"How?"
"I don't know."
"You want me to decide?"
I do. I nod.
"Good. I'm in charge of this. Of your body. Of your orgasm."
My breath catches in my throat. I should hate it, but I don't. I want that.
My body goes into overdrive. It's pleading for mercy. For release. For everything.
"I want that," I say.
"Good."
He slides his arm around my waist and holds my body against his.
The fabric of his suit is rough against my skin. But it feels good. Like exactly the friction I need.
His hands hover over my inner thighs. His expression stays patient. Like he could wait a million years for me to do as he asks.
A sigh escapes my lips. Half irritated, half desperate. My body is buzzing, shaking. He needs to touch me. Now.
"Please," I say.
Nothing.
I press my palms into the mirror, undoing the arch in my back.
His fingertips brush my inner thighs. Barely. It's enough to send a wave of pleasure straight to my sex.
He strokes my thighs a little harder. A little higher.
I press my eyes closed, taking in every touch, every breath.
His fingers brush my clit.
Fuck.
That feels so good.
Want races through me. Yes. There.
He brings one hand to my chest and toys with my nipples. I arch my back, pressing my crotch against his hand.
A sigh of pleasure falls from my lips.
My body is pure anticipation.
My universe is pure anticipation.
Blake draws circles around my nipples with his fingertips.
His other hand strokes me. It's so soft I can barely feel it. But that only winds me tighter.
A moan escapes my lips.
He strokes me. Harder. Faster. Then it's perfect. Yes.
I groan. It's too loud. But I don't care.
I don't care about anything but his hands on my skin.
I let my eyelids fall together.
My teeth sink into my lip.
He strokes me, faster, harder, more. An orgasm rises up inside me.
Almost.
There.
The next flick of his fingers sends me over the edge.
The pressure inside me unravels.
It spreads to my fingers and toes.
My world goes white. Nothing but pure, deep bliss.
I blink my eyes open. I watch him watch me.
He's intense. In control. Demanding.
And satisfied.
I can feel his cock against my ass.
He's hard.
But he's satisfied too.
I… I don't quite understand.
But I'm not complaining.
I spend the afternoon in the makeup department, attempting to understand the YouTube tutorials that load on my phone. A salesgirl takes pity on me and teaches me how to do a full face.
I even manage to recreate the look myself.
Sort of.
Even so, I make an appointment to come back for a proper lesson. With Lizzy. It's on an afternoon I know she's free.
I meet Blake for dinner at Lotus Blossom, the restaurant that rejected my job application without a second glance.
He makes a show of parading in front of the asshole manager who ignored me.
The place is packed, but we get a table instantly. It's right by the window. With a gorgeous view of Fifth Avenue.
The city is as beautiful as always. Blue bleeds into yellow and cream.
Blake slides his arm around my waist. It's a protective gesture. Sweet, even. But is that for show? Or does he really want to keep me safe?
I'm not sure.
He pulls out my chair. "After you."
I sit, fold my legs, press my palms into my chiffon dress. The pretty pink one. I feel like a fairytale princess in it.
Blake takes his seat. Opens his menu. Takes a quick glance.
I bury myself in mine. Anything to avoid conversation. I have no idea what I want to say to him. We've got nothing in common. But he's going to be my husband.
It's weird.
A waiter drops off water.
I read the menu three times, give up on using it as a distraction, and down my entire glass instead.
Blake's eyes find mine.
I stare back. Try to force a smile. I want to get lost in his eyes. I want to go back to his place and fuck him senseless.
"Kat."
"Yes?"
"This only works if we're honest with each other."
"I'm honest."
"You're annoyed."
"I'm tired. Hungry. Wanting…" I clear my throat. "My sister hasn't answered any of my texts. I don't know where she is. Your assistant seems to think my hair isn't good enough, and my face is sticky from all this makeup."
He nods like my complaints are reasonable.
Maybe they are. I'm lucky, but I'm tired too.
This is surreal.
My new clothes are beautiful. I'm now the proud owner of a bunch of high-end makeup. And I'm dining with the sexiest man in the room.
I fold my arms in my lap. "You like me all cleaned up?"
"Yes, but I liked you before." He reaches across the table, offering his hand. "Look at me, Kat."
"I am."
"Like you love me."
I draw a circle on his palms with my fingertips. Make my eyes as big as they'll get. Part my lips like I'm desperate to kiss him. "Like that?"
"It's good. But I need more."
I slide back into my chair, pulling my arms to my sides. Gaga couples can't be gaga all the time. Especially not when they're starving and waiting to order.
People get into fights. Isn't the passion the whole appeal of a passionate love affair? Passion isn't just long, desperate kisses and bodies thrashing together in ecstasy. It's screaming and fighting and slapping too.
"Kat."
"Yes?"
"Have you ever loved anyone?"
"No. I already told you that." And he said my look was perfect. What's changed in the last week? I dig my nails into my thighs. "Maybe you should show me what you want."
He slides out of his seat and kneels next to me.
Heads turn.
He is in the perfect position to propose. He lifts himself up, so he's a few inches from me. His eyes get wide, soft. His lips curl into a tiny smile.
Warmth spreads through my body. It's not like before. It's not a desperate heat. It's in my chest, not between my legs.
Blake takes my hand and rubs the pad of his thumb against the skin between my thumb and forefinger.
I look away—this is too
intimate—but he reaches for me.
His fingertips graze my cheek. It's a feather-light touch.
It makes me warm everywhere.
It makes me dizzy.
It's bright in here. Loud. But, somehow, I can't hear or see anything except him. I can't help but stare into his eyes. That look is pure affection. It's love. I almost believe it. No, not almost.
I do believe it. Warmth swims to my stomach and cheeks. He loves me.
But he doesn't.
This is all pretend.
He leans closer. Closer.
His lips are an inch from mine. It's not like before. It's not carnal.
It's sweet.
His hands slide into my hair. My eyes flutter closed. I forget everything except the feeling of Blake's lips.
They're soft. Sweet. With the faint taste of lemon.
He pulls back and brings his mouth to my ear. "It's pretend, Kat. It's all pretend."
I nod like I believe him. "I know."
"Can you do that?"
I don't know. But I already agreed to it. I nod.
He shifts back to his seat. His eyes stay glued to mine. "Good."
"What?"
"The way you're looking at me. I believe you."
"Oh, yeah, of course." I press my palms against the chiffon, but the fabric does nothing to absorb the sweat. We nearly had sex in a dressing room. I shouldn't be nervous over a kiss and a few sweet glances.
But I am.
I am staring at him like I love him.
And I'm going to keep doing it without falling in love with him.
Somehow.
Chapter Seven
The limo ride back to Blake's place is slow and not at all fun.
He quizzes me on the biographic details of his life. It's not personal. It's facts, plain and simple.
His father died when Blake was fourteen, he went to Columbia at sixteen on a scholarship he didn't need, he graduated at nineteen. His company was up and running by the time he could drink legally in New York State.
It's like reading a Wikipedia entry. Even when he tells me about his hobbies, he lists then without tone or joy.
Blake plays chess and watches sci-fi films, but they don't seem to make him happy. Is Blake ever happy? I don't know.
He claims he loves his daily workouts.
That he gets all the satisfaction he needs from work.
That he takes great pleasure in cooking elaborate dinners in his free time.
But I'm not sure I believe it.
Blake never looks happy. Not with me.