by Bromberg, K
But he wasn’t reminding me. His tone wasn’t a gentle prod. It was a command, and I didn’t take orders.
Usually.
Especially from men.
Generally.
Because none of the men I’d known issued an order the way he did. His words were saturated with the historically proven knowledge that obedience followed them.
“Why should I?”
He considered his cup as if committing to his goal, then studied the way my finger tapped the counter as if choosing a strategy, then pondered my face as he decided on his tactic.
“Because you’re wet already,” he said with a deep knowledge of what aroused women looked like. “Because you want what I can give you. Your head hasn’t even acknowledged it, but your body knows.”
“That’s…” I was going to end with a denial, but my nipples were hard. “Not relevant. You and I don’t make sense.”
“That’s correct.” He gulped tea. I left my cup on the counter, refusing the challenge. “We are a disaster. You despise me too much to want a relationship and just enough to turn you on. And from what I can tell, you don’t want to get involved enough to force an ethical quandary. So, if you agree in principle, I have a proposal.”
Agreeing in principle meant revealing how badly my body ached for him.
Disagreeing meant never satisfying that ache.
“I agree in principle.”
“My proposal is one night. One full night…”
I could commit to that, and I was about to when he continued.
“Where I own your body.”
“Wait.”
“You let me own you when we fuck. You come when I say. You obey me without hesitating. That’s what you want, and you know it.”
My cheeks prickled, radiating the heat of my shame. “No, then.” I pushed my cup away. “It’s never been like that. I’ve had three long relationships and a couple of flings but never—”
“Really enjoyed it.”
I couldn’t hear another word out of him. It was all lies. Lies and stories to make himself feel powerful and me feel vulnerable.
You mean turned on.
“Be honest with me.” He abandoned his cup and stood. “Be honest with yourself. I’m not the only man you could fuck at any given moment. You could have your pick. So, why did you come here?”
“I wanted to see the look on your face when I told you to fuck off.”
“I’m right here.” He held out his arms as if asking for a blow to the chest. “Tell me.”
As with his bare feet, the vulnerability of his posture drew me in. I obeyed him and did what I came to do at the same time.
“Fuck off.”
“Is that it?”
“No.”
“Give it to me, then.”
Was he really asking for the depth of my disdain? To what end? His play didn’t matter. There was nothing more important in that moment than wiping that gorgeous grin off his perfect face.
“You’re a scumbag from a family of scumbags. You think you can walk all over everything and everyone to get any trinket you want. You’re a selfish, egotistical, arrogant, worthless human being.”
“You done?”
“You’re manipulative, calculating, and foul. And you don’t even care. You lean into it because you have no moral compass.”
“Ouch.”
“Don’t pretend anything hurts you.”
“Stop pretending everything you hate isn’t everything you want.”
My answers fell somewhere between “wrong” and “I know you are, but what am I?” They were inadequate, and they were lies.
Byron reached for me slowly, laying his hand on the back of my neck. I couldn’t breathe through the thrum of my veins.
“You’re nothing but hunger,” he said. “Every time you talk. Every move. Every decision you make. Your need soaks through you. You think you have it under control, but all I see is how much you want everything you hate.”
His hand tightened on the back of my neck. He was six inches away, and I wanted him. I’d told myself we wouldn’t talk specifics. That I’d stay inside ethical lines I thought were elastic but weren’t.
I’d gotten in that Uber to have him.
No. That was too simple. I’d come to give myself to him, but I couldn’t admit it.
“You’re wrong,” I hissed, leaning into his body.
“Want me to prove it?”
“Do it.” I laid my hands on his chest and tightened my fingers on his shirt. “I dare you.”
Our mouths crashed together, and he pushed me against the counter. My legs wrapped around him as he ground the shape of his hard cock against me. I pushed forward as if I could get him inside me through our clothes.
He grabbed my ponytail and yanked it back, exposing my throat. “You want to fuck?”
“Yes,” I squeaked.
“You need the fight.” He lunged hard against me while pulling my hair. “You are a self-righteous.” He shoved harder with every pause. “Naïve. Little. Girl. And you’re out. Of. Your. Depth.”
I was too close to orgasm to be angry at his words or to react with anything but a hard groan. My hands pulled apart, ripping his shirt open, reaching into the gap to feel his body in its raw humanness.
“What do you want?” he growled.
I feared I’d gone too far and put everything I’d ever wanted in danger. I had to seize enough control to draw a line. “I need…”
“What?”
“I need a condom.”
He pulled my hair harder, pinning me as his other hand slid under my shirt and bra for a bare nipple. I put my hands behind me to keep from falling, leveraging myself against the countertop.
“Beg for my cock, and I’ll wrap it before I fuck you.” He squeezed hard enough to hurt, and my hips bucked with pleasure.
“Please,” I obeyed without thinking.
He angled my head so I was looking right into his cold, green eyes. I didn’t care if he was a controlling asshole who got off on me begging.
“Please. I want your cock in me so bad. Please.”
He twisted my nipple and sucked a breath in when I moaned. “See how sweet you are now? How nice you beg?”
