by Mj Fields
“To have,” she swallowed hard, “sex.”
“Off the record?” she nodded. “Not sex, we fuck.”
She blinked rapidly a few times before shifting in her seat. I really hoped she could have contained her composure a little longer, but apparently not. I knew her little panties were getting moist and it was gonna kill me to hold back, but I had to.
“It’s not love making, seldom kissing. I don’t give them oral pleasure, but they give it to me.”
Her head snapped up and her jaw nearly hit the table. I continued.
“Sex isn’t always about needing to or wanting to be near someone, to touch them. Sex can be purely physical.”
She cleared her throat, “A power trip.”
I laughed and she scowled. “Not always. But yes, sometimes.”
“Go on,” her tone was clipped.
“I enjoy being in control when I have sex. I like being in control in most every part of my life.”
“So you’re looking for a woman who will just give it to you? Like a June Cleaver type?”
It was almost comical watching her body language. Desire fighting contempt, interesting sparring partners.
“No. I want someone who wants to give it to me when I want it. Who takes pleasure in knowing that them giving up control in the bedroom brings me an extreme amount of pleasure when the mood calls for it.”
“Your mood, not hers?” she asked with her eyes not leaving the note pad.
“I am very capable of giving pleasure, Nikolette,” she shifted again. “Don’t you think?”
Her eyes were still fixed on the paper before her as they widened.
“Dating,” she nodded. “What’s your idea of the perfect date?”
“It’s been awhile since I have been on a date,” I strummed my fingers on her table and pretended to think about it. “Why don’t you tell me what yours is?”
“Because I am conducting the interview.” She looked up smugly and then back down.
“Alright, then let me think hard about this.” I sat for a few minutes knowing full well what it is I was going to say, but I also knew that building anticipation always made the delivery that much sweeter. “I love to surf. I never have time to do that anymore. So my perfect date would be to take a woman, who I found attractive and she felt a mutual attraction to me, to the beach. Maybe have a picnic that included wine. Then we would surf. If she didn’t know how to, I would teach her. I am a damn good teacher, patient, gentle, but stern when the situation calls for it. Then, Nikolette, if things went well, we would more than likely end up back at my place. Off the record, and I won’t go into specifics, but I could assure you she would come at least four times. The perfect end to that date for me would be to wake up in the morning and she would still be there so we could do it again. Because, Nikolette, if I had a date that great, it wouldn’t be just a thing for me. It would be because I was interested in knowing her.”
She didn’t look up and her face began to flush.
“A date would always be my preferred method of hooking up. It’s far less expensive and much more satisfying than calling for a companion. But you know there are a bunch of crazies out there and who knows, maybe even with a date I would wake up in the morning and feel as if I had been used.”
Her head shot up, “I didn’t use you.”
“Miss Bassett, now you’d like to discuss our brief yet satisfying night together?”
“No, yes.” She looked up, “You didn’t use protection.”
Wow, never addressed that before. “You said you were on the pill.”
“Did you, do you,” she stopped and covered her face with her hands, “Use protection with all those, those hookers?”
She looked up at me and I rolled my eyes, “I’m usually well prepared.”
“Usually.”
“I’m clean, are you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Clean meaning, you don’t have any—”
“I know what that means. Of course I’m clean,” she whispered and looked around as if someone might hear her.
“So you’ve been tested?” I took another bite of my pasta and pointed at hers with my fork, “It’s going to get cold.”
“I have.”
“How many people have you slept with?” I took the bottle of wine out of the bag avoiding the horrified look on her face. I stood up and opened the drawer in her kitchen that she had gotten the forks out of, “No corkscrew?”
“No,” her voice squeaked.
“Do you have any tools?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I had to stop myself from laughing. She was hot as hell and wrecked by sex talk, “Drill or a screwdriver, preferably.”
She stood and walked to the closet, pulled out a tiny little pink toolbox, took out a pink power screwdriver, and handed it to me.
“Screw?”
“Excuse me?” she gasped.
“Do you have a screw?”
“Of course.”
“Let me show you a trick.”
I took the wine bottle and shoved the screw in the cork and used the screwdriver to open it. “Magic.”
She grabbed two glasses out of the cupboard.
“Will you answer my question? Off the record?”
“Two.”
“Two?” Holy shit, I fucking knew it, “And four orgasms?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She picked up her glass and tossed it back, the whole damn glass.
“Nikki…”
“Please, I don’t want to talk about this. I want to do the interview.” She poured herself another glass.
“Fine, just answer one question and then I will answer five of yours.”
“How many?”
“I already answered that,” she finished the glass.
“No, you didn’t,” I took the glass from her and set it down. I bent down so that we were eye level. “Four?”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
I am not kidding I swear I had to turn and walk away. All mine, every fucking one of them. Hell yes!
