Chapter Six
I’m ten minutes early this time. No way I’ll fuck this up again.
I could barely believe it when Jessica texted me on Tuesday. The silence that followed our encounter left me quite certain the kiss ruined my chances with her. But here I am, sitting in the fancy bar of The Plaza, waiting for her to arrive. I still don’t look the part and attract some curious side glances, but just like last time, I don’t give a shit.
The beer is as good as it was then, but the knowledge that I might get lucky with the sexy redhead tonight makes it taste even better.
When the large wall-mounted clock strikes seven, a grin tugs at the corner of my lips. Look who’s late now…
I’m sipping my drink when she appears in the doorway, just as stunning as I remember.
The anthracite dress she’s wearing is a mix of business and night out, hugging her hourglass figure to perfection. Her feet are adorned by shiny black stilettos, and the ease with which she walks in them implies she has experience. This time, she has her hair up, gathered loosely in a high bun by a stick that I can see poking out on the sides of her gorgeous head.
Her eyes, so blue that I can see their shade from where I sit, anxiously scan the bar for me. I don’t make a move, absorbed by her. The moment her gaze reaches me, I swear she stops breathing for a brief moment, her face turning slightly pink. She looks a little surprised, as if she expected me to be late again. Maybe she hoped I wouldn’t realize she is.
We do nothing but stare at one another for a moment, then she takes a step my way. I watch as she approaches, her strides graceful yet determined.
“Evening, red,” I greet her when she reaches me. “You’re late.”
“I know, sorry. The contract took longer than I thought to finalize.”
The reminder of that damn contract makes me smile as she sits down in front of me. When she scoots her chair forward, my attention lowers to the mounds that bounce under her modest cleavage. While I know what her arse looks like, I have yet to discover her tits.
She signals to a waitress nearby, who’s quick to come and take her order. “I’ll have a lemon drop martini and a glass of water, please,” she asks.
The blonde nods and leaves.
“If it’s fine with you, Mr. Clarke, we’ll review the contract together and get on with it,” she pragmatically offers.
“We’re here to fuck, red, so I think you can start calling me Jake.”
That’s all it takes for her face to redden, and I bite back a grin. I can’t fucking wait to give her a real reason to blush like that.
Intrigued, I watch as she withdraws two sheets of paper from a folder and hands me one with practiced elegance.
“Are you a lawyer?” I ask, curious to finally know. From how she’s acting, I know my suspicions are probably right.
“That’s none of your concern.”
I decide that she is, and for some reason, it makes me want her even more. Jessica, the proper little lawyer dying to try a pierced dick. My pierced dick.
With her hair up like this, I can admire the symmetry of her collarbones and the delicate column of her throat. It takes a conscious effort to tear my eyes from her enticing face and focus on the contract instead. “Consensual engagement in coitus,” I read. “That has to be the worst way to describe sex I’ve ever seen.”
“Keep reading.”
There’s a bit about the dates of effect of the contract, which she already dated from today to a month from now. Then there’s a standard statement that we’re both of legal age and of healthy mind and body at the moment of this contract’s signature.
The first clause is about the sexual acts we’ll engage in. Of the four dotted lines she’s put there, only one is filled in. “Vaginal penetration by penis?” I ask, holding back my laughter.
“Something unclear about that?”
It should probably deflate my dick, but every time I look at her and see how adorably embarrassed she is, I’m compelled to show her what proper sex is. There’s no way this woman ever got a good fuck in her life, or she wouldn’t handle this matter in such a formal manner. It’s supposed to be fun, not whatever this is. But maybe she sees it as foreplay, in which case, I can help with that.
“No, it’s a remarkably clinical way to put it. The second slot should be oral.”
The pink tint on her cheeks is slowly but surely becoming my favorite color.
“Which way?” she asks.
“Either way is fine by me. More than fine, actually. Strongly encouraged.”
She writhes on her seat in a vain attempt to relieve whatever discomfort I triggered in her core. Her hairstyle allows me to appreciate the way her ears get bright red, betraying the naughty thoughts her mind conjures.
The intensity with which I want to fuck this woman is uncanny. Eli is getting nothing less than a medal for putting us in contact.
While she produces a fancy ballpoint pen from her clutch, the waitress returns with a tray and her two drinks. Once the glasses are settled on the table, she vanishes, and Jessica downs half of her water in one go. Then, in slot B, she adds: Oral sex performed on genitals.
“You can add fingering too,” I suggest. “In slot C.”
I swear I can hear her breath growing a little ragged as her eyes shift to my tattooed hands. She stares at them for several seconds, then shakes her head a little, stretches her neck, and writes: Genital penetration or stimulation by use of fingers and hands.
“What a fancy way to put it,” I tease. “Ah, and kissing.”
Her heated gaze lifts to me, and I suspect she’ll tell me that’s not allowed due to some weird idea that kissing would be more intimate than me being balls deep in her pussy. She proves me wrong, though. “It’s such a mundane thing that I considered it a given.”
“Kissing isn’t mundane. Not when I do it.”
