by Nora Flite
“I love how tight you are,” he said, his voice low and throaty. Over and over he caressed my clit, manipulating it and me until my pussy swallowed his fingers whole.
I threw back my head and moaned. I think it took him by surprise, how I came violently without much warning. He groaned, too, pressing his face to my chest as my body heaved and throbbed.
As the ecstasy ebbed, I kissed him so hungrily that I thought I'd bruise him. He eased his hand out of me, making me wince. Simon curled me against him, his chin on my scalp. We stayed like that, alone in my office, and lucky for that.
“Come on,” Simon said simply, finally letting my feet touch the ground again. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Gratefully, I took his hand. He grabbed his bike helmet under his elbow and together, we walked toward the door.
“You’re amazing,” I said softly, tracing the shape of his hand with mine. “And I don’t just mean the fingerfuck.” Simon chuckled. I laughed too, but I also shook my head.
“I’m serious! I can’t tell you how much your help meant to me.” I shut off the lights and we headed out toward the elevator. “Yesterday in the parking garage, too. You’re a lifesaver.”
When I glanced at Simon in the dim light, his expression was difficult to read. There was a drop of amusement there, but something else, too.
“Don’t grovel,” he told me. “You’re worth more than that, Tazzy.”
Red fuzzed over my cheeks, and for the first time with Simon, it wasn’t because he’d made me feel dirty. I almost couldn’t believe that this side of him existed. He was sweet, but not in a cloying way.
He bent me low and kissed me like we were long lost lovers, the force of his tongue sparking light all over my body. I was crushed in his arms but also somehow stronger than I had ever been. It was a kiss like no other—not like any that I’d shared with Simon before, but not like any I’d shared with anyone before him, either.
When we pulled away, the expression on his face was clouded and confused. I think the kiss had surprised him just as much as it surprised me. But Simon was, above all, a man of control. That look vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.
“I want to see you tomorrow night,” he said. “After all the work you’ve done, you deserve a night off.”
“Okay,” I said. My pulse was racing. My hands shook gently between us. Simon left me then, standing beside my sedan in that state of amazement. I watched him walk across the parking garage toward his sleek bike. He drove away without saying goodbye.
8
The next morning before work, I texted Simon my address. Normally, I would have added a bunch of eggplant and kissy emojis, but I kept it short-but-sweet for Simon. I didn’t want him to think I was treating this date lightly, because I wasn’t. In fact, after I hit “send,” I spent all day at work distracted again, obsessing over what I’d wear on our date that night.
I was still a little shaken up. Or maybe “shaken up” wasn’t the right term. Pleasantly surprised, really, by how unexpectedly helpful he was, and the gentle fervor of our parting kiss. It was like I was seeing his tough exterior peeled back to reveal the stand-up guy beneath. Still, I wasn’t sure if I was dressing for the bad boy or the gentleman.
So I called my friend Katie about it. We’d met in third grade, just after my parents’ divorce, and she had always kind of been my romantic guru. From explaining where babies came from to showing me how to take off my bra while still wearing my shirt, we’d been through it all together. I knew she’d be able to tell me exactly what to do to make Simon go crazy for me.
“Hey girl,” she said, as soon as she picked up. I flopped on the bed, still dressed in my bathrobe and fuzzy bunny slippers. I needed to get ready for work, but...
“Hey, long time no talk,” I replied.
Katie sighed, but it was a good-natured sigh. She’d been just as busy lately as I had, serving celebrity clientele at the wine bar she’d opened in the last year.
“I know, I know. It’s been sloshed sommeliers 24/7 lately for me. How about you, Razzmatazz?”
I sighed too. “Same old, at least at work. I’ve been killing myself over this presentation lately, but I think I’ve finally made a breakthrough.”
“Good. Maybe that awful boss of yours will finally recognize your brilliance and give you a raise.”
“Aw, he’s not that bad.” But my mind wasn’t really on Travis at all. I bit my lip, trying to figure out how to tell Katie about what had happened with me and Simon, and failing. I heard her snicker on the other end.
