Page 51 of Black Velvet

"Very helpful," I say, slumping down on the couch next to her, careful not to spill my own drink. I made Manhattans for us, a favorite not just for me. When I moved into this place, thinking it would only be temporary, I didn't bother much about a well-equipped kitchen. But I knew that a proper blender for drinks was a must, since I prefer cocktails over wine. Sandi and I have been making so much use of it that I don't even feel bad about investing so much money in something as mundane as a blender, especially one that is mainly used for drinks and not for cooking.

"Look, this man is driving me crazy," I say, sounding terribly pathetic. "He's so..."

"Handsome," Sandi completes my sentence, winking while she brings the glass up to her lips. "That man's a looker for sure."

"Well, yes, that too," I admit. "But that's not it. He's just... there's something about him. He's intense. He really knows what he's doing, and he..."

I stop, biting my lips, unsure how to finish that sentence. I know what I want to say, but I'm not sure if it's the right assessment. It may be nothing more but a vague feeling, an impression I got from the few but intense encounters I've had with this man. I've been wondering what it is that makes him so special, and why I respond the way I do. Is it because...

"He really knows me," I say in a low voice, somehow fearing Sandi's response to my words.

"You mean he knows what turns you on?" she clarifies, straightforward as always.

I sigh. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that."

"But?"

It's more than just turning me on. He doesn't just push the right buttons on my body by touching me in the right places in the right way. He really gets to me, and most of it is achieved simply by words and the way he looks at me. He has me wrapped around his finger, because he's gotten into my head like no other.

It's as wonderful as it is scary.

"It's... hard to explain," I reveal to Sandi. We have been close friends for so long, but I still feel weird talking about him with her. I feel weird even thinking about him, because I'm hesitant to allow myself to go where my heart dictates me to go. I might be wrong. I might be making too much out of this. He's not my boyfriend after all, and he probably doesn't want to be.

And yet I'm sitting here unable to stop thinking about him.

"Sure sounds like an interesting guy, though," Sandi says. "Maybe I should give him a try."

My heart aches at her words, and I fail to hide the pain in front of Sandi. My eyebrows crease as I cast her a reproachful look, even though I know it's not warranted. He's just a client, for God's sake. It's not like we're dating, and who knows how many girls he's toying with in the same way right now. Who knows what he's been up to all those nights when he made me wait at the club for nothing. He could have been with someone else. We never said that we're exclusive...

"Oh, you really like the guy, don't you?" Sandi assumes, reading my face. "Damn, girl, I'm sorry, I—"

"No, it's okay," I hurry to assure her. "He is a client. You're right. I shouldn't even—"

"Never fall for clients," she reminds me, arching her eyebrows with worry. "They're not boyfriend material. No man who buys women like us is."

I sigh, lowering my gaze. She is right. I know she is right. But if he really is nothing more than a regular, why doesn't he take what he is paying for? Why does he make me feel this way; why does he insist on guaranteeing my pleasure before his?

Maybe that's just his kink. Some people are just... different. And he certainly is.

"I'm not falling for him," I lie. "I'm just confused."

Sandi snorts. "Girl, that's pretty much the same thing."

I let out a sad chuckle. "Maybe."

We sit in silence for a few moments, both sipping on our Manhattans. It's a good blend this time. Not to brag, but I've become pretty adept at preparing drinks. I wonder if Miss Barry would ever give me a chance to work behind the bar. I bet I'd be pretty good at it.

"Do you think he likes you?" Sandi asks, breaking into my absent pondering.

"How can you ever tell with a client?" I say, shrugging. "He makes me wonder, though. Why doesn't he take what he's paying for? Why doesn't he fuck me? Why does he keep showing up and then just...."

"Give you the best orgasms you've ever had?" Sandi completes my sentence, chuckling.

I shake my head at her. "I never said that."

"You might as well have," she says. "As far as I can remember, you always told me that you can't come with a man. Well, he proved you wrong, didn't he?"

"Yes, but—"

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