CHAPTER 7
SORAYA
SORAYA: WHERE ARE WE GOING?
I’d left work an hour early to get ready. More than half the clothes I owned were in a heaping pile on my bed. Normally, whatever mood struck dictated my outfit. I wasn’t finicky. To me, style was an expression of your own individual personality, not following the latest trends from the runway or from one of the Kardashians. So it was freaking-me-the-fuck-out that I was on my tenth outfit.
Graham: To a restaurant, unfortunately. Unless you’ve changed your mind. I’m more than accommodating if you’d prefer I feast on you at my place.
If it were anyone else, all of the little pervy comments would piss me off. But for some reason¸ Graham’s made me smile. My answer to his invitation to screw was always to screw with him.
Soraya: Actually, maybe I have changed my mind.
Graham: Give me your address. I’m still at the office, but can be there in ten minutes, wherever the hell you live.
I chuckled at his desperation. As much as I thought he was full of himself, there was something very endearing about the honesty he displayed wanting to be with me. Normally, to a guy like him, showing desperation was a sign of weakness. It almost made me feel bad about toying with him. Almost.
Soraya: I meant about us having dinner tonight. I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.
Graham: Bullshit. If you don’t show up, expect a knock on your door.
Soraya: You don’t even know where I live.
Graham: I’m a very resourceful man. Try me.
Soraya: Fine. I’ll be there. But you only gave me an address. Where are we going? I need to know what to wear.
Graham: Wear whatever you’re wearing right now.
I looked down.
Soraya: A hot pink lace bra and G-string? Where are you taking me, a strip club?
It was a solid five minutes before he responded.
Graham: Don’t tell me shit like that.
Soraya: Not a fan of hot pink?
Graham: Oh, but I am. The shade will look lovely as a handprint on your ass if you don’t stop messing with me.
Spanking wasn’t something I was ever into. Wasn’t being the key word. Yet the thought of him stinging my ass had my body humming. I was growing aroused from a text. Jesus. This man was dangerous. Needing a break, I tossed the phone on my bed and dug back into my closet. A little black dress shoved in the back caught my eye. I’d bought it for a funeral. I cracked myself up thinking I should have worn it the other night for my date with Aspen. When I slipped it from the hanger, my phone was flashing a new incoming text message had arrived.
Graham: You’ve stopped responding. I’m going to take that to mean you’re busy fantasizing about my hand swatting that fine ass.
He had an uncanny ability to turn a simple question into something dirty.
Soraya: I’m busy trying to figure out what to wear. Which brings me back to the original question I texted, where are we going?
Graham: I made a reservation at Zenkichi.
Soraya: In Brooklyn?
Graham: Yes, in Brooklyn. There’s only one. You said you lived there, and since you refuse to let me pick you up, I chose a place close to you.
Soraya: Wow. OK, great. I’ve wanted to try that place. It’s sort of a pain in the ass for you to get to from your office, though.
Graham: Fitting. Since you’re such a pain in my ass. See you at 7.
The subway station was about a block and a half from the restaurant. When I turned the corner, there was a black town car pulling up outside. I have no idea why, but I ducked into a doorway to watch the person get out. My gut told me it was Graham.
My gut wasn’t wrong. A uniformed driver got out and opened the back door, and Graham stepped out onto the sidewalk. God, the man oozed power. He was dressed in a different expensive suit than he was wearing this morning. The way his suits fit him, there was no doubt that he had them custom made. Although it wasn’t the fancy suit that he was wearing that gave him the air of supremacy; it was the way he wore the suit. Standing in front of the restaurant, he stood tall and confident. His chest was open and broad, shoulders were back, legs apart and firmly planted. He looked straight ahead, not fiddling with his phone or staring at his feet to avoid eye contact. One hand was in the pocket of his trouser pants, his thumb outside of the pocket. I liked the thumb hooked on the outside.
I waited a few minutes, and when he eventually looked in the other direction, I slipped out from the doorway. When he turned back and caught sight of me, I became self-conscious of my walk. The way he watched every step I made, a part of me wanted to run the other way, but the other part of me liked the intensity of his stare. A lot. So I tapped down my nerves, added some sway to my hips and decided I would not be a mouse to his cat. I would be the dog.
“Graham.” I nodded as I stopped in front of him.
“Soraya.” He mimicked my business-like tone and nod.