“Guy trouble?”
“How did you know?”
“C’mon, it’s the only time you’re ever at a loss for words.”
“Okay, okay, I need some advice. What do I wear on a date with a guy when our previous encounters were mostly in alleyways and public bathrooms?”
“ Damn! Seriously?”
“Yes, I’m serious! I think. Maybe. It’s for a bet.”
“Okay, this is weird as hell. Spill, Tazzy.”
So I did. I told Katie all about my deal with Riley and the stranger she’d helped me find on our website. I didn’t go into every detail, but I told her more than I had anyone so far, including Riley. Right down to those dirty panties that I’d finally taken off.
“But he says he wants a regular date with you?” she asked. I chewed my nail.
“That’s what he claims.”
My friend paused, calculating my next move in her head. “Okay, here’s what you do. Go classy. Sexy, but only a little sexy. Show him that you’re more than just a mall bathroom lay, for Christ’s sake, Tazzy.”
She laughed, and I did, too. It was all so absurd.
“Thanks, Katie,” I said to her, as I rose from my bed to get dressed.
“Anytime, Tazz,” she said.
With Katie’s advice, I decided to play it safe: standard date ware. Definitely no dirty panties, but some lacy boyshorts and a black lace bra. I didn’t want to come across as a total prude, after all.
That night, after work, I changed my dress about a dozen times before finally settling on a slinky black number with a lace shrug over it. Heels, too, but nothing too tall. I wanted to come across as desirable, but not too easy. Not for him.
It was only when I was fixing my hair and make-up that I realized that I wasn’t even thinking in terms of the bet anymore. Sure, it would have been nice to win nearly a grand and gloat about it a little, too. But suddenly, over the course of one night, Simon had gone from an infuriatingly pushy dillhole to something more in my mind. Someone who mattered.
I wanted him to like me. Not for the bet, but because I liked him.
It was a surprising revelation.
I put my make-up away and gave my reflection one last kiss in the mirror, doing my best to push all thoughts about what Simon might mean to me from my mind. I needed to be calm and collected for our date. For the sake of my own sanity. I needed to keep control.
Right on schedule, my apartment buzzer went off. I grabbed my clutch and ran down to meet him, ignoring the way that my heart was buzzing in my chest.
Simon hadn’t ridden his motorcycle to my house. Instead, he leaned against a vintage Aston Martin whose forest green surface gleamed in the moonlight. He looked different, cleaner with only a hint of an edge. Freshly shaven, his tousled hair arranged just-so. He wore a dark suit with a navy button-up beneath, but no tie. Fine, but not stuffy. Just the way I liked him. My pulse raced at the sight; he was breathtaking.
“Nice ride,” I said. He shrugged as he opened the door for me.
“It’s no Triumph,” he said, a hint of a smile curling his mouth. I felt a stab of guilt about the bet, which was at the back of my mind, even now. But Simon didn’t know about any of that. This was just an ordinary date to him—as ordinary as a date with Simon could get, at least. As he settled into the driver’s seat next to me, he let his hand caress my bare leg for just a moment. Shivers ran up and down my spine at his touch. Grinning, he moved h
is hand to the gearshift and took off.
We drove through the warm Venice evening together, windows down and the wind, sweet on our faces. I wasn’t sure what to say to him, but he didn’t seem to mind. It was like we didn’t need words to be comfortable with one another, and so Simon didn’t even reach for small talk. Instead, he fiddled with the radio dials and found a station that played experimental jazz.
His expression was serene as we drove to a posh beachside restaurant whose entrance was lit by tiki torches. He threw the valet his keys, then offered me his arm and took me inside. I could feel the heat of his body through the rich fabric of his suit, and the hard curves of every muscle beneath. Blushing, I leaned into him as we walked.
At the hostess’s station, Simon leaned over and whispered something to the girl behind the desk. Her eyes lit up, and she slipped away behind a black curtain. I wondered what kind of surprise Simon had in store for me. After a few minutes of waiting, my arms anxiously crossed in front of me, a big bellied chef, his apron all stained, his hat akimbo, came out to greet us.
