Chapter Twenty-Five
LOLA
Monday is hectic at work, made worse because Enzo wasn't there, and he left extra work for me.
Even Alex let me know he had a busy day, so I didn't hear much from him.
I'm exhausted when I get home.
The subway was overcrowded and, of course, my train broke down, so there were massive delays.
The quiet of my apartment envelops me when I get in, and it takes me a few minutes to notice that something doesn't feel right.
Like the place has been violated in some way.
A vibe in the air, a hum, a feeling. Not anything visual.
Nothing is out of place...
"Or it is all in my head," I mutter.
I kick off my shoes and start stripping down, wanting to put something comfortable on. I don't usually leave a trail of clothes because a mess in my small place, even a tiny one, makes the entire area look like a bomb went off, but I don't care right now.
I just want to be comfortable.
So, ignoring my instincts, I keep going and stop when I step into my bedroom.
There is a bag on my bed.
Small.
Expensive.
Very expensive, with Agatha A on the front.
The brand is insanely high-end, so high-end that the store requires appointments, and the lingerie sold there is the stuff celebrities love to show off under expensive outfits.
It was made to be seen, so a little lace or silk peeking out is sought after just like when one of them wears something filmy and see-through.
But that is not why I'm staring.
Someone broke in.
No. Someone let themselves in.
My adrenaline surges as my pussy starts to throb.
Alex.
On shaking legs, I cross to it and open the bag.
Inside, I find the most stunning, delicate scraps of fabric. From the balconette bra with silk straps in fuchsia with lace cups to the low-cut panties that are all lace and leave nothing to the imagination.
My breath is officially stolen.
These would have cost a fortune. Literally.
My heart beats hard. As far as I know, Alex isn't rich because, let's face it, why would some rich dude be wasting his time flirting with me on the phone? He might be doing well in life, but he is not Enzo-rich.
I stop.
What if this is from Enzo?
But I dismiss the thought immediately. One, it would be incredibly inappropriate to send me this. Send? He would have had to somehow pick my lock and enter my apartment to put it on my bed.
No. This is somehow from Alex. Thinking about it, getting in here is up there with watching me and his kink of control.
Yeah, it would be the kind of thing he would do.
The price, though...
With shaking fingers, I put the lingerie back because there is no way I can afford such an expensive gift.
My phone pings, and I rush to it, sweeping it up.
Alex
Did you get your gift?
Me
You broke in.
Alex
No broken lock.
I roll my eyes.
Me
Entered, then. Without permission.
Alex
Is that a Blue Banana?
Me
No.
My heartbeat ticks up sharply.
Alex
You like?
Me
I'm female. Yes, I like.
I suck in a deep breath.
Me
But it's expensive. I can't keep it. Too $$$
Alex
Got a deal.
Me
You do this all the time?
Alex
LOL. No. Just know the owner of that store. Got a deal.
Chances are he knows Agatha A. Her flagship store is here, in SoHo, in Manhattan. She has a couple of outlets, one in LA, another in London, Paris, Berlin... But mostly, you come to New York if you want real choice or something bespoke.
I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe.
Then I open them.
Me
So, you didn't pay a fortune. I know the brand. And the infamous price tags.
Alex
I didn't sell a kidney or a big toe. We can return it and shop at Dots and Bows if you like.
I laugh as he names a low-end chain of fashion knockoffs.
Me
Maybe you just bought this bag and did that.
Alex
You will never know.
Me
Thank you. It's the thought that counts.
But I mean the thank you even as I wait for the other shoe to plummet to the ground.
Alex
Wear them tonight.
Me
I don't have an expensive enough dress.
Alex
You don't need a dress. Just heels if you have them. Nothing else.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Nothing. Else.
Anticipation rushes through my veins.
Me
Why? What's the plan?
Alex
Be dressed, sitting on your bed in those exact things by nine.
Me
And?
Alex
Lights off. Eyes closed. If I'm late...
Me
What?
Alex
If I turn up...
Me
IF???
Alex
Don't wait up.
And remember your safe word.
Me
Blue banana. Got it.
I'm not saying it. Blue banana for no. I'm not saying no.
Alex?
Don't be an asshole.
Alex????
Nothing.
Not one bubble of dots.
Just silence.
I get up and wander around.
I was going to eat, and then I remember I'm almost naked and hesitate, taking a step toward where my T-shirt is. But I stop.
He has watched me. Maybe he is watching all this.
So, I turn and hastily sweep up my shoes and clothes, smooth out the skirt, hang it up, dump the shoes in the bottom of the closet, and throw the rest of the clothes in the hamper, ready for the laundromat.
