Chapter Twenty-Two - Nadia
What happens after that is just like New Year’s Eve, but without Jordan. He walks away, starts my shower, and then comes back into the bedroom, naked. He holds out his hand and I take it, letting him bring me to my feet. My legs are shaky. Hell, my entire body is nothing but fatigued muscles. And he undresses me. He takes off my bra, then makes me place both hands on his shoulders as he slips my panties down my legs. When I step out, he picks me up, carries me to the bathroom, walks me into the shower, and places me on his lap once he sits on the stone bench.
He wraps his arms around me and lets me rest. Just like that.
My reward isn’t going to be sex, I realize. And that is the best gift ever right now. Because I don’t think I can move.
“Are you excited about the house?” Bric asks. My head resting on his shoulder. My eyes closed. I am a big bundle of exhausted nothingness in his arms.
I can’t think about that house. “I probably will be tomorrow,” I admit.
“It’s nice inside. You made a good choice, Nadia.” He pets my damp hair as he says this. “I think we’re all going to be very happy there.”
“Did Jordan see the inside?”
“No,” Bric says. “I haven’t really talked to him. But don’t worry. He’s gonna love it.”
I picture Jordan and me and Bric. Living inside that mansion. I picture their cars in the driveway. What will breakfast be like? What does the master bedroom look like? I wonder if we have a back yard?
“Come on,” Bric says, after a few minutes of silence from me. “Let’s wash up and then I’ll take you to bed and massage your legs. Would you like that, Nadia?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, just stands up, taking me with him, and waits until I place both feet on the tile floor of the shower.
I feel like I might collapse. But Bric is there, one arm around me. Holding me up.
“Turn around and face the wall,” he says.
He turns me.
“Place both hands here, Nadia.” He puts my hands right where he wants them, flat against the tile. “Now rest like this while I take care of you.”
He does take care of me. Very good care of me. He grabs the shower head and wets my entire body. My hair too. And then he has shampoo in his palm. His fingertips massaging it into my scalp.
“Tomorrow we’re going to go shopping for furniture. We have six thousand square feet to furnish and I’m going to assume your place came furnished?”
I nod. “It did. None of this is mine.”
“It’s almost a hundred years old, that place. But it’s just been completely remodeled. I’ll call a contractor tomorrow and have them make you a ballet studio. Just like the one you have here. Better,” he adds quickly. “Better than the one you have here.”
He’s rinsing the shampoo out now. And then he repeats that whole process with the conditioner.
“Would you like that?” he asks.
I would. Very much. “Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.
I catch him grinning and decide I like his grin. Elias Bricman is confusing in a lot of ways. But then again, he’s very simple. He likes to be in control. And even though Jordan was filled with warnings when he came to pick me up on New Year’s Eve, I don’t think they were necessary. Because as long as Bric gets what he wants, he’s very reasonable.
Yes, my legs are aching and my body is spent. But I do that to myself every day when I dance. It’s a familiar feeling. A welcomed one too. I like exhaustion.
“It’s my job, Nadia,” Bric says. “Your job is to submit, my job is to dominate. And when I use that word, I mean it in all the ways you probably don’t. I push you and you give in because you trust me to take care of you. I asked for more tonight. And you gave it to me. You did so good.”
He leans down into my neck and kisses the soft, wet skin just below my ear. When he pulls away, I want him back.
“And Jordan and I have already showed you this side of the arrangement once. Now you have two real experiences to form an opinion. Twice we’ve pushed you beyond your limits—”
“No,” I say, waking up a little at the mention of Jordan. “He’s not here.”
“We’re both here, Nadia. I’ll fill him in on the details tomorrow. But the point is, we pushed you hard, you gave in—maybe it was just faith. Maybe it was just the fact that you wanted to get fucked. Who cares why? We don’t care why. The only thing that matters is that you did it. And when it was over, when your challenge was removed and you realized you pleased us, you got a reward. This builds trust. So next time we push you you’ll know what comes afterward. You’ll be looking forward to it.”
It’s a mind fuck. Conditioning. I know this. I’ve done it before. I’ve shaped the minds of men myself.
Bric is rinsing my hair so I close my eyes and let the water run over my head. Relish the feeling of the hot water across my face.
Then his hands are soft with foamy bubbles and he’s rubbing my arms. My waist. My stomach. My pussy. I wait for him to begin playing with me, but he moves on—much to my dismay—and crouches down to take the soap to my aching legs.