“Simon!” he cried, embracing my date. And then, pulling back, the chef looked me up and down. “And who is this beauty?”
“This is Tazzy,” Simon said. The chef grabbed my hand and pressed a kiss on top of my knuckles. I couldn't hide my smile.
“A pleasure,” growled the chef happily. Simon laughed.
“No man-handling her, Guillermo.”
I blinked a few times. Guillermo Palomo. I knew I’d seen that smiling face somewhere before. He was the host of his own Food Channel show, a frequent contestant on Iron Chef: America. Late nights after work, I’d watched him dominate Masaharu Morimoto over and over again. Always in good spirits, of course.
“You’re famous,” I gasped. I’ve never been able to keep my cool over celebrities. Plus it was weird seeing him in person, big and jolly and a little bit greasy. Guillermo only chuckled at me and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Infamous is more like it, eh? But you’re the one who should really be on television. Look at that beautiful mug of yours.”
I glanced at Simon, who only smirked back. I felt giddy and little bit absurd. It felt like the longer I got to know him, the more surprises were revealed.
“How do you know Guillermo, Simon?”
He shrugged easily. “We did his marketing campaign when the restaurant opened. He was a real dick of a client.” Simon gave Guillermo a toothy smile. I could see that they were used to teasing one another like this—what’s a little good natured ribbing between friends?
Guillermo punched Simon in the shoulder. “Let’s not bring up old wounds. I’ll get you and your lady friend the best table in the house, yes?”
Simon smirked. “I expect nothing less.”
Ten minutes later, Guillermo had his staff clear off a table on a balcony overlooking the beach. He listed the specials off himself: zuppa Toscana, Chicken Piccato, Five Cheese Ziti Al Forno. The names all made my stomach growl, but I didn’t want to make a pig of myself.
“I don’t want anything too heavy . . .” I began. I wasn’t sure what we’d be doing later, what I’d be wearing—or how little. But Simon gestured to Guillermo, who bent over to let my date whisper in his ear.
“Ah, that’s just the thing, Simon,” he said. “And I take it the lady would like champagne as well?”
“The lady would,” he said. Simon always seemed to know exactly what I was craving.
Guillermo brought us a feast. Mussels marinara as an appetizer, crusty bread and olive oil for dipping, glass after glass of champagne. But my main course was the best surprise: a dish of gemelli with shrimp, arugula, and feta. Usually I’m not much of an arugula fan, but the way the flavors mixed was nothing short of incredible. I inhaled it.
“Nothing too heavy, hmm?” Simon asked, as he sliced into his filet mignon. I laughed lightly.
“This is incredible, Simon.” And it was. I was lightly buzzed and warm from all that garlic. In the distance, the ocean churned under a fat full moon. The night had taken on a magical quality, and it was all because of him. Simon. Sitting across from me, handsome as a magazine spread in that suit.
It looked like he was puzzling over something, his strong brow furrowed. In a soft voice, he said, “No, you are.”
I flushed, looking down at my plate.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Simon said, as the waiter returned to top off our champagne flutes. “I always think it’s a shame when a woman can’t appreciate a good piece of meat. What’s the point of living if you can’t eat good food?”
I smiled wistfully down at the filet. “I’m sure you’ve dated a lot of women who want to impress you,” I said. I wasn't trying to be jealous. It just came out.
Simon shrugged. “Maybe it’s insensitive of me. I can understand how hard it is to sell yourself, especially in today’s dating world. I mean, you know, you work for a dating website.”
“We’re not just a dating website,” I said quickly. The passion in my voice surprised me. I think it surprised Simon, too. He sat back in his seat, nodding at me to go on.
All of his attention was on me.
“You really want to know?”
“I want to know everything about you.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Hah. There's not a ton. I'm working for a company that's all about love, and if you knew me better, you'd know it was weird.”
“Tell me why it's weird.”
I shifted side to side, but the alcohol made my tongue loose. “I'm a cynic. Child of a divorce and everything.”
