by Becky Turner
“Well, see now, that’s your first problem…”
For the rest of the night, at least until dessert, David counseled me. He gave me advice that made sense – even if I still had my reservations, everything he said did make a world of good sense. He told me how I could cut costs on food, on staff, on drinks. Even on electricity.
I listened eagerly, wanting to put every one of his suggestions into play immediately. Every time we talked about a new strategy, though, there was the lingering doubt in my mind. What if he was totally playing me? Finally, I had to ask.
“Why are you doing this?” I was leaning back, stuffed to the gills after a three-course meal. The food had been divine; easily the best food I’d ever had in my life. Every dish had an Italian name that I could never hope to learn to pronounce, and each was better than the last. And there was still dessert.
David was sitting with his hands folded under his chin, staring at me. He seemed to be thinking very carefully about his answer.
“Because I like you,” he said finally. I chuckled; I’d gone easy on the whiskey during the meal, but I’d helped myself to some generous swigs as well and was feeling much more relaxed than I had before.
“You like me? As what, like, little orphan Annie?” David cracked the slightest hint of a grin; it made me feel inexplicably warm inside. I blamed it on the whiskey.
“Try Cinderella,” he said, finally smiling. It was the first time I’d seen him actually smile, and I have to admit it made his stark, Adonis-like face even more handsome. I could feel my heart beat increase ever so slightly.
“Oh, and you’re Prince Charming? Uhm, nu-uh. You might be a Daddy Morebucks, but you’re no Prince Charming,” I said, leaning forward and taking another sip of whiskey. Across from me, David leaned back and squinted, as though he were studying me.
“Three boyfriends,” he said, out of nowhere. I cocked my head and gave him an inquiring glance.
“You’ve had three boyfriends. One in your early years, who didn’t last. A long-term beau in high school. And one bad-boy townie after high school,” David said, taking a sip of whiskey himself. My jaw dropped.
“How did you know?” I said. “Did you…did you like…hire a private investigator on me?”
“No need to. You live in New York City, you get to know people. And when you get to my level in the city, you get to know everyone. Sometimes, better than they know themselves.”
My head was swimming: from the whiskey, sure, but also from the way that David did really seem to know me. The conversation had been easy with him all night, and I realized how far I’d let my guard down. Part of me tried to build up that wall I’d had before getting in the limo; another part of me wanted to keep it down. To see what would happen.
David leaned across the table, his blue eyes locked on mine. Subconsciously mirroring him, I leaned in as well.
“Jenny Pitch, you want something you don’t know you want,” he said in a near-whisper. Intrigued, I leaned in further. His face was very close to mine, now, and I could almost feel his breath in my ear as his voice lowered to a whisper. “You want someone to tell you what to do. You want someone who will give you directions. You want a man to dominate you.”
My eyes grew wider as he whispered, and my heart pounded. I was of two minds; there was a part of me that protested with every fiber of my being, that declared my strength and independence and recoiled at every word he was saying. Then there was a part that agreed with him, entirely. And that part was currently very, very interested in hearing more.
In fact, that part was so interested in hearing more that it was causing me to shiver and clench my legs together, feeling his breath circling around my ear. The part of me that agreed was causing me to feel a growing wetness between my legs, and I became painfully aware that my nipples were hardening underneath my dress. I wanted to pull away, to slap him across the face, to demand he take me home. Instead, I leaned in closer.
To my mutual dismay and relief, he pulled away. Behind me, I heard the butler approaching. As I leaned back, acutely aware of the deep flush in my cheeks, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from David’s. The butler set two plates of what seemed to be elaborate brownies in front of us, with flourish. Breaking contact, David began to eat.
I couldn’t stop looking at him. No one had ever spoken to me that way, or made me feel that way. He couldn’t be right, could he? There was no way that he could know anything about me – at least, not things like that. Especially things like that. Things that I didn’t even know about myself…
But no, because to say that would mean that those things were true. Which they weren’t. They absolutely weren’t true. I was a strong, independent woman. I didn’t want to be dominated by anyone. I was so lost in thought that when David finally spoke again, I nearly jumped out of my seat.
