by Tia Williams
“Oh, just some girl who has a PhD in you.”
He dragged her chair even closer and kissed her cheek. “Three things. First, no one’s ever given me such a thoughtful gift. Second, I can’t believe you remembered my birthday. And third?” He stopped and laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You want me so badly.”
“You know, you’re really not as cute as you think you are.”
“No, seriously. You know I’m a sure thing, right?” He pointed to himself, loving making fun of her. “You didn’t have to pull out all the stops.”
“Believe me, I know,” She leaned in to him, whispering in his ear. “You should see the way you visually molest me in the office.”
“You’re too much for me sometimes. That thing with your shoe? The walk back to my cubicle was…humbling. I felt like a seventh grader called to the chalkboard with a hard-on.”
Jenna laughed.
“I don’t even know how to thank you for my gift. I’ll think of some memorable ways later.”
She looked up at him through her lashes. “Swear?”
He nodded, suddenly dead serious. His gaze was predatory, like he was barely refraining from ripping off her clothes and fucking her to oblivion, right there.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jenna’s stomach fluttered. “If I’d never taken this job, I’d have lived my whole life without ever being looked at like that.”
“If you’d never taken this job, I would’ve found you anyway. Somehow.” He reached out and twirled one of her ringlets around his finger. He’d been dying to touch her hair.
Their drinks came, along with crackers and a dinner menu. Famished, they demolished the crackers, but ignored the menu.
“My turn to ask a question,” said Eric. “Your fiancé. What happened?”
Jenna took a sip of her drink. She knew this moment would come. “We were college sweethearts. We were happy, for a long time. He made an obscene amount of money, and one day that’s all that mattered to him. I stopped being sexy to him, or interesting. The only thing we had in common was our past.”
“Is he still in your life?” he asked in a quiet, controlled voice. “Do you ever talk to him?”
“No, that chapter is over.”
Eric was silent. His expression was stony. And then he said, “I want him dead.”
“Wait, what?”
“How was he not dazzled by you? Jenna, please don’t ever let me find out who he is. Because me and him will have problems of epic proportions.”
“Eric…”
“He didn’t think you were sexy? He didn’t touch you? I’ve known you for four weeks and not touching you is unraveling me. Nothing you said interested him? The highlight of my day is listening to you deconstruct the Walter White/Tony Soprano anti-hero archetype while you demolish a croissant. This man had everything I want, what I’d kill for, and didn’t care. Not having you will be the death of me, Jenna. So that guy? Him, I’ll never understand.”
Jenna’s eyes widened in an attempt to keep the tears from erupting, but to no avail.
“Oh no,” started Eric. “I didn’t mean to…I didn’t want…”
“Shut up,” she said, draping a leg around his under the table.
She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. Eric slid one hand up her thigh and under her skirt, while the other one gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. She was dizzy with passion. God help her, she was about to climb on top of him right there at a Lower East Side sushi bar…
“Jenna Jones! I’ve been trying to get my agent on the phone with you for weeks! I’m perfect for The Perfect Find!”
They whipped their heads around. It was Suki Delgado, the Bronx-born Dominican model. She was currently starring in a Lancome ad and had made the July 2012 cover of British Marie Claire. A toffee-skinned stunner, she had almond-shaped eyes and jet-black waves that came to a halt at her heartbreaking little chin.
For drastically different reasons, Eric and Jenna let go of each other, as if they were on fire.
“E? You shady motherfucker! Get up and hug me,” she demanded. She was clearly bombed. “You haven’t returned my Perfect Find calls, either! Why didn’t you hit me back? Am I that never ago to you?”
“Delgado!” he said, giving her a perfunctory hug. “Doing the ‘you look beautiful’ thing with you was always redundant.”
“Do it anyway!” she shrieked, giggling. She flung a graceful arm around his shoulders, and Eric managed to remove it without seeming rude.
“Jenna, this is Suki Delgado. We went to Art & Design together. She was a dope illustrator, but now she’s…”
“A top model,” said Jenna, her arms folded across her chest. She was living on the corner of Annoyed Avenue and Panicked Place. “I know, because I discovered her.”
