Page 245 of Bend
I knocked so softly, he couldn’t have heard me unless he’d been waiting. I needed to see if he’d found something else to occupy him or if he was looking forward to seeing me. That could set the timbre for what I could request in the way of a warm call to WDE on my behalf.
The door opened immediately.
He wore the same button down shirt and jeans he’d worn at Frontage. His feet were bare, and in his right hand, he held a glass containing whiskey on ice.
I stood with my bag in front of me, which didn’t stop him from looking at me as if he wanted to eat me alive. He leaned on the door jamb and swirled his drink. “I thought you weren’t coming. I was starting to think I was losing my touch.”
“This is a nice house.”
He paused, and I waited. Despite the distractions of the past half hour, I was back to wanting to put my tongue all over his body. “All bets are on?” he asked.
“I’m yours to command.”
He took my bag and put it on a side table. “Turn around.”
I put my back to him. My car sat in the drive, next to his, the gate to the street wide open. He clicked the button on a little handheld box, and the gate slid closed.
The ice in his glass clinked, and I felt the touch of his hand at the base of my neck, then a tug as he unzipped my dress. “Jonathan…”
“No one can see.”
The zipper went down past my lower back, and he slowly pulled it open. The sleeves slipped off a little when his hand, cold from the drink, touched between my shoulder blades. He ran his hand up to my neck, then over my right shoulder, pushing the dress off. Then he ran his hand to the left shoulder, until the dress slipped off and pooled around my ankles. I felt a breeze over my body. He slipped his finger under the bra strap. “Take this off.”
I did, dropping it to the porch floor. He stroked under my waistband. He wanted that off too. I knew it, and I complied. I was fully naked except for my shoes, with my back to him.
“Face me.”
I did. I’d never felt so naked in my life as he took his time looking me over.
“Hands behind your back.”
I think if anyone else had gotten to command number four, I would have started laughing, but he wasn’t anyone else.
“You doing okay?” he asked, stepping up to me. He put the glass to my lips and tipped it. Warmth filled my chest. It was good whiskey. The single malt I’d suspected.
“It’s warm tonight,” I said.
He put his face up to mine and whispered, “Infield fly rule. What is it?”
He kissed my neck as I answered. “When there’s a force play at third, any fly hit inside the baselines, whether it’s caught or not, means the batter’s automatically out.”
“Why?” He bit the corner of my neck and shoulder, and I gasped.
“To prevent an intentional error that would manufacture a double play.”
“You are very real.” He enunciated each word.
He drank the last of the whiskey and took an ice cube in his teeth. He put his face to mine and pressed the ice cube to my lips. I sucked on it, then took it from him, holding it in my mouth.
He took half a step back. I must have been a sight: naked but for my heels, hands behind my back, with an ice cube in my mouth. “And you are stunning,” he said, lifting his glass. He put the cold base of it to my nipple, and I groaned as it hardened. He touched the other one, chilling it to a rock.
He bent down and warmed my breast with his mouth, sucking on the hard tip, pulling on it with lip-blunted teeth. I gasped, but couldn’t open my mouth farther or I’d lose the ice. I guess that wouldn’t have been the worst tragedy, but I knew the game was to keep the ice in my teeth. His attention to my breast made me groan, awakening the warmth in my crotch. The ice in my mouth melted, dripping down my chin and neck, tingling a wet path to my stomach. He licked the droplets that found their way to my breasts, warming cooled skin with his tongue. When I thought I couldn’t take another minute of his attention without falling down from the pleasure of it, he stood straight and put his mouth over mine, sucking the ice back.
He crunched it and said, “Come on in.”
I stepped past the threshold, and he closed the door behind me. The living room was impeccable in dark woods and Persian carpets. The bookcases were full. The whole place was the exact opposite of the cold modernity of his hotels.
Jonathan stood in front of me, watching my eyes take in the details of his house. The paintings. The stained glass. The clean corners and fluffed pillows. He kissed me again and, having forgotten the edict about the position of my hands, I put my arms around him. His hands warmed my back, his touch solid and strong. He kissed my cheek and neck. “Go upstairs. There’s a room with the light on and an open door. Sit on the end of the bed. I’m going to lock up down here.”
