Lissa The room is just as dark as it was before, the lighting low, the blinds drawn against the windows. Is this guy a vampire or what? I stand awkwardly by the door, looking at him. He’s sitting at his desk, his hands ste epled against his stomach. He points to the chair opposite, and I go and sit down, grateful for the grounding feeling of the cushion against my ass. My legs feel like they might buckle at any moment. There’s something different about the office, and I look around curiously, wondering what it is. The desk's surface looks the same, but several bronze ornaments are arranged around the edge. There are more of them on the shelves, too. Those are new; I’m almost certain of it. For a long while, there’s silence between us. I wonder if he’ll ask me if Adelaide has left, or whether there’s anyone else in the office, but he strikes me as a man who is never taken by surprise about anything. He doesn’t fidget or seem hesitant in anything he does. He’s forthright, uncompromising. Steady. I’m not sure whether it was the way he spoke to me yesterday, the reassuring nature of his words, or his insistence that everything would be approved by me before we start. But I can feel the nerves receding slowly in his presence. Oddly, my body feels something resembling safety. I haven’t felt safe around a man in a very, very long time. But just like that, all the good feelings are gone in an instant. Thoughts of James storm my mind, the memories of the bad times bringing an acidic taste to the back of my throat. Anxiety builds even as I try to push it down, but it’s galloping upward, spiraling into the beginnings of a panic attack. I can’t do this. Why did I ever think I could? What man would want me? I’m useless, ugly, frigid— Heath removes his watch. The strange action catches my eye as I stare at his thick wrist against his fingers as he unbuckles the clasp and moves the watch toward me. It’s a Jaeger-Le Coultre Polaris. I recognize it from the catalogs James used to get in the mail. He never bought one, though. They’re over sixty grand a piece. “I would like you to follow the second hand, please,” Heath says. “Every four seconds, breathe in, then hold it for four, then breathe out for four, and r epeat, if you can.” His voice is a low murmur. “I’ll do the same. We’re just going to breathe for five minutes together, alright?” I frown at him. Is this a joke? Shouldn’t he be ripping my clothes off or something? Why is he wasting his time trying to teach me how to breathe? As I take the watch out of his hand, there is no contact between our fingers, which feels deliberate. I stare down at the watch, the secondhand ticking around each number with calculated precision. After a little while, I realize I’m doing what he said, breathing with it. I’ve tried breathing exercises for anxiety before, and it never made much difference, but this, in the dark cocoon of his office, with him watching me, is a whole new experience. Slowly, my heart begins to settle again, the ball of fear in my chest dissipating and fading. When I look up at him, there’s something new in his eyes, something that looks an awful lot like approval. “Better?” he says, as if he’s discussing the weather. “Yes. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head as I hand the watch back. “Don’t apologize. This is all new.” He reattaches it to his wrist and returns to his previous position. “Are you ready to talk a bit about what we’re going to do?”
