Chapter Nineteen - Bric
She’s absolutely still. The slaps still echoing in my ears. My face stinging like fuck.
She hits back. And she hits hard.
I like it.
“Humans are violent by nature, Nadia.” She’s breathing fast. Just two feet away across the island. Hand still in the air. “They require limits. That’s why you want to submit.”
Her chest rises and falls. “I don’t submit to anyone, Elias.”
“No?” I ask. “Then why are you here?”
She says nothing.
“To bend me over and fuck me backwards like you do the boys at that club the other night? Do I like Jordan? That’s your question? Sure. I like him enough. He likes me enough. And we’re alike in a lot of ways.”
“Not that many as far as I can tell.” She says it softly. Trying to convince me she’s in control. “And I’m going to leave now.”
But she’s so out of control. “Why?” I ask. “Your needs aren’t being satisfied?”
“You only care about your needs.”
“Funny,” I say, looking away for a moment before looking back. “That’s funny. I seem to recall meeting all of yours last night.”
“After you fucked my mind for a few hours.”
“I’m not gonna make a big deal about the slaps, Nadia. So if you’re worried about that—”
“I’m not worried about shit,” she snarls.
“You’re worried about everything. But it’s not your fault. You’re so young and there’s so many expectations, right? Be this and be that. Look this way or look that way. Do this. Do that. Life is just one long expectation after another. Make more money. Buy more shit. Become more powerful. Or in your case, dance better, be stronger, fit the mold they’re trying to put you in. You’re lucky though.”
“How’s that?” she says, blowing out a long breath of air.
“You have the body for it,” I say, nodding at her, standing there provocatively in my open dress shirt. “Long legs, graceful arms, tall enough to fit in but not too tall that you stand above the others. You’re naturally thin. Naturally athletic. Naturally”—I reach over and place my hand on her cheek, cupping her face—“beautiful.”
“But,” she says. “There’s a ‘but’ coming. But I need a man like you to show me the way? Guide me through life like some pathetic, helpless woman?”
“No,” I say. “And yes.”
“Save your breath, Bricman. I’m not into you.”
“You’re still here, Nadia.”
“I don’t have any clothes.”
“So take mine. I’m sure there’s a pair of sweats in a drawer back in the bedroom. Take them. There’s a car for you downstairs. You won’t be walking home. I have a coat too. Take anything you want, actually. Whatever it is you think you need to be able to walk away from me right now. Take it and go.”
She stays absolutely still.
“Or stay and shut the fuck up.”
“Why—”
“Shut. The fuck. Up. Nadia.”
She crosses her arms. Defiant, but submissive at the same time.
“Good,” I say. “That’s better. Now eat your breakfast and make small talk with me.”
“Why should I?”
“I don’t like to repeat myself,” I say.
“You never told me anything, Elias.”
Elias. Bric. Bricman. Who does she think I am? “I did tell you. You need limits and I’m here to provide those limits. That’s why you should stay. You need my limits, Nadia. Very badly. So sit the fuck down and eat your fucking breakfast.”
She sits.
I’m stunned. But I hold it in because this is way too much fun to laugh and risk pissing her off just yet.
“It’s cold,” she says, looking down at her plate.
“Hmm. I guess it is. Let me make a new breakfast then. Would you like coffee?”
“No,” she says.
“Orange juice?” I offer, turning back to the stove and starting again.
“Sure.”
“Good. See how nice this is?” I ask, breaking more eggs onto the griddle. I get the bacon and pancakes started too, then get the toast ready in the toaster before I grab the OJ from the fridge and pour her a glass. When I turn to set it down, she looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Why are you crying?”
She wipes her face but only says, “Thanks,” as she takes the glass of juice from me and drinks.
I turn back to the griddle and push the bacon around. Check the pancakes. Keep an eye on the eggs. “What kind of houses do you like?” I ask her.
She huffs some air, so obviously frustrated with me.
“Modern?” I prod. “Or traditional?”
“Traditional, I guess.”
“Good to know. I’ll tell Lawton to concentrate on traditional then.”
“Who’s Lawton?”
“My real-estate guy.”
“I don’t think I want to move in with you,” she says.
I flip the pancakes and the bacon, then turn to her. “You’re staring at my ass, aren’t you?”
She tries not to smile, but doesn’t quite succeed.
“And of course you don’t want to move in with me. That’s practically the point of making you.”
“You can’t make me do anything, Bric.”
