26. Nora
CHAPTER 26
NORA
“Praising,” I repeat. “That’s…”
“Exactly what it sounds like.” West reaches for his glass of wine. “I enjoy making my partner feel good and valued.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“They should. They better. But not everyone likes it quite as much as me, I think.” His amber eyes darken. “Guiding, admiring. Learning what a woman likes. What makes her feel good. Telling her just how good she’s doing when she’s pleasing me.”
“Oh.” The word comes out a bit strangled. He’s called me good several times in our previous lessons. That’s my girl. It was unexpected… and unexpectedly nice, coming out in his deep, smooth voice. “You do like doing that.”
His hand stops, wineglass halfway to his mouth. “I wasn’t sure if you’d noticed.”
My mouth feels dry. “I didn’t know it was a kink.”
“Not everyone likes it. Some women can find it… paternalistic. It’s something I discuss first.”
“Praise,” I whisper. I’ve lived my whole life craving validation. Chasing it. Fighting for it. Feeling like I’m not good if I don’t get it. It’s dictated my whole life.
I have to look away from his gaze. It’s too knowing. Like he knows just how much I crave that, too.
“I can see how someone might like that,” I say.
“Someone,” he asks, “or you?”
My eyes flit back to his. It’s hard to breathe. “Both. I think.”
“Mhm. That’s good, trouble. Expressing what you like.”
“Anything, em… else? Do you like chains? Whips? Um… role-play?”
He runs a hand along his jaw. “Was that on the card?”
“No. I’m freestyling.”
“And the first thing you came up with was whips? Makes me curious about your kinks.”
“Not whips,” I say quickly. “Actually, scratch that one. I don’t know where that came from.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t forget it.”
I groan. “Of course you won’t.”
“Does pain interest you, then?”
“I’m not sure I—” We’re interrupted by the approaching waiter. West effortlessly swipes the cards off the table and tucks them beneath his palm in time. My ravioli is set in front of me. It smells divine.
“Thank you so much,” I tell the waiter and smile widely at him. “This looks delicious.”
He hesitates for a second, blinking at me. He looks young. Probably still in high school. “Thank you.”
“Tell the chef, will you?”
“Will do. Thanks. Again.” He smiles a bit and then hurries away.
Across from me, West chuckles darkly. “You just made his night.”
“With a simple compliment?” I shake my head and flip over the card I’m still holding.
“By being the most beautiful woman who’s ever smiled to him,” West says.
The compliment rolls through me like a thunderstorm.
He didn’t say it with his fake voice, his acting voice. He said it matter-of-factly. A little amused. Darkly pleased. Like he means it. “You were talking about pain, and I’m very interested in where you were going with it.”
I clear my throat. Right. “I don’t think I like it,” I say. “Pleasure is hard enough to come by, and I don’t see how mixing in pain helps. But I’ve never tried it, so what do I know? What about you?” My question comes out a little breathless.
I have insight into West’s sex life. Into what he likes and doesn’t like. And he’s sharing it with me, talking openly about it, and I suddenly understand completely why this is something he insisted on.
It’s a terrifying conversation.
And it’s exhilarating.
“I don’t like inflicting pain,” he says. “I don’t mind it on my part, and if you want to scratch my back with your nails, I’ll wear the marks proudly. It’ll let me know you’re enjoying yourself. Rough sex, sure, but no pain. I want my partner to come. Repeatedly.”
I nod at West too many times. “That’s good… to know.” I run a hand along my neck. My skin feels hot beneath my thick hair. “I’m not sure if I have a ton of kinks.”
“Everyone has something.”
Maybe everyone does. Everyone who’s actually had sex. I’ve only fantasized about it. Formed my opinions based on books, and movies, and my own touch. That’s something, at least.
“I like… a lot of things.”
The skin around his eyes crinkles. “How descriptive.”
“Maybe I haven’t explored a lot of kinks.”
“No shame in that. What would you want to try?”
I’m quiet for a few moments, my brain racing.
