The Pareto Efficient Relationship

She downed the rest of her drink and set it back down on the table, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. She stood, leaned over the table, and placed her lips just above his ear. She didn't touch him, but he could feel her warm breath against his ear and the heat of her cheek close to his own. His breathing sped up, and he was overwhelmed by a strong floral smell, like honeysuckle or wisteria. He wanted to turn his head and bury his face in her hair, to see if it was as soft as it was shiny, but he forced his head to remain still.

"Not that you wouldn't look sexy wielding a whip. 'Cause I bet you would." He shivered as she whispered, and closed his eyes as he heard her lick her lips. "And that would definitely be Pareto efficient, Professor."

She sat back down, and he opened his eyes to see her lips move into a lazy smile.

"So like I said, want to debate economic theory, Professor?"

------------

If Michael hadn't been staring straight at Goldie and seen the twinkle in her eye the first time she'd asked, "want to debate economic theory," he might have actually thought she wanted to do just that, for that's exactly what they'd talked about on the walk back to the hotel. The topic had been monetary policy—his specialty—and she'd bested him on more than one point.

He narrowed his eyes at the memory. She'd probably picked the subject on purpose. She was a champion debater; she knew how to use an opponent's momentary weaknesses to her advantage.

She hadn't even seemed fazed once they'd reached the hotel; she'd punched her floor's button while carrying on a cheerful conversation with an older man wearing a University of Vermont sweatshirt, and had even cooed over pictures of his grandchildren.

How the hell could she do that? All he could do was stare at the lights flashing behind the floor numbers as they rose. A conversation was out of the question; he couldn't stop wondering what she would look like naked. Or if her breasts were the perfect handfuls they'd appeared to be in the few glimpse he'd caught under her jacket. Or if she would be bare, or have red hair everywhere.

His mind wandered from that last thought to fantasies of what he'd do to her once they were in the hotel room. Had she broached the subject of monetary policy on purpose? Did she want a little teasing payback?

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. They were alone; he'd missed the older man's departure.

Yet another teasing smiled played at her lips as she raised an eyebrow at him. "More economic theory, Professor?"

He flashed her a teasing, lecherous grin of his own. "Absolutely." He paused as a terrible thought came crashing into his mind. "Do you have any condoms, Goldie?"

"Worried about overpopulation, my dear Malthus?" Her teasing smile broke into a wide smile, and she placed her hand on his sleeve as they turned onto her corridor. "Don't worry about it. I've got you covered."

Once in her room she flicked on the bathroom light, and he heard her rummaging through a bag as he remained in the short hall. The light flicked off, and he felt her warm, soft hand place the tell-tale plastic package in his hand.

She wrapped her arm around his neck, and pulled his lips down to meet hers. Her hands wandered everywhere as they kissed; all at once they seemed to be on his neck, in his hair, along his back and at his stomach as she pulled his shirt out of his pants.

She felt soft and warm beneath his grip on her waist, but he could feel the muscles of her abdomen and the roll of her hips beneath his roving hands. He moved his hands forward as their tongues continued to tangle, desperate to undo her buttons so he could touch her bare skin. He groaned into her mouth as he succeeded, and felt her muscles tense as he ran his fingertips up along her abdomen towards her breasts.

They stumbled across the room—her backwards, him forwards—and lurched as her knees hit the bed. He wasn't sure if he fell or if she pulled him forward, but either way he ended up on top of her. He ran his hands into her hair—something he'd wanted to do since seeing her hair yesterday evening—and pulled her face back to give him better access to her lips. He'd noticed earlier that her lips were wide, and they now seemed to be everywhere on his own, moving from suckling his upper lip to nipping his bottom. He couldn't get enough of her mouth.

Her hands were still tugging at his shirt. He tore himself away from her to take it off, and she sat up with him, whipping her unbuttoned top off in an instant. His hands stilled halfway through his own buttons as he saw the pale flesh of her breasts peeking out above the top of a lacy bra.

"Don't stop now, Indy," she purred as she worked at the button of his pants. Fingers shaking, he managed to undo the remainder of his buttons and take his shirt off as she pushed his pants down to his knees.

"Mmmm... very nice." She dragged her finger across his chest a few times as she looked at him with another of her grins. "Very nice, indeed."

