The Theory of Attraction

by Delphine Dryden

  Offering a silent prayer to any love gods who might be listening, I arched my back a little so my backside pressed more firmly against that delicious, hot length of barely restrained need.

  “Why would you ever assume anything else?”

  He hissed through clenched teeth, pulling away for a second and then pressing forward with a groan to pin me to the wall. His hips ground against me, and I shivered as his hands left the wall and circled my upper arms.

  “I don’t play these games out in the real world, Cami.” His voice was rough, almost resentful. Torn, he sounded torn. I felt a surge of raw hope and need, even as he said everything he could to deter me. “I know how to fuck. I like to fuck. I just don’t do well with people, and I have very particular tastes.” He had worked his hands forward between me and the wall now, and he cupped my breasts and plucked sharply at my nipples through the infamous shirt. “I can’t be nice about it. I’m tempted by you, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, but I’m not like the men you’re used to. I don’t do sweet. This isn’t what you’re looking for.”

  “If you don’t know people,” I gasped, biting my lower lip as his fingers tugged and tweaked the already pebbled peaks, “you shouldn’t make assumptions about what they’re looking for. I want this. I want you.”

  I curled my hands over his in encouragement, and he responded by pulling his hands away only long enough to slip them under the shirt and then back up to resume his previous torture.

  “You don’t even know what this is.”

  “Then tell me. What are you, into cross-dressing? A furry? What is the big deal?”

  Ivan yanked his hands from under my shirt, grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face him. His expression was grim, his eyes stern and ominous in the scarlet glow. He said he was tempted, but he seemed to be looking for something from me, and I felt frustrated beyond words that I didn’t know what it was. I wanted to give it to him. Short of putting on a fur suit, in that moment I would have agreed to about anything. Maybe that was what he needed to see.

  “I like to be in control.”

  “I think I got that part.”

  “No.” He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping my shoulders at the same time as though he was trying to force the understanding into me. “Camilla, I like to be in control. And for my partner to give up her control to me.”

  Slowly, very slowly, a picture was beginning to form in my mind. “You mean like tying people up and stuff?”

  That earned a smile. “Sometimes. But there’s more to it than that.”

  “Like ordering people’s food for them? And quizzing them on the movie?” And why did that suddenly seem like the sexiest of all possible things?

  “You didn’t pay attention to the movie at all, did you?”

  I shook my head, unable to speak in the face of the intensity in his eyes as he leaned closer.

  “Bad girl.”

  Oh holy fuck.

  In the National Geographic movie of my twisted mind, the lion had just leaped on the gazelle, pinned it to the ground and mounted it from behind. Apparently, the devouring could wait. I should point out that these little flights of fancy on my part often involved extremely improbable animal pairings. I blamed cartoons.

  “Ivan…” I wasn’t sure what else I planned to say, but I felt I should say something to distract myself from the creeping wetness between my legs, the wobble in my knees and the mad thrill in my stomach.

  He shook his head. “Professor. Or Sir.”

  “Oh. I get it now.”

  “Do you?”

  “Not really but I think I want to,” I half moaned. “I really, really want to.” With every lust-soaked fiber of my being, I wanted to. But I had absolutely no idea how to proceed.

  Ivan, however, did know how to proceed. It took him a few seconds of deliberation, during which he stroked my shoulders and trailed his fingertips over my collarbones in a deliciously enticing way. I could feel my nipples tightening in response, wanting to be touched again by those evil-scientist hands. But I sensed that I had to wait, to let it be his decision whether to take it further. To let him be in control.

  “Maintenance has already come and gone,” he said at last, “and I don’t think anybody else will be in tonight. We’ll hear their key first if they try to get in, anyway.” He sounded as though he was talking himself into it, as much as he was reassuring me. “If you want this, then prove it. Right here and now.”

  Underneath his brusqueness I heard the lashing of doubt, and I decided to quell that doubt. Who knew if I would get another chance, if I turned this one down?

