River Walk: Ten Kinky Collaborations

by Anthology

  Totally caught off guard, I try to make sense of what he just asked me.

  What does this have to do with the study? Why would he ask me such a personal question? Did he see it? Was it that obvious?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stumble my way through my lie. “Of course not. I-I don’t know why that would be any of your concern. No. No, I wasn’t.”

  I’m fucking mortified. I try to deny it. Deny, deny, deny. But the bright hue of my flaming cheeks betrays me. I may as well have it written across my forehead in permanent marker.

  Honestly, I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince, him or me.

  “Is that all?” I snap out, grabbing onto my purse hanging on the back of my chair before he can answer me.

  “Yes, Miss Petrov.”

  The use of my surname pisses me off further.

  How could he be so formal after asking me a fucking question like that?

  “Then I will take my check now, Dr. Landon.” I spit his name like it were poison in my mouth. He winces, retrieving an envelope out of a drawer and hands it to me. I try to take it from him, but he doesn’t let go. He just holds my gaze, waiting for god knows what. Hell to freeze over?

  I rip the envelope from his hand and storm out, desperate to get as far away from him and my humiliation as possible. I all but run down the fluorescent hallway, fighting back my enraged tears.

  I don’t know what I’m more humiliated about, his question or the truth.

  I’m working at the diner a few days later, hustling to keep up with the busy Saturday crowd. Another waitress, Barb, was supposed to work the lunch shift with me, but she called in sick. And the only other girl said she can’t come in until later.

  It’s been one of those days you wish you could press pause and take a breath, but there’s no time to breathe or think, which is actually welcome. I haven’t been able to get my mind off Oliver or his inappropriate questioning. I’m just glad the whole ordeal is over with, and I can finally move on.

  My stomach twists aggressively at the notion.

  As I’m attending to a table of rowdy college kids, the bell over the door rings. Without looking up from my task, I call out to the patron to take a seat wherever they can find one. In my peripheral, I notice them occupy a booth next the one I’m attending to. When I’ve finished, I walk over to them, jotting down the last of an order on my pad, and ask, “Have you decided what you want?”

  “Yes,” a smooth voice purrs, “I have.”

  I don’t have to look up to know who it is. His accent gives him away instantly. I glare up at him, my eyes narrowed and inquiring.

  “Why are you here?” It came out snippier than I meant it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy he was sitting here in front of me.

  His lips tighten at my tone, thinning into a sharp line. “For the,” he adjusts his glasses, glancing down at the menu, “fried catfish and okra special, of course,” he replies sardonically. “Unless you suggest something else?”

  I cross my arms and scowl at him.

  “No cheeky retort?” he asks, cocking a dark brow. “Shame. I’ve started becoming quite fond of our little tête-à-têtes.”

  “Did you just come here to tease me?” My hands fall to my sides and I exhale an exaggerated sigh. “I really don’t have time for this,” I reply and spin around to return to the busy flow of work.

  “Wait,” he says. I turn back to him with my arms crossed over my breasts. Placing the menu back down on the table, he clears his throat, just as he always does before saying something serious. “I wanted to speak with you.”

  “I think you’ve said enough,” I comment.

  Suddenly, a customer calls out for me, “Waitress, I’m waiting on my coffee.” He holds up his mug, tapping on it with his finger.

  “One second, sir. I’ll be right with you.” I put my focus back on the doctor, curious about what he could possibly have to say after our last encounter. “Alright, what?”

  “I wanted to…”

  “Miss, I ordered a side of toast ten minutes ago,” a female patron comments.

  “Please, just give me two seconds, ma’am.” I take a steadying breath, slightly overwhelmed by the situation. “You were saying?”

  Jeff, the cook, dings the bell, letting me know orders are up.

  “My question was…” He tries to continue.

  “Waitress, my coffee,” the first man says impatiently.

  I can’t take everything coming at me at once and I snap. “Look, Dr. Landon, I’m very busy. And if you aren’t going to order anything, I have to ask you to leave. I just don’t have the time to chit chat right now. Okay?”

  The expression on his face cuts me. Probably not nearly as deep as my words must have wounded him. I didn’t mean to bark at him or make him feel bad, but this really isn’t the time or place. If it had been any other day, I could take a minute or two. This just isn’t one.

  Before I can apologize for my temper, he rises and nods to me, turning to exit. He opens the door and halts, taking a second to collect himself. Shifting his face to glimpse at me, he says, “Goodbye, Mila.”

  Without another word, he walks out, leaving me feeling vacant, lost.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  In the following month, I focus on my job, hunting for work, and my mother, busting my ass. Finally, all my hard work pays off. I secure a series of interviews with a Fortune 500 company!

  The day of the final round with the V.P., nerves wreak havoc on my stomach, twisting and flipping like a gymnast on speed. But, in the end, I walk out the big revolving doors employed and on top of the world. The only downside is that the position is in Houston, which means I’ll have to leave my mom. Even though the starting salary is impressive, enough to hire a nurse to take care of her, I feel as though I’m abandoning her.

