Текст книги "Asking for It"
Автор книги: Lilah Pace
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
Either because he has me gagged, or because his cock is in my mouth . . .
“Then snap your fingers. You should always be able to do that.” Jonah smiles slowly. He knows he has me where he wants me. “Even in handcuffs.”
I can’t speak. My breaths are short and fast between parted lips. Part of me is terrified by the thought of this man putting me in handcuffs. The other part of me wishes he’d do it this second. Cuff me, drag me out of here and do God knows what for hours—
“Don’t worry. Like you said, I won’t use handcuffs the first time,” he murmurs. “Or ropes, or any other kind of restraints. I realize that’s something I’ll have to earn.”
My voice is husky as I say, “I’d like it if we got there. Someday.”
“Me too. As soon as you’re ready, but not before.” Jonah extends his arm along the back of the couch. He doesn’t put his arm around me. Instead he brushes the curve of my shoulder with his fingertips. The touch sets me on fire. “Anything else you don’t want when we get together the first time? Be specific. Because there are a lot of things I want to do to you. If I should avoid any of them, tell me now, so I don’t get my hopes up.”
Once again I glance around; this is something else I don’t want overheard. “This time—um—no anal sex.”
I blush from even having said that out loud.
Jonah’s fingers stroke the curve of my shoulder again. “That’s a shame.”
“Just not the first time or two. Okay? If this turns out to be too scary for me, too much, then I don’t want that to be a part of it.”
He nods, comprehending. “You haven’t done that before, have you?”
“No,” I whisper.
“But you’d give it to me eventually? That gives me something to work for. Something else to earn.”
In all honesty, I find the idea of anal sex intimidating. It’s not something I’ve ever wanted to do for my own sake. None of the guys I’ve dated had much interest in trying it, which was fine with me.
Still, in my fantasies, it’s often there. A rapist wouldn’t care what I wanted or didn’t want. He’d make me take it.
Just like Jonah eventually will.
“Anything else?” Jonah says. When I shake my head no, he straightens, once again businesslike. “Friday night, then. Unless you have plans—you don’t? Good. Here’s what I want you to do. Go to a hotel; I’ll let you know which one. I will have paid for a room in your name. Check in. Get comfortable. Then, around eight P.M., go down to the hotel bar. Have a couple of drinks. A couple too many.” His eyes burn with intensity. He’s thought out every word of this. “I’ll be there. I’ll try to pick you up. But you’re not interested. When you walk out of the bar, I’ll follow you. At the door of your hotel room, you try to ditch me. I won’t let you.”
It’s as though Jonah has looked down into the core of me and seen exactly what I want. “What then?”
“That’s up to me.”
Oh, God. If I could come just from hearing a man talk, that would have done it. Hearing Jonah make plans for my body has me more turned on than most guys’ foreplay ever has. “Up to you,” I repeat.
“One last thing.” Jonah leans even nearer, so close I think he’s about to kiss me. Instead he murmurs, “How do I make you come?”
My cheeks burn hot, as if we’d been overheard by everyone in the bar. “That should, um, take care of itself.” When he frowns, I have to explain. “Most women don’t get off just on penetration, but I can almost always get there.”
Of course, I get there by fantasizing about being raped by a man, even while my partner is still inside me. When Jonah and I are together, that fantasy will turn real.
“Perfect.” He smiles. “By the way, that night? Don’t wear clothes you’re interested in ever wearing again.”
Before I can even fully envision Jonah tearing my clothes off, he stands up. I’m caught off guard. “Wait. You’re just—leaving?”
“Unless we have anything else to discuss.” He tugs down the tail of his shirt—to cover his hard-on, I realize. Seeing how badly he wants me makes me want him back even more. Jonah, however, acts like he doesn’t give a damn. “If you have any more questions, ask now.”
I know this is the furthest thing from a first date. I know we agreed that the less we found out about each other as individuals, the better the role-playing would be. But I didn’t realize he was cold enough to walk off like this.
