He smiles. “I like that you’re thinking about the future. I’ll have plenty of chances to give you what you want.”
It hadn’t even occurred to me before today that Jonah might have been considering a onetime fling. Now that I think about it, that makes more sense than assuming we’d keep playing out this scenario. But I’ve wanted this too long, too much, to assume one night will be enough to get it out of my system. If Jonah’s the right partner for this fantasy, then we have a chance I don’t intend to waste.
Already I sense that one taste of Jonah Marks won’t be enough.
“Yes.” I meet his eyes evenly. “Assuming we decide we like it.”
“I think we will.” My God, his smile right now—it’s hungry, and animal, and I know he’s imagining having me. This instant. The knowledge shakes me in the best possible way.
The waiter shows up with Jonah’s wine. We both fall silent just as long as it takes for Jonah to accept the glass and toss the waiter a twenty. “No change.”
This wine was only $10 a glass. The waiter brightens. Me, I’m glad I bought my own drink. I don’t want to owe anything to Jonah Marks. Yet.
As soon as we’re alone again, Jonah says, “We should talk about what you don’t want the first time versus what you don’t want, ever. If we set the ground rules up front, it’s going to be better for both of us.”
That makes sense. I’ve been thinking this through ever since he made his audacious offer, and by now I think I know what to say. That doesn’t make it easy to get the words out. “Well. Let’s see. I already said that I don’t want you to tie me up the first time, and I guess we worked out the safe-sex thing . . .”
Jonah nods, a touch impatient. Although I never noticed him moving, he seems to have edged closer to me on the sofa. Our knees are nearly touching, now, and his gaze is locked on mine. My uncertainty is a turn-on for him, I realize. How could it be any other way?
Knowing he feeds off my fear makes me even more nervous. It takes me a few seconds to continue. “Okay. Some things I don’t want you to do, ever—one, no weapons. If you have a knife or a gun or something, it’s not going to be hot for me. It’s going to scare me to death.”
Jonah looks startled. He must never have considered that. “No weapons. Absolutely.”
I count the next point off on my fingers. “Two, I realize I might get—banged around during all this, but please try not to actually injure me or cause me serious pain. I’m not a masochist; I don’t get off on that kind of thing.”
“I’m not a sadist, so that works.”
Maybe he’s not a sadist in the physical sense. Emotionally? He has to be. How can you dream about raping women and not enjoy hurting people, in soul if not in body? I guess if you don’t understand what that does to a woman—how badly rape screws with your head, the scars it leaves—you could imagine that your pleasure wouldn’t cause someone else lasting pain.
For a moment I’m angry. I want to tell Jonah everything he doesn’t understand. Make him know how terrible it is.
But I need him to be fucked up, don’t I? The only possible partner for these games is someone as bent as I am.
“All right,” I say. “Third, you don’t film this. You don’t make an audio recording, and you don’t take photographs.”
He looks disappointed. That’s something he wanted, then. “I’d never put anything like that online, or show it to anybody.”
“I believe you, but stuff like that can fall into the wrong hands. Remember the scandal with all those movie stars last year? Some ‘revenge porn’ sites actually hack people’s computers and cell phones. They steal the images if they can.”
This is when I learn what Jonah Marks looks like when he’s angry. His expression darkens, as do his gray eyes. His body tenses, like he wants to throw a punch but isn’t going to let the guy know when it’s coming. “Any man who would do that to a woman is scum.”
I nod. It’s so strange, the division within him—how he can simultaneously hate men who take advantage of women and yet fantasize about being one of them. “So no recordings, no pictures?”
He gives in gracefully. “None.”
“Okay. Finally—this is my last not-ever thing, I think—” I glance around the bar to be sure nobody has wandered closer while I was distracted. Nobody has, but I lower my voice anyway. “Please don’t come on me.”
Jonah blinks, as if he’s surprised. I guess he would be. We’re talking about getting as kinky as anyone can, yet I don’t want him to do something that ordinary.
I don’t. I really, really don’t.
At last he says, “Okay. I won’t.”
If he’s not coming on me, he’ll come in me. I imagine him in my mouth. Suddenly I want to taste him so badly I nearly moan.