I want him to lick me. I want to come again. I want more, I realize.
But he doesn’t give me more. He just continues his job until he’s done and then stands up. “We’re going to eat now. The food should be here soon. Get dressed. Can you do that by yourself?” he asks with a worried expression.
I huff out a laugh. “Sure,” I say.
He leaves me, walking out of the bathroom, then the bedroom, and I can hear him talking on his phone in another part of the apartment.
I put on sleep clothes. Light pink terrycloth shorts and a white tank top. I’m done for tonight. When I glance at the clock I realize it’s only five-thirty. I’m getting old, I think. I’m spent.
He’s dressed in his suit when I meet him in the living room. Minus his jacket, which is lying neatly across a dining room chair. And he’s relaxing on the couch. He pats the cushion next to him—indicating that I should sit. So I cross the room and sit, my body automatically melding into his.
“Opposites,” Bric says as he puts his arm around me. “We’re opposites. Do you know why people are so attracted to opposites, Nadia?”
I shrug. “It completes them, I guess.”
“Nice answer,” he says, chuckling a little. “Yes and no. People are attracted to their opposite because it excites them. We’re having a power struggle, you and I. You like to be in control. I like to be in control. So we have to give a little.”
“But that just means we’re the same,” I say, thinking it through.
“No,” he says. “You and I are not the same at all. You’re female, I’m male. You’re creative, I’m logical. You want to be taken care of. I want to take care of someone. Opposites do complete each other, but the underlying reason they feel that way is what really matters.”
“I don’t think I want to be taken care of,” I say.
“Everyone wants to be taken care of, Nadia.”
“Then we’re the same,” I say. “You’re included in everyone.”
“True,” he says. “I am. But you make me feel taken care of when you submit to me. When you trust me. When you let me take care of you.”
“Hmm,” I say, huffing out a tired breath of air. This might be more conversation than I need right now.
“The power struggle is necessary. It breaks us down into little pieces of nothing. And from that nothing we create something brand new. That’s why opposites attract. People want to remake themselves and they use their opposite to do that.”
“Or,” I say, turning my head to look him in the eyes, “we’re just playing a stupid game and you won this time.”
He tries to hide his smile but doesn’t succeed.
“We’re still playing, right? I mean, you bought that house tonight to prove a point.”
“What point?” he asks.
“Jesus,” I say. “So many points. That you have money, for one,” I say, holding up a finger. “That you have that money in cash.” I hold up another finger. “That you have people at your beck and call who will set up house tours at the last minute, and then not blink an eye when you refuse to go into two of them. That you can command me to live there.”
“Don’t you want to live there?” he asks. “With Jordan and me?”
“Well, I guess if Jordan were here, I could give you a complete answer to that question. But he’s not.”
“He’s working, Nadia. He’ll be around when this case of his calms down.”
“OK. I’ll let that go for now.” But I’m mad at Jordan.
“Any more points I’m trying to make tonight?”
“Yes,” I say, holding up a fifth finger. “The whole point of tonight—from the moment you picked me up to this one right now—is to make me depend on you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It can be,” I say.
“Were you in a dependent relationship in the past?”
“No.” I scoff. “I’m the top, Bric. I know you don’t believe that, but I am. I’m the one who controls the men in my life.”
“Until Jordan came along and took all that control away. And you let him.” Bric has one eyebrow cocked. Like this explains everything. “And then he gave you to me.”
“Is that what he did?” I ask, genuinely interested in this new direction. “Because I might not be OK with that.”
“Which part?” he asks. “The part where he owns you and can therefore give you away? Or the part about you belonging to me now?”
“Both of those and,” I say, stressing the word, “the fact that I cannot be owned. Thus, none of what’s happening is real. It’s just a game.”
He shrugs. “Are you enjoying the game?”
“Sure,” I say. “It’s fun enough so far. But I’m not looking for a master, Bric. So if you push me too hard I might call it quits.”
Another cocked eyebrow from Bric. “Is that a warning? Or a challenge?”
I sigh as I roll my eyes. “Take it any way you want.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but there’s a knock on my door that breaks the moment. He gets up, pays the delivery guy, takes the bags of food over to the table, and then says, “For you, giving in is like being ambidextrous, Nadia.”
“Is it?” I say with mock fascination as I join him at the table.
He pulls out the food—tacos, but the gourmet kind that come wrapped up in fancy foil—and unwraps them. “Sit,” he commands.
I do, even though I’m tired of his commands tonight. I’m also hungry and my legs are still trembling.
When we’re settled and have each taken a bite of the sea bass tacos—fucking amazing sea bass tacos—he continues.
“You’re a well-honed muscle. You’ve exercised your mind regularly. You believe yourself to be dominant and I can see you’ve done pretty well in that regard.”
“Praise from the master,” I say, then take another bite of food.
“But everyone has another side to them, Nadia. Most people don’t like to admit it, but they do. No one is one hundred percent dominant.”
“Not even you?” I ask. It’s my turn to cock an eyebrow.
“Do I look dominant when I’m taking care of you after playing hard? No. I’m giving in to you, Nadia. I’m putting my wants and needs aside for yours.”
“OK.” I laugh. It’s bullshit. He takes care of me afterward because it makes him more dominant, not less.
“If I had only been thinking of myself I’d have fucked you hard after you sucked my cock. I’d have continued to use you up and then I’d walk out and throw you away.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”
“Is that your usual response to players? Use them up and throw them out?”
“No,” he says. “I’m typically in a regular game. I’m just having… an off season.”
I laugh so hard, I almost spit out my taco. “An off season? Do tell.”
“Never mind that,” he says, changing the subject with a wave of his hand. “My point is, yes, I’m playing a game. But I take the game very seriously. I like to make the game last and the only way to do that is to submit to the needs of the other players. I’ve always been like this. Smith and Quin and I—”