“Elias, Nadia. You need to choose a name for me. So let’s just go with Elias. And yes, I’m very good at making reluctant women do my bidding. So I can make you move in with me. I’d just prefer if you gave in a little to set the proper tone. Plus it will save us time in the house hunt. What neighborhood do you like?”
“This game isn’t going to end the way you think,” she says.
“Maybe this game never ends? Ever think of that?”
She actually laughs this time. But I don’t see it. I’m back at the food.
“Oh, yeah, I can picture it now. Nadia, Jordan, and Br—Elias forever.”
“Why not?” I ask. “If we all play well, it could happen. I spent three years with the last girl.”
“Who,” she spits, “the fuck would spend three years with you?”
Rochelle, I say in my head. And Quin. “People who play well, that’s who.”
“Then why aren’t you still together?”
“Because they fell in love and left together.”
“Wait,” she says. And when I turn to look at her, she’s got her hand up in a stop gesture. “You had a threesome for three years?” Her face is all scrunched up like this makes no sense to her. “And they fell in love. So you just… bowed out? Or it was a bad break-up?”
“It doesn’t matter—”
“The fuck it doesn’t!” And now she’s animated and smiling again. So… getting the upper hand is what makes her tick, huh? “How about this, Elias. You want to get to know my secrets? Then you have to offer yours up in return.”
“I have nothing to hide, Nadia. We played a good game.”
“Did you love her?”
“Sure,” I say, shrugging. “I loved her. But not the way Quin loved her. And they had a baby.”
“A baby!” She’s practically cackling now. “Holy fuck. This is a delicious story, isn’t it? I need to know everything.”
I turn back to the food, find it ready, and then push the toast down in the toaster. “Ask anything you want. I have nothing to hide. And if you think talking about them makes me uncomfortable, you’re wrong. I’m happy to tell you all about them.”
“It was his baby?” she asks.
I roll my eyes as I grab two more plates from the cupboard. But she can’t see me because my back is still turned. “Yes. I wouldn’t walk away from my own baby, even if they were in love.”
“Boy? Girl?”
“Girl,” I say, loading up our plates. “Adley. Fucking adorable, if I do say so myself.”
“How old?”
I think for a second. “Like seven months now.”
“Were you there for the birth?”
“No,” I say, just as the toast pops up. “Rochelle left when she was only a few months pregnant. We didn’t meet the baby until she was six months old.”
“Wait,” Nadia says. “So this shit just happened, didn’t it? Was this the reason Jordan sent me to you on Christmas? Awww,” she says. And when I turn and place the new food in front of her and take the old plate away, she’s got her hand over her heart in a mock gesture of swooning. “Jordan gave me to you to cheer you up.”
I butter the toast, cut it, and place her diagonally-cut pieces on her plate. “Congratulations,” I say. “You’ve got me all figured out.”
“So how—”
“Eat,” I say, kinda sick of this game but not willing to give her more ammunition than she earned. “I won’t make it again, even if it does get cold. And you’re gonna eat it no matter what this time.”
Surprisingly, she gives in to that and picks up a piece of bacon. “So how come you were sad that night? I mean, if you so willingly walked out of that game?”
“Who says I was sad?”
“Well, obviously Jordan doesn’t go around giving away his best woman to just anyone.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “He’s got more than one of you?”
She laughs. And it’s a good laugh. Real too. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I know he’s been pretty preoccupied with me these past few weeks.”
“Training you,” I say. “For me, I think.”
She has a forkful of pancake heading for her mouth when she stops and says, “What?”
“He told me. He brought you to the Club a couple times. We were talking at the bar. You were looking at me that first time. You slapped him both times. And he said you thought yourself a top. And I laughed.”
“It’s funny, huh?”
“You’re just too young, Nadia. To know the difference.”
“I don’t think so.” Her back is straighter now. Like I offended her.
“Anyway, he invited me in that first day. But I said no.”
“Because of… Rochelle and… Quin, right?”
“Yes. We had something good.”
“Obviously,” she concedes. “If it lasted so long. Do you miss them?”
“Sure. All the time.”
“And I’m the replacement?”
I shrug. “Why not? Does it make you feel used?”
“No,” she says. Defiantly. “I’m using you too.”
“For what?”
“Sex.” She shrugs. “What else.”
“But you can get sex from the little boys at that club, right?”
“They’re not little boys. Everyone there is eighteen. And two of those guys were twenty-two.”
“Same difference,” I say. “Boys.”
“And what? You’re a man? I need you, a man, to give me what I don’t know I want?”
“You got it in one, sister.”
“Shit.” She laughs. “You definitely have an ego, that’s for sure.”