“Wanting those things doesn’t mean that you aren’t also strong and independent,” he said, before spooning some more chocolate into his mouth. “It’s delicious, eat it.”
Without even thinking, I did. And it was delicious. But after a few bites I had to put it down; I was too shaken, too unnerved. I realized the only reason I’d started eating was because he had told me to. The thought made me a little bit sick, but it also ignited some of those feelings I’d just been experiencing. I blushed even harder.
“And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s beautiful and…full of possibility,” he said, seeming to choose his words carefully. I could only stare at him like a deer in the headlights from across the table. He had polished off the last of the chocolate and finally met my stare. When he did, it was all I could do not to drop my own gaze. The intensity of his eyes on mine was almost more than I could bear in that moment.
“I…I don’t know if…I mean, I’m not…” I stuttered, trying to find the right words to express just how I felt, which was confused and turned on and disgusted and scared. As I struggled to speak, David suddenly rose from his chair and walked around the table. I followed him with my eyes until he disappeared behind me, but I could feel his presence, his towering height, as he stood behind my chair.
My breathing, I knew, was heavy, and my heart pounded in my chest. David placed his hands on my chest and I felt my stomach constrict in a mixture of desire and revolt. He began kneading my shoulders, pressing against them tightly, and despite myself I felt my muscles relaxing underneath him. I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy the feeling, allowed myself to get lost in the warm glow of the whiskey and the food and his touch.
I realized his hands were slowly moving lower, tracing my collarbone and approaching the hem of my dress. He slipped his hands further down, underneath the tight fabric of my dress, and I felt them caress my breasts from behind. The feeling was wrong but right at the same time; struggling to fight off my desire, I tried to protest.
“Wait, David, no…” I murmured, fully aware of just how unconvincing I sounded. His hands were gentle against the soft flesh of my breasts, and he grazed my nipples with his fingers, making my heart pound even harder as a flush ran through my body.
He fingered my nipples tenderly, just barely tweaking them, making me shudder. He twisted them slightly, applying more pressure, sending a slight jolt of pain throughout my body that mixed with my pleasure to create a sensation I’d never even known existed. I almost cried out when I felt him remove his hands, sliding them slowly out of my dress and back to my shoulders.
I felt him lean over, smelled his cologne as his lips just grazed my earlobe. I let out a low hum as the sensation tickled all the nerves in my body; his hot breath against my neck was like a breeze of electric pleasure. He licked gingerly at my earlobe, sucking it in gently. I rolled my head on my neck automatically, relishing the feeling.
I could feel my pussy growing slightly moist in my panties and fidgeted, clenching my thighs together in an effort to quash the desire that was starting to throb in my pussy. It only magnified the feeling, pressing against my clit and making it pulse.
“You’re not quite ready, M
s. Pitch. I’ll wait for you,” David whispered into my ear. I moaned as I felt him pull away. I looked up at him in a state of utter confusion and desire. How could I be feeling this way about someone I just met? Not only someone I just met, but someone who, up until a few hours ago, had only managed to frustrate and annoy me? This rich, strong stranger who thought he could get whatever he wanted…and yet, here I was, willing to give it to him.
David reappeared in my line of vision, moving around the table to take his seat. I could only stare at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He settled into his chair and crossed his legs.
“Ms. Pitch, I want you. I want you deeply. I have wanted you since I first looked at you. And I am a man who gets what he wants. But I want you to come to me. And you will. I ensure you, you will. Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not for weeks. But I will have you, Ms. Pitch. Little by little, I will make you mine,” he said, staring deep into my eyes, hypnotizing me with that stare. My heart felt like it was beating at an irregular pace, caught between my desire for him and my growing outrage at what he was saying.
