Two clueless bastards to play with?
Why, yes, sir, I’d like that very much.
I smile all the way through my afternoon. All the way home to my apartment. And the whole time I’m soaking my aching feet and my aching body in my nightly bubble bath.
I choose my favorite dress from the closet. It’s a charcoal-gray A-line, wool coat dress with a cut-out back and a tailored waist. The silk lining feels so soft when I slip it on. A nice contrast to the wool exterior.
The zipper goes both directions. Down from the top and up from the above-the-knee hem. So you can button yourself up or let some skin show.
I choose the skin. A push-up bra hikes my tits up to my chin and the stiletto heels make me five inches taller. I want to be as close to eye-to-eye with these men tonight as I can manage.
The entire ensemble is professional in a very alluring way. We are equals, this dress says. In all ways but one. The only one that matters.
I’m the one who owns a pussy in this little relationship.
I chuckle at my reflection in the mirror and… stop.
Am I happy?
Hmm. I have to think about that for a moment.
I’m not a sullen person. At least on the outside. I’m not bubbly. I’m neither dark nor light. But I’m not one of those boring in-between women either.
I’m just careful. And I like to have a plan. So I don’t show happiness much because I think happiness is a weakness. I don’t like to laugh, but I don’t hate it. I don’t make myself unhappy on purpose. In fact, I’m not an unhappy person at all.
I’m mostly quite… satisfied.
“Yes,” I say, straighten my skirt and then plane my hand flat down the front of my breasts to smooth out a wrinkle. “I’m satisfied.”
And it’s not a lie, either. I am pretty damn satisfied right now. My life is going better than expected. I love the job. I can’t wait for Christmas camp to be over at the school so I can get back to seven AM rehearsals and days filled with nothing but straining muscles and self-inflicted, internal mind games as I bend my body into an instrument that needs to be played… just so.
“I’m ready,” I tell the reflection of me in the mirror, just as the doorbell rings. She nods back to me just before I turn away and walk to the front door.
I open it wide to a straight-faced Jordan. He looks me up and down—approves, I can tell these things—and says, “You look very nice tonight, Nadia.”
“Thank you,” I reply, turning so he can grab my coat from the closet near the door and help me into it. It was an automatic gesture and it occurs to me—we know each other now.
He knows where my coats are. He knows I will answer the door and turn. And he will open the closet, get a coat, and help me into it.
No words necessary.
Is that… strange? I wonder about this as he lifts my hair out of my coat and arranges it along my back.
“Bric’s in the car,” Jordan says in his low, gruff voice. He’s not unhappy right now. In fact, he seems a little subdued.
I turn around and reach for my small clutch bag on the foyer table. “Is everything OK?” I ask.
He gives me a questioning look. I’m not usually interested in his moods. Beyond horny, that is. “Yes, why?”
“You seem… quiet.”
He shrugs. “I’m not.”
“Well, you look nice too,” I add for lack of anything else to say. He is quiet. Something is wrong. But… whatever. I’m not really interested. So the compliment is just a time filler. “I like this suit. Is it new?”
“Yes,” he says, looking down at himself. And then he smiles. “My mother gave it to me for Christmas.”
“Did she?” He’s never talked about his mother before. And I had no idea where he was for Christmas Day. But apparently, he was with family. Good for him.
“Yes,” he says, holding out his arm for me. I take it and we step out into the hallway, turning together, just enough so I can pull the door closed behind us. “She says I’m big and important now, so I should dress the part.”
“The other bazillion-dollar suits weren’t up to her standards?”
We both grin as he shakes his head. “God, don’t get me started on my fucking mother and her goddamned standards.”
I smile all the way down the hall, picturing his uptight mother. I met her once. By accident. God, I was horrified when I realized who she was. Where I was. Jordan took me to a party just before Christmas. I only said yes because I mistakenly presumed it was a work thing.
It wasn’t. It was a family thing. At his parents’ home, if you can call a twelve-thousand-square-foot mansion in Cherry Creek a home.
He fucked me senseless in his childhood bedroom.
And just thinking about it now kinda makes me wet. I wonder if we’ll fuck tonight or if it will be all games?
“What is going through that dark mind of yours?” he asks me as he waves me into the elevator.
I wait for the doors to close and the car to descend before I answer. “Fucking you tonight,” I say. “What else would I be thinking about?”
“Do you think we will? Fuck tonight?” He’s trying to hide a smirk.
“Why wouldn’t we?” I ask.
“You might not like Bric’s terms.”
“Hmmm,” I say. “Should I be worried?”
The elevator doors open and he waves me through. “Yes, Nadia,” he says with a long sigh. “You should. He’s not like me.”
“What’s that mean?” I can see Bric through the lobby doors. He’s waiting in the car. We walk down a few steps and cross the main lobby. There’s a few people having drinks at a bar. A few more sitting in small gatherings, talking. This place reminds me of a hotel.
“He’s very good at playing games.”
“Well, so are you, right?”
“No,” he says, serious. He opens the vestibule door and waits for me to enter. The doorman is busy outside, talking to someone. But he sees us and jogs to get the second door before we reach it. “He’s serious. This game he plays, Nadia, it’s fucking real to him, OK? So don’t push the guy too far.”
“Or what?” I ask, just as the doorman opens the door for us and we step out into the cold winter night.
“He’s been known to… go too far sometimes. He’s dangerous.”
“And you’re not?” I just barely get the words out before we reach Bric’s waiting car.
But there’s no time for Jordan to answer me. He doesn’t even try. The doorman is there, opening the passenger side door. Jordan veers away to walk around to the other side. I slip in next to Bric and Jordan gets in behind him.
“You look nice,” Bric says, glancing over at me as he revs the car engine.
“Thank you,” I say.
The two of them talk after that, Jordan from behind, Bric glancing up into the rear-view mirror to see him. And I am left to wonder just what the hell Jordan was getting at back there.
He’s dangerous? So? Aren’t all men dangerous?
I shake it off and enjoy the smooth ride as we make our way through downtown.