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to strip. Then I want you to get on your knees and wait for further instructions.”

  Okay. I hadn’t really predicted he’d come right out and demand something like that. But I’d gotten a taste of his touch, I wanted more, and I was determined to follow through. Gulping, I started to reach for the hem of my shirt, only to experience a moment of stage fright that froze me with only my stomach exposed.

  He was standing there, watching. Not saying anything. Not helping. Just watching. He still had one hand on my hip, and his fingers were tracking along my waistband, but other than that he was a blank.

  And right then I decided that my new goal was to replace that blank with something. Anything. Any expression. I wanted to see him feeling things. I wanted to see him have feelings so strong he couldn’t hide from them. Couldn’t control his reactions. I wanted to make Ivan Reynolds completely lose his shit. Barring that, I would settle for Ivan making me completely lose my shit, which seemed a lot more likely.

  I think he was maybe a little startled when I pushed his hand out of the way and moved a few steps toward the center of the room. He let his arm fall to the side as my shirt and bra dropped to the floor, followed within seconds by my shoes and pants. I was able to scoop off my undies too, getting the whole thing in one go. Not the most graceful undressing I’d ever done, to be sure, but it was practical. And I was naked. In the middle of the astrophysics data lab, kneeling in front of a still fully clothed Ivan.

  Of all the possible outcomes I might have predicted for our little field trip, this was not one of them. Not in my wildest dreams. But I was beginning to think my dreams had not been nearly wild enough.

  Chapter Five

  If Ivan was surprised that I’d not only agreed but shucked all my clothes off in the middle of his deserted workplace, he hid it well. The impassive mask stayed in place, and as the cold of the room started to seep into my skin I could feel my body flirting with panic.

  He took a step back and then circled me slowly, seeming to consider me from all angles. I straightened my spine automatically, pulled in my stomach, and forced my hands to unclench from where I was leaving fingernail marks on my bare thighs.

  “Have you ever done anything like this before, Camilla?”

  He was standing right behind me, but when I turned my head to look at him, he spanned the top of my skull with one hand and gently turned me back to the front. Even that touch, short and efficient and nowhere near an erogenous zone, made me yearn for more.

  “No, I haven’t, Professor.”

  It sounded like he was pacing back there, in the narrow space between me and the wall. I kept my eyes straight in front of me, trying to count all the many LEDs in my field of vision. Green, blue, red, they winked from the bases of monitors and power strips, from the DVD player and TV in one corner of the room, indicating the readiness of all these machines to be turned on and used. I felt a certain kinship.

  He cleared his throat very pointedly before speaking again, and I grinned. He was putting his learning into practice, even now. “Have you ever heard of a safeword?”

  I shook my head. I had no idea. But that was all right, because he explained it.

  “A safeword is what you say if you want to stop. If something is too much for you to handle. It’s a get-out-of-jail-free card, and if you use it, everything stops. If
we’re going to do this, you’ll need to choose one. Something you aren’t likely to say accidentally in the, ah, throes of passion.”

  “Are there going to be throes of passion?”

  “Oh yes, Camilla. You can count on that. If you can’t think of a word, for now you can just say red. Or red light. Red means stop. You understand?”

  His pleasant baritone voice had grown even deeper, almost hypnotic. He spoke slowly and carefully, enunciating very clearly, sounding very patient but very much as though he had a clear destination and meant to get there on schedule. It was like listening to the hottest lecture ever.

  “I understand, Professor,” I said after a moment. “Does that mean you’re into S and M?”

  “I’m not a sadist, no. But there are other reasons to mix pain and pleasure. Have you ever been beaten in an erotic context?”

  Was this a real conversation I was having? Surely it had to be an especially odd dream. “No, I can’t say as I have, Professor. It doesn’t sound all that erotic.”

