“I like you a little bit,” he says into my ear, while wrapped tightly around my back. I melt. “And don’t worry. There’s always a tita emceeing the line dancing, screaming out directions like a drill sergeant. You’ll be able to follow along.”
“Condescending prick,” I tell him.
He kisses me on the temple before twirling me around. I hear Mama Flores squeal from somewhere across the room, and I forget for a moment that I’m a secret affair partner with an anxiety disorder and ADHD.
That night, back at his place, he makes me cook him dinner while wearing only an apron and a pair of stilettos he made me bring over a few days ago.
We haven’t made it past the food prep stage, though, after I bend in half to retrieve a mixing bowl from the lowest cabinet.
“Stay like that,” he orders. “Use your hands to spread yourself. Show me your pretty pussy.”
I do just that, feeling myself swell and drench, my body bent at a right angle. I hear his heavy, slow, confident footsteps. I hear his belt jangling, pants unzipping, feel him rub the tip of his dick from my clit to my asshole, spreading my moisture. He doesn’t touch me anywhere else.
He makes a few passes, holding the base of his dick and tracing my folds, teasing, pushing just slightly in, until I’m a pleading, writhing mess.
“So wet for me, baby. Your pussy is begging for it. But I want to hear you. What do you need?” he asks me.
“Fuck me, Oliver; please,” I gasp.
“Hold on to the counter,” he commands, before pushing his way in, slow and controlled and confident. “Mine,” I think I hear him whisper. His hands finally grip my hips. Long pulls out and quick pushes in, stretching me, forcing me to feel every inch.
He ends up cooking dinner after that, something elaborate and perfect that takes too long. I eat standing at the counter, because my ass is too sore to sit on. We both decide to keep our clothes off.
“We haven’t gone to look at any open houses recently,” he tells me. “Wanna go next weekend?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “We?”
He is unbothered. “Yes, we. Reginald and Victoria Kensington. I thought you were in the market. I want to come. They’ve all been fun.”
Something in me feels twitchy. “Maybe,” I manage, turning to inspect my salmon.
I feel the heat of him standing behind me. “Hey,” he prods. “Where’d you go?”
“I’m here,” I mumble.
He turns me so he can see my face. “Talk to me,” he demands, in the same tone he told me to hold on to the counter.
I look at the floor. “That made me feel weird.”
“Why?”
“It’s a whole thing.”
“I want to know.”
I can’t escape the force of his gaze, feeling extremely naked, and not just physically. “My…” I blow out a breath, resigned to this now. “My ex was a controlling dick,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You’ve mentioned that before. Is this a couch conversation?” he asks, gesturing towards his living room.
I nod, and he pulls me over there and drags me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me. “Okay,” he says into my hair.
I already feel better. Safer. I wonder how he knew. “I never knew how to handle money. I just… didn’t even want to deal with it. I’ve always had a bunch of savings because of living with Eloise. She doesn’t pay any rent, because she owns the apartment outright.”
I snuggle further into Oliver’s lap. “My ex was… really, really wealthy. Like, Old Money, Generational Wealth, Reggie and Vic Kensington wealthy. I thought that meant he knew how to handle finances, so I gave him control of my bank account.” I scoff. “He didn’t know shit. He lost a ton of my savings on insane stock market bets. I’d call him out on it, but he’d gaslight me into thinking I knew nothing. He was in full control of my finances. And then my parents died, and he gambled a bunch of their inheritance away. And that’s when I found out he had been cheating on me with an old family friend. For months. And then he dumped me and proposed to her.”
Oliver gives me a squeeze.
“I didn’t have much left after that, but I decided to take control of my life. I taught myself how to balance a budget. I clawed my way out of the hole, and I’m well on my way tobeing able to afford a down payment on an apartment. To me, it represents freedom. Independence.” I refuse to cry. “He really fucked me up. Now I do this insane thing where I test people, needing them to prove themselves to me, or something.”
