Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MAY I HAVE A TASTE?
ELOISE
I used to think longing was a fictional thing—that lust couldn’t reach your heart and poke it until you were forced to acknowledge your emotions.
I like Ezra.
I do.
And he’s been in New York since the day after I rushed to his house and kissed him before running away again. Arguing with Sophie is the only thing that gets me that worked up and, in that moment, I needed a shot of whatever Ezra gives me to even me out.
He excites me, sure. But he also confirms, somehow, that I’m not this fucked up person that I sometimes believe I am.
With that kiss, I was able to recalibrate and go back home, calmer.
But in my mind, he ran as fast as he could, too. Away from my uneven emotions and my tendency to lean toward fear when things get too intense.
Fear doesn’t make me smart.
It makes me rude , I think to myself, inwardly groaning at the fact that I didn’t even say goodbye.
He sent me one email— one email —telling me he was going, and he’d be back as soon as he could.
I try to ignore the heavy dread in my belly as one of our very few regulars comes up to the register, books in her arms.
Mrs. Gooden smiles as I ring her purchases up, admiring her choices.
“Oh, goodness,” she starts, dropping her purse down in front of her with a thud. “I left my wallet in the car. I’ll be right back, Lucy.”
She turns, keys jangling in her hands, before she can see the grimace I wear at the sound of my nickname. Some people will always see me as one of the three Bordeau girls, running around in pigtails and wearing braces. They call this small-town charm but it’s so stifling.
There’s no room for evolution here.
I will never be more than what these people have already deemed me. There will never be more than Lucy Bordeau in this world; the girl with the dead parents and the dying bookstore.
The phone rings, jolting me out of my pity party.
“Bordeau Books,” I say, trying to sound a little less bitter and a little more hopeful.
“Where you always come first?” There’s a hint of laughter in his tone, and I inwardly groan at my sex positive mom and my dad’s inability to rein her in.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Passive aggressiveness was never something I ever had to take part in, my blunt ways coming through before the need ever arose. And yet, in order to express my anger with him, I’d have to explain to him that I’ve missed his badgering presence that keeps me from sinking into myself.
That one email is unacceptable.
That I like him.
Passive aggressiveness it is.
Ezra is silent for a moment, and I wonder if he’s hung up. I almost ask if he’s still there when he finally speaks again.
“I dreamed of you. And I woke up with my cock in my hand.” Another second of silence before, “I called your name when I came. Almost like I couldn’t help it.”
The last statement is said so quietly, I convince myself it was an inner thinking that couldn’t help but voice itself. Something meant only for him.
“That’s nice.” My voice is tight as I look out the window, wondering where Mrs. Gooden’s gone.
“Oh, it’s nice, is it? Truth or dare?” His tone is easy, but I’m learning that this means nothing when it comes to Ezra.
This man dons battle gear with a smile.
“Dare,” I grind out, scooting away from the desk so I can hop off the stool. The phone’s cord only allows me to walk so far as I await my fate.
“I left you something in the drawer.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“When?” I ask as I rush toward it, sliding the first drawer open before slamming it shut and reaching for the second one.
I open the second drawer and my right eye twitches at the small object staring back at me.
“When you weren’t there,” is all he says, and I find it impossible. I’m almost always here. But another question tumbles from my lips.
“Was Sophie here? Did you speak to her?”
I’m not afraid of what Sophie will think. I just don’t want to deal with anyone on my case about sleeping with the town’s enemy.
“Our secret is still safe,” he reassures me as I take a closer look at what’s in the drawer.
Bright pink with a little black button on the bottom, it almost looks like it’s meant for a child.
“Is that a vibrator, Mr. James?”
He ignores the question and gets right down to business. “Is there anyone in the bookstore?”
“No, but?—”
“Turn it on.”
My frustrated sigh only spurs him on.
“I don’t hear anything, Eloise.”
The only person to call me by the name I want, is the one I can’t stand in this moment.
“Because I’m at work. How would you feel if I interrupted your day for this foolishness?”
“I’d welcome it,” he says, his voice edging on a whisper. “Now turn it on.”
My fingers snatch up the item and its rubbery texture further confirms. This is an item meant for pleasure; meant to rub against wetness without chafing.
I press the button on the bottom, and it comes to life, a subtle buzz accompanying the vibrations at the center of my palm. “I turned it on. May I go back to work now?”
His chuckle is too smooth for my liking. I imagine him in an office with a view, his back turned to it as he leans in his seat comfortably.