Then again, cold is what I need. Cold and unyielding.
Yet one question is difficult to set aside. “Aren’t you going to tell me why you want this?”
Jonah pauses, only for a moment. “Are you going to tell me why you want it?”
No, I’m not.
So I lift my chin. “Friday night at eight?”
“Friday night.”
He turns and walks away without once looking back.
Seven
“Earth to Vivienne.”
I realize I’m still sitting at Arturo and Shay’s table, my half-finished dinner in front of me. Both of them are staring at me—half worried, half amused.
“Sorry,” I say. “My graduate work is taking over my brain these days. Why not? It already took over my life.”
The words come too quickly, too easily. That might be the only thing my mother ever taught me to her satisfaction: how to lie.
Arturo rises from his chair. “Sounds like someone needs a beer.”
“No, really, I’m fine.”
“I’m not,” Shay chimes in. “Get me a ginger ale while you’re up, would you?”
He sticks his tongue out at her, which makes her giggle, then goes to fetch her a can of Canada Dry.
It is not yet Friday night, I remind myself. It is Thursday. The hotel and Jonah and everything else that happens tomorrow is for tomorrow. Today you’re with your friends. Act like it.
Shay is so proud of this meal, too. I’m their first dinner guest in their new place—“trying to make a home of a rented house,” as the song says. She’s into comfort foods these days, learning to make old-fashioned, Grandma’s-house stuff like pot roast, pound cake, and tonight’s chicken pot pie. Apparently that’s a hipster thing, all the home-style recipes. This chicken pot pie is probably ironic. It’s also delicious, though, so yay for hipsters.
We’re eating at a card table set up at the far end of the kitchen. Whatever money they have for furniture is going toward the nursery. For the rest of the house, Shay says they’ll decorate with Salvation Army and Goodwill stuff, or even dumpster diving. (That works better in a college town than it does most places. You wouldn’t believe the things that get thrown out by nineteen-year-olds who didn’t have to pay for it.) So far the house looks pretty bare.
Yet this place already feels like a home. It’s illuminated by the way Arturo and Shay care for each other, the hopes they have for the future. I feel more comfortable here than I’ve felt in my parents’ house—my childhood home—for a very long time.
I would say as much to Carmen, if she were here. Supposedly she has a bunch of test papers to grade. My guess is that she’s still not ready to see Shay as the “woman of the house,” but surely she’s going to get over that soon.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Shay pats my shoulder. “I think you’re pushing yourself. Not taking enough time to rest.”
I try to put her at ease. “I’m in the heart of my research right now. It takes a lot of concentration.”
Which is true. Which is why it’s not exactly helpful to spend virtually every waking moment thinking about getting banged by Jonah Marks.
“I know you have to work hard,” Arturo says as he returns to the table, putting Shay’s ginger ale in front of her. “But that just means you have to play hard, too.”
Did he just say—
“Are you choking?” Shay thumps my back. “Gone down the wrong way, hasn’t it?”
“I’m good,” I say, and I manage not to laugh.
• • •
By Friday night, I don’t feel like laughing.
Whenever I let my mind rush ahead to the hotel room, my whole body trembles with fear and anticipation. I don’t know which emotion is stronger. Right now I hardly know which way is up.
I’ve taken a couple of fail-safe steps. Carmen and I have made plans to go to the farmer’s market tomorrow morning. If I don’t show up at her place by ten A.M., she’ll start looking for me immediately. I also scheduled an e-mail that will go out to her, Arturo, and Shay in three days, if I don’t delete it. The e-mail reads: If something has happened to me, the police should look for Jonah Marks.
Of course I don’t think that’s going to be necessary. If I believed Jonah was definitely dangerous, I wouldn’t go to the hotel in the first place.
. . . but he’s a little dangerous. Enough for the fear to feel very real.