“She totally did!” squealed Suki, grabbing Jenna and pulling her out of her seat into a squeezy-tight embrace. “E baby, this woman found me when I was an intern with Darling’s art department. She booked my first editorial. I lit-trally owe my career to Jenna.”
“Oh, that’s not true. Girls like you come along, like, never.”
This was problematic. All the major players in the fashion industry knew Suki. They were two tweets away from someone at StyleZine finding out that she and Eric were out together. But Jenna was tipsy enough to push this fearsome reality away long enough to find out exactly how close Suki and Eric had been in high school.
“So were you two in the same class?”
“No, but I took him to my Senior Prom! He was only a tenth grader, isn’t that hilarious? He always loved older women.”
“Adorable.”
“Delgado, what are you doing here? You’re too famous for this shit. Who’re you here with?” Not only was Eric annoyed that his old girlfriend showed up, it had just occurred to him that she could get them into trouble.
“TJ and Jules and Eva,” she said, pointing to her table. They all waved at Eric. “I go with TJ now. He’s broke, but his dick is big and his dad has that Plaza penthouse and two Oscars, so he might be able to get me into this Tarantino slave movie? What are you two doing out?”
“Working,” Jenna blurted out. She looked at Eric and, wordlessly, they decided it was time to go.
“Here? On a Friday night? Wait,” exclaimed Suki, the reality of what she was seeing hit her. “Omigod. You two? Seriously? The. Sexiest. Shit. Ever.”
This was bad.
“Not sexy. All work. Gotta go.” Eric slapped down a fifty and grabbed Jenna’s hand.
“This was official StyleZine business,” called Jenna, over her shoulder.
“Yeah right,” she hollered, as they disappeared up the stairs. “You both reek of pre-bone!”
Outside, they walked down an empty side street hand in hand, lost in thought.
“I know Delgado’s a famous model now, but is she that famous?”
“Yep, she is.”
“So, StyleZine people know who she is.”
“People on Neptune know who she is.” They walked half a block. “I know what you’re asking honey, and yes. Darcy knows Suki. This could be disastrous.”
“Fuck.”
“You slept with Suki Delgado when you were in tenth grade?” There was nothing they could do about the supermodel catching them, so Jenna might as well address the second most pressing aspect of that run-in.
“Wellll, when you say ‘slept with’….”
“Why am I jealous? It’s so petty and weird.”
“No, it’s cute,” said Eric. “Just so you know, the sex wasn’t great.”
“Come on. You were barely pubescent and she was a nine-foot tall goddess.”
“Not then.” He paused. “Braces.” He paused again. “She was always a maniac, though. She told me to slap her, hard.”
“She was like that, even then? I caught her having violent sex with one of our male models on a shoot in Anguila! We had to cover her bruises with Dermablend.”
“Yeah, that’s Delgado.”
“Did you slap her?”
“With all the strength I could muster in my fifteen-year old body.” He laughed. “It was insane, but I liked it. I love being with women who surprise me.”
“Do I surprise you?”
“Every five minutes.”
Jenna stopped, turning to face Eric. She was dying to kiss him, but something held her back. She adored Eric’s bravado, his cockiness, but those were also the things she wanted to break down a little. For years, she felt so voiceless in sex, the little woman waiting to be pillaged. She knew how badly he wanted her. Good. This time, she was in charge. She’d revel in this part.
“What would you do to me right now if you could?” Without hesitation, Eric said, “Make you beg for it.”
“Why?”
“You deserve it. You make me feel nuts.”
She cocked her head, and then walked backwards until she was up against a flyer-littered brick wall between a closed bodega and an abandoned Laundromat.
“Wanna know what’s nuts? How wet I’ve been all night.” Jenna slid her hand up her thigh, over her hip, and under the waistband of her stretchy skirt. She plunged it into her thong.
Eric’s mouth opened. In an almost comical gesture, he whipped his head back and forth, looking both ways to make sure no one was coming. It was an empty side street and they were alone.