I nod, unable to speak as his smoldering gaze meets mine. It’s hard to ke ep my focus on him, the look so intense it sends a little shudder through me. “How do you feel about being tied up?” Jesus. Straight in, then. I glance around the room as if ropes are going to fall from the ceiling and begin coiling around my wrists. “I don’t know,” I r eply honestly. “Sorry. That’s probably not helpful.” “That’s actually extremely helpful.” Tension bleeds out of my shoulders at those words, and the satisfaction returns as he watches me relax back into the chair. “Would you be opposed to trying it at some point? Not today. I wouldn’t introduce it so early. But I’d like to know your thoughts.” I think about it. Seriously. Imagining being immobilized by him, unable to get away. That thought isn’t entirely unpleasant. And that makes zero sense to me right now. “Possibly. Maybe just my hands?” I say tentatively. He nods. “Noted. And how do you feel about toys?” “Uh... like... sex toys?” I say, my cheeks suddenly burning with a ferocious intensity that I find mortifying. His lips quirk into the smallest hint of a smile. “Yes. Like sex toys. Dildos, plugs, vibrators, that kind of thing. Have you used them before?” “No.” James didn’t care about my pleasure. “Hm. Alright. Same question. Would you like to try them?” “I don’t know.” Another nod. “Maybe?” Fuck this is embarrassing. “There’s nothing to be ashamed about,” he says, and I look up at him. “Whatever we do in this room is private. This is a safe space. And you should never feel as if you can’t say what you want to here.” “Am I allowed to ask you questions?” I ask. “You can always ask. I may not always answer, though.” “What about if it’s, um, like, what you’re into?” “You can definitely ask those questions.” “Do you like using them? Toys?” I ask. “I do. Quite a lot as long as the other party is okay with it. I do have one rule, and it’s an important one,” he says. “I ask that you don’t touch me. At all. Unless I invite you to.” I stare at him, surprised by the way he says it as if it’s such a normal thing to request. He doesn’t want me to touch him at all? How are we going to have sex? “That’s the only absolute rule,” he continues. “There are other, smaller things that I may ask of you if needed. But I’m open to trying new things with you if you wish.” “But I can’t touch you?” “No.” I fidget, feeling confused as to how this will work, but going with it. This is his rodeo, after all; I’m just along for the ride. “Have you ever used safe words?” he asks casually. “No.” “Do you understand what they are?” I must be the color of a tomato at this point. “Yes. I mean, I’ve heard of them.” “Would you like to choose some or have me do so?” “Are we going to use them?” I ask, amazed. “Possibly. It’s an important part of the process for me. I never want to do something that makes you uncomfortable, and sometimes it’s easier to have a word we both agree upon in case things need to stop immediately.” “Does ‘no’ not work?” I blurt out, and the curve of his lips is almost devilish for a second. “Some women like to say that, even when they don’t actually want me to stop,” he responds, his voice de eper than normal. A shiver runs up my spine. “You can choose them,” I say quickly, hoping he doesn’t detect the panic in my voice. “Very well. We’ll just ke ep it basic. Yellow will mean to slow down. Red to stop. That means everything stops for the remainder of our time that day. If at one minute past five you say ‘red’, we will stop
and talk through what happened. Is that clear? However, I would ask that you never leave the room without us talking through what has happened. It’s very important to me to understand your needs as well as mine.” “Okay.” There’s a heat in his eyes now that wasn’t there before, like a switch being flipped. It’s an intoxicating transformation and to my total amazement, sends a sizzle of pleasure through my whole body. “Lissa, I would like you to remove your clothes if you are comfortable doing so. Just to your underwear if you prefer. Or ke ep whatever items you wish on your person.” He has a funny way of speaking sometimes, as if he’s a Lord in a huge English manor house. I feel the absurd urge to laugh. Maybe he’s a vampire. Then I realize what he has just asked me to do, and my insecurities rise to the surface like a snake. What is he going to think of my body? I’ve only ever been with one man, and by the end, James couldn’t stop reminding me how inferior it was. I stand up, grateful to remove my uncomfortable shoes, and place them neatly by the chair. “Do you... Do you want me to hang my clothes up?” I ask, wondering if I should leave them in a pile on the chair. “Whatever you prefer, Lissa.” I remove each item methodically and carefully, trying to ke ep Beth’s words in my head as I go. “You’re not ugly, Lissa. An ugly man told you that in order to control you and make sure you never understood how incredible you are. You’re beautiful. Always have been.” My fingers are shaking, but I ignore them as I pull off everything. I had intended to ke ep my bra and panties on, but