Like Wildfire Ch. 02

"You're surprised?" I turned on the couch, my body facing him.

"I am. Pleased. I knew it was a bit of a gamble. I really wasn't sure I'd see you again."

I shook my head. "That wouldn't seem right. I had to return your key. You left it behind." I smiled.

"Very kind of you."

"An act of altruism." I agreed.

"Have you made yourself at home? I know it's kind of threadbare at the moment." He got up and walked around the apartment, peeking inside the refrigerator and turning to me "I suppose it really shouldn't surprise me that you're eating like a college student." He observed, and stretched to reach a cupboard I hadn't bothered checking, too far out of my reach. Pulling out a bottle and a few glasses, he turned to me smiling.

"It's a 'break glass in case of emergency' kind of thing." He admitted.

"And what part of this qualifies as an emergency?" My brow arched.

"Well, you can't toast someone without a drink."

I followed him back into the living room.

"Sure." I agreed, taking the glass he pressed into my palm. He poured me a drink of whiskey, a bottle of his favorite, and clinked his short glass to mine. "What are we drinking to?"

"To fearlessness, Sasha." He said it as though it should have been obvious.

If that's what he thought of me, it was the wrong read. Or maybe it was a wish for what came next.

"Right." I took a sip and crossed my legs, growing more comfortable.

"So, first order of business. Tell me how the interview went." He all but lounged, using the back of the sofa as an armrest.

I grimaced. "Good, I think. No word back yet. Very few things inspire the same amount of self-doubt and desperation as a job search."

"What are you feeling desperate about?"

"Oh, I don't know. I've always been a very independent person. It feels strange not to have that as part of my identity."

"So what does that leave, then?" He asked, inquisitive, not intrusive.

"I don't really have a pie graph on hand."

"Humor me." He took a sip of his drink and waited, patiently.

"I suppose . . . my relationships, the things that I make, and the books that I read." I had to laugh. "My various mental illnesses? I'm a very neurotic person."

"That's not always so bad a trait. There are some benefits to it, at least."

"For who?"

"Well the type to over-think tend to be thinkers first and foremost, right?"

"I guess." I hadn't thought of it like that before.

"What else, your desire to please, maybe?" He suggested.

"And your compulsion to take liberties."

"I wouldn't disagree with that. I don't think 'libertine' is a dirty word, for example."

"Right, why not enjoy things for what they are? Sex, love- I try to live in the present."

He smiled like I had handed him a gift. "I like that. It's wise. You've always been like that?"

"God, no." I cringed. "I used to be incapable of taking it easy."

"So what changed?"

"I stopped taking myself so seriously, I think. Or at least maybe enough to actually enjoy myself once in awhile instead of agonizing over every little thing."

"Good girl."

In spite of myself, I was unable to stop the smirk growing on my face and took a draw from my drink

"Have you been a good girl all week?" He pressed.

I swallowed the whiskey in my mouth. "Yes."

"Now, the real question is- do I believe you have that kind of self control?".

"Oh please, you don't even know me." I challenged.

I broke the spell we were under for a moment and it was a jarring, re-configuring of the lull of familiarity we fell into when we got going. Stupid, I thought. What am I doing?

"You're right- I don't. But I'd like to, very much." He regrouped. "I think that's what this is, isn't it?"

"Yes. You're right." I shook my head, apologetic. "I'm sorry."

"You're not a doormat, Sasha. That's not something to apologize for."

I nodded.

"I won't ask you to be a doormat. In fact, there's nothing less appealing to me in this moment."

Eye contact felt like a current had opened between us. I swallowed, at a loss for words.

"Tell me what you want." He urged.

"I want to know you better." I said without thinking.

He contemplated and paused a moment, before divulging, "My first kiss was Allison Cleary under the monkey bars."

"Who kissed who?"

"She kissed me. I was too shy to even talk to girls at that point."

"Now we're getting somewhere."

* * *

He let me veer away from the pointed question- what did I want in that moment? More than anything I wanted him, truly, but it felt fast and uncertain, a slippery slope. What I didn't want was for our dynamic to be diluted into something purely sexual. I had a fear that he'd see me as nothing but a conquest, or worse- disposable afterwards. I needed him to see me as something more, but still, I wanted him to want me. Like the night we shared the week previous had come unpaused and we were back in that magical rapport we shared.