Something flickers in her pupils, and I bite the inside of my cheek. “I noticed,” she admits with a small voice. “There’s a mention of it in the third clause.”
Since I’m heading there, I quickly skim over clause two, which is about contract revisions. Clause three, titled “Health Requirements”, stipulates that we both have to produce an STI result that isn’t more than two weeks old at the time of the contract’s signature. I take the test results out of my jacket pocket and hand them to her. After a quick scan of it, she slips it into her folder.
Then, the bit about kissing she spoke of. “If one of the parties suffers from oral herpes, kissing on the herpes-receptive parts of the body shall be excluded from the proceedings,” I read aloud, not minding whoever can hear us. She does though, her eyes darting left and right. “I don’t have herpes,” I explain, setting the sheet down again to drink from my beer.
“Perfect.”
“Since kissing is already included, that leaves us with an empty slot, doesn’t it?”
“We don’t have to fill it. I can just cross it out,” she says, picking up her cocktail.
“But what would be the fun in that? Is anal off the table?”
How she nearly chokes on her drink tells me I might have gone too far. She coughs away the discomfort and shakes her head vigorously. “We’re absolutely not engaging in that.”
“Hmm…”
Before I can come up with something else to put in there, she draws a straight line to cross out the empty slot. Killjoy.
“Clause four,” she spurs on. “Contraception method. The participants are required to produce contraception to the best of their abilities.”
I read on when she stops, and a smile tugs at the corner of my lips. She’s on the pill, and I am tasked with providing one or more condoms that “must be the right fit, unexpired, and unaltered”. I’m free to pick whichever brand I favor as long as “their products are reputedly qualitative”.
Is it weird that this is working for me? It’s giving me insight into her clever mind, and I kind of like it. I’ve never done this before, even though it’s just sex.
The following clause is in case the condom rips. It demands that we both get tested again and stipulates that she’ll take Plan B. I have nothing to add, actually reassured to read this. I’m not about to have a kid with a perfect stranger, and it looks like she’s just as opposed to it.
Clause six though, poses a problem for me. “While consent to engage in coitus is given at the moment of this contract’s signature, consent can be retracted at any point, even during intercourse,” I read out loud. “Well, that’s a given,” I say with a shrug before I continue reading. “If consent is retracted, the participants must stop whichever activity they are engaged in at the moment of the retraction. The words ‘no’ and ‘stop’ shall serve as indicators of consent withdrawal.” I wince, again sensing her inexperience with all this. “Those aren’t good words.”
I might as well have grown a third head with how she looks at me. Even though I know I’m right, her eyes make me feel stupider than I ever have.
“I disagree,” she says. “They leave no room for doubt and couldn’t be clearer.”
I cross my arms and lean back in my seat. I guess she’ll just have to learn it the hard way. “So, I am to stop everything I’m doing the moment you say ‘no’ or ‘stop?’”
“That’s how consent works, yes.”
“Alright. I’ll comply.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
What’s hard is my dick. I’m already imagining ways to make her realize her mistake. Little Miss Know-It-All will learn a lesson whenever I get to fuck her.
We review the few clauses left, one of which is a basic NDA, and then she requests, “Your full legal name, please.”
“Jacob Daniel Clarke.”
She quirks an inquisitive, perfectly arched brow at me, aware of the fun twist. An amused grin tugs at the corner of my lips. “Yes, I got the ladder because of it. Might have just done a magic cross otherwise.”
The way she squirms on her chair has me holding back a smirk. God, I can’t wait to fuck her.
She writes my name down, slides both sheets as well as her pen, and instructs, “Sign here.” I comply, still greatly entertained by how formal this whole thing is. When I hand everything back, she scribbles whatever’s left to write on one of the pages and hands it to me. “This one will be yours.”
I skim over it while she fills the second one, and I quickly spot an unexpected detail. “Genevieve Charlotte Kensington,” I read, trying out her actual name on my tongue. “How sneaky of you, Genevieve.”
“Don’t call me that. Genevieve is for when I get scolded.”
“Hmm… I’ll try to remember that whenever you’re being a bad girl.”
She crosses her legs under the table, which brings a wolfish grin to my face. This is too fucking easy. I wonder if she can ever get used to my teasing. I hope the fuck not. “What should I call you then, red?”
“Call me Gen.”
“Does everyone call you that?”
“Most people, yes. Some call me Miss Kensington.”
“Oh, I like that better. I need to find you a flogger and a latex catsuit.”
She drops her pen with a sigh and meets my eyes with a ferocious glare. “Will you stop?”
“Stop what?”
“Trying to turn me on.”
“But am I only trying, red? If we’re being very honest with ourselves, am I not succeeding?”
She thinks about it for the longest time, and I’m nearly positive she’ll deny it. She’s too prideful and proper to admit she’s sitting in her juices, dripping for me and my dirty tongue.
For the God-knows-how-manyeth time since I met her, she surprises me again when she replies.
“What if you are?”