I almost moan as he massages the long, thick muscles of my thighs, his hands kneading the fatigue right out of them. I am shaking again. But this time it’s not from the adrenaline of exertion. It’s the drop that comes after.
“You need to rest tonight, Nadia. Your muscles are fatigued.”
I nod my head, too wrapped up in the way he’s making me feel.
He rinses me off and turns me around, then shuts off the water, grabs a towel from a stack of them on a shelf just outside the shower, wraps it around his waist, and then grabs another one and holds it open for me. “Come on,” he says, shaking the towel.
I brace myself on the glass surround as I step out and let him wrap me up in softness.
“Put your hands on my shoulders,” he says. I do. He dries me off. One square inch of skin at a time. Paying meticulous attention to every part of my body. When he bends down to dry my legs his face is so close to my pussy, I can feel his breath.
I want him to lick me. I want to come again. I want more, I realize.
But he doesn’t give me more. He just continues his job until he’s done and then stands up. “We’re going to eat now. The food should be here soon. Get dressed. Can you do that by yourself?” he asks with a worried expression.
I huff out a laugh. “Sure,” I say.
He leaves me, walking out of the bathroom, then the bedroom, and I can hear him talking on his phone in another part of the apartment.
I put on sleep clothes. Light pink terrycloth shorts and a white tank top. I’m done for tonight. When I glance at the clock I realize it’s only five-thirty. I’m getting old, I think. I’m spent.
He’s dressed in his suit when I meet him in the living room. Minus his jacket, which is lying neatly across a dining room chair. And he’s relaxing on the couch. He pats the cushion next to him—indicating that I should sit. So I cross the room and sit, my body automatically melding into his.
“Opposites,” Bric says as he puts his arm around me. “We’re opposites. Do you know why people are so attracted to opposites, Nadia?”
I shrug. “It completes them, I guess.”
“Nice answer,” he says, chuckling a little. “Yes and no. People are attracted to their opposite because it excites them. We’re having a power struggle, you and I. You like to be in control. I like to be in control. So we have to give a little.”
“But that just means we’re the same,” I say, thinking it through.
“No,” he says. “You and I are not the same at all. You’re female, I’m male. You’re creative, I’m logical. You want to be taken care of. I want to take care of someone. Opposites do complete each other, but the underlying reason they feel that way is what really matters.”
“I don’t think I want to be taken care of,” I say.
“Everyone wants to be taken care of, Nadia.”
“Then we’re the same,” I say. “You’re included in everyone.”
“True,” he says. “I am. But you make me feel taken care of when you submit to me. When you trust me. When you let me take care of you.”
“Hmm,” I say, huffing out a tired breath of air. This might be more conversation than I need right now.
“The power struggle is necessary. It breaks us down into little pieces of nothing. And from that nothing we create something brand new. That’s why opposites attract. People want to remake themselves and they use their opposite to do that.”
“Or,” I say, turning my head to look him in the eyes, “we’re just playing a stupid game and you won this time.”
He tries to hide his smile but doesn’t succeed.
“We’re still playing, right? I mean, you bought that house tonight to prove a point.”
“What point?” he asks.
“Jesus,” I say. “So many points. That you have money, for one,” I say, holding up a finger. “That you have that money in cash.” I hold up another finger. “That you have people at your beck and call who will set up house tours at the last minute, and then not blink an eye when you refuse to go into two of them. That you can command me to live there.”
“Don’t you want to live there?” he asks. “With Jordan and me?”
“Well, I guess if Jordan were here, I could give you a complete answer to that question. But he’s not.”
“He’s working, Nadia. He’ll be around when this case of his calms down.”
“OK. I’ll let that go for now.” But I’m mad at Jordan.
“Any more points I’m trying to make tonight?”
“Yes,” I say, holding up a fifth finger. “The whole point of tonight—from the moment you picked me up to this one right now—is to make me depend on you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It can be,” I say.
“Were you in a dependent relationship in the past?”
“No.” I scoff. “I’m the top, Bric. I know you don’t believe that, but I am. I’m the one who controls the men in my life.”
“Until Jordan came along and took all that control away. And you let him.” Bric has one eyebrow cocked. Like this explains everything. “And then he gave you to me.”
“Is that what he did?” I ask, genuinely interested in this new direction. “Because I might not be OK with that.”
“Which part?” he asks. “The part where he owns you and can therefore give you away? Or the part about you belonging to me now?”
“Both of those and,” I say, stressing the word, “the fact that I cannot be owned. Thus, none of what’s happening is real. It’s just a game.”
