In Search of Mr. Anonymous

by J B Glazer

  I don’t know how to respond. I want to tell him I looked forward to seeing him every day too. But instead I change the subject.

  “Why do you want to restrain me?”

  “It’s not so much about restraint. It’s about heightening your senses. Blocking out your other senses heightens the rest. I want you to focus on your sense of touch. And how it feels when I touch you.”

  I stare at him and my eyes fall to his hands, which are strong and masculine. And very capable. I know this from experience. I crave his touch. As if sensing this, he places his hand on mine, linking our fingers together.

  “I do want you,” I tell him. “It’s not something I’m used to—it’s a lot to take in.”

  “I know the feeling.” He kisses my palm then stands up and pulls on his boxers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting dressed. We can just talk for a bit.”

  I bite my lip.

  “I think I’m done with talking.”

  He looks at me and shakes his head.

  “I’m OK. Really. I want to do this.”

  “I can’t. Not after your reaction.”

  “What if you didn’t tie me up? That’s the part I was reacting to. But I’m OK with the blindfold.” I retrieve it from the bed and hold it out to him. Then I slip the robe from my shoulders.

  “You’re making it hard to say no, among other things.”

  I look down and smile.

  Then I’m washed in total darkness as he takes the blindfold and once again secures it over my eyes.

  “We’ll take it slow,” he says.

  I lick my lips in anticipation.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed, wondering what he plans to do to me. I hear him open my freezer and then the clink of ice cubes in a glass. Before he speaks I know he’s returned. I can sense his presence even though I can’t see him.

  “Lie down.”

  I do as he says.

  I hear him strike a match and the scent of lavender fills the room. He’s found my candles. He straddles me and kisses my lips, running a trail with his tongue down to my navel. Suddenly, a cold sensation touches my lips. The ice cube. He traces my mouth with it and then slowly drags it across my breast, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake. I inhale sharply as he circles my nipple. My body breaks out in goosebumps from the cold. He takes more ice cubes and glides them across my body. He appears to be writing invisible words. I wish I could decipher his message.

  The scent of lavender is heavy in the room. As the heat from a drip lands on my skin, I realize he’s holding the candle over me. He lets the wax fall on the parts that are slightly numbed from the cold. I’m about to cry out but he immediately blows the wax until it hardens. It surprisingly doesn’t burn, it was just unexpected. The contrast of hot and cold leaves my skin tingling. He covers my breasts with wax, and as it hardens, he grazes his teeth across my skin to peel it away. It becomes a game. I wait in anticipation to see what he’ll do next. Surprisingly for someone who always needs to be in control, I’m fine with not knowing.

  “You doing OK?” he asks in a low voice.

  “Yes. I’m liking your fantasy.”

  “You know what I’d really like? To watch you touch yourself.”

  I go stock still. He can’t be serious. I shake my head.

  “I want to see how you like to be touched.”

  “You know how I like to be touched.” He’s impossible. “I can’t,” I say as he takes my hand in his.

  “Please,” he whispers as he spreads my legs apart. “Just trust me. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. I’ll help, and if you decide it’s too much we’ll stop. But I don’t think you’ll want to.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  He takes my silence as acquiescence and places our hands on my stomach with mine on top and caresses me with feather-light touches. He moves our joined hands down and massages my most sensitive parts. After a few minutes he slips his fingers inside me. So far he’s doing all of the work. I relax because I think maybe I’m off the hook. But then he switches our hands so mine is on the bottom. But he’s still in charge. I follow his movements as he guides my hand. He knows just where to touch me—the feeling is pure ecstasy. The blindfold helps because it’s blocking out everything else, heightening my other senses, like he said. He’s relentless, moving our fingers in small circles, stroking me with increasing pressure. I’m getting so close. It’s hard to know where he begins and I end. I lose my sense of rational thought and focus on his touch, my touch, and the slow burn that’s beginning to build between my legs.

  He makes a noise and I turn my head but can’t see through my blindfold. I listen and realize it’s the sound of him stroking himself, which means his hands are no longer on me. I pause and he’s instantly aware of my hesitation.

  “Baby, keep going.” His voice is thick with need.

  So I do. I rub myself with one hand while the other goes to my breast. I pretend my hands are his and mirror his actions from earlier. I pinch my nipple and it hardens from my touch.

  “Oh yeah,” he breathes.

  I love knowing that I’m turning him on.

  “Pretend that I’m fucking you.”

  Again I hesitate. “I’ve never done that before.”

  He guides my hand where he wants me. I slip a finger inside, surprised by how ready I am.

  “How does it feel?”

  “Warm. And wet. So, so wet.”

  He groans. “Keep going. I’m not going to last much longer.”

  I pull out and insert two, then three fingers. A small whimper meets my lips and I buck my hips forward. His breathing grows more ragged, his movements become more vigorous. I can hear the sounds his hand makes as he strokes himself. I get a thrill knowing watching me turns him on.

