17. Mihir
MIHIR
I t was dark outside, and I was about to give up hope when my phone dinged with a text from Sona. Hey .
The moment I’d been waiting for had finally arrived.
Hey , I replied.
Can I stop by?
Sure.
Ten minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door. Sona stood outside in the same clothes she’d worn to the conference. Her knee-length skirt curved around her belly, wide hips, and her full, luscious ass. She’d topped it with a silk blouse featuring a surplice neckline ending just above the décolletage , professional and alluring at the same time. A plum and navy woven blazer and opaque black leggings pulled the outfit together. On her feet were a pair of mid-heel ankle boots, and on her shoulder, a heavy-looking Saffiano tote.
I stepped back. “Come in.”
She stepped inside to linger awkwardly in the living area.
“Would you like something to drink?” I asked.
“No, I’m good.”
When I offered her a seat, she set her bag down and lowered herself into a chair. I sat facing her.
“I’m still curious,” she began. “Why did you come all this way?”
I drew in my thick brows. “I thought I told you at the café.”
“And that’s it? You don’t want anything else?”
Sitting back in my chair, I interlaced my fingers. “I do, but you don’t.”
“What if I do?”
“Then all you have to do is ask.”
She left the plush couch to pace along the length of the room, her eyes bouncing over the tasteful but unremarkable artwork on the walls.
“Okay, I’m asking,” she said, turning to me with a grin that was part embarrassment, part mischief. She crossed the room with cautious steps as I stood and anticipated her next move. The moment she rose on her toes to kiss me, I placed my finger on her lips. Taken aback, she withdrew a few steps before I gently gripped her arm.
“You left on your terms, Sona, but you come back on mine.”
“ Terms? What kind of terms?”
“Non-negotiable ones,” I replied, holding my stern face.
She placed a hand on her hip. “Playing hard to get, are we?”
I tugged at my cuffs and walked into the bedroom. I knew she’d follow me. There was a reason I was fully dressed in a jacket, trousers, and a tie. This game was about power and trust, and I was about to buy myself some.
I took the throne of the enormous armchair in the bedroom while she stood by the bed.
“Now,” I said, crossing my right leg over the left. “You have two options. One, you undress completely and play with yourself until I give you permission to stop.”
A deep, annoyed frown appeared on her forehead. “While you sit there and watch me?”
I steepled my hands and cocked my head.
With hands on her hips, she lifted her head up. “Absolutely not. Rejected. What’s the other option?”
“Option number two is I tie you up and have my way with you until you’re ready to accept defeat.”
She slipped her hands down her sides as her face glowed with delight. “I don’t see why I would object to that.”
“Don’t get cocky, Dr. Thomas. Your pleasure will be in my hands. I’ll let you have it when my conditions are fulfilled.”
She frowned and lifted her hands back to her hips again. “Is there a third option?”
“The third option is we part ways now.”
Her mouth gaped as I held the cold-blooded look on my face.
“You’re not serious!” she managed.
“Those are your options.”
“You are ruthless.”
“And a bastard, yes. Just how badly do you want me, Sona?”
She locked her eyes with mine, blazing me with her fiery stare. Then, with her undaunted gaze trained on me, she lowered herself to the edge of the bed. Taking her sweet time, she unzipped her ankle boots, tore down her tights, and flung her panties across the room.
“Tie me up, Cowboy. You forgot I was a naval cadet. You’ve got nothing on me.”
I stood. “Good choice. Now, lose the rest of your clothes,” I ordered, but she threw a leg over her knee and pushed her palms into the soft mattress behind her.
“You want control? Come do it yourself,” she said.
Determined not to yield, I held a stern face. “Strip, Sona, or we call it a night. Remember, this time, it’s on my conditions.”
“Argh, you’re so terribly, really, really aggravating!”
Jumping off the bed with a grunt, she unzipped the skirt to pull it down her waist, and pulled the shirt off over her head.
I removed my jacket and rolled up my shirt sleeves. “The bra.” I pointed with my eyes.
With another audible grumble, she removed her stylish but practical bra and tossed it to the bed. Under my firm gaze, I watched her large nipples bead up before I stepped aside to retrieve the silk ties from my bag. My handsewn Hermès had witnessed many a precarious encounter across multiple board rooms, but none so important as this.