Rush hour. I drive against the traffic into the heart of downtown Austin, to the tallest hotel in the city, which is usually peopled by visiting celebrities, wealthy tourists, or corporate clients. Jonah didn’t skimp. He’s arranged an exquisite locale for his first attack.
“We have you for one night?” the check-in clerk says brightly.
“Yes. Just one key.” How do I sound so calm? The role-playing has already begun.
The room is luxurious in a sophisticated, minimalist sort of way—a broad bed with a white duvet and half a dozen pillows, a long desk of polished wood for the business guests, and soft mood lighting shining from sconces carefully placed on the cream-colored walls. It’s on one of the higher floors, and the windows look out over the cityscape. I admire the view while the sun sets, then close the curtains, so nobody can look in.
Getting here three hours early was overkill. Although I try to watch TV, my mind refuses to focus on the lights and sounds in front of me. Finally I give up and start getting ready. Tonight I want to take my time with it—to carefully put myself together so Jonah can pull me apart.
A long hot shower relaxes me slightly; the sugar scrub I brought softens my skin. I dry my hair upside down so that it will be bouncier and wilder than I usually wear it.
I’d contemplated getting a bikini wax but ultimately decided against it. Better if I seem—unprepared. Still, I use the electric clippers to trim everything neatly. Then I step into a pair of white lace panties. No bra.
For Christmas, my mother gave me this perfume she likes and I don’t. It’s one of those sultry, overpowering 1980s fragrances, the kind of thing that comes in a purple bottle. The scent might as well say fuck me out loud. Tonight is the first time I’ve ever worn it. I apply my makeup like my older sister Chloe taught me, the way I almost never bother with. Most days, powder, mascara, and tinted lip balm do the trick. Tonight, I go with a smoky eye and shimmery blush that contours my cheekbones. The lipstick I wear is dark glossy red.
I bought this dress online last year, on impulse, goaded by the deep final-sale discount and the website’s red letters reading Only One Left! When it arrived, though, I realized it looked less glamorous, more trashy. The filmy, raspberry-colored fabric clings to every curve, and the hem barely covers my ass. Two slender straps hold it in place.
Should be easy for Jonah to tear through those.
Simple diamond stud earrings—anything dangly would just get in the way later. Finally I step into my silver strappy sandals. Done.
I stand in front of the mirror, trying to see myself as Jonah will see me when he walks into the bar. Everything about me says sex. This is the kind of outfit that jackass rape apologists say means a woman is “asking for it.”
Tonight, I actually am. I’m asking for it.
In the hotel bar, I feel conspicuous. Certainly I stand out among the various travelers, most of whom are wearing dark, comfortable stuff that packs well. As I slide onto my bar stool, I have to cross my legs to keep from flashing the entire room. The bartender gives me an up-and-down look before saying, “What can I do for you?” Probably he thinks I’m a hooker searching for clients.
“I’ll have a cosmopolitan, please.” Not my usual poison. It seems like the kind of thing a girl in a trashy pink dress would order.
The bartender gets it to me quickly, just like he does the second one I order. I haven’t yet eaten dinner, so that’s more than enough to make my head swim. “Want another?” the bartender says.
I start to shake my head no, but then a deep voice says, “She’ll have one more. On me.”
Jonah is here.
How did he get in without my seeing him? Then I realize I’ve been staring at the way I came in—the entrance for hotel guests—and he walked through the door from the street. He’s dressed more casually than I am, in black jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt, cuffs pushed up nearly to his elbow. Jonah doesn’t look like a guy who’s here to cruise for women. He looks ready for action. Ready for anything.
Am I ready? Now that he’s here next to me, I don’t know. Yet I stay where I am.
He’s going to try to pick me up. My job is to shoot him down.
“One more cosmo for the lady?” the bartender asks, obviously giving me a chance to turn Jonah down. I don’t say anything.
Jonah answers for me. “One more. And bring me a scotch and soda.”
Once the bartender’s busy making our drinks, I speak to Jonah for the first time. “Thanks.”