“Please.”
He picked up my mug. “Finish the tea.”
The shape of his cock still rigid against the damp crotch of my sweatpants, he laid his hand on my throat and put the cup to my lips. When he tipped it into my mouth, it was cool enough to drink without burning my tongue.
“Drink,” he whispered. “I want to feel you swallow.”
The weight of his palm lay on my undulating throat, over the flow of sweet, tangy tea.
“Aren’t you sexy?” He pressed his erection between my legs and poured tea into my mouth. “Aren’t you a good girl?”
Involuntarily, I made a purring mmm in response, then gulped hard to be an even better girl. He was in command. Ten feet tall. King of Mount Olivia.
“Your throat’s going to feel so tight around my cock.” He tightened his hand slightly. “Do you swallow, Olivia?” I couldn’t answer while he was pouring tea into me, but he didn’t want me to. “You will. You’ll take every drop in your throat. Every inch in your cunt. You’ll take my cock anywhere I put it, and you’ll come when I allow it. You’ll scream in pleasure, then beg for more.”
He took his hand off my throat and put the empty cup to the side. Every moment was tightly controlled and deliberately paced to heighten my anticipation.
But we needed to get one thing out of the way. I couldn’t relax until that was done.
“I have a condom,” I said.
He reacted by not reacting. When he was in control, nothing could surprise him.
“We won’t need them.” He ran a finger along my collarbone, watching it trace a line across my skin.
“That’s not negotiable.”
His eyes met mine.
“I’m not negotiating that.”
Before I could push him off me or unwrap my legs fro
m his waist, he pinned me to the counter.
“We agreed to one night.” He gripped under my knees and lowered my feet to the floor. “Tonight’s half over.”
He got back on the barstool. Even after I pulled my shirt down, I felt naked. Worse. He saw the throb between my legs, the untended ache he’d left me with in an act of cruel control.
“This was a mistake.”
“Olivia,” he whispered, offering nothing after except an expression that spoke volumes. He didn’t want me to leave, but no matter the reason, no was no.
“You had consent,” I said. “Past that, I have nothing to offer you or your ego. I don’t come when called.”
I brushed past him, through the living room, into the dark street where I didn’t have a car.
Crap.
I took my phone from my pocket, but as soon as it lit up, he was on the porch.
“Let me call you a car,” he said as he came down the walk with shoes on his feet and his trousers tight at the crotch. The rod of his erection was clearly outlined when he was in the light.
I couldn’t bear the sight of him or his lack of shame. He was a reminder of my weakness, the orgasm I’d begged for, the passion he’d cut off as if it was just another night in Silver Lake.
“I have it.” I started walking.
Across the street, a handful of young, bearded hipsters were hanging out on a porch, laughing and talking, while behind me, his gate clacked shut and his footsteps hurried to me.
“This isn’t Bel-Air,” he said as he caught up.
“I live in Hollywood, thank you.”
“It’s not safe.”
I stopped, spinning to face him. “No. Just no.”
“Let me walk you to Sunset.”
“Fuck off, Byron. I mean it.”
“Hey!” a man’s voice came from across the street.
We both turned. Two of the bearded hipsters were at the edge of their yard.
“Dude!” said the taller one with a beard down to his chest. “Leave her alone.”
“You need to mind your business,” Byron called, using the words of every abuser to ever live.
“That’s not going help,” I said softly, then more loudly, “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
The shorter guy, a Latino who was stocky with neglected muscle, handed his beer to Long Beard and crossed the street.
“Ma’am,” he said when he was close, “I’m sorry, but that’s what my mom said for twenty years, and she wasn’t. So that’s on me.” He addressed Byron. “But this is on you. The lady told you to fuck off.”
Byron seemed to assess the situation better after a moment of thought. He put his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be happy to fuck off once she’s safe in a car, not roaming the streets in a huff.”
Stocky looked back at his friends, who had crossed to the curb, then at me. “Tell you what,” he said to me. “You call an Uber right here, and I’ll wait with you.”
“And who are you?” Byron asked. “Who made you safe?”
Stocky reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver badge. His name was Carlos Hernandez. Officer Carlos Hernandez.
“The City of Los Angeles says I’m safe. So, I’ll tell you what.” He slid the badge back into his pants. “I’ll stand with her and wait. You sit right there on your porch and watch. And from now on…” He pointed at the house he’d come from and Byron’s modest sex pad. “I’ll be watching you. And you don’t want that.”
Byron’s pause was loaded with the potential for a blowup. This house on Edgecliff wasn’t his primary residence. He had the money and power to take it or leave it. Or he could throw his weight around, which would turn me off more than any house he built.
I found myself hoping he wouldn’t.
“Of course not,” Byron replied.
I expected a thinly veiled threat to follow. Some power play. A promise to throw some Crowne influence into the mix. But that was it. He didn’t play for a win. The hands in his pockets weren’t to give Officer Hernandez a false sense of security.
I realized in the next second that his neighbors didn’t know he was a real-estate magnate from one of the richest families in the world and it was important to him that it stay that way.