After knotting her hands, I strapped them to the bed. Her soft, dark curls scattered around her head in a halo. Then I laid out my conditions while I ordered her legs wide open. She accepted them both verbally and with a sensual curve of her back. I leaned over, bringing my mouth to hover over hers, but not quite touching. A delicate scent of warm amber and vanilla rose from her neck and tempted me, but I had excellent self-control.
Moving down her body, I placed the first kiss just above her navel, where she could feel me but neither see nor reach me in her current state. An involuntary moan escaped her mouth, and I felt it through her chest. I held her hips and kissed her stomach and thighs. She twisted and writhed in my grip but was now withholding her sighs and sounds of pleasure. I knew she was trying to get on my nerves with her silence, but I was in no rush. This was my game, and I was determined to take my time.
I ran a finger through her wet slit and saw her stomach rise and fall rapidly in anticipation. I paused. When the warmth of my touch left her body, she opened her eyes and looked at me.
I stood above her and demanded, “Tell me what you want, Sona. Be a good girl and spell it out for me.”
She didn’t disappoint. With a crooked grin, she swung her legs closed. “I don’t need to. I know you’ll give me everything I want and more.”
“If that’s your decision.” With a stolid face, I pretended to begin untying her.
“ Wait! What are you doing?” The panic in that question was unequivocal.
“We’re done here, Sona.”
“Okay, stop!” she yelled.
I retracted my hands and stood above her again.
“Tongue,” she cried with anger. “I want your ridiculously expert tongue.”
She fumed with an angry frown on her forehead, her dark pupils rushing to the edges of her deep brown eyes. Fraught with need and her indignation toward me, she spread her legs wide and demanded my presence between them. This time, I obliged.
Slipping out of my shoes and socks, I bent on the bed and licked her. Her stomach contracted involuntarily, and a loud moan erupted from her chest. I bit into her fleshy thighs, then dug my fingers into her soft ass while my mouth did what it did best. I wanted her completely undone. Only, she was a challenge I had never encountered before.
It was a folly to assume she would give in and accede to all my terms. Then again, if she had, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be enjoying this. I edged her multiple times until my knees were sore and my mouth was at risk of going numb. My beard was drenched in her juices, and my fingers were beginning to prune, but she still refused to admit she had missed me.
I lifted my face to look at her one more time. “It’s that easy, Sona. All you have to do is tell me how much you missed me, and you can come as many times as you want.”
“I didn’t miss you,” she kept insisting, hands above her head, incapacitated but still undefeated.
“Your choice,” I said and removed my clothing.
Rolling a condom on, I continued to torment her, dipping the tip in, then retracting the moment she thrust her pelvis toward me. She grumbled and growled with annoyed screams, expecting me to fold. I didn’t.
Finally, I heard her broken, needy words. “Mihir…please.”
“Say it, Sona.” This time, I slid up to her face, bringing my tingling, overworked mouth softly over the cupid’s bow of her lips, teasing but not giving in. She gazed deep into my face and reared her head to bite my beard. “Tell me how much you missed me. I need to know.”
I was aware I had tipped the balance of power in her favor again, but it was a battle I was prepared to lose in order to win the war.
With lustful, needy eyes gazing into my own, she confessed, “I missed you every waking moment, Mihir. I touched myself every night thinking of you. I missed you so much, I’m here right now, agreeing to your every stupid condition.”
“And you’re sorry you ran out on me and left me in uncertainty for two weeks.”
She took her lower lip between her teeth and gave a guilty nod. “Yes.”
“And you’ll come clean about what sent you scurrying away that day.”
That’s when the shy smile turned into a defiant one. “Now that’s one addendum too many. I think I can live without an orgasm tonight.”
“But you aren’t going anywhere unless you have one,” I declared in my baritone voice.
She curved her back, launching her chest upward. “Oh, I know I’m not going anywhere tonight.” She ran her tongue along her top lip as I ran mine over her taut nipple, and it took everything in me to stop myself from giving her what she wanted.
After a deep kiss that I felt in my heart, my stomach, and my balls, I undid her hands and brought her to climax. The Hermès ties, wrinkled and exhausted, appeared proud. When she clutched my hair in both her fists and roared my name, I made her tremble and spasm again, then once more with me inside her.