Ready to push at my comfort levels.
“I want to hear you come.”
The sound that emits from my mouth should embarrass me, the squawk echoing in my mind. But his ridiculous request requires a reply of the same.
“Eloise,” he says, his tone warning. “You agreed to this. Your signature binds you.”
I want to tell him that I didn’t agree to this . That sex wasn’t part of the agreement. But this isn’t sex, is it?
It’s a lustful game that I’m too fucking scared to let myself take part in. I know that once we take it there, there’s no way I can go back to a life where I can pretend that feelings like this don’t exist.
My body warms at the exchange, at his insistence that I join him in his lustful banter. But I can’t let myself go. I can’t give him control.
“I’m at work.” My voice is at a higher octave now and I’m wondering what the hell is taking Mrs. Gooden so long.
“So, you renege?” he asks, the lilt in his voice a little too jovial for my liking.
He’s in the city. There’s no way he can do anything about it if you do.
“You’re crossing a line. I’m putting my foot down,” I tell him, wishing anyone would walk in and give me the opportunity to exit this conversation.
But the thrill of it…God, I feel alive just verbally sparring with this man.
“Truth, then,” he murmurs, and I wonder what his office looks like. If his secretary pines after him. If he’s more business there and saves his pleasure for me.
“Go on,” I urge him, impatient, hating that I’m playing safe, knowing I can’t handle the alternative. Not while he’s in the city and I’m here with muddled feelings and panties that are getting wetter by the moment.
“What do you think is going to happen the next time I see you?”
I glance out the window, catching sight of Mrs. Gooden as she makes her way back toward the store. “I’m not concerned with it right now.”
“Oh, this will be fun,” he muses before I hear the click.
The bell above the door jingles and I set my pen down, leaning over to see who it is. I can’t see anyone, and before they start to wander and touch things I’ve already fixed, I clear my throat.
“We’re closed,” I start to yell just as I hear footsteps coming toward the back office. I can’t believe I forgot to lock the door. But on a typical evening, I don’t need to. No one ever tries to come in.
Ezra steps inside, gloriously handsome in his suit and tie, tapping something pink against his palm.
That damn vibrator .
“What are you doing here?” I ask, frustrated by the nerves in my voice.
“I asked you what you thought would happen when I saw you again.”
There’s an air about him, a dangerous prowling nature in him that I’ve never fully been introduced to. It scares me as much as it excites me.
And I hide it all with a faux nonchalant sigh.
“It still doesn’t concern me,” I answer, picking my pen up to continue with my work. It’s impossible to focus when he’s here, a quiet energy thrumming from him and edging around me.
It doesn’t deter him as he glances around the room, still fiddling with the sex toy in his hand.
“Did you miss me?” he asks, removing his suit jacket, folding it in half the long way, and placing it over the chair in the corner. He works at his cufflinks, tucking them into his pocket before rolling up his sleeves. The dark sprinkle of hair on his forearm steals my attention.
There is no longer any fear here. Not as he turns to assess me, not when he smirks at the shake of my head.
There’s only excitement; a vibration of impatience running through me.
Touch me already.
Kiss me already.
Show me who you are already.
“I missed you.” He leans against the wall, his jade eyes flashing with appreciation. “I missed you so much, I got you a present.”
“I’ve seen it. For future reference, flowers will suffice.” I set the pen down again and place my hands together on top of the desk.
He shakes his head, a smile stamped on his face. “Close your eyes.”
There’s a delicate balance of power between us. And just as he’s decided to take on the power role, I’ve somehow acquiesced to his will.
My eyes are shut when I feel my chair roll back, coming slowly to a stop as I begin to catch my breath again. Hands reach for mine and pull me up to stand.
“Take your panties off,” he whispers in my ear, causing me to shiver.
I attempt to stave the need to open my eyes as I lift the skirt of my dress, telling myself that he’s touching me, and this is what I’ve wanted. That impatience and disobedience will likely ruin it.
“Slowly,” he adds, wielding his power quietly.
Inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, my panties fall until they get past my knees, sinking to the floor with ease.
I’m barefoot and bare under my dress as I hear the squeak of the chair, assuming he’s sat in it.
Hands reach the backs of my knees, and I part my lips, giving myself over to the sensation. His thumbs run over the insides of my thighs, and I press my eyes closed as I try to control my breathing.