We stood looking at each other on the sidewalk, a safe distance between us for the longest minute in the history of minutes. Then he growled, “Fuck this.” Stepping forward into my space, he wound a fistful of my hair around his hand, used it to tilt my head where he wanted it, then his mouth devoured mine.
For a split second, I tried to resist. But I was an ice cube trying to fight the heat from the sun. It was impossible. Instead, I melted right into the blinding light. If he hadn’t wrapped his other hand snuggly around my waist, there was a good chance I’d have been on the concrete. My mind wanted to fight him at every turn, but my body couldn’t resist giving in. Traitor.
He spoke over my lips when he finally released my mouth. “Fight it all you want, you’ll be begging one day. Mark my words.”
His arrogance brought me to my senses. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“I’d much rather be filling you.”
“Pig.”
“What’s that say about you? You’re wet for a pig.”
I tried to push back from the grip he had wrapped around my waist. But it only made him clutch me tighter. “I’m not wet.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Only one way to verify that.”
“Back off, Morgan.”
Graham took a step back and raised both his hands in surrender. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
Inside, Zenkichi was dark and not what I had expected. The traditionally dressed Japanese woman led us down a long hall that was made to feel like outside. The walkway was lined with rocks and slate stones, as if we were walking a path through an outdoor Asian garden. Both sides were lined with tall bamboo and lit with lanterns. We passed an opening to a large seating area, but the hostess kept going. At the end of the hallway, she seated us in a private booth, enclosed with luxurious, thick drapes. After she had taken our drink order, she pointed out the buzzer built into the table and told us we would not be intruded on unless we wanted to be. Then she disappeared, pulling the curtains closed. It felt like we were the only two people in the world, instead of inside a busy, posh restaurant.
“This is beautiful. But odd,” I said.
Graham took off his jacket and settled into his side of the table with one arm casually slung over the top of the booth. “Fitting.”
“Are you saying I’m odd?”
“Are we going to fight about it if I say yes?”
“Probably.”
“Then, yes.”
My brow furrowed. “You want to fight with me?”
Graham tugged at his tie, loosening it. “I find it turns me on.”
I laughed. “I think you need counseling.”
“After the last few days, I believe you may be right.”
The waitress returned with our drinks. She set a highball glass down in front of him and a wine glass in front of me.
Graham had ordered Hendrick’s and tonic. “That’s an old man’s drink, gin and tonic,” I said as I sipped my wine.
He swirled the ice around in his glass, then brought it to his lips and looked at me over the rim before drinking. ”Remember what arguing with me does. You might want to look under the table.”
My eyes widened. “You aren’t.”
He smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “Go ahead. Put your head under. I know you’re dying to take a peek anyway.”
After we both finished our drinks, and some of my nerves had started to calm, we finally had our first real conversation. One that wasn’t about sex or tongue rings.
“So how many hours do you work a day in that big fancy office of yours?”
“I usually go in by eight and try to leave by eight.”
“Twelve hours a day? That’s sixty hours a week.”
“Not counting weekends.”
“You work weekends, too?”
“Saturdays.”
“So your only day off is Sunday?”
“I actually sometimes work in the evening on Sunday, too.”
“That’s nuts. When do you find time to enjoy yourself?”
“I enjoy my work.”
I scoffed. “Didn’t sound that way when I stopped in the other day. Everyone there seems afraid of you, and you refused to open the door.”
“I was busy.” He folded his arms over his chest.
I did the same. “So was I. I took two trains to personally deliver that phone, you know. And you didn’t have the decency to even come out and say thank you.”
“I didn’t know what was behind the door waiting for me, or I would have come out.”
“A person. A person was behind the door. One who went out of her way for you. If I were a sixty-year-old married woman with blue hair, you should have come out to thank me.”
He sighed. “I’m a busy man, Soraya.”
“Yet here you are on a weeknight at only 7PM. Shouldn’t you be working until eight if you’re so busy?”
“I make exceptions when warranted.”
“How big of you.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You want to look under the table, don’t you?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Tell me something else about you. Aside from you’re a workaholic with a superiority complex who drinks fancy drinks. All of that, I could have guessed from my observations on the train.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No. I’m an only child.”
I mumbled under my breath. Gee, I never would have guessed that one.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“How about you?”
“One sister. But I’m not speaking to her at the moment.”
“And why is that?”
“Bad blind date.”
“She fixed you up?”
“Yep.”
“With the guy who took you to the funeral? What was his name, Dallas?”
“Aspen. No, she didn’t fix me up with Aspen. I picked that disaster all on my own. She fixed me up with a guy she used to work with. Mitch.”
