by Nikki Wild
His insistence on clear consent made me respect him immensely, though. Did I feel like I had complete control? Maybe not. But honestly, that was part of the thrill.
Someday, I’d use that safe word, I’d say no, just to test him. But not today. Not now. I wanted nothing more than to say yes to everything when it came to him. He was testing my limits and in turn I was testing them for myself. I had no idea how far we would go, how far I wanted to go, but I knew I’d only figure that out by taking it further and further.
I just wasn’t sure what that looked like.
I could only hope he did.
“Bruce made us a lovely dinner. Are you hungry?”
“I’m starved,” I replied. And I was.
“Good, you’ll need the fuel for later,” he growled, as he reached down and squeezed my ass. My nipples hardened under my sweater, anticipation rushing through my veins. “Come on, let’s eat.”
We walked hand in hand into the dining room, which perfectly matched the rest of the house. A huge slab of redwood with live edges made up the dining table, surrounded by antique shaker chairs.
A feast was laid out for us.
“Bruce did all this? This looks amazing!” I said.
“Bruce is my best friend. He’s an amazing cook. I’m an awful cook. He used to be a District Attorney in Manhattan but he burned out after ten years of watching innocent men go to jail. He’s equal parts hippie and ski bum. He has a huge heart and that kind of work, while he was doing it with a pure heart, proved to be too much for him. Every case broke his heart. It’s impossible to leave that kind of work at the office, you know?”
“Wow, yeah, I can understand that,” I replied, as he pulled out my chair for me and I sat down. He sat across from me and poured wine in our glasses from a bottle that Bruce had already opened.
“Not too much,” I said, throwing my hand up. “I don’t want a repeat of the other night.”
“You weren’t so bad,” he said.
“I was bad enough that you didn’t stay,” I said.
“Well, as I said then, we have plenty of time,” he said.
“Do we?” I asked, slamming my mouth shut as soon as the words flew out.
Bear cocked his head and smiled.
“Don’t we?” he asked. “Are you planning on going somewhere any time soon?”
“No, but—to be honest, Bear, I have no idea what is going on here. So therefore, I have no idea how long to expect it to last.”
“That’s fair,” he said. “I haven’t exactly been an open book, have I? And this is hardly a typical situation.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, looking down at my empty plate. Bruce had made pot roast and potatoes and carrots, surrounded by bowls of fruit and big silver platters of cakes and pastries and pies.
“Look, we have also have plenty of time to talk, Chloe. Eat!”
“Okay,” I said, piling roast on my plate. We ate silently, stealing glances at each other as we devoured the incredibly delicious food.
“How often do you come out here? If I had Bruce to cook for me everyday, I’d never leave,” I said.
“I try to get out here at least once a month, if not more. The city gets to be too much sometimes and I come out here to unwind. I bought the land five years ago and it took a year to build the house. There’s also a little cottage out back that Bruce lives in full-time, with a little stream behind that. I’ll show you in the morning, it’s beautiful.”
“This whole place is just stunning, Bear,” I replied.
“It’s an entirely different world than my penthouse in the city,” he said, between bites. “You’ll see it soon.”
I nodded, once again wondering what I was supposed to think about all of this. Where was this going? Were we dating? Were we just fucking? He was acting like I was his girlfriend almost and we’d still not defined or clarified what this actually was.
“Why did your parents name you Bear?” I asked.
“They didn’t,” he smiled. “It’s actually Barrett. One of my friends at school started calling me Bear in the eight grade. My parents hated it, so I adopted it just to piss them off.”
“I see. Tell me about your childhood,” I asked.
