by Sosie Frost
I fully expected this coffee date to end on the eleven o’clock news, then the gory details appearing two weeks later on Law and Order – SVU.
And yet…I didn’t expect Anthony to be dangerous.
Still, I felt a little guilty for shaving.
And a lot guiltier for shaving well above where my skirt would rest.
Sure, I used my razor to shiv away my shame, but I defied fate for a shared latte to end in a night of lusty, animalistic passion. Coffee wasn’t that much of a sensual delight anymore, not after working with it for six bitter, milk foamy months.
But Anthony?
A man like that could make anything sexual. His voice, his body, even his gaze—both the amused glance and the chastising glare—had kept me awake all night. His warning never left my mind.
The women here know better than to argue with me.
That memory needed to stop giving me such a thrill. Every one of my shivers probably set women back sixty years. I’d manage the shame for maintaining a trim bikini area, but I couldn’t handle the guilt of accidentally repealing women’s suffrage with a flick of a razor and a mocha Frappuccino.
I checked the time. A little after six. I’d laid out my clothes, finished my hair and makeup, and even had time to sort through the mounting pile of mail on the table.
I didn’t get very far, but I never did. The mail was self-induced stress—and my stomach practically percolated itself trying to count the few coffee beans left in my bank account. I opened the electric bill only halfway before the stress wore me down.
Why did the mail worry me more than a date with Dommy McSpankass?
At least to him I appeared like a normal, responsible, twenty-something woman.
He didn’t know the fridge was empty, and it wasn’t because I was too lazy to browse the aisles after picking up a double-shift. My lease was up in three months—and so was the rent. If that wasn’t dire enough, my mother’s latest email ordered me, under penalty of her wrists and a sharp knife, to re-enroll in college next semester. One more exclamation point, and I’d mark it as spam. The only thing worse than facing my bank account was the thought of walking onto that campus again.
Not after what had happened.
Not after that failure.
At least Anthony’s interest distracted me from the real world. This morning I’d woken up with my hand in my panties instead of drenched in a cold sweat. Progress was progress.
And this date was madness. I left well in advance of our meeting.
After all, I was supposed to be a good girl.
Whatever that meant.
The coffee house drew a crowd from the local college. I recognized two guys from my Chinese history class. It wasn’t as bad as finding someone from the music department, but that was bound to happen one day. I kept my head down as the guys exited. They didn’t notice me.
That was what I wanted…wasn’t it?
The cafe piped in canned contemporary music and dimmed the lights low, as romantic as burnt coffee and the glow of a dozen MacBooks could get.
A lump formed in my throat. This wasn’t me. Well, the coffee was me. Maybe. I had been a barista for a few months. It was about all I had defining the new me. So, what was this new me doing?
Meeting a strange man.
Avoiding people from college.
Panicking over the bitter, enveloping, never-gets-out-of-your-clothes coffee smell.
I checked my hands. Trembling. And my chest fluttered like my skin absorbed caffeine through the air. I was go for a full-scale freakout. Damn. It had been a couple weeks since my last panic attack. I thought I was getting better.
Maybe Anthony wasn’t serious about meeting me. The whole offer was likely a joke between him and Simone. Most likely they were off laughing somewhere. Laughing or having sex.
Probably the sex.
And I was the fool turning rabid just at the thought of sex with him. Last night’s dream was no less vivid now than it was during the night.
Me against the wall. Him between my legs. My head back, his lips to my throat.
And then I saw him, and he looked even better than he had in my dreams.
My breath hitched. I hadn’t thought to look for him in the dead-center of the room. Then again, what was he hiding? No one knew he was some mega-sexual fiend. He dressed professionally. Silver vest over a long sleeved black shirt. Black slacks. He stood as I approached. I had to look up to see him.
“Good evening, Morgan.” His voice rubbed over my skin, caressing every visible area and all the secret places I’d planned to keep hidden. “You’re early.”
I swallowed my greeting and courage. He didn’t lose any of his appeal while hiding in normal society. His eyes still appraised me, observing everything from the loose waves of my hair to my pink toenails.
I didn’t know a man’s eyes could be so sensual. Every part of him radiated sexuality. His lips. His jaw. The muscles straining against his clothing. Even his hair was perfect. Though it was long, sitting in that same half ponytail near his chin, it wasn’t a half-assed attempt to grow it out. It looked soft. I imagined twisting it in my fingers as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Brushing it away from his face as we kissed. I even pictured his hair tickling my thighs as he licked me far lower.
“Would you like to sit?” Anthony asked.
He should have asked me if I wanted a cigarette. He was supposed to be the deviant.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said.
My laugh was too nervous. “I can’t imagine you saying that to any date.”
“There’s never any doubt as to that. Now, if I allow it.” He studied me, admiring my bravery. “Well, that’s another matter entirely.”
A waitress appeared from nowhere. I would have tipped her everything in my bank account in gratitude for the interruption. My tongue had tied up in knots worthy of the bondage enthusiast sitting across from me.
Anthony nodded to me. “Ladies first.”
It wasn’t chivalry. It was permission.