“You don’t even know me,” I finally managed to say, my tone harsh. As my desire waned, my anger grew. I saw a hint of a smile playing on his lips; it made me want to slap him. Never mind the buzz he had left me with playing with my breasts, I couldn’t believe anyone would have the gall to treat me like that.
“Perhaps not. We’ll see, won’t we, Ms. Pitch?” He said, staring into my eyes. I noticed over his shoulder that the docks had reappeared; we had returned to the shoreline, the date was over. I was thankful for not having to spend an awkward hour with David and stood up.
“I guess we will. Don’t feel too bad, if this is the first time you don’t get what you want. I won’t sell you the bar…what makes you think I’d give you my body?” My anger was flowing through me freely now. He didn’t say anything, just stood up as well and moved to the bow.
“I’ll be spending the night on the yacht. It’s much nicer than the ‘hotel’ that passes for four stars out here,” he said, staring off in the opposite direction.
“Good. I don’t want to look at you for a whole car ride home. Will you be providing me with transportation, or should I call someone who actually knows me to pick me up?” I said, spitting out each word.
“The limo will take you home. Help yourself to anything in the bar. I understand you might be feeling a little confused right now. You’re angry now, Ms. Pitch, but let’s see what the next days bring,” he said, still staring off into the distance. The boat bumped gently against the wooden pier and I hurried to the stairs leading down to the exit. I didn’t wait for the butler to appear to help me but simply jumped onto the dock and strode towards the land.
I looked back once. I could only see his silhouette against the shore. I was still enraged, but something about seeing his shadowy figure in the distance ignited that little flame of passion deep inside me. I thought of his cold, blue eyes on mine. I shuddered slightly, then pushed the thought from my mind.
The driver was ready with the door open, and didn’t say a word as I climbed into the back, sliding slightly on the leather seats. The door shut with a click and soon we were off, rolling down the dark roads. Feeling troubled, I decided that one way I could get back at David would be to take him up on his offering. Opening the bar, I grabbed the whiskey we’d been drinking earlier and poured myself a generous amount. Inspired, I dropped a handful of ice cubes into the glass.
I gulped it down and settled back against the seats, my mind reeling. My anger was fading, and somewhere deep down inside myself I could still feel his hands on my breasts. I could smell his cologne on the leather seats and breathed deeply; when I closed my eyes, I saw his looking back on me. This time, when I tried to push the thought away, it didn’t leave. It lingered: his eyes looking deeply into mine, the feeling of his fingers on my nipples, his breath against my neck.
Opening my eyes didn’t help, either. I felt my anger being washed away by waves of desire. I could feel my body yearning for stimulation, my nipples still hard and perky. I gulped more whiskey. It didn’t help. My fingers twitched in my lap. I was a mess; at this point, I was plenty drunk and couldn’t hold on to the pride and rage that had allowed me to get off the yacht in the first place. I stared out into the darkness, praying and praying that I’d wake up with a hangover, a fresh dose of anger, and no trace of desire.
My prayers didn’t come true. I did wake up with a hangover, a killer one, in fact, but I wasn’t angry and I was still thinking about David’s touch. As I stumbled out of bed and began to take account of the night before, I noticed a business card lying next to my purse on the dining room table.
Picking it up, I had the vaguest recollection of the driver pressing it into my hand as I swayed and stumbled my way out of the limo. It was David’s, of course, with his number and e-mail address. Sighing in disgust at myself, I dropped it back onto the table and went to work trying to solve my main issue: being too hung over to see straight.
I decided I could afford to take a day off from the bar and went back to bed. As I lay staring at the ceiling, I thought about everything that had happened. I wanted to focus on the things that made me angry, but I found my mind kept turning to the things that had been…pleasant. The conversation we’d had before we started talking business, the way he had smiled at me, and, of course, his hands….
