exclamation marks at the end of that thought.
He tilts his head the other direction and stares at me pensively for a long few seconds. “Girlfriend?”
Stuttering and fumbling for words, I manage to blurt, “Sorry, I just assumed. The redhead I’ve seen you with?” The one who came after the woman with the black bob, who was after the willowy blonde. Pale and thin, tall and dark, upscale and sophisticated. He’s brought home just about everything except an athletic brunette professional.
Sucking thoughtfully on his full lower lip, Wayne nods. “Ah, you mean Tara. We’re not like that, just friends who like to hang out…”
And fuck. While living out domination fantasies. Even I’m surprised at the bitter, jealous edge to the silent response that rings out in my head.
“And blow off steam,” Wayne finishes. I glance up from my sour musings, and the look on his face makes my jaw drop so slightly open. There it is, that expression I’ve been expecting, the knowing glint in his dark gray eyes as he looks down his nose at me like a principal sizing up a naughty child. “You know what I mean, Brisa.”
That’s not a question in any way, shape, or form. Still, even with my chest constricting, crushing my pulsing heart, I resist the possibility that he knows I’ve been watching him. Surely, had he known, he wouldn’t have left the blinds open. Wouldn’t have kept up the steady, if careful flirtation with me. I mean, why would he?
I swallow hard. “I don’t…”
I don’t know what you mean, I want to say. I don’t understand. I don’t know how to finish this sentence without sounding completely insincere and giving myself away —that’s more like it.
“No?” Wayne asks, then steps closer, my face turned upward to regard him warily, his turned downward as he speaks low and confidingly. “You don’t what, Brisa? Don’t watch other people secretly or don’t do the kinds of things you’ve seen?”
I can actually feel my eyes shoot wide and round. Is this where Wayne confronts me about my completely obsessive desire for him? Where he tells me I’m a sweet girl, but it’s just not healthy or attractive to spy on a man just because he’s handsome and playfully told me I look good? Where he suggests therapy or threatens a restraining order? I certainly couldn’t blame him. Even I think my attraction to him is crazy, too constant and consuming.
Yet the way he’s lingering near instead of distancing himself, the soft but steady eye contact, the deepness of his breathing… These don’t convey disapproval. Still looming over me like this, he seems ready to fall upon me, a powerful hunter poised above prey.
“I’m sorry,” I say at last, dragging my gaze from his as my cheeks begin to burn. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why, Brisa?” he whispers, and I feel his soft breath against my temple, stirring the loose waves of my hair. “Why watch me with other women? Did it excite you?”
“No,” I snap too readily, too loudly. I squeeze my eyes closed, imagining the lonely nights stretching out ahead of me without even the fantasy of Wayne Fulton to occupy me. More softly, sighing, I say again, “No.”
A heartbeat passes, painfully still and silent, but Wayne does not give me the cold comfort of distance.
“Was it what you saw me doing? Are you into being dominated, Brisa?”
I wish he’d quit saying my name. My cunt pulses every time he does it, like he’s touching me, seducing me from the inside out. I catch myself leaning toward him. My stiffened nipples brush his chest through our clothing, and I jerk back like I’ve felt an electrical shock. The nubs ache and throb and tingle like the shock was real. Did I imagine Wayne catching his breath at the contact?
“I’ve never been…,” I confess and then wonder why I’m being so honest. I should just apologize and get in my car and go to work. Pretend
He tilts his head the other direction and stares at me pensively for a long few seconds. “Girlfriend?”
Stuttering and fumbling for words, I manage to blurt, “Sorry, I just assumed. The redhead I’ve seen you with?” The one who came after the woman with the black bob, who was after the willowy blonde. Pale and thin, tall and dark, upscale and sophisticated. He’s brought home just about everything except an athletic brunette professional.
Sucking thoughtfully on his full lower lip, Wayne nods. “Ah, you mean Tara. We’re not like that, just friends who like to hang out…”
And fuck. While living out domination fantasies. Even I’m surprised at the bitter, jealous edge to the silent response that rings out in my head.
“And blow off steam,” Wayne finishes. I glance up from my sour musings, and the look on his face makes my jaw drop so slightly open. There it is, that expression I’ve been expecting, the knowing glint in his dark gray eyes as he looks down his nose at me like a principal sizing up a naughty child. “You know what I mean, Brisa.”
That’s not a question in any way, shape, or form. Still, even with my chest constricting, crushing my pulsing heart, I resist the possibility that he knows I’ve been watching him. Surely, had he known, he wouldn’t have left the blinds open. Wouldn’t have kept up the steady, if careful flirtation with me. I mean, why would he?
I swallow hard. “I don’t…”
I don’t know what you mean, I want to say. I don’t understand. I don’t know how to finish this sentence without sounding completely insincere and giving myself away —that’s more like it.
“No?” Wayne asks, then steps closer, my face turned upward to regard him warily, his turned downward as he speaks low and confidingly. “You don’t what, Brisa? Don’t watch other people secretly or don’t do the kinds of things you’ve seen?”
I can actually feel my eyes shoot wide and round. Is this where Wayne confronts me about my completely obsessive desire for him? Where he tells me I’m a sweet girl, but it’s just not healthy or attractive to spy on a man just because he’s handsome and playfully told me I look good? Where he suggests therapy or threatens a restraining order? I certainly couldn’t blame him. Even I think my attraction to him is crazy, too constant and consuming.
Yet the way he’s lingering near instead of distancing himself, the soft but steady eye contact, the deepness of his breathing… These don’t convey disapproval. Still looming over me like this, he seems ready to fall upon me, a powerful hunter poised above prey.
“I’m sorry,” I say at last, dragging my gaze from his as my cheeks begin to burn. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why, Brisa?” he whispers, and I feel his soft breath against my temple, stirring the loose waves of my hair. “Why watch me with other women? Did it excite you?”
“No,” I snap too readily, too loudly. I squeeze my eyes closed, imagining the lonely nights stretching out ahead of me without even the fantasy of Wayne Fulton to occupy me. More softly, sighing, I say again, “No.”
A heartbeat passes, painfully still and silent, but Wayne does not give me the cold comfort of distance.
“Was it what you saw me doing? Are you into being dominated, Brisa?”
I wish he’d quit saying my name. My cunt pulses every time he does it, like he’s touching me, seducing me from the inside out. I catch myself leaning toward him. My stiffened nipples brush his chest through our clothing, and I jerk back like I’ve felt an electrical shock. The nubs ache and throb and tingle like the shock was real. Did I imagine Wayne catching his breath at the contact?
“I’ve never been…,” I confess and then wonder why I’m being so honest. I should just apologize and get in my car and go to work. Pretend
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