All Black Ch. 02-03

"Of course I would, but, Shiva?"

He smiles and raises his eyebrows.

"You're giving me so much nice stuff...."

"Only things that I'm happy to give you."

"But I don't have anything to give you."

"You don't have to give me anything, Angela," he says, but then he leans forward to whisper. "Unless you want to."

Her eyes widen.

"And I hope you do."

Her eyes widen even further, and as she looks away she finds herself nodding before she has even thought about what nodding might mean.

— — — — — — / — — — — — — — — —

The problem, she thinks, as he leads her to the elevator, is that he's so tall and strong and confident that she wants to do whatever he wants her to do.

Her heart submits before her brain has time to reason anything out.

If he tries to have sex with her in the elevator, for example, she knows she's going to let him, and she's going to like it, even though she shouldn't let him or like it, because her heart is so far ahead of her brain that her brain is not going to be able to keep up with things as they happen.

The fact that the elevator is glass and that perhaps the whole world could watch, even that wouldn't stop her.

They don't have sex in the elevator, though he does put his arm around her, his hand on her waist, and when she looks up at him to see if it's okay — as if she had to ask his permission to let her waist try to please his hand — he looks down at her with complete assurance in his friendly smirk.

She tries to understand: what is this? What is this relationship?

And then it hits her:

It's a benevolent dictatorship.

Her heart, longing for his love, longing to please him, has submitted itself.

And he knows it. She can see that he knows it. He knows how a girl acts when she's head-over-heels out-of-control in love with him — it's not his first time.

He can destroy her if he wants to. He can use her and discard her with impunity — if he wants to.

And he knows it. As they look at each other there in the elevator, as the elevator descends into the darkness below ground, they both know that they both know it.

The only thing that can save her is him.

If he loves her, she will be happy. Her life will be wonderful.

If not, he will just...

She can't bear to finish that thought.

— — — — — — / — — — — — — — — —

The elevator doors open to what she now understands is his private parking area, with three black Rolls-Royces, a bright red sports car of some kind — she doesn't know about cars but it's beautiful — and a long black limousine.

Directly in front of them, a driver is holding open the door to one of the Rolls-Royces for her.

Shiva stops there and turns her toward him, their bodies pressed together. The driver walks away as if nothing is happening, takes refuge in the car.

She's never been so close to a man's body before, never been held like this. She feels the softness of her body yielding to the hardness of his.

His hands on her body: one on the small of her back, the other taking her head, reaching around her neck, turning her face up to his.

His face, his lips come down towards hers.

She closes her eyes.

His scent. Dark, strong, rugged.

His lips on hers. Sweet, soft, and warm.

His arm around her waist now, pulling her body into him.

Understanding and sharing his desire, she presses herself into him.

And then it's over.

"Goodbye, Angie," he whispers.

She wanted — she wants — so much more.

She gets into the car without taking her eyes off him, and he does not take his off her until he closes the door.

She knows he can't see her through the dark glass, but as the car pulls away, she puts her hand on the window as if she could touch him through it.

The car turns a corner, begins ascending to the street, and she cannot see him any longer, and she leans back in the chair overcome with the pain of parting.