“Must I?” he winked. I shrugged in response. I had to start somewhere with my questions and the beginning always seemed like a good place to start. “Alright, alright…let’s see. Where should I begin? My parents were both overachievers. Mom was a real-estate developer from London. Dad was an investment banker from Queens. They met when Mom came to the States for a conference, but she hated him at first. He chased her all the way back to England and finally won her heart during afternoon tea at the Brown Hotel. Dad had done all his research, finding out the best place to take her in the city. Queen Victoria used to take her tea there every day and Dad regaled Mom with stories of the Royals all afternoon. She said as soon as he began reciting the recipe for the famous orange cake they baked from scratch there at the hotel, she knew she loved him, just for making so much of an effort to impress her.”
“That’s a sweet story,” I said.
“It is. Unfortunately, the rest of the story doesn’t tingle the tongue quite as pleasantly.”
“No?”
“No. Mom relocated but she basically had to start her career from scratch, which took most of her time. Dad was already a workaholic, so they rarely saw each other. The honeymoon period ended quickly. They were working so hard and spent so little time together that when she found out she was pregnant with me two years later, she didn’t believe it. She made the doctor take the test three times. To say I was a surprise is an understatement.”
“I see,” I replied, so happy to hear about his past finally.
“After I was born, Mom went right back to work and I was raised by a parade of nannies.”
“Oh, dear.”
“The nannies weren’t bad. They were nice enough, I guess. But even though my parents weren’t around, they both insisted on ruling my life with an iron fist. Making every decision for me and regulating my activities like their own schedules. I was constantly running from music lessons to Latin lessons to soccer practice. I didn’t really get to be much of a kid.”
“Did you ask for more free time?”
“I tried. But I knew negotiating with me wasn’t something high on their list of priorities, so I gave up after a while. I did what they asked of me, what they thought was best for me, whether I liked it or not. Most of the time, I hated the things they made me do.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Well, let’s just say if I never see another trombone in my life, I’ll be happy. I hated soccer, too. I wanted to play football and basketball and all the full-contact sports, but Mom insisted she wasn’t about to let her only son play such barbaric games.”
“What else were you interested in?”
“I wanted to be a writer, actually,” he replied. “I loved literature and growing up, I dreamed of being the next Mark Twain, or maybe a poet, but Dad said writers didn’t make money these days and insisted I find a more lucrative career.”
“I see,” I replied. “Do you still write?”
“Not really,” he shrugged. “I wrote a few screenplays in college. I have a half-written novel that keeps me up at night sometimes, but I don’t really have time for those things these days. My company takes up a lot of my time and energy.”
“It’s important to find a balance, though, isn’t it?”
“I guess that’s what people say, but I’ve never been much of a balanced individual. I tend to go all-in with everything I do.”
“I see,” I said, feeing a slight blush creep up my neck.
“What else, Chloe?” he asked, smiling at me, his eyes deep as the ocean.
I took a deep breath, the warmth of the wine spreading through me deliciously.
“Where are your parents now?” I asked.
“Dead. Long gone. Dad died of stomach cancer and Mom killed herself a year later.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, my god!” I exclaimed. “I had no idea.”
“It’s okay,” he replied. “I don’t talk about it much. It happened my senior year at Yale. I finished school and started my company right away, determined to make it on my own. Sure, I inherited tons of money and I could have just lived off of that, become a writer and hung out on the slopes with Bruce for the rest of my life, but I needed to be in control of something. They’d ruled my life for so long, once they were gone, I was free. It’s hard to explain.”
“I think I understand,” I replied, softly. “I’m sorry about your parents.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m glad they died. Now, I have a life. Now, I make my own decisions. I do whatever I want, when I want, even if I tend to be a little obsessive about it,” he said, his voice lowering to thick, husky growl. “I give the orders now.”
I swallowed hard, nodding solemnly as everything suddenly began to make sense.
