Like Wildfire Ch. 02

Three firm knocks and a half a heartbeat pause before a fourth announced Elliot's arrival that Friday night. A surge of nervousness swelled inside me for a moment, the panic-preamble I associated with first dates. I had spent the week thinking about the night we spent together and what it would be like to see him again. I remembered the connection as effortless, but it was possible that it was a fluke. My anxiety informed me that my charm could stretch only so far before he realized just how dull and boring I really was.

By the third night, I realized that he essentially gave me an out by waiting until Friday to stop by. I could spend a night or five sleeping in his queen sized bed and leave Friday morning, leaving his key on the foyer table. I would erase any trace of my visit and that would be plan A. I had a week to figure out what I wanted to do.

* * *

I left the condo for groceries the first day and came back to a missed message blinking on the answering machine.

"Hi Sasha. I wonder, did you spend the night here?" He hummed a moment. "It's possible you decided it was too much too soon. I wouldn't blame you. I wouldn't want that, but I wouldn't blame you." He blew out in a way that made me wonder if he was a smoker, calling me on a his break. The taste of his kiss didn't give him away if he was, "'I fucked Elliot and all I got was this stupid keychain." He laughed. "Okay. I hope you're well. Be good. Don't cum."

He hung up and I shook my head in disbelief at his cavalier tone. He wanted to distance himself from the fact that he'd offered me a place to stay after knowing me for only a few hours, but he also wanted to check in on me. His self awareness made me like him a little bit more, and I already liked him too much.

I dropped my backpack, heavy with cartons and cans on the floor and leaned against the door as I rewound the message and played it again. Eyes closed, I recalled his thumb tracing my lips carefully before pressing down on the pout of my bottom lip, making way for his insistent kiss. Sweet and gentle at first, feeling me relax and grow pliant and amenable, growing more demanding until the only thing in the universe was the pleasing pressure of his lips pressed to mine. I traced the curve of my lips with my left thumb, ran my fingers up my thigh and pressed my palm against the front of my plain cotton panties. I blushed thinking of Eli pressing his fingers against the fabric.

Grinding against my palm, I thought about the moments before orgasm he stretched out in tease to make me want him. It was the only agony I ever craved. The moments of "not yet," the withholding of pleasure. The gravel to his voice when he was weighed down with the burden of desire. I thought of his height, making me feel small and his easy confident way that made me feel like I needed to vibrate on that same frequency with him. Show him I knew I was worth the trouble to keep, or at least look the part.

* * *

The first time Elliot used restraints on me, he warned me it was going to be difficult. Placating, almost, looking down at my face to watch the open, bated-breath acceptance of the fact. I had stripped for him. He stood, patient- indifference wasn't what it was, but I felt an unease that he did nothing to move.

"You're just undressing like you've done so many times before." He reminded me, reading my defensive posture. "Why are you treating it like a punishment?"

"I know it's not." It shouldn't have felt any different, he had known my body so intimately before. The slow unveiling of my body to him felt gravid in a way I struggled to understand. I stood before him, and felt scrutinized. I wondered what thoughts battered around within him, some unspoken commentary I hungered for. Soft sounds of fabric as they whispered, loosed, folded and discarded felt amplified.

Bare, witnessed, he asked me to join him in the bedroom. He took my silence and my hand, leading me into the next room and laid me out on the bed before him.

Outstretched and waiting in the center of the bed, I watched as he made slow work of the restraints around my wrists, and the care he took to fasten them taut to either corner of the bed.

"This will be hard." He promised.

"Okay." I steeled myself.

"Nothing you can't handle."

"Are you trying to make me nervous?" I tried to shift the atmosphere, and failed.

"More like trying to prepare you." He corrected, running his finger tips down my side and watching me squirm at the feather-light touch. "Nervous little thing. You're safe." He reminded me. "Remind me, what is your safe word again?"

"Qualms." I swallowed hard.

"Any so far?"

I shook my head, tugging at my restraints and feeling maybe a half an inch of slack to maneuver within.

"I'm going to make you suffer."

He leaned in to kiss me, and I tried to reciprocate but he hung just slightly out of reach. There was a chaste brush of my lips against his, like a hurried kiss goodbye. Pulling seconds and millimeters away, he stayed just out of reach. I tried my best to appear unbothered, but my heartbeat knew better.

