Slow Surrender (2 page)

Intoxicated by his scent, I finally felt something square and hard. I pulled it free: a ring box? Now I really wondered why he was drinking alone, if this was an engagement ring or something like that…

I glanced at him before I opened the box only to find a marble perched on a bed of velvet. I plucked it free.

The marble felt warm from being kept close to his heart. Just a round, glass marble with a swirl in it.

So, what were the instructions again? Put it in my mouth? I shared a look with him as I held the marble between two fingers. The request was a little bit dirty and a little intimate without being overtly sexual, and I think he knew that. It was a dare.

Did I dare?

I did. I made a show of dropping the marble into the alcohol he had left, swirling the glass around with a clinking sound, and then fishing the marble out and popping it into my mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” he warned.

I smiled, took up his glass, and went to fill his order.

Thankfully I didn’t have to speak to send his drink order to the bar. I typed it on the upstairs order station, and then went down to put the glass in the bus bin.

Then what? I couldn’t chance going into the main section of the bar, and I had to keep busy or it’d be obvious I was slacking off.

The ladies’ room. I’d take a quick “powder” and then see if the drinks were up.

In the employee restroom, I straightened my hair and my shirt. Normally I wouldn’t give a damn about what a customer thought of my appearance. In fact, normally I hoped they didn’t even notice me. But he was so impeccable and smooth! I wished I could seem even half that sophisticated, and since I couldn’t, usually being invisible was better. I’d gotten some ketchup on the cuff of one sleeve at some point during the night. Sloppy. And this was my last unstained shirt. I made a note to ask Jill if she could cover that, too, at least a thrift store one. I hated being broke. I needed to get the hell out of grad school and start making some money. I had to find something to do with my life other than staring at pre-Raphaelite art and writing pretentious analyses of it. My mother told me endlessly that grad school was a waste of time, except for the fact that I might meet a well-educated guy to marry. I hadn’t even gotten that part right.

A knock on the door jolted me. I hoped it wasn’t anyone I would have to say much to. I tucked the marble into my cheek. “One sec!” I ran the water and washed my hands.

When I came out, Jill was standing there, her beefy arms crossed. “You okay in there? I’ve been waiting.”

Well, nothing like the truth at a time like that, right? “I’m hiding because the advisor I blew off tonight to cover your ass is out there right now!” The marble clicked against my teeth as I tried to make myself understandable. Hopefully she would think it was a cough drop or an ice cube.

“What advisor? You didn’t tell me you blew someone off!”

“Would it have mattered? ‘Karina’”—it came out “Kawina” with the marble in the way—“‘I’m desperate. You’re the only one who can do this. I need you,’” I hissed, imitating the way she had wheedled me on the phone.

“Of course it would have mattered.”

I shook my head. “Last time I told you I had plans and didn’t drop everything to work for you, you got Mom all pissed off at me and made my life a living hell for months.”

“You had ‘plans’ with stupid Brad, who was no good for you anyway! I really did need you, and that night blew chunks without you.” Jill had just turned thirty and was a good deal heavier than me. When she smacked the door frame next to my head, I swear the door felt it.

“Well, this is it, the last time. Now excuse me, my order’s up.” I pushed past her. I loved Jill, but she thought because she was the oldest that my brother Troy and I were her lord- and lady-in-waiting or something. Troy was only a year younger than me, but he might as well have lived on another planet for all I saw of him or understood of him. And that was a cheap shot bringing up Brad. He was a failure in every sense of the word. I had thought dating an older, more distinguished guy was a good idea for someone about to leave grad school. He was thirty-three, seven years older than me, and I’d made the mistake of thinking that meant he was a functioning adult. Instead, he’d bounced between acting like he was fifty-three and in need of a geriatric nurse and acting like he was
three
and in need of a time-out. Worst of all, he was already trying to get a prescription for Viagra.

I meant it when I said failure in every way.

Thankfully, the order was up. I took the glass of water and the bourbon up the stairs, thinking,
So far, so good
.

The four-top of women had left, and the couple was holding hands and had their faces close together. I could see the tatters of wrapping paper on the table from the gifts they’d exchanged. I’m sure they were perfectly nice people, but all I wanted was to tell them to get a room.

As I approached my mystery man’s table, I realized I had no idea how I was going to get the marble out of my mouth.

It was too late to go in the back and drop it into the glass there. He’d already seen me, and his gaze seemed to be drawing me toward him. His eyes never left mine as I crossed the floor, feeling like each step was getting heavier and heavier.