West’s mouth tips into that smile again. The challenging one, the one he gave me when we boxed the other week. Come on. Hit me. “It’s okay to be vanilla, trouble. You can own that. You don’t need to think of something just to impress me.”
“I’m not trying to impress you, Calloway.”
West chuckles. “Of course not. Not me. But we’re pretending I’m someone you’re dating. Someone whose opinion you care about. Even if they push you on something, you can still say no. Or stand by your first answer.”
“I know that.” I roll my neck and try to shake it off. He’s right. Of course he’s right. It sounds so natural and so true when he says it. I just can’t get there on my own. “I don’t think I would mind, actually, a bit of roughness… if it was someone I trusted. Someone I liked.” I take a deep breath, needing this conversation to end before I embarrass myself completely.
I’ve thought about how you’d feel on top of me. I want you to praise me more. I want you to do it while I come. Is that a kink?
“Okay. You take a card,” I say.
He does just that, his broad hand between us on the table. “Well,” he says, his voice darkening. “This one will definitely come up when you’re in a relationship.”
“It will?”
“When was your last check-up?” he asks.
My eyes widen. “West.”
“It’s a normal question with someone you’re dating.”
“Okay. But…” I glance away from him at the waiters around. There’s only a few other tables occupied, and they’re a fair bit away. “You answer that first.”
West’s hand presses flat against the table, big and tan against the white wood. “Fine. Ask me, then.”
I clear my throat and force my eyes back to his whiskey ones. There’s amusement there. He’s enjoying this, just how awkward and uncomfortable it’s making me.
“When was your last check-up?” I ask.
“Why do you want to know?”
I groan. “West.”
“Come on. Press me on it.”
I toy with the edge of my napkin. “I think it’s good practice. Generally speaking. When dating someone.”
“Mhm. Well, I’m clean.”
I smile at him. “Great, thank you.”
“No, trouble. You should never accept that response.”
“Why not? I got what I asked for.”
He shakes his head. “He could be lying to you.”
“So I need to press him on it?”
“Yes.” He narrows his eyes at me and makes his voice hard. “Don’t worry about it. I’m clean.”
“Oh. Right. And how do you… know that?”
“No symptoms.”
I dig my teeth into my lower lip. “West, I can’t demand someone show me a clean bill of health to their face!”
“Of course you can. Argue with them. Never accept their word for it.” His voice is dark and just shy of deadly. “You should definitely not let him come inside you without a condom if he doesn’t.”
“You’re making this too hard,” I say. “How would you even handle this conversation?”
He reaches for his glass. “Well, first of all, I wouldn’t be having it halfway through a first date. A little presumptuous.”
That makes my lips twitch, despite myself. “Good call.”
“And I’d start with…” He puts down the glass of red and looks at me directly. “Let’s talk birth control.”
My eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Opens the conversation. I’d make it clear that I use condoms, always,” he continues in that deep, rasp of his voice. “Protects against all kinds of… consequences. Even if going without is more pleasurable.”
I think of his hardness beneath me when I was draped over his lap. I think of what he might look like and that big hand rolling a condom on.
“Okay. Yeah.” I blink a few times. “That’s good.”
“How’ve you handled it in the past?”
I look down at my food and lie through my teeth. “Always used condoms. I told you, never been in a relationship.”
“Save going without for that. And make the bastard show you a doctor’s note.” His voice is a bit rough, too, and his jaw works. He cuts into his steak with more force than necessary.
We eat in silence for half a minute. I feel too hot, my legs rubbing together beneath the table. I don’t know if I’ve ever been turned on during a date before. But right now, all I can think of is what his hand would look like gripping something other than a steak knife.
He reaches for another card, his face smoothing out. The annoyance disappears. “Well,” he says. “Funny, considering it was the one word you couldn’t handle. How often do you masturbate?”
I force out a smooth, polite laugh. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a very personal question.”
“That’s the point of this lesson, trouble. To get personal.”
I curve my fingers around my glass of wine. The surface is cool against my too-hot skin. “I’ve never spoken about that with anyone before.”
“No one?”
“No. It’s not something that comes up in conversation.” My lips part. “Not mine, at least. Does it for you?”
