Page 12 of Devil In A Suit, Vol. 1

Chapter 5

I knew I wanted to fuck you.

The words echo in my head while I sit across from him, totally stunned and completely turned on. I want to speak, but I have no idea what to say, or even if I could summon a voice to say them. No one has ever said anything like that to me. Ever.

My speechlessness pleases him, I can see by the way the muscles in his jaw flex at the hint of smirk. He signals the waiter for the check with a flick of his hand and lays down a black credit card.

Moments later Jared leans back across the table to me.

“After I tip this waiter handsomely, you and I are going to get in my car, where I will take you back to my penthouse apartment, lay you out on my bed, and see what $1,200 buys me at Délicat.”

Oh holy god. I can feel my chest heaving, my breasts rising and falling beneath the deep V of my dress. His eyes flicker south, and I know he sees it too. I let myself imagine what it would be like to let him have his way with me.

Certainly nothing like I’ve ever experienced before. No cold pizza. No stale beer. No pot smoke or the sound of some rented action movie in the background. I’m fairly certain there would be no disappointment from me.

He stands and comes around behind me, pulling out my chair. I stand on shaky knees, and he offers me an arm. At well over six feet tall to my five two, he towers over me. His arm slides around my back, his large hand resting firmly on my hip as he guides me away.

We start to make our way through the restaurant, heads turning as we go. Even at the hottest restaurant in the city filled with the upper crust of Boston society, everyone wants to get a glimpse of Jared King and the woman on his arm.

Half the people in this restaurant wish they were him, and the other half wish they were with him. Everyone here wants a part of the fantasy I’m living.

Except that this fantasy could quickly turn into a nightmare if I’m not careful.

I want to say something.

I know I should say something. Anything. Shouting I’m a virgin seems like exactly the wrong thing, like it might scare him off. And it scares me how much I don’t want to do that. Jared was right about one thing. I want. I want him. I just don’t know if I’m ready. Ready for a man like him and all he could do to me. Ready for what comes after you let a man like Jared King have his way with you. Ready for what happens if I’m then discarded like all the other women.

Ready for him to break me in the most wonderful, terrifying way.

It all starts to build, rushing over me like a great wave, thoughts of what could lie ahead of me. All the different things that could happen and the disasters that could follow. And the biggest one that won’t leave me is the image of me disappointing him. Of not being able to please him. Of not knowing how to kiss him or touch him or move beneath him.

Or worse than all the others, thoughts of boring him.

And that — more than heartbreak or workplace disaster — is what stops me dead in my tracks.

We’re nearly to the door when I make a sharp turn. I feel his hand slide away from my hip, my skin tingling from the loss as I retreat further from him.

“Excuse me,” I say, and then I rush through the restaurant, dodging a waiter carrying a silver bucket of champagne and another with a tray of lobster, making a beeline for the restroom.

Inside, I lean over the marble counter, staring at myself in the mirror as I try to catch my breath. There’s a crimson flush creeping up my neck, and I know right away that the only thing holding me up is my grip on the sink.

“Calm down,” I tell my reflection. “There’s nothing to be scared of. You can say no.” The redness recedes, but only slightly, and my chest is still heaving, though in a slower, deeper rhythm.

I’ll just tell him no. I’ll tell him I can’t, not tonight. I’ll offer to pay for the lingerie (though I’ll be eating Ramen for the next four months), and I’ll even offer to split dinner with him. I’ll take the T home, I’ll put on my pajamas, and I’ll hide under my bed until I’m not afraid anymore….which should take only a week or two at most.

After a few minutes of pumping myself up for what awaits me back in the restaurant, I wash my hands with the coldest water, dabbing a wet towel across my chest. Then I try to stroll with as much confidence as I can muster, back towards the dining room.

He’s waiting for me right outside the door in the little vestibule between the bathrooms. As soon as I’m out of the door, he places a hand on my hip, not possessive this time, but steadying. Without a word, he guides me gently through the restaurant out the door. The cool spring air sends a shiver through me, but invigorates my lungs and clears my head.

Jared sees this and pulls me into him, warmth radiating through his body and into mine. He leans in close and whispers in m ear.

“It’s okay. My driver will take you home,” he says. “I can wait.”

I look up at him, now closer than I’ve ever been, and see the softness in his eyes for the first time. I see a tiny scar just above his lip, faded and nearly invisible except when this close. I see the way the fingers on his right hand flutter on his muscled thigh, like he’s so full of restrained energy that he can’t manage to be completely still even for a second. I see all these tiny vulnerabilities, and I suddenly realize I’m not scared anymore.

“No,” I say, surprising even myself, but knowing it’s right.

“No?” He cocks an eyebrow.