  On the drive back to San Antonio, I can’t help thinking about everyone I’ll have to leave behind, friends, family, him. I know it’s foolish to even feel this way about him, but there’s something there, between us, simmering under the surface. It’s probably just me, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since our last session together. It’s some silly crush. Honestly, how could he like me? I’m a bit on the plain side, nothing spectacular. Not like Lee. Her exotic beauty is overwhelming.

  I try to shake it off, turning on some tunes, Rhye’s ‘Open,’ to drown out my thoughts and put me at ease.

  The day after I make it home, a group of my friends decide to take me out on the town to celebrate my new position. I decided to really do it up right. I picked out a little black dress, pairing it with strappy heels, and applied my make-up, painting my lips cherry red. I curled my short hair and held it out of my face with a rhinestone headband.

  We head to one of the best Tex Mex restaurants in San Antonio, Maracas, consuming our fill of tacos, margaritas, and good conversation.

  Afterward, we hit the River Walk, going from bar to bar, bordering the edges running parallel to the water, dancing and drinking. I’ve always loved the River Walk. Whenever I feel stressed or sad, I come here. It’s so lively, with the music spilling out from the restaurants and clubs, and peaceful, with the flowing water and breeze blowing through the trees. From the colorful streamers hanging overhead, to the high-arched bridges connecting both sides for the shallow tour boats to float underneath, to the trees lining the banks, stretching out over the dark water like a leafy roof, this place is truly picturesque.

  We end the night at the Naked Iguana Tequila Bar, pounding them back like there’s no tomorrow. Normally, I’m not one to do the bar hoping thing, but with the pressure of the real world baring down on me, I need this more than ever. Four tequila shots and two margaritas later, I’m sloshed. I mean, out of myself, down is up, black is white, wasted.

  I stumble out of the bar, in desperate need of some fresh air, and grab some bread off a random table along the river. I pick off pieces, throwing them in the water for the ducks swimming around, hitting them i
nstead.

  “Here, ducky. Cheep, cheep, cheep.”

  “I think you mean quack,” a low, raspy, very British voice comments from behind me, startling me. I spin around, losing my footing and falling back toward the water. But before I go toppling in, he reaches out and grabs my bicep, yanking me into his large frame. Holding me there a little too long, I stare up into his eyes, moving down to his slacken lips as he drags in heavy breaths.

  “Are you all right?” he asks, shifting some hair out of my face.

  I get my wits about me, as much as I can in this state, and push myself away, embarrassed.

  “Yeah, fine,” I murmur. “Thanks.”

  “Not a problem, Mila.”

  My eyes fly up to his, his face coming in and out of focus.

  “I thought it wasn’t professional to use my first name.”

  “It wasn’t.” He smiles softly at me. “But you’re no longer my test subject.”

  “Ok, Oliver. What are you doing here?”

  “I do have a life outside of the lab.”

  I take a moment to soak him in, noting how scrumptious he looks when he isn’t all uptight. He’s wearing a black dress shirt with tan slacks and shiny black shoes, polished until they look like glass. His midnight hair is slick, parted off to the side. My eyes move up to his face, his bluer than blue eyes pinned to mine.

  He adjusts his specs and clears his throat.

  I think I may have been staring too long. In my drunken state, I have no idea how much time has passed. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? No, I doubt hours.

  “Are you sure you’re all right,” he inquires, his brow crinkled.

  He must think I’m fucking crazy.

  “I’m not really sure,” I answer honestly. I set my hand over my forehead as everything starts to spin and sway. Even with the crisp night air blowing over me, I feel flush from the booze coursing through my veins.

  “Would you like to sit?” He gestures his hand over toward some benches on the edge of the river.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Can we walk?”

  “If you like,” he says, hooking an arm for me to take, so I won’t lose my balance.

  We stroll down the sidewalk slowly. I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other so I don’t have another accident like the one we narrowly missed. I take in the cool night air, hoping it will sober me up, but I think it only exacerbates my current condition. I stumble slightly and he curls an arm about my waist, holding me to him. The sensation of him clinging to me makes me feel comfortable, protected, causing goose bumps to riddle my skin.

  I know I should let him go. I don’t want him to see me like this. But I don’t want him to leave either. I like being with him.

  “So,” he murmurs, putting my focus back in the moment, “do you normally get this smashed?”

  My face heats up from embarrassment. “No. Only when I’m celebrating a big milestone.”

  “Ah, I see. And what might that be?” He pulls me aside a few inches so I don’t trip over a crack in the sidewalk.

  “I got my first real career-job.”

  “Well, that is definitely something to celebrate.”

  “Yeah, I’m happy.” I hear the uncertainty in my voice. “But it’s in Houston.”

  He stiffens his grip on my lower back, tensing about me.

  “Houston,” he whispers to himself.

  “Yeah, and I’m terrified to leave my mom.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Like most parents, she wouldn’t want you giving up on your future.”

  “I suppose she wouldn’t.”

  We walk in silence for a few steps, enjoying each other’s company. At least, I’m enjoying his. I don’t know if he feels quite the same way. Why would he? I’m a hot freakin’ mess.

