“No. He’s a good guy.”
“Then he can flirt with my sister all he wants. She’s a grown woman. No matter what I want her to do, it’s her right to choose a man.” She glances down. “It’s my right, too.”
“Anita—”
Then she’s back to facing me. “So you can stop giving me gifts, or…”
I want to tell her that I’ll buy the apartment building. That I’ll buy a new engineering building for NYU and name it after her. I’ll make her accept my help, but somehow, I know that’s not the right thing. She doesn’t want my money, but that’s all I have. “Or what?”
“Or you can ask me out on a date.”
“A date?”
“A proper date. At…” She thinks for a second. “At the MET.”
“No.”
That makes her smile. “We can each look at the Renaissance paintings of naked women. You’ll whisper dirty things in my ear until I blush. And then we’ll go to the small cafe for coffee. Oh, and I’m paying for the meal from the money you paid me.”
Everything about this makes me itch. The restraint with spending money. Letting her pay for my meal. And most of all; a real date. A real date with feelings. “I gave you the best part of me. The money. The security. The safety. I gave you that without the dark shit.”
She takes a step closer and wraps her arms around my neck.
Her smell winds its way into my skin, into the very fabric of my soul. I resist for one second, two… and then my arms yank her close. I press my face into her neck and breathe deep.
“Trust me,” she whispers. “Trust me with the dark stuff, too.”
I groan because the temptation overwhelms me. I won’t be able to say no.
If it’s the only way to stay in this woman’s life, I’ll have to try. A date. With coffee. Christ.
“You’ll regret it,” I warn her. “You’ll wish you only had my money.”
“No,” she says, leaning close for a kiss. I can breathe her in. I can taste her. When her lips move, they brush against mine. “That’s only the surface. I want what’s underneath.”
“And what’s underneath?”
“I see a man who wants to protect me, who wants to take care of me. I see a man who cares more than anyone I know, even if he can only show it with money.”
8
Anita
We go to the MET, and to my surprise, he actually does make me blush. He leans close until his mouth is only an inch away. I dream about this hot little pussy. About how it felt. What it will taste like. I dream about how it will feel wrapped tight around my cock.
He brings me back to my apartment, with only a goodnight kiss outside my door.
The gifts continue—a new fridge, a new oven. We get a sign from the apartment building that there’s new management, and ours is the first apartment to get upgrades. Workers bust down some walls, and now our apartment takes up the space of two. New hardwood flooring instead of worn-down carpet. Double-paned windows with better locks.
On our second date, he takes me to Coney Island.
He’s determined not to ride on a roller coaster. He says his feet were made to be planted on the ground. Until I whisper in his ear all the things I’ll do to him after. The ways I want to taste him, to drink him down. He can’t resist, and when I’m the one who balks at the very last second, he coaxes me onto the coaster with words that send a flash of need through me.
Behind the carnival tent. If you go on the roller coaster like a good girl. If you come to me with your hair all wind-blown, tears of fear and happiness drying on your cheeks, I’ll get down on my knees and make you come with my tongue.
Now we’re going on our third date to a nice French restaurant. I heard that Lin-Manual Miranda was seen eating there with his wife last week. The food is lush, extravagant, delicious. We have hours to talk, about everything and nothing.
And a long walk back to my place.
Valentina and Juana already know not to wait up tonight.
I cleaned up my room, knowing he would come home with me after dinner.
When we get to the door, I’m shivering with nerves. “It doesn’t have to be tonight,” he murmurs against my cheek, holding me close. “Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” I say, even though I’m shaking.
He pulls back and lifts my chin so I face him. In the moonlight, his brown eyes look like pools of liquid gold. “If you need something, you only have to tell me.”
His generosity, his own hesitation, pulls the honesty from my heart. It comes out jumbled and true. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. I won’t mean to, but I will. We don’t have to have sex the regular way. We can just do what we’ve been doing. This is enough.”
A ferocity enters that gold, sparks of silver. “It’s not enough.”
“I don’t want to cause you pain.”
He gives me a half-smile. “Not even if I want it?”
I reach up and touch his cheek. His flinch is so slight, I can barely see it. But I do see it. I’m not someone who wants to hurt people. Especially someone I care about. Someone I might even love. “What if it never goes away? What if I touch you day after day, and one day you resent me for it?”
He leans forward and kisses me. His breath is warm. He’s so self-assured, so beautifully sculpted, that somehow, it’s easy to think he’s made of stone. Only when he’s touching me do I know for sure that he’s fully human. Which means he has human wants. Human needs.
He needs to be touched.
He needs this.
I lead him into my apartment and to my bedroom. A small, plain room, despite the nice mattress and the gold headboard. I turn to face him and strip off my little black dress, revealing a matching bra and panty set I got for tonight. Gold, of course. Satin.
He sucks in a breath. “You’re beautiful, Anita.”
He’s beautiful, too. And I’m going to show him how much.
Weeks ago, he bought the right to use my body. He touched me, but he didn’t ask me to touch him back. Why would you want to? he asked. He didn’t know that he was handsome or desirable. He didn’t know he was wanted, but I’m going to show him tonight.
I approach him, and he goes completely still. It’s like he’s bearing some torture as I take off his jacket. As I unbutton his shirt. He flinches when I reach for his belt. Then he’s standing naked in front of me, a gold-burnished man of muscle and flesh, his cock standing proud.
I put one finger to his chest, and he makes a grunt.
I trace down ridges of his abs.
His cock bobs up to meet me, and I wrap my fist around it. He makes a groan of pain and pleasure, his face twisted in agony. I thought I wouldn’t like to cause him pain, but this isn’t a normal kind of pain. This is hungry, and it makes me feel powerful.
Raoul pulls me back to the bed, reclining onto the mattress to catch my fall. He reaches back his muscular arms and grasps the gold columns on the headboard.
“Touch me,” he says, his voice hoarse.
I climb onto him with abandon, letting my skin slide along his, my legs straddling his narrow hips, my breasts pushing against his broad chest. My hands rest on his hard shoulders where he strains to keep holding onto the metal. His whole body shakes as if reverberating from a shock. I reach down and move the fabric of my panties aside. His cock notches into the place between my legs as if he was made for me.