He closed his eyes as her lips fastened over a nipple. "Oh shit," he croaked. They were kneeling on the bed. One of her hands was running along his backside, holding him to her. He felt the other trail down his stomach to rest on the bulge beneath his boxer briefs. He groaned into her hair.

"You like that, Michael?"

"Uh-huh. Oh shit," he said again as he felt her hands push his boxer briefs down and close around him. Her skin felt hot as she explored his shaft and the balls beneath, and his hips began to thrust against her on instinct.

He yanked her head up from his chest and thrust his tongue into her mouth as she stroked him up and down, their tongues wrapping together in time with her strokes.

He needed to do something, and fast, or else this would be over way before he wanted it to be. He pulled his head away from hers, gasping for air. His hands had been gripping her hips, hard, and he forced them to relax.

Without giving her a warning, he reached down and grabbed her hands in his. It was time to implement one of the many fantasies that had flashed through his head in the elevator.

"Wha—" She started to speak, but his speed took her by surprise.

He stood—it was awkward; his pants were still around his knees—but he managed to turn her onto her stomach. He kicked off his pants as she pulled herself onto her hands and knees, but he was behind her before she had time to move beyond that.

She stilled. "Mmmm? This... is a pleasant surprise."

He snorted. "Well, it would have been an unpleasant surprise if I had come all over your hands, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know. I've always liked that. As long as there's more later, that is."

"'Later' is the key word, Goldie." He placed his hands outside hers, surrounding her with his body. She moaned as he made a trail of nipping kisses down her throat. "You were a bit of a tease in the bar, and then pulled quite the stunt on the way back to the hotel with your choice of subject."

She let out a throaty laugh. "Noticed that, did you?"

"Yes. I did. And unfortunately for you, turnabout is fair play."

"Fair?" She laughed again as he sat back. "I didn't think economists cared much about fair. I thought it was all about efficiency. Are you telling me we're not going to have efficient sex, Professor?"

He chuckled, but didn't answer. He was too busy fighting with her pants. He couldn't get them off; there must have been more than one button above the zipper.

She sent him a teasing look over her shoulder. "Struggling?"

He glanced at her. Her expression was a mixture of amusement and lust. "A bit. Your pants have too many buttons. Or snaps. Or clasps. Or... whatever the hell." He let out a sigh of frustration. "And someone got me all worked up, so my fingers aren't working so well."

"All worked up? That must be awful for y—oh, fuck."

He'd triumphed against the buttons, and had pushed her pants—and, apparently, her panties—down to her knees in one motion. The surprise of his own success had caught him off guard, and he'd fallen forward against her. His now fully erect cock landed against the crack of her ass.

He groaned at the feel of her warm, smooth skin against his naked body. She gasped and dug her hands into the duvet cover. He moved his fingers to the apex of her thighs; she was wet, so incredibly wet. He toyed with her outer folds as she squirmed against his hand, trying to get him to move his fingers to the center.

He laughed. "I don't think so, Goldie. Turnabout, remember?"

She turned her face to him and smiled as he unclasped her bra with his other hand. He pushed it down to her wrists on the bed, and she flicked it away. He leaned over her again, resting his weight on one hand outside of her own as he reached around to cup her breast.

He lowered his head to her neck again, and was just about to tug at her nipple when she froze. He followed her gaze to the bedside table. What the....

They both lunged. Already having the advantage by being on top of her, he got to the table first and had them back in the same position in seconds.

"Is this... did you bring a vibrator with you, Goldie? On a business trip?"

Part of his brain wanted to laugh, but the other part was speeding through a new, improved series of delicious fantasies compared to those he'd had on the elevator. He wasn't sure what she'd been planning on doing with the toy if she had reached it first—throw it under the bed or use it on him, though he guessed she'd try the latter—but it no longer mattered. He'd won their little race.

He was going to use it to his advantage; she would pay for the monetary policy debate stunt she'd pulled earlier, in the most delicious way he could think of.

"Oh God." She groaned as he switched the vibrator on and yanked her pants the rest of the way off. He hovered millimeters from her, letting her hear the hum of the toy before he placed it against the flesh of her inner thighs and outer lips.

"Mmmm? What was that?"

She groaned again and collapsed onto her elbows. "Oh God. Fuck that feels good. Don't tease me."