"Someday I'll gag you, but not yet, not tonight. Your sweet little howls and harrumphs are just too good to muffle." He was fully dressed, still, a structured tee and jeans.

Eli's firm hands on my shoulders worked at the tenseness knotted there. Firm pressure applied by his thumbs in little circles tried to set me more at ease before tracing over my collar bones and sternum. Fingertips dragged down my ribs like they were tripping on the keys of a xylophone.

He never remarked much upon my body, which made me assume he didn't think much of it. There were little compliments he'd slip in conversationally, a "hello beautiful" upon arrival that in poor habit, I immediately dismissed as disingenuous. Bad at accepting praise. My self-consciousness abated in those precious moments where he took great care in exploring me.

My breasts were taken in his hands, squeezed gently at first like he was testing fruit for ripeness. Arching my back, I tried to push into his palms a little firmer. He used the back of his hand to touch me, knuckles gently running over my tits. Grazing at my nipples, catching them over and over again, stirring a frenzy of need.

"I'm sensitive." I let out a small whine in reminder.

"Yes, I know." He leaned over my body to bite at the soft skin. Nuzzling momentarily into my chest, he bit me over and over again. My eyes squeezed shut, the intense feeling spiking in my stomach. My yelps did little to distract him as he grabbed and mauled at one tit to nip and lick at the other. Panting, I rolled my hips a little, the friction of the fabric of his clothes against my nakedness thrilling. He pushed a thigh up between my legs to let me grind against him as he tickled at my sides and the underside of my thighs. I giggled and gasped, thrashing a little at his touch unable to keep still.

"Fuck me?" I looked up at him with my best pleading look.

"Sweet little slut. Do you think that's what I meant by torture?"

"Tickling is a kind of torture!" his fingers chased me as I moved beneath him.

"You're going to beg so nicely for me."

"I don't beg." It came out before I could stop it.

"Your voice is going to sound so fucking good when you are hoarse with desperation."

Elliot rubbed the soft curve of my mound, inches from my clit. I pushed my hips up to him, wanting. His thumb slowly traced my slit, catching the wetness that collected and began to rub my clit in sure little circles.

"Ohhh, please." I agreed with the touch.

"Please what?" His tone was cool, his rubbing insistent.

"It feels good. Please. More." It felt silly coming out of my mouth. I always blushed at the inarticulate mess I was reduced to.

"That's a good start. Tell me when you're close."

He kept the same pressure, looking down at me, his glasses still on. It struck me as sort of strange to see him so dressed and composed. I felt a small twinge of worry that he might get up and walk away. Dismissing the thought, I turned back into the sensation roiling within me as he continued his firm rubbing strokes. The pleasure grew and I felt myself inching toward orgasm.

"Eli." I panted.

"Close, baby?" He purred.

"Please, Yes!" I tried to swing my hips to match his rhythm.

"No. Not yet." He decided, pulling his hand away and a whine from me with it.

Eli began to slap at my cunt with gentle slaps of his fingertips, catching my clit with each gentle slap. The sensation just different enough to make it impossible to cum, but consistent enough to keep me right on edge.

"Don't forget." He threatened vaguely. "Tell me when you're close again."

"I will." My tone a whine, and earned a stinging slap of his palm between my legs. I gasped. The smarting shock paired with a splash of pleasure. He seemed to enjoy the change in my expression as he pulled his hand back and began spanking me again, harder, unrelenting in the quick rhythm he found.

"Please." I arched my back, feeling a bewilderment to my need. The whiplash of sensation. The tumbling, moments of free-falling right before orgasm.

"I think," he contemplates, "you can wait."

"Please." I can't think straight, I can't think of anything but how my nerves are vibrating with need. His touch turns more coaxing, thumb working in smooth efficient motions up and down the length of pussy. My body jolts beneath him each time he trips over my clit, like he's plucking a guitar string- taut, reverberating through me. Touch echoes and melts me, reducing me to my pulsing cunt and his cool regard.

"No." his edge a little firmer.

"Please!" the frantic tinge works to soften his edge a little.

"You sound so pitiful." His free hand goes to stroke the side of my face.

"Eli. You have to stop. I can't-" I lean on the vowels of his name.