  My movements become faster and more urgent. A pulsating heat spreads between my legs. With a tremble I find my release and cry out.

  “I want to see you,” I tell him as I catch my breath. He takes off the blindfold. I watch as his fist pumps the length of his shaft, the tip glistening with his arousal.

  “I need to be inside of you. Now.”

  He quickly puts on a condom then pins me down on the bed. He rides me. Hard. His fingers are digging into my skin from the force of his hold, but I like it. He grunts as he thrusts deep inside me. I twist my fingers in his hair, frantic to pull him closer. It’s as if we have this insane need to possess one another. He jerks his hips forward and with a sharp hiss lets go. His head falls against my chest as he catches his breath. After a few minutes he pulls out then rolls the condom off and adds it to the growing pile in my trash can. I’m about to sit up but he pushes me back down.

  “Place your hands above your head. I won’t tie you up this time. But don’t move them.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Fulfilling my promise.”

  He puts his head between my legs and explores me with his tongue. My body is already so sensitized, it only takes minutes for me to orgasm. But he doesn’t stop.

  “OK,” I pant. But he keeps going. The feeling is getting so intense. I need him to stop. He ignores my feeble protests. He teases me, alternating between his hands and mouth. I try to close my legs, but he won’t let me. My mind and body are at odds. I don’t know why I’m fighting it. I guess I’m scared to completely surrender myself to him. I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, but I keep one foot rooted in place, scared to fall over the edge. Then I hear a buzzing sound. It looks like the scarves aren’t the only thing he’s found in my drawer. He inserts my mini massager and when it touches my G spot I swear it’s as if he’s lit an inferno.

  “Come for me, baby.”

  I let go. I cry out as an intense orgasm washes over me. My body throbs from the force of my release. But he keeps on, relentless, pushing through my orgasm. The vibrations against my pulsating heat overwhelm me and I completely lose control. My body spasms and spots o
f light dance before my eyes. Then I’m falling. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me and my body turns to liquid. It’s an intensity like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

  He moves my wrists down to my sides then lies next to me while I slowly find my way back to reality. If this is a dream, I hope I never wake up.

  Chapter 11

  Coffee Guy rolls over and props up on his elbow so he’s looking down at me.

  “That was the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says.

  I smile and close my eyes, too spent to do anything else.

  He wraps his arms around me from behind and nuzzles his chin against my shoulder.

  “I’ve literally seen stars,” I manage.

  He laughs, a deep laugh. “That’s a big compliment coming from you, the girl who talks about astronomy and the universe. I know you’ve seen stars before, but I’m happy to have shown you a new kind.”

  “I’m happy to have made the discovery.”

  “I always fulfill my promises. Maybe one day you’ll tell me one of your fantasies.”

  “I’m boring. I honestly don’t have one.”

  “Come on. There must be something.”

  I think for a minute. “I do have a thing for tattoos.”

  “Really?”

  “Not like arm sleeves or anything like that. Just one small one, strategically placed, that’s meaningful.”

  He arches his brow. “Strategically placed?”

  “Somewhere inconspicuous. Does your mind ever not go right to sex?”

  “Hmm. No. Anyway, I’d never have pegged you for a tat girl.”

  “I know. It’s a weird fetish. Well, not really a fetish. I think they’re sexy. Would you ever get one?”

  “I’ve never considered it. Until now. I’m terrified of needles.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t have pegged that about you either. You seem like such a strong guy.”

  He pulls me into a vice and won’t let go. I eventually give up fighting and relax in his arms. My body is exhausted. Every inch of me is fatigued, like I’ve just run a race. I guess in a way it was a marathon kind of day. “Thank you,” I whisper as I close my eyes.

  “No, thank you. For trusting me.”

  “I told you I did.”

  “But saying it and meaning it are two different things. You doing that, it showed me you trust me.”

  I open my eyes, sensing this is important. “I do,” I assure him. “I don't know why, considering I’ve only known you for less than forty-eight hours, but I do. You make me feel safe.”

  “I would never do anything to hurt you,” he says, linking his fingers through mine. “I’ll always be honest with you.”

  “Me too. Why was it so important you knew I trusted you?”

  He lets out a breath and rolls onto his back. “I haven’t spoken to my dad in over seven years.”

  “Seven years. That’s a long time.”

  He nods. “I used to work with him. My younger brother and I did. My dad gave him the better clients even though I worked my ass off. I kept telling my dad I was ready for more responsibility. He put me in charge of a big merger and I was psyched. I took my time building up the relationships until I had everything lined up as I wanted it. My dad questioned me and my tactics throughout the process. I asked him to trust me. I told him we needed all parties on the same page for this to work. And there were some cultural things that needed to be worked out. I felt it was important to build up their trust. And I asked for his in return. I clearly remember saying, ‘Have some faith in me, Dad.’” He pauses and rubs his face as he lets out a sigh.

  “I know it must be difficult to talk about. You don’t have to tell me the rest if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I’m fine. It still pisses me off thinking about it.”

