By the time we arrive at his building, I'm grieving for the loss of joy in his life.
I've had it hard the last few years. But I do find pockets of happiness. Brunch with Lizzy. A great graphic novel. Running around city streets. Catching snow on my tongue. Lingering under the cherry trees. Sketching.
He leads me through his building's sleek lobby. Straight to the shiny silver elevator in the back.
He hits the penthouse button.
The doors slide together.
The elevator moves slowly. There isn't enough space in here for how much I want him. It's sucking up every ounce of oxygen.
Finally, the doors slide open.
We move through the hallway. He pulls out a key, unlocks his apartment door, and holds it open for me.
"Thank you." I step inside.
It's huge.
Four times the size of our place. It reeks of money.
Hardwood floors. Black leather couch, stainless steel appliances, thick oak table, floor-to-ceiling windows.
There's a balcony. An enormous balcony overlooking the park. I move towards it without thinking.
"Careful," he says. "It's cold out."
Somehow, Blake beats me to the sliding door. He pulls it open. Cold air rushes inside.
My dress blows in the wind. It would be gorgeous in a panel—a girl alone on the balcony. Or a girl with a beautiful man, her dress blowing behind her, his hand under her chin, his eyes on her.
Like he loves her.
Like she loves him.
But that part is fake.
Blake reaches up to turn the heating lamp on. It glows bright orange.
I move towards the edge of the balcony. The railing is cold against my hands. Against my waist.
I peer over the edge.
That's a long way down.
My knees wobble. His hands go right to my sides.
He pulls me backwards. "Careful."
"Girl overboard. That would raise your insurance. And the whole death could be an accident or suicide or homicide thing." His swanky pad would be perfect on an episode of Law & Order. The setup is classic. The rich guy who always gets what he wants. The pretty young woman found dead in a cocktail dress and heels. A wisecrack about an unfortunate ending to a party. Hell, it writes itself.
His hands dig into my sides. "I'd hate to lose you."
"Because I'm useful?"
His hands slide down my hips, all the way to the hem of my dress. "Because I'd hate to lose you." His fingers skim the outside of my thigh. "You can admit you're nervous."
"I'm just kidding."
He drags his fingers up my thigh, until they reach the outside of my panties. "You're scared."
My eyelids press together.
The wind rushes around me. It blows my hair in every direction.
Yes, I'm scared.
But it's not the sex that scares me.
It's everything else.
The possibility of falling in love with him. Of losing track of what's pretend and what's real.
Of him breaking my heart.
"Kat?"
"A little."
He drags his lips over my neck. Slides his hand under my dress. His fingers dig into the straps of my thong. "Have you ever heard of a safeword?"
"Yes. Do we really need that?" Is it getting that intense? I'm not sure if I can handle anything intense enough to require a safeword.
"It never hurts." His breath warms my earlobe. "I'm going to make you feel so much that you're going to want to scream no, I can't take any more."
"How do you know that?"
"I've done this before."
I can't argue with that. And it never hurts to be cautious. "Okay."
"How about chess?"
I can't help but laugh. "Chess?"
"Yes."
"Because it's the only thing you do besides work?"
"Because it's easy to remember and hard to confuse." His fingertips graze my neck. "Do you have another word in mind?"
"No, I guess chess is fine."
"Good." He brings one hand to my hip. The other goes to my lower back.
His fingers close around my zipper.
Slowly, he undoes my dress and pushes it off my shoulders.
Cold air hits my skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat racing through me. I'm on display for anyone on a nearby balcony. Anyone at the park.
For him.
The thought makes me hotter.
There's a power in being looked at. I never noticed it before. But I can feel Blake's gaze on my skin. Even with him behind me.
He unhooks my bra and tosses it aside.
He slides his hand over my chest, cupping my breast and rubbing his thumb against my nipple.
Mmm. He's way too good at this.
I lick my lips. Tilt my head. Press my neck against his mouth.
He scrapes his teeth against my skin. It's soft. A tiny burst of pain. But that only wakes up my nerves. It makes everything sharper.
Blake lets out a low grunt as his hands find the edges of my panties. He bends to slide them to my ankles.
I step out of them. Somehow, I stay upright. These heels are sturdy. Comfortable even.
"I'm in charge now, Kat. All you need to do is feel."
My sex tightens. My body gets light.
The thought of giving up control terrifies me.
And thrills me.
I… I don't know if I can do this.
But I want it so badly.
It's on my tongue. Chess.
It's a strange thought. And a strange word. But I can't give up now. I have to do this. I want to.
"I… what if I can't handle it?" I ask.
"You can."
I don't know why, but I believe him.
"Do you want me to fuck you?"
"Yes."
"Do you trust me with your body?"
I don't know. "I think so."
"Then listen. And breathe. Okay?"
I nod. I can do that. Probably.
His hand slides around my waist. "Come with me."
I follow him inside.
He closes the door behind us. Stops. Stares at me like I'm a painting hanging in a museum.
He studies every inch of my body with wide-eyed appreciation.
I've never felt particularly beautiful or desirable.
But I do right now.
Right now, I feel like the most beautiful woman in the universe.
His gaze meets mine. "Are you on birth control?"
"No," I say. "I don't date."
"I'll make you an appointment."
"I can handle it."
"I'm clean. I'll send you the test results if you'd like."
"Okay."
He leads me into a bedroom.
It can't be his. Everything is too clean, too warm, too feminine. The bed is dressed in white cotton sheets. A chiffon curtain covers the window. It's the same pale pink as my dress.
Blake opens the drawer and pulls out a condom. "Sit on the bed."
My head thinks up all sorts of objections, but my body cuts through every one of them.
His voice gets low. Rough. "Now."
I plant my ass on the bed. It's firm. An expensive foam mattress.
Palms flat behind me, I lean back.
Blake's brows raise. His gaze moves over me slowly.
"You're fucking gorgeous." He reaches into the dresser and pulls out something black. "You own my thoughts, Kat."
"I do?"
He nods. "I keep drifting off during meetings. Thinking about splitting you in half when I should be thinking about numbers. It's a disease, but I don't want a cure." He shuts the dresser drawer. "Lie down, arms above your head."
The expression in his eyes commands me.
I obey immediately.
I shift onto my back and lift my arms.
He shifts onto the bed. His knees plant outside my thighs. His crotch presses against mine.
It's not enough.
I ne
ed more of him.
Blake reaches for my hands and ties a black rope around them. Then he ties the rope to the railing of the headboard.
He tests the strength of the knot. "Okay?"
I nod.
"What's the safeword?"
"Chess."
"Good."
He slides his jacket off his shoulders. Then the tie.
I shift back, testing my mobility. My legs are free. I can do whatever I want with them.
But my arms are in place.
I'm at his mercy.
It's equal parts scary and intoxicating.
I can't see him from this position, but I can feel him.
The warmth of his body. The weight of him shifting the bed. The sound of his breath.
Buttons undo. Then a zipper. Pants hit the ground.
He comes into view. One hand plants outside my shoulder. The other brushes hair behind my ear.
His eyes lock with mine.
It's sweet.
Caring.
Then his eyelids are pressing together and his lips are on mine.
He tastes so good.
Desire collects between my legs. He's been teasing me all day, offering this all day.
I need him to make good on his word.
I need him. Period.
His hands slide down my chest. His thumbs brush my nipples. Then he's dragging his hands lower.