At one point, I suggested that we take shots. A silly idea, poorly calculated, but it seemed to match the mood of the night. We needed an excuse to be more open. He opened a door and I shut it, and it was up to me to open it again.

"Okay, who's turn is it to tell a secret?" I crossed my legs on the couch.

"My poor liver. . . " he complained. "This is a terrible idea." He shed his suit jacket and folded it over the side of the couch. His button down was a dark burgundy color that suited him well, the charcoal gray slacks looked recently pressed.

"Yeah, yeah." I dismissed.

"I think I'm out of secrets." He had kicked off his shoes, one foot propped up on the coffee table. I glanced at his right hand and thought better about calling him out.

"Well, essentially, anything I don't know about you counts."

"Famished for details, young lady?" If I had been sitting any closer I figured he might have tried to tousle my hair.

"'Young lady?'" I pushed back. "Next you'll be telling me I'm 'so mature for my age.'"

"You're young enough . . ." He started and I put up a hand.

"Please don't say it."

"It's worth pointing out." He shrugged.

"For who? Does it help your guilty conscience?"

"My, my, mouthy little thing."

"You like my mouth." I tested.

"Sometimes." His tone cool, moving closer to me, trapping me between him and the armrest. "And sometimes, it has a way of being quite incensing."

"I'm not a doormat, remember?" I felt my heartbeat race.

"No, even a doormat can be welcoming. Now tell me honestly, Sasha. Did you make yourself cum this week?"

I bit my lip, looking at him, feeling his presence shift to a more demanding, pressing tone. "No. I didn't."

"Why not? You had every opportunity."

"You told me not to." I felt him pricking at something sensitive.

"Because I told you not to." he nodded, weighing the response as though measuring its validity. "And who am I for that to matter?"

I looked at him, feeling trapped.

"Well?" he pressed.

"You don't believe me, is that it? You didn't want me to listen so you could punish me for it. Is that one of the rules you wanted to set?"

"Careful." He warned.

I was bewildered, unable to stop myself.

"Who are you? That's a great question. What would you call this? I'd love to know."

"You're right." he deflated a little, backing off. "You're right. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Wait. No." I felt a pinch of regret for my mouth. "I'm sorry."

"I think the first rule is if you can't hold your liquor, I'll pour you a glass of milk instead."

"So, what, I'm grounded?" I laughed.

"Brat." He shook his head, trying to hide his smile.

"Yep." I smiled back at him.

"You're a strange little thing." He cupped my face in his hand and I leaned into it, liking the closeness.

"Part of my charm." I hummed, taking his eye contact and giving it right back.

"Oh no, you're charmless. The world's worst sub as far as I can tell." He pinched my cheek, and I felt him shamelessly watch the way my chest betrayed my cool tone with my quickened breathing. "Come here. Move closer." I readjusted, moving nearer to him, out of the corner of the couch, his fingers light as they trailed over my shoulder, brushing my curls back.

"I want it back like this. Stop hiding your face behind your hair and show it to me like you're proud." He murmured it quietly but it maintained that air of authority. I matched his volume, agreeing as he ran his palm flat against my side and watched me jump a little, hyper sensitive to touch. With the light curling of his fingers it was a ticklish sensation.

He pulled me closer to him, still, and lifted the hem of my sweater. I made a move to take it off, but he stopped me.

"No, no. I didn't tell you to move." his words were dismissive, unconcerned with my blush. He ran his fingers up my back underneath the fabric, watching my face, close enough to kiss. Elliot worked for a moment to unclasp my bra and I remembered his words to keep still as he threaded the straps down through my sleeves and pulled the garment off and away from me. Folding the fabric in a few efficient motions, he placed it on the table like an afterthought.

"Now, sit up straight. No one likes a slouch." He smiled, moving back to his place at the end of the couch.

My eyelashes fluttered at the ebb and flow, so close I could taste him and the just as sudden distance. I made adjustments to my posture and moved so that my back was flush to the arm rest, facing him. The couch was long enough so I'd still have to stretch to touch him. Even if I wasn't exposed, with one less layer between us, my instinct was to cross my arms over my chest, he seemed pleased, knowing I was reacting to the way he was treating me.

"Have you always known you liked being told what to do, Sasha?" His tone felt like it came with a warning.

"Yes." I nodded. "I actually knew for a long time before I realized what I liked in bed. I just didn't have a name for it."

