“Just asking,” I say.
“Unless you don’t want to go home,” he adds, grabbing a plate and setting it on the counter. He doesn’t sit, just leans his body into the island and starts cutting his pancake with a fork.
He brings the food to his mouth and I watch him eat. He has nice lips, I decide. And then I picture his face between my legs. His unshaven jaw of stubble. His tongue doing its thing.
“Do you want to go home, Nadia?” he asks.
“I… think I have to. I live there, after all.”
“You could just stay here.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” I say.
“We’re getting a place anyway, right?”
“Are we?” I ask. “Seems to me that we were supposed to do that last weekend and you bailed.”
“I forgot.” He shrugs. “New Year’s weekend. My real-estate guy wasn’t working. But we can look this week.”
“Well, if we find a place I’ll move into it, I guess. But I don’t want to live at your club.”
“Why not? You’re wearing my club shirt.” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
“I don’t have any clothes. You let people rip them off me last night.”
“That was fun, wasn’t it?” He grins like a boy who is very proud of himself.
“I’m not sure I’d call it… fun.”
“Well, I do,” he says, redirecting his attention to his food. “And since the date is not over yet, we’ve got more fun coming.”
“Do we?” I ask.
He nods knowingly. “Of course, you can say no if you’re not into fun.”
“What are you into?” I ask. “Besides fun?”
“Oh, is this getting-to-know-me time? What does Bric like? What makes Bric tick?”
I pick up a piece of bacon and take a bite. “You’re a good cook,” I say. “I know that much.”
“I’m an excellent cook. Did you know,” he asks, “that I own a tea room with Chella Walcott? And I actually helped create one of the scone recipes.”
I smile and shake my head. “I did not. But very interesting.”
“It’s called Bric’s Strawberry Tart.”
“Does it taste like pussy and come dressed in red leather thigh-highs?” I ask, shoving some toast into my mouth before I laugh.
“Strawberries,” he says. “Hence the name.”
“Why are you telling me this? So I can gush over the fact that you bake?”
“I thought you wanted inside my head? I’m just trying to give you a well-rounded example of who I am.”
“Playboy,” I say. “Check. Deviant. Check. Bisexual.” I smirk now. “Check.”
“So you liked it, huh?”
“You sure seemed to. Especially the parts that involved Jordan. Kissing him. Touching him.”
“If you think that’s gonna set me back, embarrass me, well”—he laughs—“you’re gonna have to try a little harder. I’ve been doing this a long time, Nadia. I’ve had plenty of guys in my game.”
“But you won’t fuck them?” I ask.
“Why would I? I’m not gay.”
“I’m pretty sure bi men also like to fuck each other.”
“I like to fuck women,” he says. “But if it turns you on I’ll play a little harder next time.”
I take whole moments to picture what that might mean.
“Does it turn you on, Nadia?”
I nod. “Mmm-hmmm.”
“You’d like to see a little more of that?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“And let me guess, you’d like to be in control too?”
I get wet from that offer.
“For sure,” I say, scissoring my legs together. Enjoying the stimulation.
He nods, smiling as he looks down at his food, then looks back up at me, smile gone. “You’re not in control here, bitch. So make sure you remember that.”
“Fuck you,” I say. “You’re the one who wants me here.”
“You want to be here, Nadia. Otherwise you’d have never agreed to any of this.”
“I was playing with Jordan, not you.”
“And now you’re playing with both of us. So either get on board or get the fuck out.”
I just stare at him for a second, then recover. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“Everyone knows that, Nadia. Try to keep up, will you please? You’re making this so easy.”
“Easy?” I scoff.
He reaches across the table and grabs me by the hair so fast, I gasp. “Do you want to play the game or not?” He growls it out. A low, deep rumble like it came from deep inside his throat. His eyes are intensely serious. No trace of a smile on his lips. No sign of the man who just cooked me breakfast.
And all this while wearing that ridiculous apron.
I grab his wrist and push him away, but he holds onto my hair and pulls me halfway over the soapstone counter.
“Stop it,” I say.
He lets go and I ease backward. A smile slowly forms. His lips barely curling up at the edges. An evil smile, I realize. A smirk. Nothing friendly about it. “Do you want to know why you’re here, Nadia?”
“I came here to fuck,” I say, practically spitting the words out. “And I did that. And now I’m done.”
I turn away, but he grabs my hair again and it pulls. Harder this time. I refuse to react again. I refuse to give in to him like this. “If you hurt me again I will press charges.”
“You’re the one who said—what was it again? ‘We’re all gonna get hurt, that’s not a secret?’ You said that, Nadia. You came into this game to hurt us. And now you’re what? Mad because we’re gonna hurt you back?”
“Let go of my hair,” I snarl. “Now.”
He lets go and then eases himself back over to his side of the counter. “Do you know why you like to submit?” he asks.
I have to laugh at that. “I don’t like to submit, Bric. I’m playing a game, remember?”
“You like it because you’re out of control. You like it because someone hurt you in the past. You like it—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I say, cutting him off. “You have no goddamned idea what you’re talking about.”
“Were you abused, Nadia? Did your daddy—”
I slap him. Hard. Right across his stupid fucking face. And then I slap him again and make it count.
Chapter Nineteen - Bric
She’s absolutely still. The slaps still echoing in my ears. My face stinging like fuck.
She hits back. And she hits hard.
I like it.
“Humans are violent by nature, Nadia.” She’s breathing fast. Just two feet away across the island. Hand still in the air. “They require limits. That’s why you want to submit.”
Her chest rises and falls. “I don’t submit to anyone, Elias.”
“No?” I ask. “Then why are you here?”
She says nothing.
“To bend me over and fuck me backwards like you do the boys at that club the other night? Do I like Jordan? That’s your question? Sure. I like him enough. He likes me enough. And we’re alike in a lot of ways.”
“Not that many as far as I can tell.” She says it softly. Trying to convince me she’s in control. “And I’m going to leave now.”
But she’s so out of control. “Why?” I ask. “Your needs aren’t being satisfied?”
“You only care about your needs.”
“Funny,” I say, looking away for a moment before looking back. “That’s funny. I seem to recall meeting all of yours last night.”
“After you fucked my mind for a few hours.”
“I’m not gonna make a big deal about the slaps, Nadia. So if you’re worried about that—”