very nice and all, lovely and philosophical, packaged beautifully in glossy wrappings of bullshit, but the truth, the cake sitting on the counter behind me if you will, is that you wanted me because it looked as if you couldn’t have me?” She arched a brow. “Is that what you’re saying? I didn’t call you for two months and that pissed you off. I’m the fucking cake on the counter.”
“Yes.”
“That’s real.” She gave a loud, distressed sigh as she rubbed her hand along her knee, then cast her sights towards the fire. “You’re an asshole. But again, thank you for being honest.”
“But that wasn’t all.” She looked in his direction with a slight tilt of her head. “I really fuckin’ like you, Yasmine. I’m serious. The night I met you at The Cage, yeah, I was attracted to you, enjoyed my time with you. I was sure you’d call. When you didn’t,” he paused, “I felt some kind of way about it. Not just because you didn’t do what I wanted you to do, but because I believed that, uh, we had something… I let it go, actually, then, one morning I read something, and I had a conversation with a friend of mine who was trying to double date and hook me up, and it made me think about women – and how I could have something more and better than I’d had before. You and I could both have something we only received from one another, so this wasn’t a one way street. You’re giving to me, just as I am giving to you. That day, it clicked for me. I believe I had an awakening of sorts. It’s like everything lined up perfectly. It helped encourage me to do what I had wanted to do all along, and that is make a move. I had never forgotten you since that night, Yasmine. Not more than a day or two would go by without you entering my thoughts.”
It was obvious she was fighting a smile, and that made her all the more beautiful in his eyes.
“Then, when I started to read up on you, your accomplishments, stuff like that, I saw how much we had in common. I figured, if I was going to pursue someone, it should be a person who understands me from a vocational standpoint, too. Someone with just as much to lose. That woman would understand the meaning of hard work and allow me to do what I was born to do. Lead. She would not take that as a reduction, but as what it actually is. An upgrade. Now, back to your journal.” He pointed towards it, the book now lying beside her hip on the couch.
“An upgrade? I’m not so certain of that.”
“Fear is your fuel. Keep that in mind, always.” He held a finger up. “What I want to do tonight, baby, is open you up.” She reached for her wine and took a sip, then another, as if she needed it with every fiber of her being. “Set the glass down.” She took one more quick sip then set it on the coffee table. “Before I get into the gist of it, I need to give you a safe word.”
“Safe word?” Her brow arched and she burst out laughing, but she was clearly unamused. “No. I’m not into shit like that, Raze. I mean, Nixon.”
“Shit like what, Yasmine?” He intertwined his fingers and leaned forward.
“The whole sadomasochist scene. To each his own, but I’m not into that.”
He smirked and slowly got to his feet. Rounding the coffee table, he stood before her, looking down at her. He blew smoke in her face, forcing her to cough and wave it away.
“Shit! You son of a bitch!” She hacked hard. “What are you doing?!” He blew out more, and she fell back onto the couch in a fit of coughs. “You fucker! I can barely breathe now!”
“This is why you need a safe word,” he stated calmly as he watched her squirm about like an ant under a microscope. Free Nationals crooned ‘Beauty and Essex,’ filling the air with sound. “See, your mind is limited. Closed off, Yasmine. That’s not the only reason for a safe word. It’s not because I’d necessarily be hanging you upside down from the ceiling light and fucking you in the mouth as I pour candle wax on your back and jam a carrot up your ass. You’ve got these strange ideas in your head that I’m