Chapter Nine - Maya
“I’m not sure what got into me,” I’m telling Angela, who is sitting across from me at my kitchen table, open-mouthed and stupefied. “When he kissed me, it really set me off. And it wasn’t just that, it was that robotic way he handled it afterward. I just had to show him something. He acts like he knows everything, not to mention everything about me. I get the feeling that he’s never surprised by anything. That he feels entitled to do whatever he wants. I mean, he just kissed me.”
Angela sighs. “Tell him to come kiss me. I won’t complain like this.” She makes it sound like I’m the most ungrateful person on earth.
“I’m not telling him that. He didn’t hire you. But that’s when I kissed him back. He was going on and on and suddenly I just wanted him to see how it felt.”
“Whoa! What did he do?”
“He was surprised, but it was a real kiss. He probably wasn’t as surprised as I was. You know me. That’s really not me.”
“No. It’s really not.”
It also surprised me when I left. And texted him. And then when I left the firm. I was playing a game that I was creating as I went along, following rules that I couldn’t see. There was no plan. I’ve always been the one with the plan. There was something liberating about it. Of course, there was also something terrifying about it. Like, say, losing a job that paid a ton of money for doing little more than eating at Arturo’s.
“And so you’re going back tonight?” says Angela. “Oh my God, I’m so jealous. I bet he’s planned something so freaky. I wonder why he wants you to bring a change of clothes. I wish I could hide in your purse and spy on you.”
“It’s nothing like that,” I say. Was it something like that? I was the one goading him, daring him to raise the stakes. “But I’m going. I’ve got a job to do.”
Angela and I spend the rest of the afternoon creating increasingly insane scenarios about my upcoming night with Conrad. We debate whether my change of clothes should be something comfortable, like yoga pants and a sweatshirt, or professional. Or sexy, I ask myself without telling Angela. She knows, though. The excitement is practically rising from my skin in waves.
Angela goes home after dinner and then I’ve got a couple of hours to kill before I go to meet Conrad. I decide to nap. If it’s going to be a long night, I’m going to need stamina. When my eyes pop open an hour later, I take the curlers out of my hair, brush my teeth, double check my night bag, and I take a car to the office. The building is dark except for the faint light coming from the lobby. Before I can touch the door it slides open. The desk is empty. Poor Zima. She’s probably out somewhere auditioning for a commercial for Rolaids.
The elevator doors slide open. Conrad still hasn’t said a word. As the elevator begins to rise something feels different. It’s either going faster or slower than usual. Or, I notice when the doors open, it’s stopping on a different floor.
This room could not be more different than Conrad’s office. It looks like the den at a ski lodge. The walls are covered in dark wood. A fire is going in a stone fireplace. I realize that every room in the building might be some sort of adult playground. Conrad is sitting in a chair by the fire looking at a book that is propped open on an ottoman. I reach for a joke, something witty, but when he looks up at me, my breath catches in my throat. “Come here,” he says.
As if my body is not my own, I walk towards him. He picks up the book and sets it aside. “Sit.” He pats the ottoman. I should stop him. I should stop this. But I don’t. I set my bag on the floor and I sit. Facing him. He’s only three feet away. He reaches out and grabs the sides of the ottoman, pulling it—and me—closer. Now it’s only two feet. No, less.
Conrad moves out of the chair and kneels. He leans towards me and I open my legs to legs to let him get closer. He puts a hand on my shoulder, but his hand is so large that it feels as if it’s covering my entire chest. He squeezes lightly and something in me moans. In a quick motion, he raises his palm from my skin so that only his fingertips are touching me.
“You shouldn’t have left me there,” he says. “And now I need to touch you. But I think you’ll let me.”
I can’t say anything in return because he is close enough to kiss me. He presses his lips against mine and puts a hand in my hair. He lightly pulls my head back so I have to look into his eyes. I know that in this moment I will do anything he asks. Anything he wants. This is not me but it feels so good that maybe stepping out of myself for a while isn’t a bad thing. He moves back in, parting my lips. Our tongues dance around each other and then he withdraws, getting to his feet. It feels like I could come at any second, and we’ve barely touched each other.
I can see how hard he is through his pants. Instinctively, I reach out and unzip him. I put my hands on the backs of his thighs and guide him towards me. I would say it’s like an out of body experience as I reach through his fly and put my palm against that massive cock, but I’m nothing but body right now. His hand is back in my hair, tightening, pulling me closer.
But no. It’s actually pulling me the other way. What the hell is he doing? I look up at him, up, up, up, and it’s the most annoying thing in the world to see that he’s smiling. I can tell he wants this as badly as I do, I can see it in his pulsing body.
“That’s enough for now,” he says. “I’m kind of tired. I don’t think I want to work tonight after all. You can sleep on the couch.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I say. My voice is throaty, husky, full of a wanting that is so desperate it almost hurts.
“Oh, I am, Maya. You haven’t earned that yet. We’ll see what happens. Feel free to use that change of clothes however you want. There’s a refrigerator over there. If I change my mind about anything, I’ll come back down in a bit and check on you.” He winks and gets on the elevator. Goddamn him.