He sits behind a desk, building an empire. His hands know small electronic devices and with the touch of a few buttons, he controls millions of dollars.
But those calluses speak of hard physical work as they graze over my sensitive skin.
“I can’t help but touch you,” he tells me, as if he’s sorry.
He doesn’t know that when he touches me, I’m at peak existence.
I can’t give him that knowledge.
“Slowly,” he commands, reminding me that he’s in charge. “Bend over.”
I have to bite my lip. To keep from voicing my annoyance or from smiling? I’m not sure tonight.
But I do; I take my time, reveling in the way it feels to have the fabric of my dress lifted and bunched along the way. I straighten my spine and lean forward, pressing my chest onto the desk. One of his hands slides down my back as I do so, stopping just where the bottom of my dress is gathered.
“God, you’re gorgeous.” His voice has gone husky, and quiet; smooth and warm like whiskey and just as intoxicating.
I’m falling into a dangerous place, my eyes still closed, my body humming.
Until the sound and the sting shatter my impending peace.
Did he just…spank me?
My eyes open and I wet my lips with my tongue, unsure of how I feel and what comes next.
Liar.
I may lie to myself, but the way my legs shake and the way I yearn to groan tells me I liked it. I liked it a lot.
“Your body reacts to me,” he starts, then hums, and I know what it feels like to want something so much, words fail you. “I’m trying not to give in to it.”
“Why not?” I ask him. It sounds like a plea.
Maybe I’d like it.
“It’s not in my nature,” he confesses, his fingertips sliding over my bare ass, soothing the warmed flesh. “I wasn’t the boy who ate all of his Halloween candy at once. I could hold off, savoring bites here and there.”
Then, he leans in and pulls at my skin with his teeth. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to make me shiver.
“And if I don’t want to be savored?” I ask, careful that my breath isn’t hitching at the feel of these small bites.
He’s driving me crazy.
“Ms. Bordeau,” he starts with a chuckle, “I think I bring the liar out in you.”
Or the savage.
“Open your mouth,” he directs. The chair squeaks again and I miss the feel of his hands on me just as rubber meets my lips. “I’m going to hear you come. And then I’ll fuck you, if you ask me nicely.”
I want to spit the item out. To tell him he’ll fuck me whether I ask or not.
To remind him that I’m a woman capable of finding a willing partner to sleep with me. One who doesn’t require asking nicely .
But the feeling of his fingers as they slide against my wetness has me stopping.
“You’ll ask,” he tells me, only removing the vibrator once I’ve nodded.
The warmed and wetted head of it meets my inner thigh. He trails it against my skin as slowly as he likes, and I buck back.
“Would you like me to fuck you instead?” he asks, as the leather of the chair creaks to accommodate his weight. “We can skip this if you’d like.”
I shake my head—my hands spread on the desk—not wanting to ask him to, wondering what I look like, bent over in front of this man as if he’s preparing to examine me. Before embarrassment can bloom, he presses the toy against my clit.
My yelp turns into a cry when it comes alive, vibrating against the most sensitive part of me before pushing inside. It pulses as he slides it…in and out, in and out.
“You’re dripping for me. May I have a taste, Eloise?”
The way he says my name, it’s confirming what I always knew. He says my name like it’s sex. As if the way he touches his tongue to the roof of his mouth when he pronounces the first part reminds him of how he’s used it to taste me. As if the softness of the second part reminds him of each exhale he pushed out against my body as he pushed into me.
“Yes,” I whimper. Because I remember it all, too.
And then he’s pushing my legs farther apart with his own before leaning in to swipe his tongue along my seam.
“Mmmmm.” He lets out a moan of approval before grabbing my thighs, making sure I can’t move.
Not from the unrelenting licks and strokes of his tongue.
Not when it slides inside of me before making laps around my clit.
The jumbled sounds coming from my body ought to mortify me, but I’m too busy pushing back against his face, feeling that familiar finish line, that tingle in my lower belly that tells me I’m about to come.
He presses the tip of the vibrator against me as he continues to ravish me with his tongue and I shout out, embracing the release. It’s the freest I’ve ever been, allowing myself to latch onto the wave of the orgasm and ride it as long as possible.
I push away from him in the aftershocks, my breathing ragged and my forehead on the wood of the desk.
“Ask me nicely,” he says, the chair creaking again with his movement.
My smile is hidden from him, tucked into my chin before I pick my face up.
“No thank you,” I tell him over my shoulder with an amused grin.