“And it didn’t go well, I take it?”
I fixed him with a stare. “I nicknamed him High Pitch Mitch with the Itch.”
He got a chuckle out of that. “Doesn’t sound so good.”
“It wasn’t.”
He squinted at me. “And will I have a nickname tomorrow?”
“Would you like one?”
“Not if it’s anything like High Pitch Mitch with the Itch.”
“Well, what did you have in mind?”
The wheels spun in his head for about thirty seconds. “Morgan with the Big Organ?”
I rolled my eyes.
“You can fact check under the table at any time.” He winked.
I continued to try to get to know him, even though all roads led to between his legs. “Any pets?”
“I have a dog.”
Remembering the little dog from my snooping in his cell phone, I said, “What kind of a dog? You seem like the type to have a big scary one. Like a Great Dane or a Neapolitan mastiff. Something representative of what you keep goading me into looking at under the table. You know, big dog, big d—”
“The size of a dog is not a phallic symbol,” he interrupted.
So, it was his cute little dog in the pictures.
“Really? I think I read a study once that said men unknowingly purchase dogs that represent the true size of their penis.”
“My dog was my mother’s. She passed away when he was a puppy, twelve years ago. ”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “Thank you. Blackie is a West Highland terrier.”
“Blackie? Is he black?” The little dog in the photo had been white.
“He’s white, actually.”
“So why Blackie? To be facetious? Or is there another reason for the name?”
His response was clipped. “There’s no other reason.”
Just then, the waitress served our dinner. I ordered the Bonito Shut fish entree, basically because the menu said it was for adventurous eaters only. And Graham ordered Sashimi. Both our dishes looked more like art when they arrived.
“I hate to eat it; it’s so beautiful.”
“I have the opposite problem. It’s so beautiful; I can’t wait to eat it.” His smirk told me his comment had nothing to do with his fancy looking dinner.
I shifted in my seat.
We both dug into our meals. Mine was incredible. The fish literally melted in your mouth. “Mmm…this is so good.”
Graham surprised me by reaching over and forking a piece from my plate. He didn’t seem like a plate sharer. I watched him swallow, and he gave a small nod of approval. Then I reached over and forked a piece of his meal. He smiled.
“So. You’ve told me about Mitch the Itch and Funeral boy. Do you date a lot?”
“I wouldn’t say a lot. But I’ve met my fair share of assholes.”
“They were all assholes?”
“Not all of them. Some were nice guys but just didn’t work for me.”
“Didn’t work for you? How so?”
I shrugged. “I just didn’t feel that way about them. You know. Like nothing more than a friend.”
“And do you have any more dates in your forthcoming calendar?”
“My forthcoming calendar?” I let out a ladylike snort. “You go from dirty talk to sounding like a snobby college professor pretty easily.”
“Does that annoy you?”
I thought about my answer for a moment. “I wouldn’t say annoy. More like amuse.”
“I’m amusing?”
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
“Pretty sure I’ve never been called amusing before.”
“I’d bet that’s because most people only see the asshole you show on the outside.”
“That implies that I’m more than just an asshole on the inside.”
Our eyes locked when I responded. “For some reason, I believe that you are. That there is more to you than just an asshole with a sexy exterior.”
“You think I’m sexy.” He grinned, full of himself.
“Of course I do. I mean look at you. You have a mirror. I’m guessing you figured that out all by yourself by now. It must not be difficult to fill up the evenings on your forthcoming calendar.”
“Are you always such a wiseass?”
“Pretty much.”
He shook his head and grumbled something. “Speaking of forthcoming calendars. I would like yours cleared of any more dates. Other than me, of course.”
“We’re halfway through our first date, and you’re telling me, not asking me, to not date other people?”
He straightened in his seat. “You told me you weren’t going to sleep with me. That we were going to date and get to know each other. Does that still stand?”
“It does.”
“Well, if I’m not fucking you, no one else should be either.”
“How romantic.”
“It’s a deal breaker for me.”
“And that would go both ways? You wouldn’t be seeing anyone else either?”
“Of course.”
“Let me think about it.”
His eyebrows jumped in surprise. “You need to think about it?”
“I do. I’ll get back to you on it.” It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the first time that Graham J. Morgan was not getting his way with a woman.
Hours later, my phone buzzed in my bag. It was Delia checking on me since she knew I was out on a first date. I shot off a quick text to let her know I was safe and glanced at the time on my phone. We had been sitting in the restaurant for more than three hours. It wasn’t lost on me that it was the first time I had even thought about my phone.