"Well, you're the one who brought a vibrator with you. I imagine there's a high psychic cost associated with the embarrassment you'd feel if this thing had gone off in your luggage on the train. Even if we multiply that cost by the probability of it going off, it'd still be high a cost. Don't you want to benefit from a nice, long, drawn-out orgasm?"

"No. I want to come. What happened to economists being obsessed with efficiency?" She was panting, and chasing the toy with her hips. She whimpered when he reached his other hand out and grabbed her hip so she couldn't move.

"Hmmm? I really think I should make sure the benefit of your orgasm is greater than the weighted embarrassment cost of bringing a sex toy on Amtrak. You know, to make sure the result of the cost-benefit analysis is a net benefit for you. Don't you agree?"

"No! Stop teasing me, you damn... you fucking laissez-faire, Hayek-loving, monetarist bastard."

He chuckled as she continued to squirm. "As much I like your dirty talk, Goldie, I thought we were going with Professor. I was beginning to like that."

"Monetarist bastard," she repeated with a groan, but he thought he'd heard a small chuckle, and he could tell she'd panted the words through a smile.

He reveled in her sounds. He continued to move the toy around her legs, touching her clit every few seconds. She jumped and moaned each time, and before long was writhing on her elbows and knees before him.

He sat back to watch, keeping one hand on her hip to stop her from moving too much. Her legs were spread and her back was arched down, giving him an incredible view as she squirmed beneath his hand against the toy.

When her whimpers reached a high-pitched mewling stage and her arms and legs began to shake, he decided she'd had enough. He didn't know her body that well, after all; what if she was one of those women who, if denied, couldn't come?

He leaned over and cooed into her ear. "You want this?"

"Yes." She gasped. "Yes please, Professor."

He didn't think he would have made her call him Professor to let her come, but since she had... he moved the hand that had been holding her hip up to her breast. She swore and gasped and, now free of his hand, began to grind against the toy. Her eyes flew open as she threw her head back, and he heard a sharp intake of breath before her hips began to buck against him. She cried out something he couldn't understand before collapsing on her stomach on top of the duvet.

"Goldie?" His voice was tight; after watching her, he didn't know how long he could wait.

"Mmmm? Fuck, that was good." She'd turned her head to the side, and he could see her body heave up and down as she panted. "Just a sec. Just give me a second."

"Okay."

He had to do something. He couldn't just sit here and look at her flushed body; it was driving him mad. He leaned over and trailed light kisses up and down her spine, and caressed her hips and cheeks with his hands.

He heard a muffled, throaty laugh against the duvet. "Mmmm... you're gonna make me come again if you keep doing that."

"Yeah? Would that be so bad?"

"Tempting, but I want you inside me."

"Thank God. Want to move, or—"

"No." She pulled her knees back under her, raising her ass off the bed again. "Here. Now."

She seemed dazed from her orgasm, and didn't seem to know what to do with her hands. She kept moving them on the bed in front of her, then putting them at her sides, then reaching behind her, and then repeating the motions.

His lips quirked. "You know, I can make your hands stay in one place, if you'd like?" The words flew out of his mouth before he'd thought about them; he couldn't quite believe he'd said them.

"Mmmm...." She moved her hands from the bed to rest behind her back, and pushed her ass higher in the air. "Yes I would like that, Professor. Fuck me. Just like this."

He sat back and groped for the condom, not wanting to pull his eyes from the sight of her on the bed, ass up, hands behind her back.

He positioned himself at her entrance, grabbed her two hands in one of his and her hip with the other, and pressed forward. Heaven help him, but he didn't think he'd ever be able to hear the word professor again without getting turned on by picturing her nude and splayed out before him.

They groaned as he slid in. She was slick from her earlier orgasm, and swollen, hot and tight. He tried to go slow, to draw his own pleasure out, but couldn't. He managed to restrain his speed for a few strokes, but then lost himself to her body. She was starting to moan and pant again, and heat radiated from her body into his own. He could smell her—them—in the air, the heady smell of sweat and latex and lube and her arousal, a salty-sweet floral scent.

He was close. She'd already come once, but he wanted her to come again. He wanted to feel her around him. He wanted her orgasm to give him his own.

He slowed and lowered his body over hers. He moved his lips to her ear and nipped a few times before whispering. "Goldie? What do you need? Tell me what you need to come again."

