And I explained to you why that is.”
“No, you haven’t.” My voice was rising, and I realized how ridiculously absurd it wa
s to be having a conversation like this in such a fancy restaurant, with a bottle of wine that probably cost more than my rent sitting in front of me, with a delicious meal set out in front of us. It was a perfect metaphor for what was going on between us – everything was supposed to be perfect, I wanted everything to be perfect, but everything was so broken beneath the surface that it was impossible.
“Yes, Charlotte, I have explained it to you. I’ve told you about my difficulties when it comes to getting close to people.”
“No.” I shook my head. “All you’ve said is that you have a hard time getting close to people, because you’ve lost people. You never told me how you lost people, or what happened to make you the way you are.”
His eyes blazed a warning to me across the table, telling me not to go there. I was pushing him, and he didn’t like it. But I was past the point of caring. Why should I have had to let my guard down with him, push all my barriers down sexually and emotionally, while he could just decide something was too much for him and shut me out?
“What happened to you when you were younger, Noah?” I asked. “What’s in your juvenile record?”
If he was surprised I knew about it, he didn’t show it. “I’m not discussing that, Charlotte.”
“Yes, you are!” I said. “You’re going to discuss it if you expect me to be able to help you.”
“You think I want your help? Like I’m so damaged that I need you to save me? You think I’m that fucked up, Charlotte?”
“No!” I said. “But I wouldn’t know, because you won’t tell me anything.”
“What do you want me to say?” he asked, pushing his chair back from the table angrily and jumping to his feet. “You want me to tell you what’s in that record? How I got arrested for assault when I was seventeen? How my father was beating my mother up so bad that I had to take a bat to his knees? That I broke the motherfucker’s knees, Charlotte, that he ended up in the hospital? That my mother and brother both turned on me, protected my father, said it wasn’t self-defense? Do you want to hear about that shit, Charlotte? Because I sure as fuck don’t want to talk about it.”
He grabbed the table and picked it up, then dropped it, slamming it against the floor angrily. Water sloshed out of his glass, and my wine tipped over, spilling all over the tablecloth, leaving an angry red stain.
But Noah didn’t stop. He picked up the table and dropped it again. And again. And again.
I flinched each time it hit the floor, flinched each time the sound echoed through the room. When he was done, he stood there, breathing heavily, and I could see the anguish in his eyes.
It was different than the other times he’d let his guard down in front of me. This was more raw, more real, the pain of a man who’d done his best to cover up his sins and bad memories at all costs.
“Noah,” I said. “I didn’t – ”
“Don’t,” he said. And then he was walking away from the table toward the back of the restaurant, disappearing down the hallway.
I sat there for a moment, not realizing I was crying until I felt a tear hit my lips and tasted the salt. I took in a shuddering breath, then stood up and moved toward the back hall.
There were two heavy oak doors off the corridor, one of them marked W and one marked M.
I stood in front of the men’s room and put my ear to the door. I could hear the faint sound of water running. I tried the knob, but it was locked.
I knocked. “Noah?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
There was no answer, and I knocked again, louder this time. “Noah!”
Still no answer.
The water shut off, but the door didn’t open.
“Please,” I called. “I’m sorry I pushed you.”
A second later, the knob turned, and Noah appeared. His eyes met mine, the two of us just staring at each other. I felt powerfully connected to him, even though we’d just had a fight, if you could even call it that.
He didn’t say anything, just stared at me.
I felt like I was hanging on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall off and head down into the canyon below. I felt like I could save myself if I just knew what to say.
You do know what to say.
I swallowed. “I need to be punished,” I said softly.
He raised his chin, his eyes questioning.
“I should have trusted you,” I said, reaching out and touching his arm softly. “I want to trust you.”
He opened the door and I slipped inside.
He shut the door and locked it, the click of the bolt echoing through the silent room. I thought of the waiters and waitresses out there, coming back to our table to see if we needed anything else. They’d find Noah and I gone, our table a mess of spilled wine and disheveled silverware.
They’ll know you’re in the bathroom with him.
I wondered if he’d brought other women in here, if the waiters and waitresses would be surprised to know what we were doing, or if they’d think it was normal.
But I took those thoughts and wrestled them to the ground, pushing them out of my mind. If I thought too hard about what I was doing, I wasn’t going to do it.