Leaning against the wall, Jenna plunged her hand deeper inside her panties. Her eyes glazed as she stroked herself. Watching Eric watch her was so erotic—he was mesmerized, rooted to his spot.
But when she started to moan, he snapped out of it and was on her in a flash. He yanked her hand out of her skirt, sucking the wetness off her finger.
“See what you do to me?”
“Yeah, nuts,” said Eric. He grabbed her face and gave her the sexiest kiss she’d ever had. It was brain-scrambling, thigh-melting. It grew deeper and hungrier and more chaotic—he sucked her mouth, she bit his bottom lip—until it wasn’t enough. Boldly, Eric slipped his hand down between them and into her panties. He gave her a little squeeze and she went weak, her head falling back as his mouth burned hotly on her throat. She was lost in shameless, public ecstasy on the corner of Freeman Alley and Christie. Leaving a trail of delicious kisses along her neck, he cupped her breast and ran his thumb across her nipple. And the assault of sensations was so exquisite that Jenna whimper-whispered his name.
That was too much for Eric. Lightly, he gripped her jaw and held her face still, pausing to relish the fact that he had her like this again. She was trembling for him, hot for him, wet for him. But this time, it meant something.
He kissed her breathless again, until she was reeling. She had to pull herself together. This was too good for her to swoon through—she needed her bearings.
Jenna planted her palms on his chest, pushing him away. It took every ounce of willpower she had to do this. “No,” she said, breathing hard.
“Like…literally? Or on some ‘no means yes’ shit?”
She laughed. “You can’t kiss me again until I say.”
“Jenna Jones,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Are you bipolar?”
“Maybe. But I’m going home. I’m getting in a cab. If you don’t mind my mental illness, come over.”
Jenna blew him a kiss and left him standing there, caught in the crossfire of a thousand conflicting emotions.
Twenty minutes later, Jenna buzzed Eric up to her apartment. Two seconds later, he was pounding on her door with what sounded like a two-by-four.
“JENNA, OPEN THE DOOR!”
The door was already open, but she’d let him find this out on his own.
“JENNA!”
Then silence. Then the door crashed open and Eric stormed into Jenna’s apartment. It was pitch-black. So now, not only was he pissed, he was pissed and disoriented.
“Jenna! Where are…”
Then he felt her behind him. Actually, he smelled her, first—the same irresistible summertime honey-vanilla scent that dismantled him at the office. And then he felt the filmy lace of her bra through the back of his shirt. (When did she put a bra on? he wondered, wildly.)
Without saying a word, she slipped her hands under his shirt, running them up the sinewy muscles of his stomach and chest. He held his breath. Her mouth was on the back of his neck. Then, her hands changed course and plunged downward, stroking his hard-on through his jeans.
“Don’t move,” she whispered.
Jenna slid in front of him. His eyes adjusted a bit to the darkness, and sort of saw that she was wearing a lace push-up bra and a thong—both so delicate they looked like they’d dissolve at his touch. Her curls were wild. She looked like a bitch goddess from his lustiest fantasies.
Jenna ripped off his shirt, unbuckled his jeans, and got rid of his shoes in one fell swoop. Then she sank to her knees in front of him. Without any hesitation, she took him into her mouth, deep-throating with relish. He let out a shaky, “Fuuuuuck” and plunged his hands into her hair. On and on she licked and sucked, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He pulled her to her feet and tossed her over his shoulder, caveman-style—and with some confused banging, he found her bedroom in the dark.
Eric threw her down on the bed, and all hell broke loose. He unhooked her bra and then ripped the flimsy material of her thong at the top of both thighs, tearing it off of her body. This was exactly what Jenna wanted. Insane, desperate desire. He licked and sucked her nipples, kneading her breasts with one hand, while the other stroked her clit firmly and slowly. Someone taught him this. She loved and hated whoever it was.
“Just d-don’t kiss me yet,” she moaned, not ready to give in. “Not till I say.”