  I let my mind drift elsewhere, landing on the sessions, how it made me feel, how he made me feel. The way the cool leather of the paddle felt when it made contact with my ass, the way he examined me with gentle strokes of his fingers. Then, I remember his question during the interview after our last session together. ‘Do you find yourself sexually aroused by our sessions, Miss Petrov?’

  That inquiry has been replaying in my head over and over ever since. It wasn’t easy getting through the last month with our time and that face invading my brain.

  Why would he ask me that? He was the one who insisted we be professional about things. Then he goes and asks me something so personal.

  I find myself becoming uncomfortable with our closeness, like he can sense what I feel or something, and rip myself away from his grasp, stumbling a little before regaining balance.

  I need to get my feelings out. I know it’s the alcohol driving this need to be so honest with him, but I’m too far gone to care.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” I ask, slurring out my words.

  “I don’t think that would be appropriate, Miss Petrov.”

  My face scrunches. I hate when he calls me by my surname.

  “Well, tough shit, bub.” I poke him in the chest with my finger. “I’m going to tell you anyway.”

  I lean into him and grab the collar of his shirt, pulling his ear down to my mouth.

  “I’ve come sooo many times thinking about the spankings you gave me.” He pulls his face away, looking at me briefly before I yank his ear back down to my lips, grazing them against the lobe. “I’m a total masochist, and I loved when you beat my ass with that stupid fucking machine.”

  He places his hands over mine before removing them from his shirt, keeping them tucked away between his. They’re large and soft. His eyes gaze down on me with the most tender look. I’ve never seen this look on his face before. It’s unguarded and raw.

  “Mila, I…”

  Someone calls my name, halting his words, “Mila?” I glimpse over at Lee, watching us with curious eyes, her nose scrunched. “Is everything cool?”

  He steps away from me, adjusting his collar and smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. “I should go,” he says in a gentle voice, an emotion I can’t identify contorting his face. He turns his focus on Lee. “Do you have her from here?”

  She tucks a black strand of hair behind her ears, eyeing him, wondering who the hell this man I was just clinging to could possibly be. “Yeah, I got her.”

  She walks over to me, flinging my arm over her shoulder and towing me back to her car.

  “What the hell was that about?” she pries.

  “I don’t have clue.”

  I risk looking like a fool and peek back at him, expecting him to have bolted as soon as he got the chance. Instead, I find him standing there, hands buried in his pockets, watching me with a gaze that makes me feel emotionally bared, a smirk kinking the corner of his delectable lips.

  What the hell did I just do?

  I wake the next morning with a splitting headache, as if someone was working at my skull with a jackhammer. It hurts too much to open my eyes fully, but when I finally manage, sunlight burns my retinas, causing me to hiss like some creature of the night.

  I climb out of bed, shuffling to my bathroom to relieve all the alcohol resting heavily in my bladder and brush my teeth. My mouth feels gross. As I’m cleaning my teeth, I try to remember everything after dinner, but it’s all blurry flashes and disembodied voices. Then, one clear vision bursts through my hangover haze. Dr. Landon, Oliver’s face looking down at me, close to mine. He was holding me.

  But why? Was it even real? Or am I willing it to be?

  I’ll see if Lee remembers anything. Besides having a higher tolerance, she didn’t drink nearly as much as me.

  After splashing my face with cold water and brushing my grody teeth, I actually start to feel semi-human. I head into the kitchen and get a pot of coffee brewing, noting the time on the clock. It’s noon. I don’t think I’ve ever slept this late before, but God knows I needed it after months of sleep deprivation.

  While I wait for the coffee to brew, I hear a knock on the door. I walk over and ask, “Who is it?”
r />   “It’s Oliver.”

  Oliver? Dr. Landon? Here? What the fu..?!?

  I spin around and place my back against the door, fixing my short, messy hair and pinching my cheeks to give them some color, attempting to look like I didn’t just wake from the dead.

  “Are you going to let me in?” he inquires, his voice raspy and low.

  I take a calming breath before placing my hand on the knob and opening the door. I feel even more disgusting when I see how absolutely gorgeous he looks. He always looks like he just stepped out of the shower, fresh and clean. His clothes always pressed and tailored. But today, instead of his usual slacks and button up, he’s in jeans and a black t-shirt, fitted tightly to his broad shoulders and toned arms.

  Of course he works out! He’s all about good health.

  I can’t believe he’s standing in my doorway. I want to pinch myself. I mean, for someone who enforced a professionalism between us, this seems anything but. This feels personal.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to check on you,” He reaches up and moves my long bangs out of my eyes, “see if you’re feeling better after last night.”

  Am I still drunk? Or did he really just touch me?

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  We stare at each other for a moment, awkwardly. At least, I’m staring awkwardly. He looks as cool as a cucumber.

  “May I come in?” he finally speaks, slicing through the silence and thickness of the air between us.

  “Yes, of course. Where are my manners?” I gesture my hand toward the living room, shutting the door behind him once he’s entered, and follow him over to the sitting area. He takes a seat on the couch and settles in.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” I offer.

  “No, thank you, Mila. I’m fine.”

  Why do I love the sound of my name on his lips? I think I remember something from last night, but it could just be my foggy memory playing tricks on me.