And I was sick of thinking. Right now all I wanted to do was feel.
Noah stood with his back to the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest. And then, suddenly, so quick I wasn’t even sure it was happening, he was on me, lifting me up and setting me down on the counter that ran the length of the room. He pushed his mouth into mine, his tongue entering my mouth, his hands grabbing at my hair.
He kissed me hungrily, his mouth searching, looking for answers neither one of us could give.
When he finally broke away, his eyes were blazing with determination and anger.
“Stand up,” he commanded.
I stood up and he ran his hands up under my sweater and over my breasts. He pulled my sweater up and over my head, then lowered his mouth to my neck. He kissed me softly, his tongue sliding over my collarbone and over my cleavage, moving down over my stomach until he got to the top of my jeans.
He undid the buttons, sliding the zipper down slowly, so slowly I was afraid he was going to stop. He pulled the denim off my legs, his hands stroking my skin as he went, leaving goose bumps in their wake.
When I was in just my bra and panties, he backed away from me, his eyes raking up my body. Then he grabbed me around the waist, pushed me up against the hard tile of the bathroom wall and kissed me again. His hands grabbed at my ass, his pelvis grinding into mine.
I could feel his cock, hard through his pants, and I pushed myself against him, rubbing his dick, feeling my panties get wet. The friction was almost too much to bear, and the feel of his tongue in my mouth and his hands on my ass while I dry fucked him almost made me come.
But he pulled away.
“Get on your knees,” he growled. He pulled his sweater over his head, tossed it on the ground.
I did as I was told.
“Look at me.”
I looked up at him, at that gorgeous body of his, toned pecs and washboard stomach and the planes of his body, all fit and lean and sexy as all hell. How do you exist? I wondered. How does someone as beautiful as you even exist?
He reached down, gathering my hair in his hands before yanking my head back roughly, his index finger trailing over my lips and into my mouth.
“Please,” I moaned.
“Please what?”
“Please, I want to suck your cock.” I went to grab for the front of his pants, but he pushed my hands away.
“Beg for it.”
“Please,” I said. “Please, I want your cock in my mouth, I want it in my face, I want to suck you.” The words were dirty and degrading, the kind of thing I never could have imagined myself saying. But now they were charged with meaning and excitement, and I wanted him so badly, I would have done anything he wanted.
“Stand up, Charlotte,” he said.
I stood up.
“Turn around.”
I turned around.
I turned around slower, letting him look at my body. This time, as I turned around, he reached out and slapped my ass. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small length of stretchy rope, his eyes glinting with desire.
“What is that?” I asked, my heart pounding with fear and arousal.
“Put your arms above your head,” he instructed, ignoring my question.
I hesitated for just a second, and was rewarded with another spank on my ass, this one harder than the last. My backside was sore from where he’d spanked me earlier, in his kitchen, and these new slaps stung even more. The pain pulsed through my flesh, swirling with my desire to create the most pleasurable sensation I’d ever felt in my life.
I put my hands over my head and he pushed his body up against mine and threaded the rope around my hands, twisting it around the hook on the back of the door.
When he was done, I was standing there in my bra and panties, my hands over my head, tied up and vulnerable. The rope was long enough that I could turn around, but I couldn’t do much else.
“Bend over,” he commanded.
I bent over.
“Stick your ass in the air,” Noah growled. I stuck my ass up in the air, felt his hand come out and caress it softly before pulling back and smacking it again. His hands gripped the top of my panties, pulling them down and ripping them off me.
“Spread your legs,” he growled.
I spread my legs and felt his fingers slide up against my pussy, stroking my clit softly. I bit my lip. I didn’t want to moan, didn’t want to make a sound, knowing that if I did, he would stop.
He pushed his body down onto mine, his fingers moving in and out of me, faster and faster until I felt like I was going to explode.
“Mmm,” I gasped before I could stop myself.
“Shhh, Charlotte,” he breathed into my ear. “Quiet. You don’t want them to hear us, do you?”
His tone was teasing, like he couldn’t care less if anyone caught us. And why would he? I would be the one to have something to be embarrassed about, tied up and exposed, letting Noah do what he wanted to me.
His fingers moved in and out, in and out, sliding faster and easier the more turned on I got.