The shivers rolled through me again. “Can I have a mocha latte with a shot of caramel, please?”
I should have gone for a shot of whiskey instead. The waitress nodded.
“A cup of coffee. Black.” Anthony’s gaze hadn’t left me. “I’m old-fashioned.”
A warning? An introduction?
I didn’t know.
The waitress scurried away. Anthony folded his hands, and I pretended to not fixate on his fingers. I gently drummed a beat over my thighs and forced myself to think of anything to say.
Anthony was no help. He didn’t seem to mind sitting in the middle of the cafe, visible to everyone. A few patrons glanced our way. He sat tall and proud, lapping up the attention.
I hoped it was just the circumstances that made me so nervous. I knew entirely too much about the hidden parts of Anthony. If they were even hidden. Usually strangers had the benefit of the doubt about their sexual preferences during the first date.
But it didn’t take a sex club to figure out Anthony was kinky. Hell, I was young. Progressive. I didn’t care what anyone did in the privacy of their bedroom. His fetishes didn’t bother me. It was his confidence that felt overwhelming. Terrifying.
He was confident enough to sit in perfect silence with a stranger. Confident enough to ask her out, and confident enough to realize she’d show up even though every rational bone in her body said to stay away.
He knew exactly who he was and what he liked. Without shame. Without explanations.
How the hell did someone become that way?
And could he teach me?
I broke first. “So…how are you?”
I lost whatever game we played, but he wasn’t disappointed. He’d expected it.
Anthony’s smirk returned. I liked it more than his silence. “Fine, thank you.”
He leaned against his chair, and I breathed easier. I hadn’t realized how close he had been. But, even sitting normally, he had me trapped. Within ar
m’s reach.
I almost wished for a touch. A brush on my cheek. A stroke of my hair.
“And you?” He watched me. “Are you comfortable?”
My voice was artificially chipper. “Absolutely.”
Not.
“It’s only coffee. Your reward.”
Reward hummed in my ear. He practically tacked on a for being a good girl. God, he made coffee sound dirty. Was smiling gracious or presumptuous? I nodded instead.
“How old are you, Morgan?”
I crashed back to reality and bounced on a couple of rocks life left scattered around.
“Twenty-three.” I wasn’t proud of it. He didn’t need to know that. “My birthday was last week.”
“Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.”
The waitress returned with our coffees. Anthony kept her at the table with a raised finger. Like metal to a magnet, the woman stayed in place.
How’d he do that?
“How about a birthday brownie?” he asked.
I raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t part of the reward.”
“Consider it a gift.” He didn’t wait for my answer and ordered it. The waitress nodded and hurried off again.
Two could play at this game. “And how old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
A much older man. My head buzzed. Even that was intoxicating. I took a sip of my mocha, braving the heat to avoid thinking of anything particularly naughty. Not like it mattered. Anthony would turn the table’s packets of Splenda into an aphrodisiac.
“Are you still in college?”
The coffee almost slipped from my hand. I set it on the table with a thump. The liquid scalded my tongue. At least it gave me a second to shield what remained of my pride.
“No.”
“Graduated?”
“…No.”
“Oh.”
God, I hated that sound. Everyone had the same reaction, and no one knew how to hide it. That half-pity, half-condescending acknowledgement.
Then they all had the same question, but only some had the decency not to pry.
What happened?
I’d beat him to it. “I’ve taken some time off. I’m trying to figure out what I want to do.”
He let it pass. “Of course.”
The waitress returned before either of us could say the C-word again. A thick chunk of brownie drizzled with chocolate and caramel landed in front of me. The waitress waited for Anthony, but he dismissed her with a simple thank you. She stood still for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure what just happened to lose his attention so thoroughly.
Been there, done that. She left with the good sense not to pout.
I sunk my fork into the brownie and took a bigger bite than necessary. The middle filled with chunks of chocolate that turned molten and gooey when warmed. A strip of caramel dripped from my fork and smeared against my bottom lip. I diligently licked it off.
Anthony admired my efforts. “Looks good.”
My tongue slipped into my mouth and I replayed the last few moments in my mind. I liked the brownie, but had I given a groan of genuine enjoyment…or did I fellate my dessert?
I offered him the fork. “Want a bite?”
He sipped his coffee and crinkled his nose. Then he accepted. He stole a corner from the brownie and pushed his cup away.
“Coffee isn’t your thing, is it?” I asked.
“I’m no expert, but I don’t think that’s black.”
He handed the fork back to me. I took his mug instead. “May I?”
His expression shifted. An untamed hunger heated the table. “Yes, you may.”
Oh God. I didn’t know politeness was a trait that got men off, but, then again, Anthony was all about rules and regulations.
Something shifted between us in that moment, and it was hotter than any damn latte. Getting permission seemed naughty, but this wasn’t etiquette. This was me playing a game I knew absolutely nothing about.
I sipped the coffee, my eyes darting downwards as he stared.
“Oh.” I passed the mug back to him. Our fingers grazed. The touch nearly blistered my skin. “That’s hazelnut flavoring.”