  But when he crouched down behind me, his trousers and shirt brushing against my naked back, his hand pulling my hair to one side so he could murmur in my ear, now that was erotic. I was aware I had a personal wetness issue of possibly embarrassing proportions going on. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to move, or to stop him.

  His lips brushed the tiny hairs along the ridge of my ear as he spoke, and I shivered in a way that had little to do with the chill in the air. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.” Then he went on, though I was having trouble attending to what he said, given the proximity of his mouth to first my ear, then my neck right where it was most sensitive. “The position you’re in right now is ‘kneeling down.’ Your knees need to be wider apart.”

  Widening meant that squirming would be less useful to ease the growing tension between my legs, but I decided to play along. I’d come this far, I might as well see where the path led. And I was already sitting there naked, so I’d pretty much already crossed the Rubicon as far as sane decisions went. I could always use the safeword, I reminded myself, as I scooted my knees outward. Red means stop.

  “Better. If I tell you to kneel down, this is what I want to see.” He stroked down my flanks on both sides, letting his hands come to rest at the creases where hips met thighs, and delicious heat followed his touch. “Say ‘yes, Professor.’”

  “Yes, Professor.” Was that my voice? I sounded so needy. He had barely touched me. He hadn’t even kissed me yet.

  “Now I want you to kneel up.” He pressed up on my hips, coaxing me to rise until I was upright on my knees. “This is ‘kneeling up.’ It’s a useful position, particularly for fellatio.”

  I gasped and tried to mask it with a cough. Lame. Transparent. Why did it sound so much filthier to hear Ivan say ‘fellatio’ than it did to hear most people say ‘blow job’? I heard him laugh gently behind me, and it relaxed me a little. Made me feel less freaked out. Which was short-lived, because what he asked me to do next freaked me out even more.

  Shifting one hand up between my shoulder blades, he pushed very gently and said, “Now, bend over until your head and shoulders are on the floor. But leave your hips high, like they are right now.”

  “Okay, wait, hold up. Wait. You haven’t even kissed me yet. Can we do that?”

  He had seen me naked and molested my breasts, so why this missed step seemed so significant I wasn’t sure. But it was. It was something I needed. And at twenty-eight I’d learned that sometimes you had to ask in order to get what you needed.

  He eased up but left his hand there on my back, making soothing circles with his fingertips. Then he shifted his grip to my neck, cupping it firmly and tipping my head back as he leaned over my shoulder. I caught his smug, intent expression for a fraction of a second before his mouth closed over mine and my eyes closed to savor the kiss.

  Like drowning, that kiss. Like taking in water and giving back a piece of my life in return. Ivan tasted like bananas and secret surprises. His tongue seemed to know mine already, seemed to know precisely how to stroke and flex and play and assault my mouth until all I could do was cling to the arm he’d thrown around me at some point in the misty dawn of the kiss.

  “Now,” he said once he’d pulled away, while I was still trying to catch my breath and figure out which direction the ceiling was, “bend over and put your head and shoulders on the floor for me.” This time, his push was a little firmer and against my neck. It didn’t need to be. I went over, not really caring for the moment how exposed the position made me feel. The kiss had somehow really brought home to me that Ivan knew things I didn’t. They were things I wanted to know. If this was what I had to do to learn them, I’d do it.

  With my ass in the air and everything exposed, the cold bit more harshly against my very wet pussy, and I felt a tiny flicker of embarrassment about what that must look like. But it was tiny and fleeting. I got the impression he’d seen that sort of thing, and much more. I doubted I could do or say anything to shock this stranger I’d known for two years without really knowing him at all.

  Ivan, calm as ever, continued his lesson. “This position is what I want to see when I say, ‘Present.’ You’re presenting your anus and vagina. For inspection, for penetration, discipline, play. Whatever I choose. Are you still following me?”

  Oh, and there went my comfort level again. But with the ghost of panic came a fresh wave of arousal, made all the more keen by the knowledge that I couldn’t hide it from Ivan.