somehow leaving that for another day is even more terrifying than getting fully naked now. He’s going to see me naked at some point—may as well be today. His face is impassive as he watches me, and I can’t look at him. I’m exposed and vulnerable, standing in front of the chair, my clothes in a pile on top of my shoes. I resist the urge to cover my torso with my arms and instead, clasp my hands behind my back. I’m so pale compared to him. He has an olive skin tone, and I wonder if he’s part Italian. I hate how pale I am. “Thank you,” he says, in the same quiet tone. “Would you turn around now?” I do, trying to ke ep my breathing even. “Beautiful.” I hold back the scoff that threatens to break from my lips. I’m not beautiful, but maybe he’s saying it to put me at ease. After I’ve spun in a complete circle, I turn back to face him. Gradually, as if he’s trying not to spook a skittish wild animal, he rises and walks behind me, picking up my chair and placing it out of the way against the wall. I stand, listening to his movements, hearing the sound of his clothing being removed, wondering what he wants to do to me. Then he returns to stand in front of me, his jacket off, but his shirt still on. I run my eyes over his huge chest. He’s stunning, built like granite, and ridiculously tall. I’m barely as high as his collarbone. “I’d like to make you feel good,” he says, his hand coming up to curl a loose piece of hair behind my ear. “How does that sound?” I chew my lip, nodding my head, without any real clue what that means. The backs of his fingers skim down my cheek and onto my neck. Then, they move further down, brushing over the curve of my breast
before his thumb and forefinger pinch my nipple, very, very gently. A stirring of something rises inside me, but mostly I just feel nerves biting at the inside of my stomach. “Alright?” he asks. I nod, and then he walks away. On the far side of the room is a sculpture. It’s bronze like everything else in the space, but as I look at it, I realize that the shape of it is somewhat strange. The sculpture is balanced on something protruding from the wall. It looks like wings in flight, the base of them forming a V against the wall. He grasps the sculpture, lifting it off the wings and placing it on the floor. Then, he stands back up and does something I can’t see. There’s the sound of metal being moved and unlocked. Turning, he holds out a hand to me. I go to him, curious enough that I’m not as self-conscious about my nudity anymore, and I frown at him as I see what he’s done. The winged shape that was holding the sculpture has been moved outward from the wall, and it’s not so much wings now that I’m looking at it up close. It’s more like two U’s side by side with a soft cushioning fabric on top of a wider platform at the base. I stare at it, still confused as hell, and then Oliver’s hands go to my waist. “I‘ll show you,” he says, and I suck in a breath as he lifts me effortlessly up and then d eposits me on top of the thing. My thighs fall neatly into the valley of each shape, my back connecting with the wall, leaving my legs splayed, my ass supported, and my body open to him in a way that makes me both terrified and incredibly intrigued. “Hm, very nice,” he says in a de ep low voice, st epping back to look at me. “If you need to, you can hang onto the handles beneath you.” My fingers reach down automatically, wanting something to grip, and my palms close on the two cold metal handles. He has this in his office in plain sight. For anyone to look at, never knowing what its true purpose is. Holy shit. Then Oliver lowers to his knees and looks up at me, his eyebrow quirked. “I’m going to taste you, and I want you to try and relax. Do you think you can do that, Lissa?” I make a little sound in voluntarily and then give the tiniest nod. He leans in between my legs, his tongue tracing a long line up my body with no warning and an intensity that makes me jolt violently back. Instantly, his hands come up to grip my thighs as he sucks at my clit, and a surprise yelp falls from my lips. It’s been years, years since James did this, and never with as much skill. I’m panting before I’m aware of it, the small of my back pushing down into the soft seat beneath as he licks at me, his tongue pushing inside my body as he groans low at the back of his throat. That sound has me coming undone already. To hear this huge man vocalize his pleasure is intoxicating. He pulls back, as I let out another tiny cry, looking down at him in shocked amazement. My confusion and surprise must be written all over my face because he gives a low little huff of laughter. “Alright?” he asks. I nod, and he sits back on his heels. “Another rule. I need you to use your words.” “Yes,” I say breathlessly. “And I also need you to be as quiet as possible at the same time. Say what you need to, but no loud noises. This office is soundproof—I need it to be as quiet as possible when I’m focusing on work—but I don’t trust it one hundred percent, and I don’t need anyone to know what happens after hours in here. Do you understand?”
