A block away from the restaurant she regretted not having taken an extra few minutes to actually pop into the ladies room to check her hair and makeup. Hastily, she dug a lipstick from her bag and reapplied the dark berry gloss without benefit of a mirror. She was lucky that her stick straight hair was naturally shiny and required little in the way of styling.
She was almost five minutes early, but Nick was already there when she arrived, having commandeered the most private table in the softly lit, intimate bar area at the front of the restaurant. He stood up the moment he spied her in the doorway, a knowing smile on that rakishly handsome face. It didn’t escape Angela’s notice that every female in the bar was staring at him longingly, and she couldn’t help the added little swagger in her step as she walked over to him.
But nothing could have prepared her for the way he took her hand and tugged her in close against his hard, unyielding body just before bending his head to capture her mouth in a searing, domineering kiss. Her free hand fluttered up limply to rest against one of his broad, steely shoulders, bracing herself as her knees grew weak from the continued onslaught of his kiss – the kiss that felt as though he was branding her, claiming her. His tongue was making lazy but bold sweeps through her mouth, letting her know that he was in charge, and that he expected not just her participation but her complete and total enjoyment as well.
And then he lifted his head, gazing down at her in satisfaction. She knew her eyes must be glazing over by now, her cheeks flushed, her freshly applied lipstick all for naught. Her lips felt swollen and bruised, and she’d never even come close to being this highly aroused before. She would have done anything at that point for him to whisk her off to bed, to cup her achy breasts in his big hands, and she had to resist the urge to pull his head back down to hers for another deep, dirty kiss.
“Sit. Your drink’s already here.”
Rather than object or rebel at the commanding tone of his voice, something deep within her responded to it instead, recognized it, even liked it, and she sat down obediently in the chair he pulled out for her.
Nick took his own seat, his long legs brushing against hers very intentionally as he picked up his glass. “Here’s to what will hopefully be a very interesting evening to come,” he toasted in a deep, seductive voice that seemed to reverberate throughout her entire body.
Angela gave him what she hoped was an equally seductive smile. “I’ll drink to that,” she replied, clinking her glass against his before taking a sip of the lemon flavored vodka. “But it’s already been a very, very interesting evening for me.”
He lounged back leisurely in his chair, stretching his extra-long legs out and crossing them at the ankles. “Is that right?” he drawled. “Well, why don’t we see how much more interesting it can get. Are you on birth control?”
She coughed and sputtered as the mouthful of vodka she’d just swallowed went down the wrong way. She raised watery eyes up to him, observing the amused look on his face. “I’d, ah, ask what business that is of yours but I’m having a little trouble speaking at the moment,” she croaked.
“Bullshit.” He took a leisurely drink from his own glass. “To both statements. You’re talking just fine and you know exactly why it’s my business.” Without any warning he captured her hand and brought it to his mouth, his tongue tracing a wicked little circle around her palm. “After dinner I’m going to fuck you, Angel. Probably more than once. So answer my question like a good girl, would you?”
Angela felt her entire body suffuse with heat, felt a fine sheen of perspiration begin to cover her skin. “Yes. I use one of those long lasting implants – Mirena, to be exact.”
“Good. Not that I won’t use a condom, too. That’s non-negotiable. But they aren’t a hundred percent foolproof so I like to know what I’m getting myself into. Ah, no pun intended.”
“O-okay,” she answered slowly, more than a little dazed “Are you always this, um -”
“Forward? Outspoken? Ballsy?” He nodded. “Always. I shoot from the hip, hate bullshit, won’t tolerate lies or dishonesty. And I especially despise playing games. At least outside of the bedroom.”
Some inner, unnamed little demon taunted her to reply teasingly, “Now, that’s the second time tonight you’ve mentioned – ah, bedroom games. You’re not one of those guys who’s into kink, are you? Because even though I’ve got a pretty high pain tolerance, I generally reserve that for playing sports.
Outdoor
sports.”
Nick laughed heartily, clearly amused. “And what does a twenty-two year old Stanford grad know about kink, honey? You must have lived in a very different sort of residence hall than I did.”
She ran an index finger very deliberately around the rim of her glass before taking a small sip. “Actually, what I know about kink I learned back in high school. But not in the way you might be thinking.”
He pulled his chair in closer, resting his elbows on the table. “Now, this is getting very,
very
interesting. I knew there was a lot more to you than what I’m guessing you let most people see. So tell me, Angel. Exactly what do you know about kink and how did you acquire this so-called knowledge?”
Angela grinned. “Nothing first hand, if that’s what you’re thinking. God, I never even dated in high school. Except for a very awkward arranged date for my senior prom.”
Nick returned her smile, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. “Now
that
I have a very difficult time believing. Especially if you had all of this beautiful hair back then -” he picked up a long, silky strand and sifted it through his fingers. “Not to mention these long, gorgeous legs.”
She couldn’t stifle the gasp that escaped her lips as he very unexpectedly slid a hand up beneath the hem of her skirt to caress a silk covered thigh.
“I, ah, had both,” she managed to reply somewhat breathlessly. “I was also five eleven and taller than almost every guy in class. For a long time the only one who was taller was this huge geek who wore oversized glasses and kept walking into walls.”
He chuckled. “I’m assuming that all changed for you once you got to Stanford. But that’s another story. Let’s get back to the original topic, shall we?”
She nodded, finishing her drink. Nick signaled to a cocktail waitress for refills, pointedly ignoring the woman’s very interested, inviting smile.
Angela took a sip of her fresh drink before continuing. “I played soccer in high school, as well as volleyball and basketball. It was – well, let’s just say I looked for excuses to stay away from home as much as possible. Sports were one way I had of escaping – stuff. Anyway, one of my soccer teammates – Erika Lyman – her house became the unofficial after-practice gathering place on Friday nights. Especially since her parents always went out then.”
