Chapter 9
Nate
New York City, night…
The natural next step was to leave. To say a few nice words; to kiss her goodbye, to be on my way.
But I didn’t want to go. I wanted more of her.
I wanted to not lose what we had before.
As much as I was accustomed to the over-and-out of these kinds of nights, I feared that if I left, I’d be treating Casey as merely a sexual object, when she was so much more to me.
That’s why I’d have to fight the temptation, the overwhelming impulse to slide into her, to feel her legs wrap around my waist, to take her to the heights she so desperately wanted.
Even though I was absolutely certain sex with her right now, in the state we were both in, would be beyond spectacular, I also knew that she seemed to thrive on not knowing what was coming next.
In our few short lessons together, I’d learned that she responded quite nicely, oh-so-very-nicely, to being surprised.
I wanted that perfect chemistry of anticipation and wonder, of tease and heat, stirred in her to just the right temperature before I finally took her.
I didn’t know when that would be, but I was confident now that it would happen.
That she was hooked on these lessons too.
Maybe for different reasons than me; but still, she’d been seduced by submission, and by her own natural wildness as well.
She had a fantastically wild side and a dirty side, and I loved experiencing those parts of her.
All of her.
That meant now was not the night for more.
I pulled on my pants, and she cracked up as I reached for the zipper.
I tilted my head to the side, curiosity getting the better of me. “Why are you laughing?”
She pointed to my pelvis. “Because it’s funny.”
“My dick is funny?”
She shook her head, another giggle falling forth. “No, it’s funny the way you have to put them on so you don’t zip yourself up.”
I glanced down at the practiced move. Obviously, I could do this without looking, do it from memory, but yeah, you had to tug the fabric away from the crown jewels to make sure you didn’t catch them in the teeth. It was kind of funny.
“Ever get it caught?”
I rolled my eyes and suppressed a laugh. “Yes. Yes, I have. Years ago, as a younger man,” I said, launching into a storyteller’s voice, as if sharing a tale. “But, alas, I survived, and there are no scars.” With that, I snapped my pants shut, and gestured proudly. “Voila. Impressed?”
“So impressed,” she said, clapping several times.
“Wait till you see me juggle.”
“You juggle?”
“I’ve never shown you my juggling skills?”
“I’ve always known you could juggle women, but didn’t realize it extended to objects.”
“Ha ha. Got any oranges or apples?”
“In the kitchen. There’s a basket on the counter. You can grab them. I’m going to change,” she said, standing up in all her naked glory.
I hated for her to take away the view. “But you look so good naked,” I said. I briefly considered begging for her to stay undressed.
“So do you, and yet you put on pants,” she said, then retreated to her bedroom.
I wandered into the open kitchen of her loft, and found the bowl of fruit on the island counter.
Grabbing three oranges and an apple, I headed back to the living room and tossed the first orange in the air, then the next, then the next, finally adding the apple.
I found my rhythm quickly and the fruit whirred in a circle before me.
Then she returned, and my jaw dropped, and the apple smacked the floor with a thud.
“Damn, Casey,” I said, quickly grabbing the three oranges mid-flight, before they spilled to the ground too.
“What is it?” she asked, her eyes so wide and innocent.
“You’re just…” I said, tripping on my tongue, barely able to form words around her.
Because one minute she was the leather-clad woman in stockings, heels and a red bra, and the next she wore pink cotton panties and a white tank top, fresh-faced with her wavy blonde hair pulled into a loose knot at her neck.
I walked over to her, unable to resist touching her.
With my free hand, I trailed my fingertips down her arm, then pressed a soft, simple kiss to her lips.
“You’re just so beautiful,” I said, finally able to finish the thought, then I stepped back.
“So are you,” she said softly, never taking her eyes off mine, and the way she looked at me did funny things to my heart.
Foreign things I hadn’t felt in years. “But don’t start thinking calling me beautiful is going to distract me.
” She snapped and pointed to the oranges and the fallen apple. “Juggle. Now.”
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, waiting.
I grabbed the apple, tossed it high, then threw the oranges and juggled them round and round for at least a minute, my full concentration on keeping the quartet in the air, and impressing her with this skill.