“What are you trying to do to me?” he growled, his mouth full of breast.
“Tell me what you want,” she panted, back arched. He had two fingers deep inside her, and she was trying not to come. “I wanna hear it…”
“I want everything,” he murmured into her ear. “I wanna suck you, fuck you till you scream, own you…”
It was time.
Weak with outrageous lust, it took all of Jenna’s strength to roll on top of Eric. She knew the element of surprise was key, she had to do this quickly or he’d be inside of her and it would all be over. So Jenna grabbed her scarf from under her pillow and tied his wrists to the bedposts. Obviously, like every girl of her generation, she’d learned this from Basic Instinct.
“You are not serious!” Eric’s eyes were wide with disbelief. Jenna straddled him. He chewed the inside of his mouth, barely containing himself.
“J-Jenna,” he started, trying to remain calm. He was six-foot-two. A 120-pound woman had just tied him to her bed. What had become of him? “You gotta let me go. This is cruel and unusual… please…”
“Say it again.”
“Which part?”
“Please.”
“No.”
She shrugged. “You wanted me to beg. Why can’t you beg?” Eric shook his head.
She put the tip of him inside her and with deliberate, sadistic slowness, lowered herself down. And then she lifted herself back up and down again, rocking her hips sinuously, slowly. But she could feel her orgasm approaching…so she stopped, climbing off of him. She took his cock in her hand, pumped it, and then rubbed herself up and down the length of it, covering it in her wetness.
Eric groaned in pleasure, in protest. He was fully tortured. Helpless.
Jenna crawled up the length of him, planting wet kisses along the planes of his stomach, chest, neck. Generously, she rubbed her nipple against his mouth. He sucked hungrily, out of his mind. Her scent, that maddening scent, enveloped him. Smelling her, tasting her—but not being able to touch her, be inside her—sent him careening close to the edge.
I swear to God if I bust before I’m even properly inside this woman I will kill myself, he thought. I will set myself on fire. I will move to Hoboken. Please God not before I’m even inside her, please God…
&n
bsp; He couldn’t take it anymore.
“Please, Jenna,” he said. “You win. I don’t care about anything. I just want you. Please.”
Jenna laid on top of him so their bodies were aligned. They were face to face. This was what she wanted. No pride, no ego—only the purity of desire. He was so beautiful like this, so vulnerable, all hers…
Eric saw her soften.
“Please baby,” he whispered, knowing he could kiss her now. He caught her bottom lip with his teeth and drew her mouth to his. The kiss slowed them down, almost paralyzing them with its intensity. It was romantic. He held her captive with it, as if she were the one tied up. And just like that, the power shifted.
“Untie me,” Eric ordered, his voice sounding unsteadier than he wanted.
She did, with clumsy fingers. In a swoony daze.
Before Jenna could think, Eric flipped her on her back, hooked his arms behind her knees and slammed into her, to the hilt. The headboard crashed against the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut and cried out with shock and excruciating pleasure. It raged through her in waves.
“Open your eyes,” he said.
She did, and he thrust into her again, hard. While deep inside her, he grabbed her wrists and held them above her head.
“Mine,” he said, in her ear.
It wasn’t a question—far from it—but she answered with cheerleader-level enthusiasm anyway. “Yes, yours,” she gasped. “Yours, yours…”
With an anguished groan, he pulled almost all the way out and then drove back into her, grinding against her, sending shock waves radiating through her body. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her, fucking her hard and steady—almost artlessly, but not quite (he was on the edge of losing control but fought the urge to rail into her, wanting her to feel every stroke). And then Jenna came so ferociously that it stunned her into silence. It was blinding, obliterating. She went still, barely breathing, just letting the orgasm riot through her. It went on and on and just when she thought she couldn’t bear any more, Eric plunged into her the final time, crashing her into the pillows—and as he exploded she came again, this time with a ravaged cry.
He collapsed on top of her, his face pillowed in the hollow of her shoulder. They were sweaty, hearts pounding, shaking. Neither expected to be so shattered. They knew it would be good, but not like that.