When I flopped to the bed, I realized there was nothing in the world I wanted more than being with this woman. I gathered her in my arms and kissed her forehead.
“I did miss you, Mihir,” she whispered against my chest. “It wasn’t a lie to get you to give me those mind-blowing orgasms.”
“I know you missed me. And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
Swiping the curls away from her face, I planted my lips on her forehead again.
We lay in each other’s arms for several moments of bliss before she slid her hand up my chest and said, “Mihir?”
“Yes, babe?”
“I’m hungry. You should know I missed dinner for this.”
“And you were so good,” I teased. “You’ll get your reward. I might be evil, but I’m not cruel.” I turned to my side and unhooked the receiver to call for room service. “Burgers?”
“A grilled chicken sandwich for me with fries, heavily salted. Wait, make that sandwich and poutine. I’ve always wanted to try it. Hope they make a good one.”
“They do,” I confirmed from past experience and placed the order.
While we waited for the food, I went to the bathroom to clean up. By the time I returned in my sweatpants, she had slipped into a silk camisole and sleep shorts. Her tote lay unzipped at the foot of the bed, and I spotted the end of an electric toothbrush and a cosmetics pouch. My heart swelled at the thought that she had come prepared to stay the night.
Good thing I was prepared too. “I got you something.”
Her face lit up in anticipation as I produced a decorative cardboard box. The delight in her eyes at the sight was the same as I had felt at seeing her. “Don’t tell me you got cake!”
“Chocolate cake. Had it delivered just before you got here?”
“So you knew I’d come? You’re a sneaky man, you know that?”
I put the box on the side table and climbed into bed beside her. She straddled my extended legs and placed a kiss on my nose.
She pressed her forehead against mine. “Now, do you want to tell me what that play was all about?”
I took her hands. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Really? May I hazard a guess? This has to do with my running away from you that evening.”
“Oh? Please elaborate.”
“Gladly, Mr. Seth. You wanted to set me up to be vulnerable before you, push me to trust you when I felt at my weakest. It was about testing if I would be open to baring myself to you, inside and out. How am I doing so far?”
She was spot on. If there was a smidgeon of doubt she was the woman for me, she had just knocked it right out of the park.
I neither confirmed nor denied her theory. Instead, I asked, “What’s the verdict, then? Are you ready to open yourself to me?”
She squeezed my hands and said, “The real question here is, are you ready for the brunt?”
“We won’t know until we try.”
Just then the doorbell chimed. Sona climbed off me and stepped into the bathroom. I answered the door, and while the server set the table for us, I looked around for my wallet but couldn’t spot it.
As I strode into the bedroom to look for it, I ran into Sona exiting the bathroom in a robe.
“Have you seen my wallet, babe?” I asked, startling myself with the question.
“I think I saw it by the TV on the console,” she replied in a completely composed tone and stepped around me to retrieve it.
She handed it to me with a smile, but I didn’t return one.
I was no stranger to having women in my home, my hotel rooms, my bedroom. But never once had I felt comfortable sharing such an intimate behavior with anyone else. My things were my own, as was my concern with them. The stringent need to maintain this strict line of separation somehow seemed redundant when I was with Sona. My qualms about sharing my life—and my most intimate spaces—dissipated at the sight of her sweet smile.
The thought disconcerted me.
As we settled at the table, the loud trill of my phone shattered the silence of the suite. Thankful for the temporary diversion, I excused myself to answer the work call.
When I realized I’d be held up for more than a minute, I poked my head into the living area. “You start, babe. I’ll join you soon,” I said to Sona.
She smiled. “Take your time. I’ll wait.”
“Don’t,” I blurted the command. “I know you’re hungry, and I don’t want you waiting for me.”
Back in the suite’s bedroom, I opened my laptop to access the data that required my input. In my hyperfocus mode, I lost track of time and kept talking on the phone while perusing the spreadsheets that kept appearing on my laptop until the doorbell dinged again.
I heard Sona and a courteous male voice outside, then a soft click of the door closing. I continued to work until Sona walked in and stood with a hand on her hip and a tender smile on her lips.
I held up an apologetic finger while I finally ended the call.