“So house hunt tomorrow?”
“I’m working.”
“At the ballet?”
“You know where I work.”
“So you’ll be too tired to go out tomorrow night?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Did you say yes, then?”
“House hunt tomorrow. Got it on my calendar.”
“Good,” I say. We eat in silence after that. It makes her uncomfortable, but that’s exactly why I don’t talk. Just eat. And when we’re both finished, I pick up our plates and take the dishes to the sink. “So, are you ready for your punishment?”
“What?”
I turn to face her. Cross my arms over my chest. Lean into the countertop. “For slapping me, Nadia. You can’t slap me and get away with it. So are you ready? Or would you like a day to think about your actions and see if you can make it up to me tomorrow?”
“I thought you weren’t gonna make a big deal about the slaps?”
“This is me being cool about it. But everything has consequences.”
“What kind of punishment?”
“Slaps, of course.”
“On my face?”
“You slapped mine.”
“Fuck that.”
“I won’t leave marks. You won’t need excuses for why you have a black eye. I won’t beat you, Nadia. But it’s gonna hurt.”
“As much as I hurt you? Is that how this works? Well,” she says, dabbing her lips with her napkin, “I don’t think I hurt you too much. So let’s just do it now. Where do you want me?”
Jesus Christ. Point to Nadia for having balls. “Go lie across the arm of the couch,” I say.
“Face down? Or face up?”
“Down.”
“I thought you wanted to slap my face.”
“I’ll get there eventually.”
Her mouth makes an o shape. But she turns and walks across the room to the couch. One backward glance before she lowers herself as commanded.
“Spread your legs,” I say.
“Will you spank my ass?” she jokes. But she opens her legs. Her pussy is staring at me. Long, wet, pink folds stretched tight.
“No,” I say, opening up a kitchen drawer and grabbing the rope I keep in there. “You’d like that though, wouldn’t you?”
“No comment.”
Wise girl.
I take the rope over to her. “Hands behind your back.”
She obeys, giving in so easy. She has no idea who and what I am. Which pleases me. I loop the rope around her wrists She looks over her shoulder at me, face screwed up with questions. “I didn’t tie you up, Elias.”
“So?” I shrug. “What’s your point?”
“You said slaps.”
“I get it, Nadia,” I say, pulling the rope tight so she can’t get away. “You like this shit a lot. But try to play a little hard to get next time, will ya? Make it interesting for me?”
“God.” She sighs. “You’re a dick.”
“Stand up,” I say.
She struggles a little, but manages. Then turns to face me. “Give it your best shot, Elias. I can take it.”
Both of my eyebrows go up. “Are you sure about that?”
“Very,” she purrs.
I slap her face. Her head turns into it from momentum. I leave a bright pink handprint across her cheek.
“Fuck, Bric!”
“Elias,” I say. “This is me, Nadia. Elias. The real me.”
She huffs out a breath of air. Grinds her teeth for a second. Then says, “Do it. You’ve got one more, asshole. So just do it.”
“Fuck that,” I say, chuckling a little. “I think I got you good enough with one.”
“One little slap? Then why did you tie me up?”
I take off my fun apron and throw it on the ground. My dick is hard and Nadia can’t help herself. She stares at it. “We can fuck, if you want. I don’t care.”
“No,” I say. “No. I’m not gonna fuck you.”
“Then what the hell are you doing?”
“Get on your knees,” I say. “And open your legs so I can see your pussy.”
I walk over to the kitchen, pull out a note pad from a drawer and a big, fat, red marker, write five words on the pad, then rip the piece of paper off with a quick flick of my hand.
My phone is on the counter, so I grab that too, and walk back over to stand in front of Nadia. “Open your mouth,” I say.
She looks at my cock. Licks her lips. And opens her mouth. I press the piece of paper on her tongue and say, “Close.”
She obeys again. A little confused, but still not quite getting it.
I take a picture. Smile at it. At her. That haughty, defiant look plastered all over her face. “You’re pretty,” I say, taking the piece of paper out of her mouth.
“Thank you,” she says back, voice filled with mockery.
“You know what I’m gonna do with this?” I ask her, showing her the picture.
Her eyes narrow as she reads what I wrote. Considers all the possibilities as they flood her mind.
“Well, I’m not going to do anything with it if you behave,” I say. “But if you ever”—I cover the two steps between us and grab her face with my free hand—“ever fucking hit me again, Nadia Wolfe, I’ll ruin your fucking life with this picture.”
The mind fuck continues. She just hasn’t caught on yet.