At last I stopped in front of his table, drew in a deep breath, and set down the glass of water. I then held up the shot glass of bourbon as if I were smelling it, brought the marble out until I held it with just my lips in an O shape, and let it go, almost like I was blowing him a kiss. The marble fell with a
plop
and I set the bourbon on the table, resisting the urge to wipe my lips. I settled for licking them.

He ignored the glass on the table, his eyes never leaving my face, and I saw his gaze sharpen at the momentary appearance of my tongue. I wondered if he was as turned on as I was. I had never flirted with a customer. Not like this.

He lifted his drink and smelled the bourbon, waving the glass under his nose and then closing his eyes for a moment as if savoring the scent. I nearly sighed when he did, as if I’d been released from a magic spell. A moment later he stared at me again as he took his first sip.

He nodded, as if satisfied, and set the glass down. “How did you choose which bourbon to give me this time? This isn’t the same one.”

“Well, you seem in the mood to try new things tonight,” I explained. “Plus I figured you for the type that wouldn’t go down in quality, so I went up.”

He nodded again, approvingly, as if I’d answered a particularly tricky test question.

“Do I get my wish now?” I asked jokingly.

His face remained stern as he laid his hand on the tabletop, fingers curled as if he were holding a live moth. “Think very hard about what you want, then close your eyes.”

I did as he asked, without hesitating. Well, I closed my eyes, anyway. But what did I want? What should I wish for? I supposed this was like making a birthday wish before blowing out the candles. Wishing for happiness seemed way too general. Wishing for money felt wrong. Wishing to graduate…
I shouldn’t have to wish for that, damn it.
I deserved to finish and move on with my life. Wishing for that job I’d interviewed for? That was like wishing for money. And I wasn’t even sure I wanted to work for Philip Hale. Something about him creeped me out a little.

“Make your wish,” he whispered, and yet I heard him perfectly clearly. “Then take the wish out of my hand.”

I want to know what love is,
I thought, and opened my eyes. He was grinning as he opened his hand and there was nothing there, but I played along by snatching up a bit of air and pretending to shove it into the breast pocket on my button-down shirt.

He startled me then by standing up, very close to me. I didn’t back away. Instead, I looked up at him wondering if he was feeling the effects of the alcohol. He was tall and he looked down to meet my eyes, his now shadowed, hawkish and intense.

“Thank you for playing this game with me,” he said, voice low. I heard glass clink as he held up the marble, glistening with booze. He licked it clean, his tongue long and sinuous like a cat’s, and I imagined what it would feel like licking me instead of the piece of glass. “You’re very rare, Ashley. I would like to play another round with you sometime.”

“I, um, okay,” I said, hardly able to speak. I felt more like I was the one who had downed a shot, fueled with liquid courage.

He handed me a card with his other hand. “Call the number on that card if you’re interested.”

“Could we, um, play another round right now?” I heard myself ask. He was mesmerizing. He was different. I’d never met a man who made me feel like this: turned on and intrigued and challenged, and yet I felt safe, like he was someone I could trust.

He chuckled very low in his throat. “Desire is good,” he said. “Being pushy is not.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes a moment, as if he were thinking it over, and that helped. We were still standing far too close for far too long in a public place. I wanted to lick the shine of bourbon from the edge of his lip. He’d used the word
desire
, which made it clear what we were talking about, didn’t it?

What he said next surely did. “Very well. One more round. Take the marble, and put it into your panties. You’ll keep it there the rest of your shift. When you get off, call the number on the card to get your next instructions.”

My heart was beating in triple time. “Okay,” I said, sounding a bit breathless.

He handed me the marble and then raised his eyebrow.

“Right now?” I squeaked.

He nodded. The couple had stood to leave and were paying us no mind.

Under the front knot of my apron, I reached inside the waistband of my jeans, sucking in my stomach to make room for my hand. From there I dug my fingertips under the elastic of my panties and let the marble drop. I held in a gasp as it slid straight down the seam of my body, to where it found a pool of dampness I hadn’t realized had gathered there.

I hadn’t been this turned on in months. Possibly I hadn’t been this turned on
ever.

He leaned in to whisper, “Good girl,” and I felt like I had won another prize. The feeling only deepened when he ran one finger along my jaw, such a light touch I barely felt it. “If you don’t call, I’ll know you decided you didn’t want to play after all. I won’t be— No, that’s a lie. I
will
be disappointed if you don’t. However, I’ll respect your wishes.”