She groaned into the duvet, and he could only just make out her words. "Fingers. Clit. Circles."

She sounded desperate, like she was close but couldn't quite make it. He stopped moving as he reached a hand beneath her. He began to rub in circles as instructed, and she began to shake and whimper and tighten around him. Unable to stay still any longer, he moved again, just as she bucked up beneath him. This time, he heard her wail his name as she climaxed.

He groaned in his release. He may have said her name—he wasn't sure—and collapsed on top of her.

He rolled off and looked over at her. She was still on her stomach, but her head was to the side. Her face was relaxed and her eyes were closed, and he could see her panting.

She opened her eyes and grinned at him, her face still half buried in the duvet. "Mmmmm... that was nice. Really, really, really nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Her face fell, and in the moonlight he saw a shadow pass through her eyes. "Was it, um, was it not, you know—"

"No!" He reached out a hand and ran it through her hair. "I mean, yes. Yeah. It was nice." He smiled. "That is, it was really, really, really nice."

"Good." She bit her lip and smiled at him as he continued to play with her hair. He was surprised; she'd seemed so confident earlier, but seemed almost nervous now. "Do you want to stay?"

"If you want me to, then yeah."

"Yeah. I do."

He grinned and leaned over to kiss her. "Good."

They were too hot to get under the covers, but he moved them around to be on the bed the right way.

"I'm glad you came back with me, Michael. I was afraid you wouldn't; I haven't, well, propositioned someone like that since college. I was nervous all through dinner. Actually, I was nervous all day."

He looked at her in surprise. "You? Nervous? I was the one who was nervous, Goldie."

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. "You know how I mentioned my boss, Colin? Well, he's been trying to set me up with the other Michael Andrews for months."

"Seriously?"

"Yup." She shook her head in disbelief. "I was so excited when I saw you this morning. You were so... tall, and handsome, and well dressed, and... well, from your—the other Michael's, I guess—work with the City of Chicago, I thought we'd be right in line with each other in terms of our approach to sustainability. And your paper is brilliant, Michael; it's so much more than a simple literature review. Your writing style and logic are incredible; I wanted to meet you so much when I read it on the train. You seemed perfect. I got so damn nervous when we met."

"What? No, I don't believe you. You didn't seem nervous at all, Goldie."

She groaned. "Oh please. I babbled on about my name as soon as I met you! I never do that, ever. And you know, that introduction was almost so much worse. I almost told you I go by Goldie because Goldenrod has so many phallic undertones; I actually went by Goldenrod until I was about eleven, until kids starting putting the pause in between golden and rod." She paused. "I wasn't kidding, though; your jokes are terrible, Michael."

"And yet you laughed." She chuckled, and he smiled as she snuggled into his side. They lay like that as their breathing returned to normal. "Out of curiosity, Goldenrod, had you reached it first, what were you planning on doing with that vibrator?"

"Hmmm," she said, drawing circles on his chest with her finger. "Would you like to find out?"

He stared down at the top of her head. Would he? "Yes."

"Good." She squinted at the clock. "It's midnight. I don't think anyone will notice if we don't show up for the morning panels, do you?"

"No, and honestly, I really don't care if anyone does," he said as he ran his fingers through her hair. "Besides, I really think we should search for that expanded Pareto frontier with some good, old-fashioned, Pareto efficient sex, don't you?"

------------------

Michael stood on the front porch of the old duplex and knocked on the door.

It was Friday. It had been one week, one whole week since the best sex of his life.

He should have called her earlier, but he'd been too chicken. Maybe she wasn't home? He took a few deep breaths as he looked around, taking in the assorted pots of herbs and vegetable seedlings, wondering if she'd answer his knock.

"I was beginning to doubt you." Goldie was leaning against the doorjamb with her arms crossed. He hadn't heard the door open.

He paused. "How are you?"

"Fine. You? Have a good visit with your family?"

"Yeah." He looked back at her plants, unable to make eye contact. He'd known she'd need an explanation, and her matter-of-fact tone underscored her annoyance with him. "Work's been busy since I got back. The end of the semester is coming and my students keep hounding me in my office, I've been fighting with the error term in this statistical model for days and I'm writing a couple of final exams... I'm sorry." He looked at her, trying to convey his apology with his eyes. "I should have called."