He wants me to name the scenario. It’s not that I don’t know what I want from him; it’s that the list is so long that I hardly know where to begin.
Besides, the control should be Jonah’s. When I do this, I turn myself over to him, completely.
“When you imagine taking me,” I whisper, “what is it like?”
“So many ways. Different positions, different speeds. Slowing down to pin you under me forever. Speeding up until I’m pounding you senseless.”
Oh, God. I writhe atop my covers, my panties are already starting to get wet. “Yes,” I say.
Jonah keeps going. “Sometimes I think about that night we met. I hated myself for the things I wanted to do to you, but I still wanted it. Wanted you.”
“I wanted you too. I wanted you to—to make me thank you, or just push me into the backseat.” Those fantasies tormented me so much that night. Now they’re fuel for the fire building within me. “So let’s do that.”
“That’s what you want next time? To act out how we met, and what we really wanted?” Jonah likes the idea; I can tell. “Whenever you want.”
My cunt pulses so hard that for a moment I think I’m going to come right here. “Tonight.”
After a moment of silence, Jonah says, “Now?”
I sit upright on the bed. “Now.”
“We’ll need thirty minutes.” He sounds impatient; even half an hour is too long. “Meet me—in Zilker Park. On Columbus, past that first side road. Wear that little sundress again.”
Am I really going to do this? Head out into the dark right before midnight, to turn myself over to Jonah?
“Yes,” I say, and I hang up without another word. It’s not like that was good-bye.
I take a two-minute shower so I won’t go to our rendezvous smelling like detergent. My hair gets a quick comb-through, and I waste a few precious moments in front of my jewelry box, trying to remember which earrings I wore that night. In the end, I just grab some simple silver studs. The red sundress is clean, and without my bra, I appreciate the softness of the cotton more than ever before. Panties are probably a waste of time, but I bet Jonah’s dreamed about tearing them off. When I met Jonah, I was wearing pretty simple sandals, but tonight I put on crazy high stilettos. Then I hurry to my Civic and drive to the rendezvous.
At this hour on a weeknight, even the streets of Austin are mostly bare. Downtown there would be some activity—but not out here. The city lights are invisible, hidden by the park’s many trees. I pull my car off the main road, onto the gravel shoulder.
Nobody’s likely to drive out this way. If someone does, we’ll be able to see the lights far enough in advance to keep a passerby from seeing anything and . . . drawing the wrong conclusion. Jonah chose well.
I step out of the car. Dry grass crunches beneath my high heels. The only illumination close by comes from my headlights. The September night is as sultry as July, and the sound of cicadas shimmers louder, softer, then louder again. It’s the sound of heat itself, of summer bearing down on you without mercy.
The last time I met Jonah like this, I had a flat tire. Puncturing it now would be taking reenactment too far. General car trouble will do.
Then, in the distance, I see a car driving up behind me.
At first I flush with excitement—and then I think, what if it’s not him? What if some other person—some other man—is about to drive by and see me supposedly stranded and helpless on the side of the road?
Every danger I faced that first night comes to life again within my mind. The adrenaline pumping into my blood suddenly feels more like fear than arousal.
I take a couple of steps closer to the car door—I can get inside within seconds and drive away if need be. Then I stand there, breaths coming fast and shallow, as I try to make out the shape of the car coming closer.
A sedan, low and dark and long, like something a Secret Service agent would drive. It’s Jonah after all.
The flush of fear mingles with my relief, and my desire. That hint of terror will make everything just real enough.
I take a deep breath and let it out. I don’t have to control myself any longer.
I’ll give myself to Jonah, and everything else—the things that worry me, that haunt me, everything—it will all fall away. Jonah will be the only one left.
Fourteen
He gets out of the car slowly, making me wait for it.
Before Jonah even looks at me, his gaze scours the area around us. He’s looking for anyone who could see us—anyone who could stop him. But there’s no one.
He’s wearing cargo pants and an olive green T-shirt, both cut slightly looser than his normal attire. Yet his muscular body still shows through, as rugged and brutish as ever.
Finally Jonah’s eyes meet mine as he steps forward, the outline of his body painted starkly by the headlights. He lifts one eyebrow. “Trouble?”