After he sucks in a couple of deep breaths, Jonah pulls out. “Get dressed,” he says roughly. “And get in your car. I’ll see what I can do.”
I pull up the front of my sundress but don’t bother with the zipper. As I feel around the floorboards, my fingers find my panties, still wet. The red heels are easy enough to step into, but my legs wobble beneath me as I get out of Jonah’s car and walk toward my own.
Had I ever thought that if we did it again, it wouldn’t be as good as the first time? In some ways tonight was even better. Jonah knows how my mind works. Without my ever having to tell him, he knows how to be the dark, dangerous man of my fantasies. How many different scenarios could he play out?
I want all of them.
I sink into my car and shut the door. Leaning forward, I brace my forehead against the steering wheel and try to catch my breath. I’m flushed and woozy. Next time I should bring a cold bottle of water with me, for after.
But next time could be anywhere . . .
The passenger-side door opens, and Jonah gets in. At first I think he’s going to role-play the end of it, telling me he’s fixed my car so I can go home. Instead he gently brushes a lock of hair from my sweaty face. “Are you all right?”
I nod. “That was—amazing.”
“Yeah. It was.”
“It’s like—like you read my mind that night we met. You did everything I dreamed you might do to me.”
“And you gave in even more perfectly than I dared to imagine.” Jonah’s hand slides down my bare shoulder, a lover’s caress. “God, you have no idea how good it feels. The way you trembled the first time I touched you—”
He gets off on my fear, or my simulation of it. Shouldn’t that be enough to make me frightened of him for real? But I crave him just the same. Jonah pushes me past my limits, and I want him to.
I tilt my head and smile at him. “Not going on any more trips to the South Pole?”
Jonah laughs—the first natural, easy laugh I’ve heard from him. “No. I haven’t got anything scheduled.”
“So we don’t have to wait a month for the next time?”
“I don’t intend to wait nearly that long.” His pale gaze drifts to the loose bodice of my sundress, like he might peel it off me again this second. “What do you want, next time? Where? When?”
There is no end to what I want from Jonah. We could fuck every night for a year and I still wouldn’t have run out of fantasies for him to fulfill.
Yet the fantasy itself is about losing control. And Jonah knows me so well—or his desires match mine so closely—that I don’t have to give him instructions. All I have to do is turn myself over to him, completely.
How can I best fulfill his fantasies? By giving him the most control. The most power.
“Next time,” I whisper, “—surprise me.”
“You mean . . . just find you when you’re not expecting it. Take you wherever you are.”
“And however you want.”
Jonah doesn’t say yes. Instead he leans forward and kisses me, a deep, searching kiss that tells me I’ve turned him on all over again.
Our mouths part. He whispers, “Good night, Vivienne.”
I would tell him good night too, but he’s already halfway out the door. It slams shut, sealing me back into my supposedly normal life.
But I don’t feel lonely or rejected. I’m beginning to learn the rules. Besides, I can’t stop smiling from both satisfaction and anticipation.
When he finds me next time, it’s going to be so fucking good.
Fifteen
Even though I slept no more than five hours, when I wake up I feel refreshed. Energized. Ready for anything. Faint bruises on my hips remind me of how Jonah held me down, but they don’t hurt. I run my hand over them and smile.
As I walk to the car, I remember the deal Jonah and I made. He could come after me at any hour—any moment—
But let’s get real. It won’t be this morning. Hopefully he’s still sound asleep with a smile on his face. Me, I’m going to use this energy to work.
I indulge myself with a quick spin through Sorrento’s drive-through for a café au lait, then head straight to the nearby studio where I create most of my artwork. Even though I’m studying to be a curator and historian of art, that doesn’t mean I don’t love doing my own work. It’s been too long since I allowed myself to get lost in the flow of it. (Don’t ask me how art school gets in the way of actually creating art, but sometimes it does.)