When I said that, something unreadable passed behind Simon’s serious gaze. Some flicker of emotion or sympathy. For a second, I wondered if I’d shared too much. The change in him was gone as soon as it appeared.
“Why work at Perfect Click, then?” he pressed.
“Well,” I sat back, smiling. I’d thought about this a lot over the years. “I guess part of me always hopes that love will win out in the end. If not for me, then for the people who use our site. And we’re incredibly good at what we do, if I do say so myself.”
“You are,” Simon said firmly. “I can tell.”
He leaned forward and took my hands in his. I felt like I was falling into his eyes, tumbling untethered through their depths. My heart was racing. I wondered if he could feel it. I’d never been looked at that way before—never felt like I’d been so well understood.
This can’t be happening, I told myself. This is only a bet. It isn’t real. Because the truth was, the scared little girl inside of me, the one whose parents had broken up and broken her heart, didn’t want it to happen. Not yet, not with Simon. If I fell for him, it meant that I wasn’t in control of my life. It meant that what I'd thought was love so many times before and shed so easily, so presumptuously, wasn't real. And it meant that this finally was... and that meant I could get hurt.
“So,” I said abruptly, pulling away. “Why are you in marketing?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “It’s simple,” he said, and then paused, as if he knew I was anticipating his answer. “I like making people feel things.”
Damn. Well, he sure was good at it. My heart did a little twirl. I took one last sip of my champagne, trying my best to deny that he was making me feel anything.
Simon only smiled. “What do you say we skip dessert?” he asked. “Get some fresh air instead?” His attention trailed out to the ocean, to the sand below.
I let out a sharp breath. “That sounds wonderful,” I told him.
If only I knew what was waiting for me on that beach.
9
Simon gave Guillermo another bear hug on the way out. I loved that he was so comfortable in his own skin that he had no problem showing affection for another man. I loved all of it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this way, or if I’d ever felt this way.
We took off our shoes. Simon draped his jacket over my shoulders, and together we went walking on the beach under the moonlight. I foun
d myself leaning in against him, craving the warmth of his body. Craving him.
I wanted to kiss him, to throw myself at him and fuck him senseless. But I still had my hesitations. It had only been a few days since I'd met Simon, and my fling was becoming something so much richer... but I didn't know how he felt. I didn't know if this was okay. And I didn’t want to ruin the moment. So instead, we walked.
“It must have embarrassed you,” he said, wrapping his arm around me, shielding me from the wind. I gazed up at his handsome face.
“What?”
“The video. Almost making you break your monitor. Embarrassing you at work.”
I was glad it was dark so that he couldn’t see my expression. I’d never lost my head like that. I’d always been cool, calm, in control—especially at work. I wasn’t used to throwing caution to the wind and risking my job for something as tiny as an orgasm.
“I was pretty mortified,” I admitted. I stopped in the sand to face him, letting the water lap around our bare feet. “Is that why you’re being so nice to me now? Why you gave me all that help with my project? And tonight, this dinner? Do you pity me?”
In the silver rays of moonlight, I could see something shifting about Simon’s expression. First he looked sad, but then something corroded behind his smoldering eyes. I’d seen him make this shift a few times already, going from caring to savage over the course of just a few seconds. But never so quickly.
“I don’t pity you. You’re an amazing woman, Tazzy,” he said, his voice husky. “But you shouldn’t trust me.”
The words slammed into me like a fist. I had trusted Simon’s generosity, his soothing presence. His cold reminder made me question why. This was the same guy who had commanded me to wear dirty panties and fucked me on a bathroom floor. I stared at him, trying to remind myself of why I was doing this.
The bet the bet the bet. I allowed the words to echo in my skull like a sacred mantra.
Nothing about this felt sacred, though.
Simon watched me like a sentinel in the shadows. A man I could never unmask, could never dream of understanding. I'd liked that he kept things interesting, but I didn't like his cryptic warning. Roll with it, I thought, clinging to the idea. A few more days of this, win the bet, then you can heed his warning. I needed to seem breezy in the face of his sudden change of heart.