“Any particular reason why it was always her place?”
“Sure.” She took another swig of her drink. “The Lymans had a huge estate out in Pebble Beach – pool, tennis courts, gym, game room, you name it. Plus the fridge was always overloaded and the bar stocked with nothing but top shelf stuff. And then of course there was the locked room. The one Erika’s parents had no idea she’d copied a key for.”
Nick’s eyes were twinkling with mischief. “Go on. What was behind this locked door?”
Angela glanced around, making sure no one was eavesdropping, before leaning in a little closer and murmuring softly, “I guess you could call it their – ah, adults only game room. Only this one didn’t have an Xbox or a foosball table inside. More like shackles, floggers, paddles, chains, and a whole lot of X-rated DVD’s.”
“Ah.” He nodded in understanding. “
That
kind of game room. So tell me, Angel, were you shocked when you saw this little playroom for the first time?”
She lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug. “I’m not sure if shocked is the most accurate description. I think when Erika tried to describe what
she
thought went on in there, it was more of the “eew” factor than anything. It was kind of cold and creepy in there, all red leather and no windows, like something you’d see in a Halloween chamber of horrors. It wasn’t until we watched some of the more, er, explicit DVD’s that it became pretty clear exactly what went on in that room. Though Erika was convinced her parents were way too uptight to actually
do
most of that stuff, that they just liked to -”
“Watch?”
She nodded as Nick finished the sentence for her. “Pretty much, yeah.”
He was grinning at her. “I assume her parents never found out that their daughter and her very naughty friends discovered their little playroom? Or furthered their sexual education by invading their stash of porn?”
“I’m not sure about that. But they did catch Erika in there one night with her boyfriend, um, trying out some of the equipment. They changed the locks right after that.”
Nick gave a hoot of laughter. “And cut off your Friday movie nights in the process. Though I’m guessing you’d already watched your fill by then.”
Angela wrinkled her nose. “That’s for sure. You can only watch so many of those – God, calling them a movie is something of a stretch, isn’t it? – before they get awfully repetitive. Like my friend Lauren used to say – when you’ve seen one blowjob you’ve seen them all.”
Without warning, he slammed his glass down on the table and cupped the back of her head, his long fingers tangling in her hair. “I suggest we change the subject,” he bit out. “Because when you start talking about blowjobs all I can think about is that sexy mouth of yours wrapped around my dick. Later on you can show me some of the dirty things you learned from watching porn, hmm?”
She was wide-eyed and slack-jawed, unable to think of a reply, and merely nodded.
“Finish your drink, then we’ll have dinner.”
She picked up her glass automatically and took a sip before regarding him warily. “You do like to dole out the orders, don’t you?” she asked caustically.
Nick chucked her almost playfully on the chin, the smile returning easily to his sinfully handsome features. “Absolutely. And I’m not used to anyone refusing me, either. Not for a very long time anyway. Does that bother you, Angel?”
She was about to tell him yes, but was shocked to realize that she actually – God! –
liked
him ordering her around. Without stopping to consider how completely fucked up that sounded, she answered truthfully. “Surprisingly, no.”
“I didn’t think it would. On the outside, you give off this cool, calm and collected Independent Woman air. But on the inside – ah, it’s just the opposite, isn’t it, Angel? You want someone to boss you around, bend you to their will. You want to submit.”
“Jesus.” She gulped down the rest of her drink, shaken to the very core at what he had just told her in such a matter-of-fact manner. “No. Not like that. I’m not – no. I won’t -”
“Shh. Relax.” Nick was gently massaging the nape of her neck. “I don’t mean like the bondage games your friend’s parents played around with. Or like the BDSM movies I’m guessing you and your horny little friends watched. I’m not into whips or punishments or that kind of shit. That’s a little too much on the kinky weirdo side for me. But there are many different forms of submission, Angel. And if I decide that’s what you really want, we’ll talk about it some more. But not tonight. Tonight’s about getting to know each other a little better. Or maybe even a lot better.”
He stood then, drawing her to her feet, and signaling to the host that they were ready for their table. And just like that a waiter materialized to show them to what was definitely the most private and desirable spot in the place, set back in a semi-secluded alcove.
Nick didn’t bring up the subjects of submission or sex or anything that could even remotely be considered intimate for the duration of the meal. Instead, he kept her entertained with stories from his college and NFL football days, discovered that they had both been finance majors at Stanford and taken classes from several of the same professors, talked briefly about his meteoritic rise to success in the brokerage business, and managed to pry a considerable amount of information out of her as well.
“I confess to knowing very little about volleyball,” he admitted. “Why did you choose that particular sport to play in college?”
“Easy. It’s the one I got offered a scholarship for. There’s no possible way I could have afforded to attend Stanford otherwise. My parents – correction, my mother – would never have even considered the possibility.” She took a drink of the excellent Cabernet he’d ordered to go with their steak dinners – a huge Porterhouse for him, a petite filet mignon for her.
“You must have been a hell of a player to win a scholarship,” he acknowledged. “Stanford has extremely high standards, after all, both academically and athletically.”
Angela nodded. “I was pretty good, yeah. I was a starter even as a freshman. We fell just shy of winning the national title that year, but came back with a vengeance the next three.”
Nick looked suitably impressed. “Three successive NCAA titles, hmm? A pretty impressive feat. You must cherish those trophies.”
“I do. Though not quite as much as my Olympic medal.”
He set his knife and fork down carefully, staring at her with an expression resembling awe. “You were on the Olympic volleyball team?