West runs a hand along his jaw, hiding a smile. “Not daily, at least.”
“I guess couples talk about that sort of thing. And this game is for a couple.”
“Yes. But if you’re dating a man, if you’re planning on… if you’re sleeping with him,” he says, the words coming out through gritted teeth, “you should be able to have a conversation with him about all these things. Protection, safety, boundaries, safe words, your wants, your needs. Your own pleasure.”
My stomach tightens, butterflies fighting with a roiling snake. Funny how I used to run from being uncomfortable. Now it feels like I’m hurtling myself headfirst into it daily.
“Once or twice a week,” I say into my wine. “I guess.”
West’s eyebrows rise slightly. “You guess?”
“Well, I don’t exactly keep a logbook .”
His lips curve. “All right. Twice a week is good. Toys?”
“I haven’t tried one. I guess it’s easy to end up in a routine when something… works.”
He leans back. “It is. But maybe getting to know yourself more will help with all of this. If you’re going to ask for what you want, it helps to know what that is.”
I cut into my ravioli. “Yeah. Maybe. But I feel like I need to even get there with a guy in order for it to become relevant. Again.” I tack on the last word and hope it doesn’t sound too much like an afterthought. “What about you? How often do you…?”
Silence stretches out for a few long seconds. Maybe he won’t respond. Maybe he’s done with this game.
“More often than that,” he finally says. “Especially lately.”
“Oh. Is that because of… me?” I ask. His eyes flash to mine, and then immediately narrow. Shoot. “I mean, because you’re pretending to date me, and you’re busy? So you don’t have time for your usual… hook-ups.”
He cuts into the final piece of his meat. “You’re right,” West says, “that I haven’t been with anyone since you moved to New York.”
“So I’m standing in your way,” I say, and the sick realization that he might otherwise be out there, dating, if he wasn’t here with me?—
“No. Don’t think that for a single fucking second. Okay? I’m happy where I am.”
“You mean that.”
“You know I’d never do something I don’t want to.”
That makes my lips curve, and the fear, the sudden punch of jealousy, melts away. “Yes. I do know you well enough to know that.” The tension between us feels so thick it’s hard to breathe. I have to cut it. “And do you use… toys?”
His lips quirk. “No. I don’t.”
“Then it’s not fair that you told me I should try.”
“Female pleasure can be more complex.”
I take another long sip of my wine. “You mean you’re perfectly happy with your right hand?”
West’s eyes won’t leave mine. “I wouldn’t say perfectly happy, but it works.”
“So does mine,” I say. Maybe it’s the wine, or the questions I’ve already answered, but I feel braver. His gaze slides to the wineglass I’m holding.
To my hand .
“And yet,” he says, “you want to date and end up in a relationship. So it can’t be all that good.”
“I hope men are good for more than just sex.”
His smile is sudden. “I’ve heard some of us can be. On occasion.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Watching you squirm over normal topics? Who wouldn’t?”
“They can’t be normal . Do you really talk about this with women you date?”
“I thought you’d decided I didn’t date. At all. Just because you’ve never seen me at a party with someone.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you really talk about this stuff?”
“Yes,” he says. The smile disappears. “Talking about what you like in bed is necessary if you’re going to have a good experience. No one is a mind reader.”
“Too bad,” I say and reach for another card. “It would make things easier.”
“Nora.” His hand lands on top of mine, pressing it flat against the table. Stopping me from reading the card. “What you said the other night… You’re not having mediocre sex with men just because you feel like you’re not allowed to ask for what you want. Right? You’re not performing in bed too, are you?”
I’m a deer caught in the headlights. Torn between a lie I can’t uphold and a truth I can’t bear. “No,” I tell him. “I promise I’m not.”
His wide shoulders sink in a sigh. “Good. I couldn’t handle it if…” He shakes his head. “Save the card you just took. We’ll talk about it at our next stop.”
“The date isn’t over?”
“No,” he says, and there’s a glint in his eye that tells me he’s going to enjoy whatever comes next. “Something you said gave me an idea. We’re going shopping.”