He slides onto the bar stool next to mine. “You’re visiting town?”
I didn’t plan out a story for being here, so I keep it simple. “Just passing through.”
“On your own?”
“Mmm-hmm.” I turn my head from Jonah to accept my third cosmo. I don’t dare drink much of it, but I lift the glass, clink it against his tumbler of scotch, and say, “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Jonah’s gaze rakes up and down my body, like he’s already claiming me for his own.
The bartender hurries off to deal with other guests, which leaves us alone.
“Hard to believe, a beautiful woman like you alone on a Friday night,” Jonah murmurs.
I shrug. One of the straps of my dress slides nearer the edge of my shoulder. “Happens to everybody, once in a while.”
With two fingers, Jonah pushes the strap back into place. His touch is so hot it seems to burn. “You wouldn’t have to be alone any longer than you wanted.”
“Sometimes we all need to be alone.”
“I can think of something else you need.”
Arousal and fear both spike within me at once. My head reels. “I’m doing just fine.”
Jonah smirks. “You must get this a lot. Attention from men, guys trying to pick you up. I think you like it.”
“Why would you think that?”
“That dress doesn’t say ‘leave me alone.’” He looks down at my legs, exposed almost to my ass. “It gives a different message.”
“The only message is—good night.” With that, I take my one sip of that last cosmo, then hop off the bar stool. Although the floor is slightly unsteady beneath my feet, I’m able to walk out smoothly, as if I’m paying no attention to Jonah behind me.
But I can hear every footstep as he follows me out.
My heart is pounding so hard that you can see it—the front of my dress rising and falling with my pulse. My cunt is so tight and hot that it almost hurts. This is it. This is really it.
Then my brain suddenly wakes up and takes over, as if someone had thrown a glass of ice water in my face. Are you really doing this? This is dangerous. You hardly know this man. Do you realize how fast your fantasy could become a very ugly reality?
I push the elevator button as Jonah comes to stand next to me. He smiles slowly. “Headed up to your room too, huh?”
“Yeah.” Nervously I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. We’re the only ones who get on the elevator. After I push sixteen, I glance at Jonah again. “Your room is on the sixteenth floor too?”
“They’ve got lots of rooms on the sixteenth floor. Right?”
I don’t answer.
Silver. Say silver. End it here and now. Jonah might be pissed off, but he’d walk away. Wouldn’t he? If he didn’t, at least people would be around. I could yell and scream, and somebody would call hotel security. I could pay him back for the room. It’s not too late to stop this. It’s not too late.
We reach the sixteenth floor. I fish my key card out of my glittery evening clutch as I go to the door. Jonah walks right behind me, saying nothing.
I slide the key card in and out. The light turns green. As I open the door, Jonah leans against the wall just beside me. “Looks like you really are on your own.”
It’s not too late—
But it is. It’s been too late for me for a long time. This is who I am. This is what I want. It’s time to finally face it.
“Excuse me.” I walk inside. As I’d expected, Jonah follows me. He shuts the door hard behind us, and we’re alone. I ought to protest. I should keep playing my role. Instead all I can do is stare at him, standing between me and escape.
Jonah stands there for a long moment, breathing hard. He’s completely turned on—completely ready to claim me—and yet he says nothing. I realize he’s giving me one more chance to speak up. One last out.
I don’t take it.
“What are you doing?” I manage to whisper.
He grins, slow and hot. “Taking what’s mine.”
Eight
Jonah backs me against the wall.
“You like being a cocktease, don’t you?” He slams his hands on either side of me, so that I’m imprisoned by his arms. His muscular body is only inches from mine. “Dress like a whore, get guys to buy you drinks, and then leave them hanging. That’s your game. You’re not doing that to me.”
“Please—” I can’t think of anything else to say. I’ve almost never been this scared, and I know I’ve never been this turned on.
“Shut up,” Jonah says. His voice is quiet, contemptuous. “You don’t talk. There are better things you can do with that mouth.”