  I move so I’m behind him and massage his shoulders, hoping to ease some of his tension.

  He drops his head and leans into me.

  “So what happened?” I prompt as I move my hands over his generous biceps.

  “He went behind my back and undid all my work. He offered one party more money in exchange for removing some of my provisions. Provisions I had added to accommodate the other side. I recognized there needed to be a give and take. So each party told me their priorities and I based my negotiations on making sure they both got something crucial they wanted. I couldn’t believe he tried to sell me out. He claims he wanted to teach me a lesson. Business is business. And all this trust I was trying to foster was B.S. I was naive. He said money talks and when he offered more they jumped. The deal fell apart.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say as I rest my chin on his shoulder.

  “Turns out they bailed not because of the money. But because they found out he was my dad and they thought we were trying to pull a fast one. Like it was all a scheme. He not only ruined the deal, but my reputation with those clients as well. That was the last time I spoke to him.”

  “Did he try to apologize? Make things right?”

  “I didn’t give him that chance.”

  I’m beginning to think people are confusing his stubbornness with ruthlessness. But I keep that thought to myself.

  “That must be hard. Having to see him every day at work.”

  “I left. I went to his top competitor and took my brother with me.”

  Or perhaps not.

  “Is his relationship with your brother strained?”

  “A little. But they still talk. He’s more forgiving than I am.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad. It sucks that he didn’t put his faith in you. It’s hard when the people who are closest to us let us down.”

  “It runs deeper than that. I guess I’ve always felt as if he had to have done something to make my mom want to leave. Because what other reason is there that a mother would desert her children?”

  “Did you ever ask your dad about it?”

  “Yes. He gave some B.S. excuse that she had big dreams and wanted to pursue them. I think he was trying to be inspirational about the importance of going after what you want. He said she still loved us and would miss us every day. But that was all a lie—if she loved us she would never have left in the first place. Promise me you’ll never lie to me,” he whispers.

  I move so we’re facing one another. “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Good. Just trust me, that’s all I ask. I could never be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t put their faith in me. It’s a deal-breaker.”

  I plant a kiss on his lips in response. He pulls me close and his words ring in my ears. I could never be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t put their faith in me. I hope he means it. Because I want much more than just a weekend. For so long I’ve pushed men away, but the thought of having a relationship with him is one that I welcome.

  As we drift off to sleep I think about what he shared. How Callie hurt him by lying to him. How his dad did the same. Two of the most important people in his life. No wonder he has trust issues. But now he has me.

  I wake up around two a.m. with a sense of sadness. I shake my head to clear it but don’t recall having another one of my dreams. And then it hits me. In just a matter of hours the weekend is over. I’ve only known Coffee Guy for forty-eight hours, give or take, but already I can’t imagine my life without him. I look over to where he’s sleeping and a sliver of moonlight bathes his features in a soft glow. It’s fitting because he’s brought warmth and light to my life in the short time I’ve known him. I try to go back to sleep but thoughts about our future spin out of control. I slip out of bed and peer out the window. It’s overcast and I can’t see any stars. This only adds to my melancholy.

  “Whatchya doing?”

  “Sorry! I didn’t mean to wake you. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I thought you’d be knocked out after all our activity.”

  “I know,” I give him a sheepish grin. “Just thinking about tomorrow, I guess. And how I wish tonight would never end.”

  “Come
back to bed.”

  I snuggle up next to him and breathe in his now familiar scent.

  “As long as you’re up, let’s have one last go,” he says.

  Last?

  He pulls me to him and kisses me softly.

  “Shit, I’m out of condoms,” he says.

  I know we should stop. But when I’m with him all of my sense goes out the window. It’s like my body takes over and my judgment becomes clouded. “Just pull out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod.

  He takes his time, unlike the fast and frenzied sex we’ve had all weekend. Now he’s slow and methodical. It’s almost as though he’s making love to me. Or perhaps saying goodbye. I push the thought from my mind. He brings me to the edge and back, teasing me, torturing me. “I want to tell you my name,” he says between kisses.

  “Not yet.”

  “When I do, I want to hear you scream it when you come. Over and over. I want no one else’s name to ever touch your lips. You’re mine.”

  His words put me over the edge. I find my release and he pulls out shortly after. His hot semen spurts over my breasts, then down my stomach. It’s as though he’s marking me. “You’re mine,” he tells me again between kisses.

  “I’m yours,” I whisper, testing the words out loud.

  He grabs a washcloth and cleans us both up. Then he climbs back in bed beside me.

  I give him a lingering kiss and turn away. It’s my goodbye. And I don’t want him to see the tears that are welling in my eyes.

  “Ms. Coffee?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Can I tell you something?”

  I take a deep breath and face him. He looks at me and pauses. “You’re upset.”

  “I’m not. I was just reflecting on our weekend. I’m glad it was you,” I say, looking him directly in the eye. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else. And to be honest had Trish picked anyone else, I probably would’ve backed out.”