My cock twitches, my mind flooding with images of us fucking until there’s nothing left but cum, sweat, and sore limbs. I’ll wreck that pussy of hers like no other man has before. I’ll dick her down so thoroughly that her world will never be the same.
This poor woman has no idea what she’s getting herself into, does she?
“If I am,” I say, “we need to get ourselves a fucking room.”
Her eyes flutter while she takes in my bold statement. When she nods with her lips parted, I swear my cock gets even harder than it already was. Without a word, we both finish our drinks in one go and get out of our chairs. I fold my copy of the contract and tuck it in the back pocket of my jeans before I slip on my jacket. We make our way to the bar, where she pays for her drink, and we walk together to the front desk.
She looks tense as she books a room for us, so while the clerk processes everything, I bend forward to whisper in her ear, “You know you can change your mind anytime, right?”
“Yes, the contract stipulates that—”
“Forget about the contract, red,” I interrupt her. I can smell the cherry scent of her skin, and as much as I want to head upstairs with her, I need her to understand she’s in charge of what does or doesn’t happen. “There is no obligation of any kind, no engagement, no commitment, and no expectations. We’re only going up there, taking it slow, and seeing where it goes.”
“This is light speed compared to what I’m used to.”
“Look at me, love.” She does, and when her blue eyes meet mine, I swear a wave of calm confidence rushes through her. I might be crude and terribly straightforward, but I’m not a bad person, and I hope she knows that. My intimidating physique and the rebellious attitude that sticks to me like a second skin aren’t an accurate projection of the man within.
“You said you didn’t do dates,” she says.
“Fuck that. Because we met tonight doesn’t mean you have to give me something in return.”
There’s a moment of silence, interrupted by the clerk who slides a keycard on the counter beside us. “There you go, miss.”
But Gen doesn’t look at him—only me. “What if I want to?” she whispers.
“If you want to, that’s another thing, red.”
I pick up the card, offer the clerk a nod, and we walk further into the lobby toward the elevator.
“You’ve done this plenty of times before, right?” she asks, controlling the faint trembling of her voice.
“Not this exact way, no. And not in a palace,” I answer with a sardonic grin, looking around at the luxurious surroundings. “But I’ve had one-night stands, yes. It’s actually my specialty.”
“I’m lucky to have stumbled upon a professional, then.”
My low chuckle is interrupted by the elevator doors opening.
“Do you want to do this, red?” The fabric of her dress is thin, and it serves as a mediocre barrier to my touch when I set a hand on her lower back. I can feel her warmth and want to rip the silk away until there’s nothing between us.
She takes a bold step forward, following my invitation. “Yes, I want to.”
We enter the confined space together, soon followed by more guests. They all look forward as we end up in the back and my hand returns to her waist. Once the doors close, I look down at her, mesmerized by her unique appeal.
“And you?” she almost whispers. “Do you want to do this?”
I can’t hide the crooked smirk this compels. My palm slides from her back to her hip, and I clutch the curve of it to pull her closer to me. She complies with the command as I relocate her before me, and it’s only when my hand slips to her front to press her against me that she understands my intentions. I’m hard as steel between us, my cock straining against my jeans and pressing against her arse.
I sense the shiver that shakes her from head to toe, her entire body tensing at the touch of my hard-on. My hand and fingers are still spread right under her navel, and I tug her even closer. Given how red her ear is, I bet she’s as wet as I am hard.
“I think I’ve been hard since you strolled in wearing that sexy little dress,” I whisper.
I’m bent over enough to see her eyelids flutter, her mind probably overpowered by adrenaline and lust. My hold is light, and she can step forward to put some space between us whenever she wants. It would be the right thing to do for a proper woman like her, especially since we’re not alone on the ride up. Instead, she presses harder into me, the firmness of her bum squeezing my cock between us.
“And you, red? Are you wet for me?” I can’t help but ask.
She gulps and says nothing, her cheeks flushed. “Cat got your tongue again, Miss Kensington?”
She shakes her head, worriedly eyeing the oblivious guests. Soft music is playing, and I’m speaking low enough so no one can hear aside from her. There’s only us in this moment—us and the need we have for one another.
“Maybe you want me to find out for myself, then?” I suggest, the warmth of my breath fanning across the tendrils on the back of her neck.
When my fingers slowly descend down the fabric of her dress, her hand instinctively wraps around my wrist, adamantly stopping me.
“Then tell me, Gen. Are you wet?”
She tremblingly confesses, “Yes,” and I feel precum seep out of me.
Jesus fucking Christ, I haven’t even entered this woman yet, and she’s already testing my stamina. She can probably hear the low groan that rumbles in my throat, given how she shivers against me. We reach our floor before anything else can happen, and I escort her out of there, people parting for my imposing frame.
We’re drowning in silence as we walk through the hallways, the thick carpet absorbing our steps. Because I miss the soft waves of her red hair, I tug at the stick holding it together, sending it cascading down. When she glances at me, I’m twirling the stick around my tattooed knuckles.
Tonight, she’ll learn what proper sex is. And I’ll finally get my fill of this woman after obsessing over her for an entire week.