This is what he wanted—my total silence, his total control. I surrender without a word.
He grips my wrist. I can feel the pressure all the way through my flesh to my bones. A whimper escapes my lips; Jonah ignores it. He presses my palm against the erection that’s straining the fabric of his jeans, then rubs it up and down the length of his cock. His flesh is hot even through the denim. “Feel that? You did that. You got me hard, so now you have to get me off.”
Oh, my God, he’s huge. Can I even take that inside me?
He’s going to rip me apart. I ought to be scared. Instead I’m so wet it’s slicking my thighs.
“Take it out,” Jonah says. “Take my cock out of my pants. Do it.”
My hands shake as I fumble with the zipper, open the front of his boxers. His cock slips free, jutting into my palm. He’s thick, too.
“Lick your lips. I want your lips wet when they’re on my cock.”
My lips are still sweet from the cosmopolitans. As my tongue traces around my mouth, Jonah breathes out, hard, like I’d just punched him in the gut.
One of his hands fists in my hair. I wince, but Jonah just smiles. He pulls me down by the hair until I fall to my knees. His enormous dick is in my face.
He growls, “Open your goddamned mouth.”
I have no choice. I have to obey.
Jonah pushes forward. His girth forces me to open my jaw all the way; it’s all I can do even to get him inside my mouth. The velvety head is almost into my throat, and I feel like he could choke me like this. I can hardly breathe.
“Suck it.”
I try. He’s so huge that I can hardly use my tongue, but I bob my head back and forth, doing the best I can.
“Look at me.” Jonah’s voice is low. “You look at my face when you suck my cock, do you hear me?”
My eyes go up to his. He’s breathing hard and unbuttoning his shirt with his free hand. The white fabric falls aside, exposing the muscles of his powerful chest. His jaw is set, his lips curled in a mocking smile. The hand in my hair tightens further, until his grip borders on pain.
“Harder. And use your fucking hands. Do me like you mean it.”
I suck harder. Salty pre-come slicks the inside of my mouth, moistens my lips. With one hand I brace myself against his leg—his thigh muscles rock-hard. With the other I start working him, twisting my fist around him with every stroke, pumping his cock. I can feel every vein, every throb.
“I’m teaching you a lesson,” he says. “You don’t dress like a whore and go to bars unless you want to get fucked.”
Pre-come floods my mouth, and I think he’s going to finish any moment. Instead he pulls out, leaving me coughing and gasping for air. Jonah’s so hard it’s got to hurt—his cock swollen and dark—but he holds me there a few long seconds.
He doesn’t want to come yet. That would be letting me off easy.
“Pull your dress down,” he says. “I want to see those tits.”
I tug down the front of my dress, just enough to expose my nipples. With his free hand he slaps at my breast. The impact stings, and I flinch.
Jonah laughs. “You don’t like that? You’re going to get a lot more than that before I’m through with you.” He pushes his fingers between my lips, forcing them open again for his cock. “Now I’m going to fuck your mouth.”
His other hand cups the back of my head, and he starts thrusting. I can’t suck; I can’t do anything but take it. He’s so big that this almost hurts—makes my jaw ache. His cock fills me all the way to my throat. I gag around him, but he just keeps going.
“You’ll think twice before you tease the next guy, won’t you?” Jonah thrusts in harder as he tugs my hair. “Next time a guy treats you nice, you’ll know how to behave.”
Just when I think I can’t take this one moment longer, he pulls out. As I gasp for breath, Jonah tows me upright by my hair. Once again I stand before him on shaky legs. My heavy makeup must be smeared all over my face.
With one hand he palms my breast and squeezes so hard it makes me cry out. Then he reaches under my dress, into my panties. Jonah’s fingers push inside me, a touch meant to insult and bruise.
“Thought you were too good to go to bed with me?” His smile has never looked fiercer. “Then you don’t get a fucking bed.”