“I’ll earn another wish from you,” I said in return. In the back of my head I was already thinking that if I wanted to back out, it would be easy. My name wasn’t even Ashley, and this wasn’t my actual job. But in the front of my mind all I could think of was how much I wanted to keep playing…with him.

He grinned. “Excellent.” He nodded, then stepped back to put his topcoat on and walked out without looking back at me.

I stood there for a few more breathless seconds, until he was out of sight. Then I looked down and saw that the two twenty-dollar bills I thought he’d left on the table to cover his tab were actually fifties.

I shoved them into my apron pocket and collected the glasses from all the tables before heading down the stairs, carrying the tray over my shoulder. With each step I took, the marble rubbed back and forth in my panties, inflaming me. I wondered if anyone would be able to tell how turned on I was and was thankful for the amber and red lights in the place.

This was by far the kinkiest thing I had ever done. If Jill knew I had flirted with a customer like that, or with
anyone
for that matter, she’d freak. So it was imperative that I keep our secret. I suddenly realized I didn’t even know his name. I looked at the card. All it had on it was a phone number. I slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans, wondering what his hand would feel like there.

I was so wrapped up in thinking about him that I almost dropped the glasses I was holding when someone grabbed me by the arm.

“Karina Casper! You told me you were too sick to get out of bed! What do you have to say for yourself?”

It was Professor Renault. And I was plain caught.

P
rofessor Renault would have launched into a lecture right there, I’m sure, except that the throngs of Lord’s Ladies picked that moment to break into song. The HD TVs were all showing a video from the concert earlier in which the singer flew over the audience while riding a giant white swan. I could see Renault’s mouth moving but couldn’t hear a word he said. I pointed to my ear and shook my head. He made a frustrated noise. Hale stood behind him looking boozy and amused.

Renault took my arm again, this time to pull me close enough to say directly into my ear, “You will be at my office first thing in the morning. Bah, no, I have another appointment. Come to my house at eight.”

“In the morning?” I protested. “Professor…”

“You are the one who lied and inconvenienced me, so now you must make it up to me. Eight o’clock.” He let me go again with a sneer on his face so spiteful he might as well have said, “Or else.”

He rattled off his address before he turned to leave, and Hale kind of leered at me and gave a wave of his pudgy fingers, then followed Renault through the crowd of outlandishly dressed fan girls (and a few boys). Maybe Hale was too drunk to recognize me, though he’d probably heard my name. Whatever. I’d had enough. I didn’t care that there were still two hours to go until closing time.

I went directly to the back room, took off my apron, and flung it into the laundry. Then I remembered the cash in the pocket and had to pull it back out of the bin. I went to clock out and then remembered I wasn’t actually a clocked-in employee. Right. That was how I got into this mess in the first place.

I didn’t see Jill anywhere to tell her good-bye, which was just as well since I was so angry I might have said something I would regret. I grabbed my coat and stormed out the back, half thinking I should stand in the alley until I cooled off and then go back in and finish the shift after all. But there were people out back, a busboy having a smoke and getting an eyeful of two LL fans whose genders I couldn’t even determine making out against the wall. They were dressed identically, with purple wigs, electric-blue jackets, and thigh-high red boots. At any other time I would have found it comical. Right now I was just pissed.

I hugged my jacket around me and hurried out of the alley. The Seventh Avenue sidewalk was crowded with concertgoers and roving packs of glam rockers, even though the concert was long over. Normally I’d go over to 34th to walk on the busier—and therefore safer—road, but right then I was too mad to care. I turned and stalked for half a block on 32nd Street, fuming about my advisor, about my ketchup-stained shirt, about everything, but then something very insistent caught my attention. The slippery, round nub of glass in my panties.

Remembering it suddenly brought back the lust and attraction in a rush and my cheeks heated up, even in the chilly March wind. I sagged against a building, but that caused the sensation of the marble to stop. I started walking again, imagining it was his finger moving back and forth. Teasing.

I felt in my coat pocket for my phone. Should I call now? Or wait until I got home? He wasn’t expecting me to call so soon, was he? He probably thought I didn’t get off until two in the morning. I glanced at the time on the cell’s screen. It was barely midnight.

I was almost to Sixth Avenue, almost to Herald Square where I normally caught my train, but now I wasn’t sure. Maybe I should go home and forget all about him. I mean, seriously, what if he turned out to be a psycho?

Who was I kidding? What we’d done at the bar was far from normal and yet that was what was so interesting about him. I couldn’t help but think about what else he had up his sleeve…or better yet, in his pockets.