I slowed, ending the whirl, taking a bow and returning the oranges to the counter.
I dropped the bruised apple into the basket, grabbed another one, and walked to Casey.
I tugged her arm, and gestured to the couch.
We sank into the cushions, next to each other on the lounge section.
“Say it. Say you’re impressed with my skills,” I said.
“I am so impressed with your skills,” she said as I crunched into the apple.
I offered it to her next, and she bit into it, passing it back.
I draped an arm around her shoulder, and she snuggled in close as we finished off the apple.
I stretched across her to set the core down on the table, the same one that held the tickler and blindfold. The crop was still on the floor.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“For you? Yes. For food, the answer is also yes. What do you have in mind?”
“Food first. Want to order from The House of Nanking around the corner? I’m craving their moo shu pancakes.”
“Of course. And you know what I like.”
“I do,” she said, grabbing her phone.
That’s what was so odd between the two of us right now.
As she ordered my favorite dish, sesame tofu, it occurred to me that she knew so many things about me.
She knew bits and pieces of my past with Joanna, she knew my challenges and triumphs in business, she knew what I liked to eat, to read, how much I enjoyed watching the Comets, and she knew what I liked to do on the weekends.
Oftentimes, the answer was work. We both had admitted how much we actually did love the siren call of the deal, the decision, and the chance to increase the profit margin.
“I like working late,” she’d once confessed.
“I can’t resist it either,” I’d seconded.
Except now.
I had no desire to be anywhere but here. When she ended the call, I gestured to the artwork on her brick walls.
“You got a new print of one of Lichtenstein’s kisses?”
She nodded. “Yeah, but it’s not an original.”
I laughed. “I know. I didn’t think it was an original one. They’re kind of pricey. I think the last one I saw went for six million at auction.”
She arched one eyebrow, giving me a curious look. “Since when do you know the prices of artwork?”
“There was a Lichtenstein lithograph next to one of Joanna’s early sculptures at an exhibition years ago. I wound up knowing all about him.”
She cringed, squeezing her eyes shut, saying, “Shoot, I’m sorry. I should have known that would be the connection.”
I placed my hand on her arm. “Hey, it’s okay.”
She shook her head. “Well, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“I swear, Casey. It’s okay. I’ve gotten over it.
It’s not as if I can’t be surrounded by the art world because of Joanna,” I said, and that was mostly true.
Joanna’s star had risen quickly after she finished her MFA.
Her works were featured, bought, and sold at top galleries in Manhattan and London.
I couldn’t insulate myself from the imprint of her.
“I’m glad she hasn’t totally ruined it for you. That woman did a number on you though.”
I simply curved up the corner of my lips in acknowledgement. “I won’t deny that. But I also like to think I’ve moved on,” I said, and that was true too. I had moved to a better place. A spot where I could never be hurt like that again. Trust no one, let no one in, and you’re safe.
“I’m glad you feel that way, for you. And because it also means I can tell you that I’m going to an auction in London when I go there later this month to meet with my clients at Sofia’s pharmacy. I’m so excited,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I have my eye on an item in the lot.”
“What are you hoping to bid on?”
“Nothing too fancy. I’m still just a working girl,” she said, jokingly.
Then, she turned serious. “There is a gorgeous painting from a newer artist, Miller Valentina, and I want to get it to finish out my collection of kisses. But I suppose, if you think about it, you don’t really ever need to finish a collection of kisses. They can keep going on.”
I watched her gazing at the images on her wall—an image of a couple in the rain curled together in an embrace, then a black-and-white photograph of a sailor kissing his woman, and also a movie poster of a romantic hero kissing the woman he’d crossed oceans for. “You are such a romantic,” I said.
“Yeah, I am,” she said, nodding, and owning it. “I completely am. All the more ironic, considering my parents are anti-romantic, isn’t it? They couldn’t wait till I graduated from high school so they could finally divorce.”
“I like that they didn’t sap the desire out of you.”
“But aren’t you glad you don’t have to worry about tending to the overly romantic side of me? You only have to think about this side,” she said, gesturing to her body, as if she were presenting me with it.