I tossed and turned, feeling myself getting turned on the more I thought about it. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to want him. I wanted to be independent and strong but…he had been right. He had known, even before I ever thought it about myself. How had he described it? Dominated…
I sat up, determined not to let my mind slip into some demented fantasy. Going back to bed clearly wasn’t going to work, so I got up and started to clean my house. But every time I bent over, I would imagine David standing behind me. Every time I lost track of my thoughts, I would begin to think about his touch. Cleaning wasn’t working, either.
The rest of the day went just the same. Try to keep busy; get distracted; do something else. I knew there was really only one way to get rid of the feeling, but I refused. I would not touch myself thinking of him. I would not call him. I would not give in. Somehow, I made it through the day and managed to fall into a deep sleep; the hangover helped that, I’m sure. But when I woke up, it wasn’t any better.
In fact, it was worse. And it didn’t get better the next day, or the day after. It didn’t help that I’d started getting flowers. Every day, after the first day, I received a single, blue rose. Sometimes they would be delivered at home, sometimes at the bar. On the third day it was waiting for me at the coffee shop. For a week, I lived in a tortured state of craving, with the constant reminder of a single blue rose.
I couldn’t work, I couldn’t focus; everything was too hard to keep track of when I was constantly re-playing that night in my mind. People starting noticing, started asking if everything was okay. No, it’s not, I’m fucking obsessed with a despicable man who’s totally screwed with my head and made me want him night and day! I wanted to scream at anyone who dared give me a sympathetic look.
And, of course, people were curious about the flowers. Since they would sometimes come to the bar, or to the coffee shop, I knew it was going to be town gossip for a long, long time. This, I decided, could be my chance to stop everything. I had a good reason to call him: to tell him to stop with the damn flowers. And once I heard his cold, steely voice, I was sure, it’d be over. I could forget about him and move on with my life.
So one week and one day after the night on the yacht, I finally picked up the phone and called the number on the business card. A receptionist picked up.
“Stevenson Realty Group,” said the official-sounding voice on the other line.
“David Stevenson, please,” I demanded. There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. When the voice spoke again, I could hear a hint of laughter.
“And who, may I ask, is calling?”
“This is Jenny Pitch,” I said, anger flashing in my head.
“Well, Ms. Pitch, I’ll make sure to tell him you called. Would you like to leave a number?”
“No, I would like to speak with him now,” I said. I needed this to be over with.
“Well, Ms. Pitch, I’m afraid…”
“He has a cell phone, I’m sure, if he’s not in the office. You tell him exactly who is on the line. He’ll want to speak to me,” I said, seething. There was another moment of silence.
“Wait one moment, please,” the voice said, sounding annoyed. I waited for what felt like forever; the hold music was awful muzak covers of soft rock songs. As I waited, I toyed with the latest rose, pulling the petals off one by one. I heard a click and perked up.
“Ms. Pitch, so glad to hear from you,” I heard David’s voice on the line. To my dismay, the sound of his voice did not make me remember what an ass he was. Instead, it made passion flare up inside me.
“Stop with the flowers,” I managed to say, without my voice shaking too much.
“Alright. Come to New York,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though that was the most logical thing to say. I was stunned speechless for a moment.
“Uh…no? Stop with the flowers because people are talking. I’m not taking you up on your…um…offer,” I said. Now, my voice was shaking. It was the way that he had said “come to New York”: like a command.
“Oh no? So you’ve managed to stop thinking of me? You don’t lay in bed at night….”
“No,” I said, cutting him off. There was a long pause on the other end of the line. I imagined him, sitting in his office, feet on the desk, his eyes deep and piercing…despite myself, I felt my panties grow damp. I blushed deeply, even though I knew he couldn’t possibly tell over the phone. I thought I could hear someone typing on a keyboard on the other end.
“There is a plane ticket for you, leaving from Cleveland tomorrow at 3pm. Headed to New York. Someone will meet you at the airport,” David suddenly said.