Page 15 of Mine to Tease

“Does it?” His lips lift into a grin. “Well, maybe we should continue this conversation.”

“After,” I say as my hips grind against his.

“After,” he agrees.

16

As I struggle to understand the installation instructions accompanying my new product display tables, I can’t keep my thoughts from drifting to last Saturday night. It’s been nearly a week since my encounter with Damon, since he gave me my first and second orgasm, and laid out the terms of what could be a mutually beneficial arrangement. Images of us flash before my eyes as I sit on the floor of my shop—his hands on my hips, me grinding against him and running my fingers up and down his chest. As we sat on the couch, I was so aroused, I nearly came from just rubbing myself against him. When he laid me down and fingered me, I broke. A second wave of pleasure rushed through me.

Being with him is addictive and confusing, which is why I’m glad he told me to wait a week before responding to his terms. He wants to make sure I’m okay with what I’m getting myself into. The truth is, so do I. What he’s laid out isn’t exactly what I pictured of my first relationship. Sorry, arrangement. In so many ways, what I’ve experienced with Damon is different from my first time, different from anything I ever could’ve imagined. And yet, it also reminds me of my first time. That was a simple agreement between two strangers. We met at a specific location, took off our clothes, and did the deed before my bodyguards could realize I was gone. This…this is different, for sure. But it’s still nothing more than a contract of sorts.

Damon says there are five rules I must follow if I want to continue what we started last Saturday night. The first—I’m not allowed to touch myself and neither is any other man. Only he can please me. That one is fine by me. I can’t juggle more than one man right now and I’ve never been much good at touching myself. Even if I get better, my touch will never compare to his. His hands, his tongue, his… Okay, focus, Anastasia. The second rule—we will never have actual sex. He said he may penetrate me with other things, but not his dick. It’s a line he doesn’t cross. That one gives me pause. In part, because the idea of being penetrated by other things seems kind of scary. And also because I want to have sex. I want to have that experience and, weirdly enough, I want to have it with him. I’m still not sure what to make of my desire, my feelings. But that night I wanted him—all of him—inside of me. The more we do this, the more I’m going to want him. The more I can’t have him…I’m not sure what it’ll do to me. The third—I’m not allowed to wear panties anymore. Apparently, he likes the idea of having easy access to me. If he would’ve proposed this two weeks ago, I probably would’ve slapped him. But, from the spanking to binding my wrists with his belt, I’m finding all these strange things arousing. Maybe the possibility of him touching me at any given moment could be arousing too. The fourth—I’m never to expect a relationship with him. This seems obvious. He said he wasn’t boyfriend or husband material and I don’t disagree. Accompanied by him having this weird rule of not fucking, he screams emotionally unavailable. The last rule—if I’m ever uncomfortable, I must tell him. He said it would break him to know he actually hurt me. Even in punishment, the goal is pleasure. The only reason he likes toys and games and even mild punishments is to keep things interesting since he doesn’t have actual sex. Well, ever since he swore off sex some odd years ago. Knowing this makes it all seem a little less scary. Pleasure—I suppose that’s where my thoughts always come back to.

I don’t know why I ever thought being with Damon in this way was a good idea. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the glimpse of true intimacy, true romanticism our walk home gave me. Maybe it was the fact that I’ve been deprived of physical touch for far too long and he’s the only man around that I’m mildly comfortable with. Yeah, that’s probably it. But, regardless, now he’s all I can think about. Or, rather, how he makes me feel, what he does to my body. In one night, I’ve become addicted to his touch. And even though this arrangement is unexpected, confusing, void of emotion, and even a bit scary, I’m not ready to give up the pleasure it brings me.

I know this can’t last forever, and it’s not like I want it to. I want a real relationship. I want to be in love. And I know that I can’t have those things as long as I’m involved with Damon, just like I couldn’t while living under my brother’s watchful gaze. But, right now, my priority is my shop, not dating. So why not have a little fun in the interim? Besides, I clearly have much to learn and Damon is a good teacher. I can view it as preparation for the real thing I hope to have one day with someone else.