Then I search through my shoes for something to wear, but all I have are golden heeled slides I bought on the cheap years ago. They are spiky heeled, cheap, and other than my Mary Janes...
They will have to do.
I want to call Ruby, but I don't because she won't understand. How could she when I don't understand myself? So instead, I shower.
I take my time, shave my legs and underarms. Then, when I'm out and dried off, I moisturize and finally, finally slip into the outfit.
When the time is nowhere close, I make sure the phone is set to vibrate and then turn off the lights.
I slide on the shoes.
They make me unsteady when I walk, but the lingerie makes me feel like a sensual goddess.
I sit on the end of my bed in the dark, questioning my life choices. Because...this is insane, right?
But when my phone states five minutes to nine, I dutifully shut my eyes.
Immediately, a thousand thoughts rush in.
Like, have I just invited some kind of killer into my place?
Or a sadist, or...
But slowly, I start to settle.
If he was those things, he would have done it by now. Of course, some serial killers have rituals. My knowledge of them falls short of a few true crime shows and one or two books I read years ago.
The rest comes from Hollywood.
There are rituals, maybe, but when the urge to kill again gets too much is when—
Why the fuck am I thinking about serial killers?
I don't think he is that. At all.
Something tells me that he is what he says. We met by accident because I decided to text back a wrong number. We never did anything but the slow escalation of flirting.
And I'm no prize.
I'm not even rich anymore.
In fact, who I really am makes me an unemployable pariah.
There is only one person who knows me, and that is Enzo.
This isn't for him, or with him, and that is good.
Even though I find him utterly delicious to gaze at and occasionally fun to talk to—because that dinner in the office keeps resurfacing—it is not him.
In my head, time ticks, and I go back to Alex.
Eyes closed when he enters means he wants to start with me not knowing him, but he will have to let me look. He will know there might be a slip-up, and I will open my eyes.
With my nerves jumping madly, I'm not sure I will be able to stop it.
I want to see him.
I do.
What time even is it? It could be five past nine or almost ten.
My body is cool from sitting, and my muscles shake a little from holding the ramrod position.
But I want to look good for him.
"Calm down, Lola," I whisper, trying to still myself inside.
But it is hard because with the excitement is turmoil. In my head, it is all hot and sexy, and I am peeking at the human god he is in my imagination, though that human god, if I'm honest, keeps morphing into Enzo. But it is all hot. All sexy. All good times.
It is him pleasuring me and him guiding me to pleasure him, and then we have sex.
But what if he is rough and takes it out of the fantasy and—
I force myself to breathe.
Alex gave me a safe word. He reminded me of it tonight, and he has also been good about giving me the space to think about it.
Yesterday morning, I texted and said I'm in.
He told me he would give me until Monday.
That is not pushy.
That is the epitome of giving me space, giving me a chance to back out of it. And that chance, through the safe word, is there the whole time.
"Blue banana," I whisper. "Blue banana."
And it is all I need to ground me, to convince me I made the right decision.
Time stretches as I sit, heaviness weighing me down the longer I sit in the dark in one position.
It tires me, and I slowly let myself relax as much as I can.
It is like waiting for Santa as a kid.
But I don't want Santa. I'm no kid. And what I want are orgasms.
And still, he doesn't turn up.
The exhaustion of waiting gets to me, and I scramble up the bed, keeping my shoes on, and I lie down.
I will hear him come in. I will hear my phone.
My eyes are still shut when I hit the pillow, and sleep soon overtakes me.
The last thing I remember is Enzo looking at me from my mind.
I gasp as I jerk awake, eyes open to blackness and something pressed there.
Am I blindfolded?
I go to move my hands, but I can't. They are tied to the bed, above my head.
My heart slams hard, threatening to shatter ribs.
I'm not alone.
Not just tied up, but someone is in here.
Adrenaline surges through me as I thrash about and, gasping, I push out, "Alex?"
No answer, but the bed presses down, and a hand trails up my leg.
"A-Alex?"
A mouth pushes against my ear, soft and warm, and he finally speaks. Not speaks, as in with an actual full voice, but whispers gutturally, the kind of whisper I would never be able to pin to someone through speaking to them.
"Quiet, Lola. Remember your safe word?"
"Y-yes?"
"What is it?"
I swallow hard. "B-blue banana."
"Use it when you have to, and I will stop. No questions. Got it? Any other forms of no I will ignore. Understand?"
"Y-yes."
"Good."
His fingers slide up along my hip. "Now, don't fight me, or you will be punished."