He tried it for himself. “You have good taste.”
“Not really. I work at the cafe a few blocks down. I recognize it.”
He apologized. Sincere. “You should have said something. I would have chosen another place.”
“Yeah…last night wasn’t the best time to discuss my employment history.”
Just the thought of the club made me tremble. I shifted, crossing my legs and busying myself with the brownie. Anthony’s eyes drifted down.
“You have an interesting tattoo.”
I swallowed. The chocolate didn’t make it to my stomach.
Damn it. I’d hoped the skirt hid the lines on my ankle. I resisted the urge to re-cross my legs far away from him.
“Is it music?” he asked.
I peeked down and pretended the markings didn’t symbolize the worst mistake of my life. “Yeah. It’s a musical staff. A melody.”
“You tattooed a song onto your ankle?”
A once inspiring tattoo. “I…was a music major.”
“Is it a real song?”
I hesitated, but it didn’t take someone practiced in bondage to realize he expected an answer. “It’s just a little Bach.”
His eyebrows rose. “A little Bach?”
“A couple notes of a concerto.”
“Piano?”
“No. Violin. I always thought my hands would be too small to focus on piano.”
I held my palms over the table.
He smiled, and I realized how wrong the image looked. I sure as hell wasn’t the first girl to offer my hands like that to him, but I was probably the only one who didn’t have a clue what I was doing.
I expected him to laugh. He didn’t, but the amusement was back—the look he gave me when he first found me at Duchess.
Why was I even talking? I couldn’t fit my foot and the brownie in my mouth. My leg shifted back under me. The tattoo became even more visible. My fingers clenched the fork. Half of the dessert mushed in the corner of the plate.
But Anthony was perfectly still. Just watching me slither right out of the chair.
I held my breath. “Are you always like this?”
His eyebrows creased. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” Goosebumps rose over my arms. I cursed them way. “Is this some sort of...big bad dom act?”
He leaned away, offering me space. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”
“Not exactly. I’m just not sure what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking you’re very beautiful.”
I stilled, but my brain didn’t tell my heart.
Anthony exhaled, giving a half-hearted shrug. “I apologize. Simone has told me that I can be…intimidating.”
“So, it’s not an act?”
“No. This is me.”
“And that is...” I practically tasted the word. “Dominant.”
“Yes.”
I mashed even more of the brownie. “You’re very cavalier about it.”
“I don’t need to hide. You had a thorough introduction last night.”
“Yeah, but between the puns and nudity, I’m not sure I know what happened.”
“You didn’t like it?”
I wasn’t about to go there. “Is that something you do all the time? With other people?”
“A lot of my friends enjoy it.”
“What do you enjoy? Beating women?”
If the question offended him, he didn’t act it. “I’m not a sadist. That would be Simone.”
I directed all my nervous energy to my toes, curling them under the table and scolding myself for causing a severe muscle cramp in my leg.
We were in public. The coffee house was downright crowded, and he was talking sex in a very loud, very authoritative voice. Still, I didn’t need to give him reason to think I was uncomf
ortable with those sorts of topics and depravities. I was, of course, but he didn’t need to know.
“I expected Simone to be a sadist.” I chuckled. “She owns the club. You’d have to be depraved to operate that kind of business.”
I sold Duchess to her three years ago.”
I groaned. That was it. I cradled my head in my hands and muffled an apology. He accepted it with every grace my awkward ass denied me.
“Relax, Morgan. We’re just having coffee. Would you rather talk about the weather?” His smile turned warm. Genuine, but unpracticed, like he had to deliberately remind himself to act casual. “You didn’t catch the Rivets game last night, did you?”
“I—no? Sorry.”
“Won in overtime. It was a good game.”
“But…you were at the club last night.”
“I built a theater in the club before adding our other accoutrements.” He winked. “We throw a hell of a Super Bowl party. Rivets fans only, I’m afraid.”
I ran a hand through my hair. Football and spankings? Nothing made sense.
“This is just bizarre,” I said.
He agreed. “Why did you come to Duchess?”
“It was my friends’ idea. They thought it’d be funny.”
“Did you find it funny?”
“Being alone was a laugh-riot.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You weren’t alone the entire time.”
“True.”
“You surprised me. I left the phone, but I didn’t think you’d bring it upstairs.”
I straightened. His eyes locked with mine. If it was a joke, I wasn’t laughing.
“Did you leave it on purpose?”
“It was Simone’s idea. We had a bet.”
I pushed the brownie away with a frown. “So, all that talk about me not belonging there? That was just...for kicks? Are you sure you aren’t a sadist?”
“No, that part was true. Duchess is no place for you to attend alone.”
“Don’t underestimate me.”
My tone sharpened, but his stare silenced me. A still second passed. I fell back against the chair in surrender.
He won. Again.
“This is a very demanding lifestyle,” he said.
“What is? Getting paddled?”
“It’s not all about physical punishment. It’s a mindset. I don’t think you could handle it.”
His words crawled under my skin. For a sexy as he was, I wasn’t sure I liked him much at that moment.