I sucked in a deep breath and dialed the number on the card. I heard a ring, then what sounded like a connection. “Hello?” I said when I didn’t hear anything else. “Ah, piece of crap phone, did you drop the call? If anyone’s there, I’ll try you again. I need a new phone.”

I hung up and tried again.

This time a male voice, deep even through the phone, answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me. K—um, Ashley. Is this…? Ha-ha, I don’t even know what to call you. I mean, that is, I’m calling for my next instructions.” Why was I always such a dork on the phone? I felt pretty good for having put together a nice full sentence at the end, though.

I heard his amused chuckle. “Your shift is over?”

“Very over,” I said with some vehemence. “I quit.”

“I see. Well, where are you now? Sounds like you’re outdoors.”

“I am. Thirty-Second Street, just west of Sixth.”

“The north side of the street?”

“Yeah, the mall side.”

“Say
yes
instead.”

“Yes?”

“Instead of
yeah
. Say
yes
.”

“Okay. Yes.” I held on to the
s
a little too long.
Yes
had a kind of sexy hiss to it.

“Lean against the wall, like you’re waiting for a bus,” he said. “I’ll be there in a moment. Stay on the phone.”

“Yes, I will.” I did as he asked, leaning one shoulder against the wall and cradling the phone to my ear. In a moment? I guess he hadn’t gone far after leaving the bar. Had he been expecting my call? I looked around the sidewalk, expecting to see him walk around the corner at any moment.

Instead, a long black limousine pulled up in front of me.

“Stay against the wall,” he said, but the window rolled down a crack, just enough for me to see his eyes. That was all I needed to see to know it was him.

“Reach into your jeans and pull up your panties until I can see the edge.”

“Okay.”

He clucked his tongue. “Say
yes
.”

“Right. Yesss.” I did as he asked, tugging on the waistband, which had the effect of bunching my panties between my lower lips, in addition to pulling the marble against the center of my pleasure. I gasped out another “Yes!”

“Very good,” came his voice. “Keep tugging like that.”

“Yes, I will.” I wondered with some disbelief whether a total stranger was about to make me come right there on a New York City street.

“Not very lacy, are they?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your panties.”

“Oh, um, no.” My cheeks flushed. I was wearing plain white cotton, the kind I bought in a pack of ten. “I’m not much of a girly-girl, really.” My breath caught.

His voice was a whisper. “Don’t come.”

“But I’m so close.”

“What did I say about being pushy?”

Oh.
Oh.
“Isn’t desire good?” I asked.

“Yes. Very good.”

“What do I have to do to come?”

“Be patient,” he said, with another chuckle.

I squeezed my legs together. “Damn it, how did I know you were going to say something like that?”

His chuckle turned into a laugh loud enough that I heard it through the cracked window. “Because your instincts are good, that’s why. How about this? What would you do to earn an orgasm? And don’t say
anything
. I can’t stand clichés.”

That made me laugh. “All right. Besides, I wouldn’t
do
‘anything.’ I’m not that kind of girl.”

“No, indeed you aren’t. I can tell you’re a good girl, and that’s one reason why I like you,” he said softly, and it made me feel warm and tingly inside. “Now, answer the question.”

I looked at him, those eagle eyes staring out from the slit in the window. “It’s hard to say what I’d do when I don’t know the rules of the game,” I said.

“Oh, but learning the rules is part of the game,” he answered. “Indeed, your answer will help make the rules.”

“Oh.” I racked my brains, but it was hard to think when I was so turned on. “Well, I should do something that you’ll like so that you’ll let me come. But I don’t know you well enough to guess.”

He laughed again. “Learning what will please me is nearly the same thing as learning the rules.”

“I see. Well, I think two things please you,” I said, tugging on my panties again. “One is watching me obey, and the other is watching me squirm.”

“Both are correct.”

“If you don’t tell me what to do, I can’t obey, and, well, I sure as hell am squirming now.”

“That you are, and it is lovely.”

I felt the flush creep up my face again. “Thank you.” No one had ever called me lovely before. And meant it.

“Do one more thing for me, and then you may come only if you can do so without reaching into your jeans.”

“One more thing?”

“Yes. Walk around the block.”

“Which direction?”

“So that the car may follow you, of course. Go up to Sixth and turn left.”

Of course. “Okay. I mean
yes.
”

“Very good.”