"And yet you resist and struggle against it so much. It's hard for you."

"I'm sorry." I felt compelled to apologize, but he didn't seem discouraged.

"That's okay. I like knowing that it's not some dissociative state you go into. So when you do finally behave yourself you're an active participant. Isn't that right?"

I nodded.

"Use your words, sweetie." He smiled dangerously.

"It is hard to get to that point." I agreed. "But I liked the way you were last weekend. It's very intense."

"It's easier to have someone put you in your place. You want every excuse you can get to let a stranger treat you mean, and talk down to you. That's why you came to stay here. Even if it's hard."

For all of my push-back, I felt pinned, studied under a microscope. Found out. I nervously played with my hair and he shook his head a little. I tossed my hair back again, remembering, and folded my hands in my lap, feeling silly.

"I want to hear a time when you were following orders before you knew what it was to be a submissive."

His easy posture betrayed his suggestive tone. Claustrophobic with his directness, I struggled. I shook my head, finally, feeling starkly inadequate.

"Calm your thoughts. Pick one out to share with me." His unrelenting way made me want him. I thought about asking him to take me, but felt a sort of distance with his dominant way. I couldn't think of anything worse than his rejection in that moment.

"A couple years ago, in school," I recalled. "I had a friend I made my first day in my Bio Psych class. Amanda. The professor was a true hardass. Told us to drop out early on if we didn't want to make an effort. So we made a pact to share notes and things like that. Study partners."

I ran my finger idly over the leather seam of the sofa, feeling myself relax a little with his quiet attentiveness.

"I didn't realize it at first, because I was just, you know, figuring things out at that time, but I liked her a lot immediately. She was from Denmark, I think, and so pretty it made me self-conscious. She would always talk about her old girlfriends, but I was oblivious. Thought she was talking about her friends. Looking back it's kind of embarrassing, actually."

"Because she had to tell you that she wanted you."

"Not in so many words. We were studying one night, and I was stressed about some big exam and she kissed me."

He nodded, encouraging.

"I tried to laugh it off, because I'm an idiot but she didn't let it go. She asked if I liked kissing her which, of course, I did. "

"Of course. And then you had a pillow fight in your panties because you live in the fantasies of a teenage boy." He laughed.

I rolled my eyes. "It was much sweeter than all that. She taught me what to do. Was very patient. Even if she was kind of aggressive about it." I thought a moment, looking back. "You know, she also kept asking me if I thought she was pretty. She was so self conscious, which is funny to think about. A girl that gorgeous, and she needed constant validation. It rubbed off on me a little, I always felt kind of ugly compared to her."

"That's silly. Look at you." He objected and I waved away his compliments, not meaning to trigger them.

"Thanks, but yes- it was only a one time thing. But God. I felt a little obsessed about her for a while."

"Still obsessed?" He pressed, warm.

"No, that was a few years back. I've made a full recovery."

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Sasha."

"You're welcome." I felt myself color under his look.

"Someday I will quiz you thoroughly on that night." he promised. "But right now, I want you to do something for me."

"Okay." I nearly whispered.

"Tell me, honestly, now- did you cum this week?"

"No. Still no." I felt a flash of annoyance.

"For the third time, 'no?'" He pushed. "Not just saying that because you think I'm going to make you regret it if you did?"

"For the last time, Eli- No!" I pushed back, and watched him absorb my frustration.

"Come here. Stand up, right here in front of me." I got up, tempering a feeling of annoyance at his insistence, like I was so incapable of following orders, I felt his eyes on me, shifting and centering himself on the couch, his legs spread, still dressed formally.

I stood before him, between his thighs.

"Take off your skirt and fold it nicely." He leaned back, a look of almost arrogance dusted over him. I bit my lip, bothered that it didn't dissuade my desire for him. I hooked my thumbs under the thick waistband of my skirt. The body of the skirt shifted and twirled a little with my movements as I shed the article, pulling it off of my hips and eased it off. Stepping out of the pooling fabric, I straightened, folding them.

"Now your sweater." He suggested.

I pulled it over my head, feeling impatient with the ceremony of it all. I quickly folded the thin gray sweater and dropped it on the table behind me. It was cold in the room, and I could feel my body respond, skin prickling under his gaze, knowing he was watching my nipples harden and the rise and fall of my chest with my deep, measured breaths. I leaned over to pull off my socks, but he stopped me.