He pushes me backward so hard I nearly fall. I stagger against the desk, and Jonah shoves my shoulders down so that I’m splayed on top of it. The wood is hard against my back. Both of his hands grip the top of my dress, and he tears it almost in two. Pink fabric slides down on either side of my body, exposing me completely to his contemptuous gaze.
It only takes one hand to rip my panties apart.
Jonah works so quickly that I only realize he’s putting on the condom when he’s done. His hands shove my knees apart, and then the head of his cock bumps against my cunt. I realize he’s teasing me with it. Making me more afraid. Making me want it.
He whispers, “This is what you get, bitch.” And then he thrusts inside, savagely hard.
Oh, fuck. Fuck. He’s so big—enormous—he’s splitting me apart. The pain is greater than the pleasure, and I push ineffectually at his shoulders. Jonah just grabs my hands and pins them against the desk.
Silver. The word floats up in my mind again, and I nearly say it. But that’s the moment when the pleasure eclipses the pain. Jonah’s cock feels so good inside me, filling me up completely, blotting out everything else in the world.
He starts to move—slowly, at first. Still teasing me. My legs fall apart even wider; my whole body is giving in to him. Jonah owns me now.
He’s speeding up, moment by moment. “You got what you deserved, didn’t you?” he pants. “Tell me.”
“I—I got what I deserved.” My voice sounds dazed, drunk, like it’s not my own.
“Thank me for teaching you a lesson.”
“—thank you—”
Jonah laughs. It’s a sound of triumph. Then he lets go.
I cry out again as he starts pounding into me, hard and fast and brutal. The desk shakes beneath me with each thrust. My breasts jiggle back and forth, and he stares down at them with undisguised satisfaction. The slap of his body against mine is as loud as it is savage.
The pressure and pleasure build inside me with every thrust. Every way Jonah’s hurting me, humiliating me, only makes it better. I push against his hands, not because I think I can get him to let me off the desk but because the fight turns me on even more.
This. This is what I daydreamed about. What I’ve gotten myself off to for years. A man claiming me, using me like an animal, just like Jonah’s using me now. Pumping into me harder, and harder, and harder—
A gasp, dizziness as everything else falls away, and then there’s nothing left of me but the orgasm that takes me over. I clench around him, arching up involuntarily into his thrusts, as the world goes black.
It’s never been this good. Never. Jonah Marks just made me come harder than I ever have in my life.
As I slump back onto the desk, reeling from pleasure, Jonah starts going even faster—so fast no man could hold back for long, and he doesn’t. In moments he’s shouting out, his eyes tightly shut, as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of my arms. His skin is as heated and sweaty as mine. He thrusts one more time, so deeply that he’s buried in me, then goes still.
For a few seconds we stay like that, breathing hard and barely able to move. Finally Jonah pulls out of me, tugs me up from the desk, and tosses me onto the bed. Like I’m something he’s done with and throwing away. I hear him sit down heavily in the desk chair, but I don’t turn to face him. I just lie there sprawled across the covers, completely wrecked.
Always, I believed that if I ever acted out my rape fantasy the way I wanted, this would be the moment where I started to regret it. My pride would return. I wouldn’t be able to believe I’d abased myself like this, that I’d let a man treat me like a possession he owned. No matter how good the sex had or hadn’t been, I thought, afterward I’d be so ashamed it wouldn’t be worth it.
I don’t feel ashamed. Not at all. Even sore and bruised as I am, I’ve never felt better. Jonah is exactly what I always wanted.
“Hey,” Jonah says. He’s himself again. Role-playing over. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I manage to roll over to face him. The remnants of my dress don’t cover my body at all, and I feel strangely shy in front of the man who just fucked me senseless.
I understand the impulse. In some ways, we’ve just seen each other for the first time.
“You’re sure?” He leans forward, though he’s careful not to come too close. Jonah is as sensitive to me now as he was brutal a few minutes before. I nod, and he frowns. “But you’re shaking.”