I sat and closed up the containers and she picked them up, set them in the fridge, grabbed the bottle of wine, and sat down.
“Before you get all fucked up, I wanna ask you to do me a favor. Next time the electricity goes out call me. Don’t go messing with it.”
“I can do it.”
“No. Just please don’t. I will send someone.”
“Why?”
I closed my eyes trying to figure out a way to keep my suspicions to myself. I didn’t want to burden her if I was wrong.
“Because I am doing you a favor, so I am asking you to do one for me.”
I walked over and sat on her sofa.
She stood, grabbed the bottle of wine, and walked over and sat next to me.
She offered it to me, and I held up my hand declining.
“Your parents? Tell me about them.”
“Don’t you need your little pad of paper and pen?”
She took a drink right from the bottle and it made me laugh.
“Sorry,” she set it on the coffee table and sat back.
“My parents are both Irish.”
“Interesting.”
“You didn’t know that?”
“No, I thought you were Italian.”
I looked at her for a minute wondering if I had been wrong about her intelligence.
She smirked, “Abe O’Donnell, very Italian.”
“They own a pub, O’Donnell’s.”
“Italian pub?”
“Very Italian.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“No, do you?”
“I’m the interviewer, you’re the interviewee, Mr. O’Donnell. “
“We’re back to that, are we,” I reached over and pushed her hand. It was not a good idea. She looked at me with those big sandy brown eyes.
She looked down and shook her head. “How many long term relationships have you been in?
”
“Depends on your definition of a long term relationship.”
“Avoiding?”
“No, clarifying.”
“I don’t know, like a month.”
“One.”
“One?”
“One.”
“Okay, two weeks?”
“About twenty.”
“Twenty?” She gasped.
She looked like she was in shock and it was funny as hell, so I laughed.
“You’re joking right?”
“No,” I grabbed the bottle of wine, took a drink, and handed it to her.
“Is this off the record?” she asked and took a drink.
“It all is.”
“Care to explain?”
“I don’t do random hook ups.”
“Oh really?”
She looked at me like she didn’t believe me.
“Okay, look. I know guys who fuck to fuck. I’m not like that.”
Lost Control
Nikolette
He sat on the coffee table, knees nearly touching mine. “I’m not a bad guy, Nikolette.”
“Okay,” his being so close made my head spin, that and the wine.
“When I was younger, I didn’t sleep with a girl unless I was interested in more. If I did randomly hook up, I always gave it a chance, but if there was nothing there, if the proverbial honeymoon period wasn’t going well or if there wasn’t a deeper connection, I saw no point in continuing.”
“So you broke hearts?”
“I was never mean about it, and honestly it was discussed and I am sure by the end of each of those very uncomfortable conversations the girl agreed that it just wasn’t working.”
“Two weeks isn’t a long time though.”
“Exactly,” he leaned forward and looked intensely into my eyes, “If there isn’t an insane connection still after two weeks then I couldn’t imagine twenty years. You know what I mean?”
“I suppose.”
“Let me ask you something, Nikolette,” my name leaving his lips was arousing. “How many boyfriends have you had?”
“A few.”
“But you only slept with one?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I sat and thought about it for a while, “Partially because of how I was raised and partially because I didn’t feel that way about them.”
“So you broke a few hearts, huh?”
“No, not really. It was like sixth grade through tenth.”
He smiled, “I bet you did break hearts.”
“I would hope not.”
“The only difference between your dating and mine is that sex was involved. You dated to find out if they fit with you just like I did. What were they missing, Nikolette? What were you looking for?”
“My interview, remember?” he took a drink, nodded, and sat back.
“What does Abe O’Donnell, CFO of Steel Incorporated, want in a girlfriend?”
“To own her.”
“Own her?”
“Body,” he looked me up and down, “Mind, heart and soul. I want a woman who wants to please me, who steps outside of her comfort zone and takes on whatever challenge I put before her. I want to be her main focus, the reason she gets up in the morning, and the reason she smiles throughout the day, anticipating what the night will bring. I want someone who craves intimacy and desires a connection deeper than she has ever felt. So yes, Miss Bassett, I want to own her.”
“And what do you have to offer a woman who would give up everything to—”
“She would give up nothing.”
“Except her freedom.”
“That depends on your definition of freedom, Miss Bassett.”
“Freedom to choose to do what she wants. Not be your property.” He laughed. I got up and retrieved the wine bottle and a glass, filled it and drank it down.
“This conversation shouldn’t be had while drunk, Nikolette. I’m sure you’ll want to remember everything I have to say, for your,” he paused and looked up at me, “interview.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, of course.”
“But I can’t write half of the stuff you’re telling me, so what does it matter?”