He shrugs. “Are you enjoying the game?”
“Sure,” I say. “It’s fun enough so far. But I’m not looking for a master, Bric. So if you push me too hard I might call it quits.”
Another cocked eyebrow from Bric. “Is that a warning? Or a challenge?”
I sigh as I roll my eyes. “Take it any way you want.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but there’s a knock on my door that breaks the moment. He gets up, pays the delivery guy, takes the bags of food over to the table, and then says, “For you, giving in is like being ambidextrous, Nadia.”
“Is it?” I say with mock fascination as I join him at the table.
He pulls out the food—tacos, but the gourmet kind that come wrapped up in fancy foil—and unwraps them. “Sit,” he commands.
I do, even though I’m tired of his commands tonight. I’m also hungry and my legs are still trembling.
When we’re settled and have each taken a bite of the sea bass tacos—fucking amazing sea bass tacos—he continues.
“You’re a well-honed muscle. You’ve exercised your mind regularly. You believe yourself to be dominant and I can see you’ve done pretty well in that regard.”
“Praise from the master,” I say, then take another bite of food.
“But everyone has another side to them, Nadia. Most people don’t like to admit it, but they do. No one is one hundred percent dominant.”
“Not even you?” I ask. It’s my turn to cock an eyebrow.
“Do I look dominant when I’m taking care of you after playing hard? No. I’m giving in to you, Nadia. I’m putting my wants and needs aside for yours.”
“OK.” I laugh. It’s bullshit. He takes care of me afterward because it makes him more dominant, not less.
“If I had only been thinking of myself I’d have fucked you hard after you sucked my cock. I’d have continued to use you up and then I’d walk out and throw you away.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”
“Is that your usual response to players? Use them up and throw them out?”
“No,” he says. “I’m typically in a regular game. I’m just having… an off season.”
I laugh so hard, I almost spit out my taco. “An off season? Do tell.”
“Never mind that,” he says, changing the subject with a wave of his hand. “My point is, yes, I’m playing a game. But I take the game very seriously. I like to make the game last and the only way to do that is to submit to the needs of the other players. I’ve always been like this. Smith and Quin and I—”
“Those other players you had? The ones who came before Jordan?”
“Yes,” he says. “We always thought of each other. We submitted to each other in certain respects. We were equals and we didn’t take more than our share. And we did this with one end in mind.”
“What end?” I ask. Not to be snotty, but because I’m really interested in knowing how he perceives winning.
“To keep the game going for as long as possible.”
“But you’re not in that game, Bric.”
“Elias,” he says, an edge to his voice. “Stop thinking of me as Bric and start thinking of me as Elias.”
“Elias,” I say, conceding. Because I do, in fact, call him Bric in my head. “That game ended. You lost all your players.”
“Yes,” he says. “And now I have two new players. You and Jordan. So I’m invested, Nadia. That’s my point. I will consider your needs ahead of mine. Submit to you when it’s in your best interest.”
“How big of you,” I say, finishing my taco and wiping my mouth.
“And if you’d just submit to me instead of making snide comments at every revelation I hand out, then you’d learn the lesson I’m trying to teach.”
Learn the lesson. I just smile. Because this oaf really thinks he needs to teach me a lesson. “You’re fucking my mind, Bric.” I use that name for him on purpose. “Not my body. And we both know this.”
“And you like it, Nadia. Or you wouldn’t be here.” He stands up, grabs his coat off the dining room chair, shrugs it on, and then leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “I’ll pick you up from work at two tomorrow,” he says, backing away, reaching into his pocket to jingle his car keys. “We’re going shopping for furniture.”
I watch him walk away. He pulls open the front door, then hesitates and gives me a sidelong glance over his shoulder. “I’ll make sure Jordan comes tomorrow. So you can give me a complete answer to my earlier question.”
Even though I don’t want to… I think about him. For a long time after he leaves. While I brush my teeth and climb in bed. When I’m masturbating to give myself the last orgasm he denied me. Denied me, I remind myself. Under the pretense of taking care of me. Not using me up and throwing me away. And even as I drift off, spent from an exhausting day of rehearsal and mind-fucking, I’m still thinking about how he’s playing his game.
Do I want to live with them?
Yes, Elias, I decide. I want to live with you. You’re already bending your rules for me and we’ve barely just begun to play.
Imagine how much further I can push him if I have twenty-four-hour access.
My world goes fuzzy and I enter dream space picturing all the many, many ways I will get to know them…