“Look,” he continued. “I know I’m not like everyone else. I’m blessed that I had those two as parents. They taught me a lot about what it takes to succeed in life, they instilled a serious work ethic in me. They left me a ton of money that enabled me to start the company on the scale that I needed to. I wouldn’t be who I am without them. But until they were both dead, I had no idea who I was, Chloe. If someone had asked me if I wanted to buy a pair of brown boots or black boots, I would have asked one of my parents first. It wasn’t that I didn’t have opinions, it’s that I didn’t trust the opinions I did have. I was constantly seeking their counsel. I think Mom recognized that in that last year after Dad died. She knew it had gone too far. I think she thought she was doing me a favor by taking all those pills and I have to say that she was right.”
“Bear, that’s…that’s…,” I stumbled for words, shaking my head.
“It is what it is,” he shrugged. “It’s the truth. And the truth is always worth speaking.”
I nodded, my heart swelling with emotion for him.
“So, now you have this company,” I said, wanting him to talk more. I loved the sound of his voice, the deep tones that turned into low growls and murmurs when he turned emotional. I wanted to hear everything he had to say. “And it satisfies you?”
“Does it satisfy me?” he asked, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back in his chair as he pondered my question. “It allows me the freedom to find satisfaction in other places, I would say. It’s definitely work. And sometimes, I get off on it. A big deal goes through in my favor. There’s an art to getting your way in business. It’s different from personal relationships. You have to be subtle, you have to convince your opponent you’re on their side, when you’re mostly looking out for your own interests. There’s a sense of betrayal to it that I don’t enjoy at all.”
“No?” I asked, watching the way the muscles twitched in his jaw. Outwardly, he was calm and serene, but the tension in his voice, the way he was gripping his glass, told me a tornado was churning inside of him.
“I don’t like betraying people. At heart, I like to think I’m a good person, Chloe,” he said, his eyes flashing, searching mine, “you know? I hope you can see that. I have my quirks, but I try to be kind, to do the right thing, to help everyone I can. But, when those deals go through, when I manage to persuade someone to work with me and we create something beautiful together, that is satisfying, yes. I get off on that part of it. So that’s why I keep at it. ”
“I get it,” I smiled.
“I could never have a job where I wasn’t the boss,” he nodded firmly.
“You always have to be in charge,” I whispered.
“Yes. Always,” he said. I stared back at him, drowning in his piercing gaze, my body tingling with excitement. There was something so attractive about his unshakable resolve. I’d never been sure of anything in my life. Leading was never something that came naturally to me, and yet I’d envied my friends who did so naturally. Like Marie. Like my Mom.
That wasn’t me.
But the steeliness in Bear’s eyes every time he nodded like that, his jaw set so firm you couldn’t cut it with diamonds—that turned me on. It drew me to him, in a way that I was only beginning to understand myself.
“My life was the complete opposite,” I said. “Complete freedom. Matilda was never there.”
“Your dad?” he asked.
“Left. I guess Matilda and an infant was too much for him and he hasn’t been in my life since I was born,” I said. “The glass ceiling has always been Matilda’s baby. I admire her for it, I do. But it’s hard when you’re the only kid at the dance recital without a parent watching. I learned to take care of myself early on,” I shrugged. “I didn’t need anybody. I was always the one in charge, and I longed for someone to remind me to brush my teeth at night or make me eat broccoli or come to one of my fashion shows.”
He nodded at me silently, staring over at me thoughtfully. I’d have given anything to know what he was thinking, to see what he saw when he looked at me. I wanted to know why. Why me? Why was I here? Why had he picked me to spend all this time with?
“Parents have a way of shaping their children in such an insidious way. The subtle ticks we develop, the eccentricities we take on, the very fabric of our souls are woven by how they treat us. It’s a sacred act to be a parent. To be able to court that kind of power over another human. It’s the ultimate act of oppression, I think. I never want to be that person, the one who could fuck up someone else so profoundly.”
“So you don’t want children?” I asked.
“Never,” he replied, that determination returning to his steely jaw.
“I see,” I nodded. “Me, neither.”
“You don’t want children either?” he exclaimed.
“You sound surprised.”
“It’s just that most girls your age fantasize about that,” he said.