"Focus. You can decide if you cum, you know. What's more important? Getting your way or pleasing me?"

"I can't- if you don't stop." I protested, yanking at my restraints, cutting into my wrists a little. Needing to distract myself from the turmoil I felt, teetering so close to the edge.

"Sasha." Slapping my face lightly, waking me up a little in my trance. He slowly continues his methodic rubbing, making me twist a little beneath him. "Be still. Focus on my voice."

I look up at him, listening. His teasing touch is maddening in it's indefatigable persistence, but I felt myself isolate feelings from sensations, straining with pure stubborn resistance.

"Good girl." his voice is honeyed with praise, rewarding me with two thick fingers pushing inside me, "Do you want to cum?"

I bat the idea away.

"Doesn't matter." He dragged a moan between my gritted teeth.

"Why doesn't it matter?" he thrust his fingers into me quickly.

"I'm not allowed." I pressed my heels into the mattress, stubborn, pushing my hips up at him to abate the instinct to pull my legs together.

"You want to cum, don't you?" He tested.

"Yes." I focused on the shape of his glasses, the smug satisfaction on his face.

"You can't without me saying so."

"Yes." I confirmed.

"You're doing such a good job. Such a good girl." he pulled his fingers out of me and pushed them past my lips, fucking my mouth. "Convince me."

"I want it so badly." The clumsy words were shadows of themselves around his fingers, running over my teeth and tongue and pulled back out to stroke my clit.

"What if I don't want you to cum tonight. Do you think you could wait for me?"

"Don't make me." I pleaded.

"Could you be that strong for me?" He tried again.

"I could, don't make me."

'I'm not making you do anything, Sasha. You want me to make you behave."

He ground his fingertips against the hood of my clit harder.

"Or are you starting to have qualms about that?" He hinted.

* * *

Hips stirred and rocked and my teasing strokes of fingertips against my clit grew firmer. I was accustomed to cumming when and how I liked which was hard and often. I was self-indulgent and shameless in taking pleasure when I wanted it. The waiting was new. Was maddening. I remembered the order he left me with- welcome to play, orgasm forbidden.

He would never know if I came. I knew that, logically, of course. I could lie and it would be of no consequence. I felt the intensity grow and a surge of defiance. He was so certain I'd follow his instructions. The casual note to his reminder "don't cum." It incensed me, enflamed my sense of autonomy. He knew me for a night and demanded a week of obedience. I could cum if I wanted to. I just didn't want to in that moment, I decided. Pushing the thought to the back of my mind, I picked my backpack full of groceries off of the floor and livened his empty cupboards.

* * *

I was stepping out of the shower when the phone rang to announce his call, at first I wasn't sure if it was him, but it was about the same time, mid-morning, that he had left messages the days before. I wrapped myself in a towel and listened from the bedroom, hopeful.

"Good Morning. It's just me that's going to call this number, so you are safe to answer when it rings. Oh, God." he breathed in. "Are you too young to have used an answering machine? Was your first phone a smartphone?" He paused to laugh a little. "Or maybe you just like to sleep in. I bet you do. I forgot to mention something important." I felt my heart stop, and I walked to the foyer to listen. "You mentioned your phone was shut off. I realize you had that interview and no way for them to contact you." He rattled off the number for the condo and gave a pause. Fingers twitched to pick up the receiver, but something stopped me. "Okay. Be good." He hung up.

Who was this man? Saving the messages as he left them each day, I rewound them to listen to his voice to see if I could surmise anything more about him. I wanted to decipher the code he spoke in, playful one moment and unrelenting the next, gather from anecdotes he littered into conversation and paint a picture of who he was.

There was something miraculous about the night we spent together in that usually the details of these sorts of encounters that felt gravid and significant in someway would stick out in my constantly narrating mind. I would expound on the finer nuances of these experiences in stream-of-consciousness style when I journaled. It wasn't that what I felt with Elliot wasn't significant- it had an intensity that rivaled my most passionate flings- Elliot was something of an experience himself. My mind stopped narrating around him, I was allowed to fully immerse in the moment. It was new to me. The drawback was that I was shaky on details in that way, it made it hard to remember the telling off-handed comments about his personal life that sort of evaporated in the "now." .

Thursday, I re-played his message in the evening and perched on the bench in the foyer.