“Well, you were right about one thing.”
“You’ll have to be more specific. I’m right about most things.”
I shook my head. “And here I was about to give you a compliment, and you go and ruin it with your arrogant self.”
“I believe arrogance is when you have an exaggerated sense of your own abilities. I don’t exaggerate. I would be a realist.”
“Stuck-Up Suit is truly a fitting name for you, isn’t it?”
Ignoring me, he asked, “What was the compliment?”
“When we were texting during my funeral date the other night, you said if I were with you, I wouldn’t care where my cell phone was. Until it buzzed just now, I hadn’t even noticed I never took it out.”
That pleased him. A little while later, Graham paid the bill, and I made a quick stop in the ladies’ room. Freshening up, it struck me that I really didn’t want our date to end. The thought brought on almost a melancholy feeling that surprised me.
Outside of the restaurant, Graham’s black car was already curbside. He must have had it waiting and called the driver when I went to the restroom.
“If you’re not going to come home with me, I insist on at least giving you a ride home to your place.”
“The subway is right around the corner. I’m good.”
He shot me an annoyed glance. “Give a little, Soraya. It’s a ride home, not a ride on my cock. And I think you know by now that I’m not a serial killer.”
“You’re so crass.”
He put his hand on the small of my back and steered me to the waiting open car door. I didn’t put up a fight. Graham was right, I was being stubborn while he had pretty much agreed to anything I demanded. Something told me it was a rare occasion when the man was this flexible.
When we arrived at my apartment, Graham walked me to the door.
“When will I see you again?”
“Well, tomorrow is Saturday, so I suppose maybe Monday on the train.”
“Have dinner with me again tomorrow?”
“I have plans.”
His jaw flexed. “With whom?”
We embarked into a lengthy stare off. His gaze was hard. When neither of us gave for a few minutes, he grumbled Christ under his breath, and before I realized what was happening, my back was against the door, and his mouth was on mine.
He kissed me as if he wanted to eat me alive. Before releasing my mouth, he took my lower lip between his teeth and tugged. Hard. With his lips vibrating up against mine, he spoke. “Don’t push me to my limit, Soraya.”
“Why? What will happen?”
“I’ll push back. And I’m trying not to do that with you.”
He was being honest, and I realized I should appreciate that. “To my sister’s house. It’s my niece’s birthday party. That’s where I’m going tomorrow night.
He nodded. “Thank you.”
It took every bit of my willpower to go inside and shut the door behind me. I leaned my back against the door, unable to remember the last time I was so hot and bothered. Maybe not ever. His mouth was sinful; the thought of what he could do with that wicked tongue other places on my body kept me in a state of arousal that bordered on frenzied. But it was more than that. The way he was so dominating and controlling, yet exercised restraint to respect my wishes, was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. The man stimulated something that had been sleeping inside of me. I needed a glass of wine and an orgasm. Not necessarily in that order. If I was going to be firm on my stance that we get to know each other and not have sex, then taking things into my own hands was absolutely essential.
In my bedroom, I stripped out of my clothes. I didn’t sleep naked every night, but tonight was definitely a bare evening. As I slipped into bed, my cell rang.
“Is phone sex on the table?” Graham’s voice was a needy rasp. Whatever cooling off my body had done since I left him on the other side of the door was instantly reheated. His voice could definitely speed things up for me. But…
“Sex is off the table. That should probably include all types of sex. Intercourse, oral, phone.”
He groaned. “Oral. God, I want to taste you. And feel that metal tongue ring on my cock. You have no idea how difficult it was to control myself tonight every time I caught a glimpse of that metal when you spoke. It’s like you’re taunting me with every word. What are you wearing, Soraya?”
That voice. I needed to record him saying What are you wearing, Soraya? So I could play it over and over again in a loop when I needed to satisfy my own needs. “I’m actually not wearing anything. I just got undressed and slipped into bed.”
“You sleep naked?”
“Sometimes.”
He actually growled. “Touch yourself.”
“I plan to. But I think I’m going to need both hands tonight. So I’m going to hang up first.”
“How long do you plan on driving me crazy, Soraya?”
“Good night, Graham.” I hung up without waiting for him to respond. Even though my body physically ached for the man, I wasn’t ready to open that door with him just yet. Although as I glided my hand down my body alone in my bed, the only thing I could think of was God, I wish it was his hand.