“—I can’t help it.”
He gets up from the chair. Jonah’s still mostly dressed—his shirt flaps loose on either side of that perfectly defined chest, and once he’s ditched the condom he tucks himself back into his boxers, zips his jeans. I can only lie there, boneless and exhausted, as I hear water running in the bathroom. Then Jonah emerges with a glass in one hand and one of the hotel bathrobes in the other.
“Come on,” he murmurs as he helps me sit up. He holds the tumbler for me as I take a drink of water, then sets it by my bedside. With gentle hands he pushes the rags of my dress off my shoulders and drapes me in the soft white robe.
I never thought Jonah could be this caring.
He brushes a stray lock of my hair from my cheek. “Was that what you wanted?”
“Yeah.” For the first time in my entire sex life, I don’t have to lie. “That was exactly what I needed. Like you read my mind. What about you?”
“You were perfect.”
His gray eyes meet mine. He doesn’t smile, but his expression somehow gentles. Jonah leans forward. I tilt my head to meet his lips in a kiss.
This is nothing like the searing, almost punishing kiss he gave me at the party. This is soft, even tender. He kisses me as though I were something fragile and precious, only moments after he treated me like a whore.
I will never understand the contradictions of this man.
Then he pulls back, and just like that, he’s cool again. He gets to his feet and begins buttoning up his shirt. It’s as if he has an appointment later.
“Are you staying in the room tonight, or do I need to get you a cab home?” Jonah’s voice is businesslike. Crisp.
I try to act casual. “I’m staying.”
“You had a few drinks at the bar. You should eat something. Feel free to charge dinner to room service.”
“I thought the guy usually bought dinner before the sex.”
If Jonah hears my joke, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He tucks in his shirt and glances in the mirror to check his hair. Some of my lipstick is smeared across his cheek. My torn panties lie crumpled on the desk; he uses the white fabric to wipe the lipstick away.
I feel stung. But why? Jonah and I agreed—the less we knew about each other, the hotter the sex would be. So far it’s been scorching; that means we must have been on to something. He’s playing this cool, and I should as well.
“Thanks,” I say as I fold the robe more closely around me and burrow back into the pillows. “I enjoyed this.”
Jonah looks back at me then, and he’s not quite as stiff as he was a moment before. “I did too.”
My body is still weak, but I have to ask, “Does this mean we’ll get together again?”
“You can’t get enough, can you?” He pauses for only a moment. “I’ll be in touch.”
With that, he’s out the door. I’m alone with my torn dress, my sore body, and the aftermath of the most exhilarating rush I’ve ever known.
• • •
The weekend I thought would be filled with regrets is instead the best I’ve had in a long, long time. Room service delivers an excellent steak that night and an even better omelet the next morning. I drive home to my house singing along to the radio. After I’ve thrown away the ruined dress and underwear and deleted those “fail-safe” e-mails unsent, I meet Carmen at the farmer’s market. She notices nothing but a small bruise on my arm that I write off to an accident in my art studio. That afternoon and evening, I’m even able to get some work done on my thesis. The distracting fever dreams of Jonah’s hands on my body—for now, at least, they’re at low tide. I’m completely sated, totally satisfied.
Sunday afternoon, Shay and I go to the movies. The comedy turns out to be fairly stupid, but I giggle helplessly at every dumb joke. “What’s gotten into you?” she teases as we toss our popcorn box away at the end.
“Nothing.” I shrug. My smile must look incredibly smug, but I can’t help myself. “Just in a good mood today, that’s all.” Having the best sex of your life will do that.
The intensity of the pleasure I had with Jonah buoys me up. Even more important, though—I faced down my demons. I claimed what I really wanted. All these years I thought that fantasy would burn me. Instead I walked through the fire unscathed.
Take that, Anthony. You don’t own me anymore.
But I try not to think too much about Anthony Whedon. He doesn’t get to ruin one more day of my life.