As I find my resolution, I set aside the instruction pamphlet in my hands and rest my back against the brick wall of my shop. Brinkley takes my brief moment of relaxation to hop into my lap. “Good boy,” I whisper as I rake my hands over his fur. He starts off on a mission to lick the skin from my thighs in response. I smile and laugh. Even though it’s gross, I know it’s just his way of showing me love. “Careful, now. I’m not sure if Damon’s rules apply to you or not. He might get jealous.” Obviously, I’m joking. Besides, there’s no competition between the two of them. Brinkley is my baby and Damon is my… I’m not sure what to call him. Perhaps it’s better I don’t give him a label. Who knows how long this arrangement will even last?

I close my eyes then and allow the sounds of the French Quarter to drift in through the open double doors to my right and take with them all the stress this furniture has caused me. At least, I try to. Now that the painting is done, each day there’s a new delivery. The parts for my hanging racks which will go on the front and back walls and for the few tables I’ll have scattered about have arrived as well as the material for my checkout counter and the pink coffee cart I plan to set up to serve macarons, champagne, and coffee to my customers. All of my dreams are coming true. Well, sort of. I have the vision, just not the execution.

The painting nearly killed me, and now this place is full of cardboard boxes, random pieces of wood, and nuts and bolts that I have no idea which pieces they go with because I made the mistake of opening up several shipments at once. There’s no way I can do this all on my own, and just like with the painting, I can’t find anyone to help me. There’s only so much time I have to get this done before inventory starts showing up.

I open my eyes then, taking note of the soft sounds of a violin streaming in along with the afternoon sun rays. The sweet sounds remind me that Damon fixed his stereo system earlier this week and yet, he still hasn’t been blaring that atrocious noise. Hmm. Maybe he’s trying to keep the peace until I give him my answer. Or maybe he’s actually making good on his offer to be nicer. Either way, I wonder if his kindness could extend to other things, like helping me assemble all the furniture for my shop. I know he said no to the painting and refused to help me carry even a gallon up the stairs. But that was before. This week, things have been different. He’s given me my space. And while he still makes a point of antagonizing Brinkley once or twice a day, things between us have been good. He even helped me lug all these boxes up the stairs.

He did say this is meant to be a mutually beneficial arrangement, and while we both derive pleasure from the experience, I’m the only one being asked to follow rules. Maybe I should make some demands of my own. “That’s it!” I say, moving a bit too quickly for Brinkley’s comfort. He jumps off my lap in a fright and immediately starts barking at absolutely nothing at all. “It’s okay, baby,” I say. I try to calm him down but my efforts are useless. So, instead, I set off downstairs.

Damon should’ve known I wouldn’t play by his rules. At least, not without him making some concessions. He may like control and to be dominant, but I’m not submissive, even though I did quite like it the other night. He had a way of bringing me out of my head, out my guilt and grief, that no one has ever been able to do. Still, he doesn’t know that, and it wouldn’t be very Anastasia Cross of me to give in to him so easily.

Brinkley follows me as I step off the landing and round the corner, heading to Damon’s office. He actually hasn’t used the bathroom in a while, and he’s been known to sneak off downstairs to do his business. Hmm, maybe I can help the two of them bond by requiring Damon to be his poop monitor. That way, if Brinkley does shit in his office he can only blame himself and it’ll save me from having to deal with the stairs. Imagining the look on Damon’s face when I make my proposal brings a smile to my own. An unexpected turn of events, for sure. But if he agrees, then this really will be a mutually beneficial arrangement, at least temporarily.

17

Anastasia stands before me wearing a pair of baby pink athletic shorts that hug her figure perfectly and a matching slouchy sweatshirt. She wears her hair down and tiny gold hoop earrings. Though Brinkley, cradled in her arms, is her number-one accessory. As she speaks, fast and quick, with that oh-so-familiar high-pitched voice of hers, I can’t help but take her in—every little detail. It’s been too long since I’ve truly been in her presence.