“Time for dinner,” Sona said, leaning in and taking the laptop off me.
“Sorry, that took long,” I said and pulled my legs off the bed. Gripping her wrist, I pressed a firm kiss on her cheek.
A different set of platters greeted me at the dining table. The warmth and aroma emanating from the food told me it was freshly prepared. Sona placed a plate with a stacked burger before me and the silverware around it.
“The food got cold so I reordered,” she said, unfolding a napkin and elegantly placing it in her lap.
Entranced and stupefied, I tried to wrap my head around the bizarre occurrence. I was unaccustomed to this kind of coddling from my former partners, not for lack of trying on their part, but because I actively discouraged it.
“I’m not used to this,” I declared in a grave voice. “I don’t need you to serve me, Sona.”
She looked up with raised brows. “ Serve you? Do you mean care for you ?” she corrected with a smug grin. “Doing something nice for someone you care about doesn’t amount to servitude, now, does it?”
My spinning head steadied while her grin grew wider.
“Ah, I see!” she said as if she’d discovered a secret.
Placing her napkin on the table, she stood and came around me. I watched as she poured me the wine she had ordered, then dropped a kiss on my cheek.
“You are a giver , Mihir,” she said, retaking her seat. “There a two kinds of people: givers and takers,” she explained as she poured herself a glass of sparkling water. “That’s what my life coach advised me. Givers thrive when they are giving.”
“Giving what?” I inquired with curiosity.
“Love, emotional support, kindness, physical help, material gifts. It could be anything. But givers are the most comfortable when they are providing for the people around them. They feel out of their element when they are at the receiving end, even if it’s the most basic thing, like someone placing a dinner plate before them,” she said with a smirk.
I shook my head and put a forkful of the juicy meat in my mouth.
“Givers think they can handle everything on their own. And they are bad at asking for help ,” she emphasized as if making a point.
I quirked my brows in response. “And takers?”
“Takers love accepting but don’t know how to give. Takers are often encouraged to give, but givers need to learn to accept love and help—and do it with grace—not only to survive but also to avoid burning out.”
I was getting used to Sona breaking into these mini-lectures, always fascinated by how her mind worked.
“Is that your roundabout way of telling me to shut up and allow you to care for me?” I asked.
“Well, partly,” she said with a tilt of her head. “But you need to learn how to receive and not make a big deal of it. You must learn to find joy in receiving.”
I picked up the wine and nodded for her to get her glass. “Then here’s to new learnings and new beginnings,” I said, clinking them.
She smiled her demure smile, and my brain lost all purpose.
“Which one are you?” I asked, slicing into my oversized burger again.
She picked up a fry from the poutine on her fork. “I used to be a giver, but learned to be a gracious receiver.”
“Good,” I said and winked at her. “Because you’ll be doing a lot of receiving this weekend.”
She gasped and hit my arm. “But you’ve got to enjoy receiving too,” she said and bit into her sandwich before I could pester her to elaborate.
Alright, I could be convinced to be at the receiving end. I could potentially be happy to receive. Especially, when the giver was the woman of my dreams. I was willing to be cared for. Damn, Sona! My heart thudded.
“Is the poutine any good?” I asked as I watched her relish it.
“It’s excellent!” she said between bites, then offered me some. The poutine was exceptional indeed, drizzled with just a hint of truffle oil. When she caught me watching her, she slowed down. “Did I smear gravy on my face?”
She picked up the cloth napkin by her plate and wiped her mouth as I shook my head.
“I’m just admiring you,” I said, and she blushed. Her shy eyes drew to the table, and a coy smile appeared on her face.
“Don’t,” she said, looking up at me. “Let me eat my food in peace.”
“Well, you didn’t let me eat you in peace. I’m merely returning the favor.”
Her face flushed, and my tired cock came alive again.
“You are so fucking exciting, Sona!” Then it struck me. “You never swear or curse, do you?”
That made her look back up at me. Her lips parted to say something, but she turned her gaze to her plate again and shook her head. “Not when I can avoid it, which is most of the time.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and her soft eyes returned to my face. “Let’s finish our food. That cake is waiting.” As she elegantly picked up some poutine on her fork again, I said, “And then you can tell me all about the asshole who hurt you.”