“I’m not most girls,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly. I’d defended my stance on children many times before and it was a sore spot with me. Even Marie wanted children someday. She always said as soon as she was done being a slut, she was going to settle down and have a gaggle of kids. The idea sounded exhausting to me.
“No, you aren’t are you?” Bear said, reaching over and putting his hand on my knee. He hadn’t touched me throughout dinner and the sudden contact shot daggers of electricity up my thigh. My pussy twitched as a shudder began in my neck and traveled down my back. I took a deep breath, struggling to retain my composure. It was merely a slight touch and I was melting. I’d barely had half a glass of wine and I felt dizzy already.
Maybe it wasn’t the wine that was shaking me up after all, I thought.
“You’re nothing like other women your age,” he replied. “Or any other age, I might add.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.
“You should,” he nodded, reaching over and grabbing the pie from the table. I’d been eyeing it for a few minutes and once I saw Bear cut into it, I squealed with delight when I saw it was peach.
“It’s peach!” I exclaimed.
“Yep,” he nodded, sliding a slice onto a plate and handing it to me. “Your favorite.”
“How did you—oh!” I said, blood rushing to my face. “Right.” Of course. The safe word.
Bear’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he smiled.
“How could I forget?” he asked.
I nodded, biting my lip.
“I asked Bruce to make it for you,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, diving my fork into it. As soon as it landed on my tongue, I moaned in ecstasy. Perfectly sweet and tangy, with light, flaky crust, it melted on my tongue. “It’s perfect.”
“I told you. Bruce is great,” he said. “He’d make a perfect wife,” he laughed.
“Is he single?” I asked.
“A perpetual bachelor,” he nodded. “He dates around sometimes but as soon as anything starts to get serious, he ends it.”
“Kind of like you?” I asked.
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nbsp; “Me? Maybe,” he said. “It’s a little different in my case. Women don’t seem to stick around too long. I’ve been accused of being high-maintenance and too demanding, if you can believe that.”
I laughed, hard, my laughter echoing off the walls. Bear laughed, too, and I felt myself relax even more. I felt comfortable with him. Something about him was beginning to sooth me in places where it ruffled my feathers before, and I didn’t know why, but I welcomed it. I wanted to sink into him, in more ways than one. I just wasn’t sure how deep it could all go.
I watched him with a smile as he took another bite of pie onto his fork and brought it to my lips. I opened my mouth, meeting his gaze as the fork slid between my lips slowly. I closed my mouth and he slid the fork out, the pie like heaven on my tongue. I swallowed and smiled, licking my lips, the sticky sweetness of the peaches sticking to them.
Bear smiled and then his eyes flashed with hunger.
“Stand up,” he whispered, his voice so low I barely heard him.
“What?” I said.
“Stand up. Now.” He jaw was set again and his voice was hard and firm. I pushed my chair back, laying my napkin on the table and standing in front of my chair.
“Come here,” he said. I took two steps towards him, smiling down at him.
“What are you—,” I said.
“Hush. Take off your sweater,” he demanded.
“What? Now?” I asked, looking over my shoulder. “What about Bruce?”
“He’s in his cabin. He won’t come back in here all night,” he put one hand on my hip, pulling me closer as he looked up at me. “Take off your sweater.”
I shrugged and did as he asked, grasping the bottom and pulling it over my head. I stood in front of him in my jeans and bra, waiting for further instruction. I fought the awkwardness that threatened to overwhelm me and stood stoic in front of him.
He reached up behind me and unfastened my bra, the brush of his fingers sending chills up my back as he slid the bra forward and down my arms, leaving me topless, my breasts heaving with excitement.
He drank me in with his eyes, his gaze devouring my naked breasts before turning back to the table. He plunged his fingers into the pie, scooping the peach filling out with two fingers. I gasped as he turned back to me and smeared the pie filling around my hardened nipples, first one, then the other. I couldn’t help but laugh.