“You know what?” I said, opening my phone. “I’m going to call an Uber, and you guys can figure it out.”
“Cool.” Hernandez crossed his thick arms and widened his stance. “You wanna step away please, sir?”
The cop wasn’t messing around. He didn’t care that he’d taken as much of a win as Byron could offer. I glanced at the man whose fingers had just gauged the movement of my throat and saw a lion in a trap. Such a small thing, and he was struggling to keep his temper under wraps.
“Two minutes,” I said, holding up the phone. “A red Kia. I’d like to be alone, if possible.”
“You heard the lady.”
“Thank you, officer,” I said. “But I’m feeling a little encroached right now. I’ll be right here until the car comes, but would you mind? Both of you? Just kinda going back into your corners?”
Hernandez nodded first, taking a step back into the street.
“I’ll be right on the porch,” Byron said.
“Thank you,” I replied with a little smile meant to soothe him.
“Good,” the cop said.
“Thank you, officer. I was okay, but thank you for standing up for me.”
“Cool.”
Neither of them moved first. Jesus Christ. Men.
“Okay,” I said. “On three. you both go. One-two-three-go.”
They did. Byron went behind his front gate but didn’t get on the porch. Hernandez joined his buddies on the opposite curb. The car arrived ninety seconds later.
Once I got in, I breathed.
I’d seen Byron lose. I didn’t expect to ever see it again.
At least I knew what was important to him. He’d take a defeat to protect his privacy.
But as the car pulled up to my building, it occurred to me that Byron played the long game.
Would he hold a grudge against his neighbor or let it go?
The same could be asked of what had happened between him and me.
Was his pursuit over?
Or had it just begun?
Chapter 7
OLIVIA
The next morning, my pussy still screamed with dissatisfaction my fingers couldn’t cure. Not even twice. I blamed the fertility meds, the year-plus without sex, the time of the month. All of it was to block out the fact that I hadn’t felt so swollen with lust before I met Byron.
I tried to concentrate on my work, but even as I worked my way through the third motion to compel some basic chain of title documents, the truth kept pushing through.
My mother called. Perfect opportunity to think about anything else.
“Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Fine. I just had a guy come to look at the foundation.” She’d bought a house in the Hollywood Hills at the height of her career and hadn’t updated it since.
“How much?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, so I appreciate the offer you’re about to make, but I have it.”
“Can you live there while they fix it?”
“Not if I get the roof done at the same time. Isabelle already offered.”
“Or you can stay with me.”
“Thank you. I raised my daughters right. I’ll let you know, okay?”
“Okay.”
“The Eclipse event is Sunday night,” she said. The show at the LA Mod happened once a year during a total solar eclipse somewhere in the world. It showcased new and emerging artists to the people who could afford to invest in them. People like the Crownes. “I can’t go, and it’s a lot of fun. Maybe you’ll see someone you know there?”
The emotional openness that made her a terrific model made her terrible at dropping hints.
“Who’s going that you want me to see?”
I knew her as well as I knew myself. She was gl
ad I’d asked.
“Alan Barton,” she said as if she was dangling a carrot in front of a show horse. “Unless you bring a date, in which case—”
“I haven’t had a crush on Alan since eleventh grade.”
We weren’t Crowne rich. We weren’t even Barton rich. But my mother had managed her career and investments well, sending us to private schools so we’d learn to walk comfortably in the halls of power.
“He just got divorced.” More lilting carrot voice.
“That’s too bad,” I said. “She seemed all right.”
“She is truly lovely.” Mom sighed. “But she couldn’t handle it.”
Alan had ignored every high-society imperative and married a Nordstrom’s salesgirl from the shoe department. They’d seemed perfect, but the pressures and expectations of society life must have been a shock. Money cured a lot…but not everything.
“Well,” I said, “that sucks.”
“Will you go? I have to RSVP. It could be fun.”
Relaxing was turning into a full-time job.
“I’ll think about it. Maybe Isabelle can get away.”
“Leo has study group that night.”
“Ah.”
“So. How are the treatments coming?” The question had a candy coating of upbeat life coach over a chewy, tiptoe-tentative core.
“Trying again next week. I’ll call you when it sticks.”
“You know what’s going to happen? You’re going to get pregnant the regular way. You’re going to meet a nice man and—”
“Those are in short supply.”
“Alan’s nice.”
I sighed, trying to see the love and concern in her words instead of the overbearing prompts. She meant well. She’d had a lot of professional success and personal disappointment in her life, and she wanted an easier path for me. So did I, but I didn’t have any idea how to get there.
* * *
The guests at the Eclipse worked hard to be photographed on their best sides while the art worked harder to be cutting edge. The black-tie guests discussed canvasses draped with black garbage bags and gray stucco (a statement about the environmental impact of housing), a molded Styrofoam tower shaped like a tree trunk (permanence and impermanence), a red room with shiny plastic orbs hanging from the ceiling (the bloodstream of consciousness), and a dark room showing a video of a man setting houses on fire.