I nod. “Yes.” “I’d like to try something else,” he says, reaching over to one of the lower shelves of the bookcase beside me and lifting one of the bronze ornaments off the surface. It’s small, egg-shaped, and I immediately realize what it is the second he has it in his hand. “Would you let me put this inside you? I’d like to see you come apart for me.” I shudder, looking at it with a ripple of unease. I haven’t had anything inside me for over a year. Will it hurt? It’s small, but still. “Yes or no? It is quite all right if it is a no. I’m happy to continue on like this.” I ke ep staring at it for what feels like an endless moment, and then I finally nod. “Yes. I think so.” I manage, and the way his lips curve up in satisfaction makes me want to say yes to everything he proposes. I want to make him look like that all the time. He stands, holding the toy out to my mouth, a hand coming up to gently encircle my neck. It’s a soft touch, barely there, but it’s proprietary, solid. Grounding me. “Get it wet for me, Lissa.” He rubs the edge of it against my lips until I open them, pushing it inside my mouth. It’s cold, colder than I expected, and I look up at him, uncertain what he wants. His dark eyes spear me with such want I can barely breathe, moving my tongue around it as he pushes it into my mouth, back and forth, soft then hard, his expression difficult to read, but the lust in his eyes is undeniable. “Well done.” He pulls it out. “I’ll go slow.” He lowers it toward my splayed thighs, but as soon as it touches my skin, I tense up. “Do you need me to stop?” I shake my head. “Words, Lissa.” “No,” I say. “I just...” I stop. I can’t say anything helpful like ‘it’s been years’ to him. It would make no sense that I haven’t had sex in— Oh fuck. The tip of it pushes into me, slow and steady, widening and thickening as he ke eps pushing, his hand still on my throat. I groan, my hips rising as he ke eps pushing. I want it harder, suddenly. There’s something at the back of my mind that needs him to shove it into me, make it hurt, make me feel something. Then he does it. As if, in that second, he can read my thoughts, and suddenly the whole thing is inside me in one, harsh thrust. His hand moves from my throat, covering my mouth as I let out a low scream. Holy shit, that feels good. “Are you okay?” I nod, but it seems as if he can read how much I love it on my face; he doesn’t need words now. How can this man, who barely knows me, read me so well already? He starts to thrust, and I lose my mind completely. I’m writhing on the makeshift seat, his hand always somewhere on my body, my throat, my mouth, caressing my breasts as he pleasures me. I’ve never felt anything like this before. This visceral, crazy-good pleasure. He’s completely focused on making me come, and that’s all I want to do. My legs are splayed wide, his hand moving at a steady rhythm, the wet sounds of my body driving me mad until I’m shuddering, my thighs shaking. “Oh, God.” I’ve never been loud during sex. Staying quiet was easier, in case I did something wrong. But today I could scream the whole damn building down. “Are you going to come for me, Lissa?” he asks. “I’m here for you, as long as it takes.”
That’s it. My body clenches around the shape inside me as he shoves it impossibly de ep, his fingers inside me too as my body clenches around it so hard I see stars. It’s the best orgasm of my life. No others even come close. I collapse against the wall, his hand releasing my throat, watching me for a minute, that same look of approval in his eyes. “I’m going to take it out now. I’ll be as gentle as I can.” He pulls it free and places it to the side, balancing it on its end as it glistens in the dim light of the room. I’m still breathless, panting, as his big hands lift me gracefully back to the floor. I struggle to balance, and he supports me for a moment as I lean against him. He smells good, like laundry detergent and spicy deodorant. And then he lets me go and returns to sit behind his desk. The shift is jarring and unpleasant after the intimacy of what just happened. I stare at him, feeling disappointed, and then quickly pull myself together. Jesus, get your head in the game, Lissa. This is your fucking job. I wonder if I should do something crass like thank him or tell him that it was a completely life-changing experience, but instead, I just walk to my pile of clothes and slowly get dressed. I didn’t even offer to return the favor. What the hell was I thinking? Shit. “Is there anything you need?” I ask lamely, once I’m ready to go. My stomach flips as I realize it’s five-thirty. Less than an hour spent in his company, and he didn’t even get off. “No, thank you, Lissa. That was sufficient.” Sufficient. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” “Yes. Have a good evening.” He doesn’t look up as I leave the room, and I walk out of the office in a post-orgasmic daze.