"Those can stay." He smiled.

"Predictable." I rolled my eyes and it did nothing to dampen his self-satisfaction.

"Ouch. Predictable." He nodded. "Get on your knees. Maybe you want to write out a script for tonight, we can compare after to see if you get close."

"Sorry." I amended, moving onto my knees, adjusting my hair so it fell down my back.

"I know." He brushed a few curls back that had refused to be contained. They fell back in place, framing my face. Touch was gentle, inquisitive, almost adoring. I let out a breath I was holding, and opened my eyes as I felt him pause.

"Tell me what kind of girl you are, Sasha."

"I'm a brat." I admitted.

"Phrase it a little more prettily and tell me what kind of girl you are."

"I'm a bratty girl." I blushed. The correction was so minor, it shouldn't have made such a difference but it did.

'The kind of girl who likes being told what to do and how to do it." He observed. "Fix your posture." he reminded me and I flushed, making the adjustment. "Straighten up." He counseled. I felt unbearably shy under his careful scrutiny, and he tipped my chin up gently under his fingertips. "Keep talking."

"I can't." I squirmed a little, keeping my shoulders back and feeling my mind cloud. My wanting him had been growing and simmering low, but the volume turned all the way up with his careful attention.

"You can, Sasha, and you will." He urged, cool but not cold. "I can't do all the heavy lifting, sweetie."

I shook my head, feeling tongue-tied.

"It's embarrassing for you to talk that way." He guessed.

"Yes." I looked down.

"Don't worry. We'll find something you can do." he placated, a confusing mix of irritating and exciting. He extended his palm out flat in front of my face. "Spit."

I blinked, unsure if I heard him correctly.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I'll take it easy on you. You don't have to think." His edge made me bristle. I breathed out, annoyed and spit into his open palm.

"There's a good girl. Again." He nodded, encouraging me. I obeyed.

"Once more. Go on."

"Elliot." I stalled, feeling myself heat up in humiliation.

"No. Do as you're told, Sasha."

"Fine!" I spat in his hand, and moved back to straighten my posture.

He smeared his palm over my face, carefully rubbing into my cheeks and down the bridge of my nose as I gasped in surprise. With a sense of satisfaction, he grabbed my arm as I went to wipe it away.

"No, no. That stays where it is."

"Fuck." I whispered.

"Now tell me. What kind of girl are you?"

"I'm a . . . wet girl." I grimaced, glowing with humiliation.

"Sloppy." He agreed. "Drenched in her own saliva for my amusement. Depraved."

"Yes." I agreed. "Let me wipe it off?"

"Not yet. Show me how you played with yourself this week. You have so much self control, why don't you show me?"

I felt myself flush, contemplating for a moment.

"I know what you're thinking- you're wondering if you're at the point where you can let go of your public persona enough to embrace your desires. You're wondering, 'do I want to refuse and prove that I'm not that kind of girl' or say 'yes I am that girl, the girl who gets what she wants.'"

"You've got me all figured out." I clenched and released my fists, resting on the tops of my thighs trying to alleviate some of the tension in my stomach.

"Listen." his voice got softer. "You are allowed to be proud, Sasha. But I'm telling you you're safe to be the little submissive toy I know you are. Now put your hand inside your panties and get yourself close. Now."

He barely got the words out before I slipped my fingers under the waistband of my panties and let out a sigh at the contact. The slick friction of touch that I had been longing for, finally realized. Licking my lips, I watched him sitting back, watching me. He leaned over to grab his drink and let it rest on his knee in his loose grip.

"Eager bitch. Just need permission and you're there." His was calm, but it served to heighten the sensation. It didn't take long before I was panting in need, watching him grow hard under his slacks. My eyes skimmed the outline of his thickness. His eyes followed my line of vision and he smirked a little. "Is that how you played with yourself, princess? Quiet and demure and so polite to the neighbors with your little moans?" He took a sip.

"I wasn't allowed to cum." I whined.

"Oh, I know. Poor baby." He commiserated. "But that's not the case tonight. You are going to cum for me, Sasha, but not until I say so. Got it? I tell you when you can cum, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

"Tell me when you're riiiight against that crest. When you're so close if I blew on your clit you'd be coming. Tell me you understand!"