After Saturday night, we both needed time to think, time to cool off. I don’t want her rushing into anything she’s not comfortable with. In truth, it’d probably be best if we both forgot that night ever happened, go back to being the pain in each other’s ass and nothing more. But this week has proven to me I can’t forget. Something between us has changed, or maybe it’s just me who’s different. It’s obvious my plan to drive her away has failed, and for the first time, I’m able to admit that I don’t want her to leave. But what do I want? To protect her? To please her? To be pleased by her? Or is this something else entirely? Even as I debate it, I know the answer. I’m just not ready to say it, out loud or internally.

“And finally,” Anastasia says, taking a deep breath before making her last demand, “you must take Brinkley outside to potty two to three times per day. And don’t forget to use the poop bags. The last thing New Orleans needs is a new ingredient added to its iconic stench.”

“Ha, yeah, fuck that,” I say, leaning back in my chair. I cross my arms over my chest in defiance. She’s lost her mind. Handyman work is one thing, and seeing as I’m the one who made sure no one would serve her, it’s only right I make up for it now. But playing butler to the little beast is one step too far. “I must not have done a good enough job Saturday night if you’re asking for all that.”

She tilts her chin up and raises her brow as if to challenge me. “Well, if we both derive pleasure from our time together, then I would be following your rules for nothing in return. If you want me to give you and only you my body, if you want me to give up underwear, and remain as emotionless and detached as you, then I require certain things. Now, I will leave you to consider my terms. You have the same amount of time as you gave me—one week.”

Fuck me. I can’t go another week without her. Like her brother, she drives a hard bargain. It only makes me like her more. With the other women I’ve had these types of arrangements with they’ve never been anything special. Maybe that makes me an asshole. Hell, I already know I am one. With them, it was just about pleasure, and to my defense, they knew it. But with Ana, it’s something more, even if I claim it isn’t. I want her. She’s the only woman who could come to me and negotiate. Anyone else I’d walk away from. But I can’t walk away from her, and I don’t want her to walk away from me.

Ana turns to leave, and I call out to her. “Anastasia.” She stops then and slowly turns back to me. Gone is her pride and smugness. Now, her lips part in anticipation and her cheeks blush pink. The look on her face reminds me of our time together so much so I have to adjust myself in my chair to reposition my dick. I look her up and down. As I do, desire floods my veins like a drug I’ve become all too addicted to. Finally, I shift my attention to Brinkley. Even more than agreeing to be Anastasia’s protector—as if I had a choice—I cannot believe what I’m about to consent to. Though, as Anastasia’s sweet scent fills the space between us, I know I have no choice in this matter either. I’d do anything to be with her again. It’s then that I return my eyes to hers and extend my hand.

“Your terms have been accepted, Ms. Cross.” A small smile spreads across her face as we shake on it. Though the cool touch of her hand and slight quiver of her lips lets me know she’s still nervous for what’s to come. Curious, but nervous.

“Perfect. Now, get up. We’ve got a lot of?—”

“Anastasia,” I say once more, my voice soft as I cut her off. I open my palm. Her brows furrow as she looks at it, confused, and I shift my gaze to her thighs. I wasn’t joking about the no-underwear thing. Though once she gets her store open and goes back to wearing short skirts on the daily, I may have to renegotiate. Or keep a first aid kit handy because I’ll pummel any man who dares to look at what’s mine.

“Oh, right,” she says, lowering her gaze. Her tone is nonchalant, but her body language reveals she’s a bit more flustered than she’d like to admit. Hmm, I kind of like getting under her skin—in more ways than one—but I do hope she can get more comfortable with me. Perhaps the alcohol had more of an effect on her last weekend than I’d realized. If she hadn’t made such strong demands of her own, I might be inclined to make an exception for her. But as she shoves Brinkley into my arms, I have no regrets.

Brinkley growls and nips at me as Ana starts to leave. Alright, fucker. I don’t like it either, but it was your mother’s idea. “Close the door,” I tell her. “I want to see you take them off.” Ana’s back arches as my words hit her.

“Um, okay,” she says, her voice shaky. She pulls the door closed, twisting the lock on the knob for an extra sense of security.

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