"Hi." His breath was tight, voice slightly strained. "I know you're aching to cum. I told you I'd make you cum on Friday and I meant it. But that's only if you've been a good girl all this time." I could hear what had to of been the sound of his hand pumping on his cock and a sharp intake of breath. "But if you cum without permission, Sasha. . ." He trailed off. "you'll wish you hadn't. So—Be good." He hung up.

There was a dichotomy to how I interacted with the chaos I felt chasing his message-thrilling at the thought that I could inspire the pleasure he was clearly about to indulge in. Cagey, frustrated, I thought of the way he sounded as he came.

I thought about him and the ring on his right hand, an orthodox tradition. I thought of the type of woman he might marry. What she might look like. Well put together, I figured. Vanilla, probably. Competent, absolutely. Some high power executive, of course. They'd make an influential and successful pair. Eventually my curiosities would get the best of me, and in conversation I broached the question, wanting her more defined, so maybe with the concrete confirmed, she would be one less neuroticism I carried.

* * *

"Tell me about your wife." I had asked, one night with a clangoring in my chest, a heaviness I wanted moved. I wanted to break the not-knowing into smaller manageable chunks that I could dismiss one by one. His reaction, at first, was as much a wince as a smile.

"You're feeling very bold." He remarked.

"Feeling curious." I corrected.

"Curiosity killed the cat." He tickled me under the chin.

"Well that's macabre. There's a second part to that, you know." I turned my face just out of reach of his teasing.

"Oh?"

"Satisfaction brought it back."

"You think that will satisfy you?" He challenged. Always, a challenge.

"No." I answered with my gut. "But like I said- I'm curious."

"You can't always get what you want, Sasha. You'll spoil and then who will eat you?" He grinned predatorily, yanking me closer to him by the ankle and dragged me to the foot of the bed.

* * *

Friday morning I set out for coffee with my laptop, as I had each morning to the usual resounding disappointment my inbox harbored amidst the job search. I applied to some attainable positions, things I felt confident I could do. Clerical so and so, something coordinator, blah blah specialist. Glowing between the rejections and "Thank you for your interest" emails Zach's message sat sandwiched in the noise. I skimmed it, feeling tense.

There was always an air of uncertainty about whether we were still connected, because we were so tenuously connected at that point. School mates at first, we had connected over nothing in particular, when I tried to think back. Just the circles we ran with. We were in each other's periphery enough and didn't offend each other's sensibilities, and that grew to be something more significant and genuine over time. So when I read his e-mail, it was an enthusiastic yes- of course I could stay with him, and an invitation to get drinks the next evening at some trendy bar he liked. It was a relief, but more than that it was a plan "B."

* * *

"Good Morning. I'm not sure when I'll be in tonight. Do you go out on Fridays or is that just when you're stealing wifi and glasses from bars? Are you out and about? Up and dressed or in bed, still dreaming? There is so much I don't know about you." He mused. "Don't go to any trouble to dress up for me tonight. Be loose. Comfortable. Sasha in her kneesocks, not Sasha in her high boots."

He knocked, three times- and a pause- and a fourth. I was surprised to hear him knock. It was his condo, after all. Why didn't he just unlock the door? I felt paralyzed in the entryway, holding my breath. Maybe it wasn't him.

His key slid into the lock and he saw me standing there, before him.

"Hello." He stood there in the threshold, holding his overcoat folded over his arm and a briefcase.

"Hi." I tucked my hair behind my ear, looking up at him. Formidable, just come from work, I gathered, as he was dressed for it. Formal, a suit without a tie.

"Can I come in?" He smiled, pocketing his keys. His pause called up the lore of vampires, requiring an invitation.

"Of course." I laughed, self conscious. Moving back, I gave him room to follow me in.

He dropped his coat on the bench in the foyer, and regarded me slowly. I had agonized only a little over what to wear that night. It would have been easier for him to ask me to dress up for him. I decided not to change from what I put on that morning- a thin, soft sweater that clung to my form an a-line skirt and knee socks, per his hint.

"Welcome." I adjusted my sleeve, feeling strange. A hostess in a space that didn't belong to me.

"Isn't this a pleasant surprise." He walked past me and took a seat on the couch, gesturing to the seat beside him. He placed his briefcase on the floor next to him.