I started to walk. I was wearing a stained shirt, black jeans, and my clunky black work shoes, but I felt like I was in stilettos and a miniskirt. I was completely slippery down below, and I could feel his eyes on me as I walked.

After midnight there weren’t a lot of people on Sixth Avenue, but in New York the streets are never completely empty. There were small crowds waiting for the bus, loitering, doing whatever the hell people do…None of them paying any attention to me, but the thought that they might look up, might wonder why my face was so red, why my steps were so slow…

I turned the next corner heading back toward the Garden and could hear the engine hum as the car followed around the turn.

Suddenly his voice was sharp. “No, don’t.” The car and I both stopped where we were. “Too many people in the street at the other end.” I heard him curse away from the phone and say something I couldn’t make out, possibly in some other language. He must have been talking to the limo driver.

“It’s the crowd from the Lightning concert,” I said while I waited for him to tell me what to do. “New York is infested with roving gangs in platform glitter boots.”

He chuckled nervously. “Indeed. Well, judging from the look of things in this direction, we won’t be getting through there.”

“What should I do?”

There was silence. I guess he was thinking about it.

“Get in,” he finally said, and I heard the door unlock on the limo at the same moment his eyes disappeared from the window.

I didn’t even hesitate. I didn’t think about how stupid it could be to get into a stranger’s car. I opened the door and slid onto the seat. I could still feel his warmth.

He had moved to the other side of the car. The compartment was spacious and he seemed too far away.

“Give your address to the driver,” he said.

The driver was a young man in an actual chauffeur’s uniform and hat. Brown curls escaped from the hat. He said nothing, waiting for me to speak. I rattled off my building’s address, and then the window between the front and back seats closed, the black plate glass sliding slowly across like an eclipse.

I turned toward my companion. He brushed his hand over his hair, as if he was used to having it much longer and was surprised to find it cut short. He exhaled a shaky breath as the driver made an illegal U-turn, then pulled out of the street the wrong way.

“I apologize for my error in judgment,” he said, a bit of a quaver in his voice. “I would’ve liked to watch you walk the entire block very much.”

“Yes, well,” I said, because I felt I had to say something, “that’s New York. Never know when you’re going to hit traffic.”

My lame joke seemed to make him relax. “Now, about that orgasm,” he said, as casually as if we were discussing the weather. “You must come before we reach your home.”

I swallowed, almost said “okay,” then remembered, and said, “Yes. Same rules as before?”

“Yes,” he answered, a catlike smile settling on his face.

Okay, so no reaching into my jeans, but I could still pull on my soaked panties that held the marble. The sensation was nothing like what I was used to and I wondered how long could it take.

I slid down in the seat a little and spread my legs, unbuttoning the bottom few buttons of my untucked shirt and getting a grip on the edge of the waistband of my panties.

I pulled slowly this time, rocking my hips as I did it so that the marble went up and down over my clit. I shivered. It wasn’t hard to imagine his finger, or something else, touching me there, given the smoldering way he was looking at me.

I couldn’t look away. Even in the dim interior of the limo, his eyes were intense. He sat perfectly still, his spine straight and his head held high.

I doubt I had ever been so aroused in my entire life. My skin tingled all over even though I was clothed, causing me to speed up my movements.

The limo sped down Broadway, I think, and for once I wished for traffic. Although my climax was close, my arousal seemed to have leveled off. I tugged harder on my underwear, then reached down and rubbed myself on the outside of my jeans, but there was no way that was going to work.

Then the marble slipped out of place and fell somewhere around my tailbone. I cried out in dismay.

Wait, maybe that was a good thing. The roughness of my wet panties seemed to help, but again I went up and up and then stuck on the edge of coming, but not going over the edge. I made a helpless noise, whimpering, then moaning with need.

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips briefly, but he said nothing, watching my plight.

“What…what happens if I don’t ‘get there’ before we get there?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly. “You can do it,” he murmured.

“I’m not sure I can! I…ungh.” I tried again, rubbing from outside as well as tugging on my panties.

“You can,” he said firmly. “I’ll be very disappointed if you don’t.”

“So will I!” I wailed.

I looked frantically out the window and saw we had only a few blocks to go.
Damn it!

“Please,” I begged. “Please…” But I didn’t want to actually beg for a change of the rules.

“You can do it,” he said again, leaning forward now and clasping his hands. “You can. Relax.”

There was no way to relax, riding in this car, with this man, not allowed to touch myself with my fingers and with maybe only a minute or two left before I ran out of time. I was crying out now from the intensity of the stimulation, but I still wasn’t coming.