Page 11 of Violent Cravings

Chapter 6

Ryan

This is new to me. I’m sitting at my usual table at Café Pastiche, legs crossed and a folder with paperwork in front of me - and I’m nervous.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been nervous about meeting someone, especially a woman. There was always some kind of excitement involved in my arrangements, of course. But I’ve never been nervous when I met them.

Today, I find myself nervously fidgeting with the spoon next to my coffee, stirring it, adding way too much sugar, stirring it again, burning my lips as I try to taste it. My foot is bobbing up and down in frantic motions, making my inner turmoil visible on the outside.

I hate that.

I shouldn’t feel this way. It’s just another fuck. Another arrangement for my annual retreat.

But the thing is, she doesn’t know that yet. For all I know, she’s just expecting some flirting, disguised as a meet-up for coffee. Two people getting to know each other, maybe holding each other‘s hands, nervous giggles, compliments, and maybe a kiss.

She has no idea I want to buy her. For one night. One very, very dirty night.

Oh, the things I’d do to her…

I know I shouldn’t pursue my sick thoughts, my fantasies, but I can’t help it. I can’t help imagining her, on her knees, tied up, purple and red marks blossoming on her pale skin where I’ve marked her, tears flowing from her dazed eyes, as she pants breathlessly with desperate, heated lust.

“Fuck,” I hiss, shaking my head, as if that could clear my mind.

My cock is hardening at the mere thought. I inhale audibly, trying to force my mind on something else, so I’ll be able to get up and greet her like a gentleman once she appears.

She’s not on the menu, I have to remind myself. She’s not a whore. You didn’t find her in that fucking catalog. I shouldn’t get this excited about her, when the most likely outcome of this meeting will be an appalled gasp and her storming away from the table once I make my intentions known.

I can see the door from where I’m sitting, and every time it opens, my heart stops for a second. So far, all the faces that have appeared through the door have been unfamiliar. I check my wristwatch for what seems like the millionth time since I got here. She’s not late, I just arrived way too early. Being overly punctual is a habit of mine, and it was only increased because I’m so impatient to see her again. It took her long enough to call me, but this wait feels like the longest I’ve ever had to endure.

She walks through the door three minutes before the time we agreed upon, looking deliciously innocent in a flowery sundress and a matching cardigan in light pastel colors. Her silky brown hair is falling over her shoulders in luscious waves, and she’s pressing a little handbag against her body as if to protect herself. Her steps are fast but small when she approaches the table. She’s wearing flat sandals, careful not to add even an inch to her already towering height.

I’ll make her wear heels if she agrees to become mine, and I’ll teach her to carry that height with pride.

She’s slouching when she walks, but her back instantly straightens when I get up from my chair to welcome her. Her height may be somewhat impressive for a woman, but she’s still shorter standing next to me. And she loves it. It’s written all over her bright face when she comes to a halt in front of me and finds herself looking up, something she doesn’t have to do very often.

“I’m sorry, am I late?” she asks as we shake hands.

Her hands are cold and surprisingly small, yet they send a bolt of desire through my body.

Why did she have to wear a dress like this? It covers more of her legs than that pencil skirt she was wearing when I first saw her, but the way it swirls around her long, slim legs is driving me mad with curiosity.

We have to sit down.

“You’re fine,” I assure her, beckoning for her to sit down across from me.

She follows my gesture, her shoulders tense and her hands clutching the handbag in her lap, as her eyes latch on to mine. Her make-up is stronger today, and she even painted her lips. I like the effort, because she’s obviously trying to impress me, but the heavy eye shadow overpowers her green eyes. She looked better with less color painted on her face.

I’ll have to remember that.

I cast the thought aside. There’s no point in making notes for her instructions if she’s not even up to the task.

“What can I order for you?” I ask, waving for a waiter.

“Um,” she says, her eyes hurrying across the table to see what I’m having.

“Coffee?” she ponders.

I smile at her. Fuck, she’s cute.

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