“I think you should answer that question for yourself.”
The way he looked at me made me realize how badly I craved him. His intense gaze caused even more desire to build inside of me. A man like Abe O’Donnell, one of power, incredible looks, and a self-confidence that didn’t come off as arrogance could do me in. Knowing that what he portrayed wasn’t a front had already done me in.
My heart had been broken by a man who didn’t make me feel one tenth the desire Abe had in Florida. Abe would shatter me and I knew it like I knew myself. But it didn’t matter right now. I wanted more, craved more, and I couldn’t possibly be so inexperienced that I couldn’t tell that he wanted it, too.
We heard a loud crash and both looked toward the wall.
“What was that?”
He held his hand up to stop me from standing and then stood himself and walked in the direction the noise had come from.
I started to walk toward him and he took my hand and held his finger to my lips, hushing me. My body trembled from his touch and his jaw flexed tightly. He stood as still as a statue and slowly pulled his hand away from my mouth, but he didn’t release my hand.
He moved toward me, his mouth now inches from my ear; I took in and held a breath.
“Does your neighbor give you bad vibes?”
“What?” Came out louder than intended and he covered my mouth. I wasn’t expecting that, I was expecting a kiss, a touch, not that question.
He huffed and looked agitated when he stepped back and uncovered my mouth.
“Take me to your bedroom.” He whispered.
I nodded up and down; I wanted him so bad. I didn’t care about all the other stuff, the call girls, the way he felt he needed possession of someone, or that he could shatter me. All I knew was that I wanted him again. I wanted what he had promised before I made the mistake of leaving Florida with nothing but a note and the false sense that I was saving my dignity and self-respect.
As soon as we walked into the bedroom, I turned and took his face in my hands. “I shouldn’t have left. I’m sorry.”
“Nikolette not—”
I stood on my toes and pulled his face towards mine. I pressed my lips to his and he let out a slow and steady breath against my face. His hands found my hips and his fingers gripped them tightly.
“This happens and there is no turning back. If this happens, Nikolette, you’ll give me everything I want and I will give you pleasures you didn’t even know existed.” He whispered against my lips.
“I know.”
He turned and walked to my bed and sat on the edge; his gaze darkened.
“Remove your clothes, all of them.”
“You don’t want to?”
“I want to know that you can follow instructions.”
“Why?”
He stood and looked at me as if he was annoyed.
“Just answer why?”
“Say please, Nikolette.”
“Excuse me?”
“What did you say as a child when you wanted something, Nikolette? What’s the magic word?”
“I’m not a child.”
“As a child when you said please it’s because you wanted something. The concept is the same, only what you want has changed.”
“But—”
“You’re also not ready for this if you can’t follow one simple command.”
“But—”
“Did you get spanked as a child, Nikolette?” He asked looking past me and at the wall as if he was inspecting it.
“Once.”
“I assume it wasn’t something you liked. That changes too as we get older.”
“Something else that changes when we get older, Abe, is that we can control what we want to give up and not give up.”
“Sometimes giving
up control is beautiful, Nikolette. Like your sexy hot little body is, which brings us full circle. One more time, remove your clothes Nikolette, all of them.” He finally turned and looked at me.
“I think I’ve changed my mind.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“I think I read you wrong that’s all.”
I started walking toward the door, “Don’t. Just don’t walk away. Let me ask you some questions, Nikolette. Let me interview you.”
“For what?”
He cocked his head to the side as if I had confused him, “To be mine, of course. It’s what you want.”
“What makes you think that?”
He stood, “We’ve covered a lot of ground already. I’ll be going now.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Can’t we just.” I stopped. “Fine.”
I pulled my shirt over my head, reached around, and unclipped my bra allowing it to fall to the ground.
He turned and walked to the bed and sat again.
“Please don’t watch me.”
“What would be the point in asking you to remove your own clothes if I couldn’t watch?” His eyes never left my body. “Continue, please.”
I was doing as he asked even if it went against what I felt was right.
I stood before him in black lace panties.
“Those too.”
I stared back at him and his jaw tensed again, “If you weren’t so fucking beautiful I’d have left by now, Nikolette. Remove the panties now.”
“Say please,” I whispered.
He smirked and then sucked his cheeks in and shook his head “no.”
“Tic-toc. Nikolette, turn your back to me while you remove them” There was an amused tone in his voice, but his dark gaze still held my eyes, commanding and captivating me.
I turned, bending in front of him as I pulled them down.
“You are impossibly beautiful Nikolette Bassett.” I heard him stand and walk toward me. “How dare you wonder why it is I want to own you.”
His hand took mine and he walked towards the mirror and I followed.
“Art collectors line up to see visions half as beautiful as you, desiring nothing more than to keep the piece of art that has them enamored all to themselves.”