  “Yes, Professor,” I moaned. I was more turned on at that moment than I could remember ever being, during four years of being a live-in girlfriend. The actual sex, assuming we ever got there, might give me a heart attack.

  “Do you know anything about BDSM, Camilla?”

  “No. Is that what this is? Professor,” I added hastily. Up until this evening I’d felt pretty sophisticated for knowing what the letters in BDSM stood for. Most of them, anyway. None of the initials stood for anything like this, that I knew of. Ivan ignored my question and continued the sexy lecture.

  “In BDSM terms, I’m what’s called a Dominant. A Dominant plays with a partner called a submissive, and they engage in what’s called a power exchange. The submissive grants power to the Dominant to do whatever he chooses, within boundaries they agree on. In return, the submissive gets freedom from having to make decisions, and usually also pleasure or other intangibles they can’t get on their own. But ultimately the submissive has the real power, because the submissive can safeword to stop the proceedings.”

  “Like a veto.”

  “Exactly. Everything that’s done to the sub happens with the sub’s consent.”

  “Can…can I sit up while we talk about this?”

  “No, I don’t believe that’s necessary.” He put his hand on my back again, petting my spine from nape to tailbone and back again in long, soothing strokes. “I like you this way. At my mercy.” After a few more strokes, he continued the motion over one buttock and down to my damp, needy sex. I couldn’t hold back a whimper when he slid a finger inside me and began to tease in and out. “You like it too. You’re so wet right now. So ready. Do you always get this lubricated so easily?”

  “No,” I admitted. He pulled his hand back and brought it down on my ass with a smack that sounded loud as a gunshot in the empty room. I yelped and raised my head, staring back at him in shock.

  “No, Professor,” he reminded me. Calm. No expression. Watching. Waiting to see what I would do. The sting was already fading on my butt, leaving only a spreading warmth in its place.

  I considered getting up right then, pulling my clothes on and demanding a ride home. But if I said “red,” I firmly believed he would stop and never make another move on his own. In the end I lowered my head back into place, let my shoulders settle, and let out a deep breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, before whispering, “No, Professor.”

  “Good girl.” And the finger was instantly teasing again, slipping between my folds
and down to make a hot, slow circle around my clitoris. I groaned and arched my back a little more, but he withdrew again.

  “Let’s see, that’s three lessons for you so far. And I’ve had what, four? Five? I think maybe we need to keep it even. If you want to continue this. Do you want to continue this, Cami?”

  He was walking around as he talked, and I could hear clothing rustling in the background. Was he taking his clothes off?

  “Yes, Sir,” I answered, keeping my head and shoulders down.

  “The next lesson is that you don’t get to have an orgasm unless I say so.”

  “As long as I do eventually get to have them, I’m cool with that, I guess. Um, Professor.”

  More rustling noises, and then a zipper. It sounded too long for pants, more like a bag being zipped up. Which turned out to be the case.

  Ivan appeared in front of me, his shoes right next to my forearm. “Kneel up, Camilla.”

  It felt strange to be upright, strange not to have my ladyparts on display. How quickly I’d adapted to that exposed position. I suspected that adaptation said things about me I hadn’t really considered before. Or at least not chosen to examine in detail.

  I was face-to-face with the bulge in Ivan’s pants, and although I had never been a tremendous fan of giving head, I found myself half hoping that was next on the menu. If I made him come, I supposed was my frustration-addled reasoning, he would return the favor. Instead, he just held out my capri pants and the shirt that had started us down this trail to insanity.

  “Get dressed. We can pick up where we left off at home.”

  No underwear, no bra. For about three seconds I looked for them, and even got as far as opening my mouth to ask where they were. Then I saw Ivan’s mouth twitch at the corner, invoking the dimple. And saw that he was now carrying his laptop bag, one hand resting possessively over the outer flap. He had confiscated my undies.