Page 39 of Degrading Her

“Good morning, Mr. Feldman,” my secretary piped up.

“Morning. We’re not to be disturbed,” I said.

I scanned my fingerprint, then opened the door to my office, holding it for Fiona. She stepped through. Our business office resided on the twenty-fifth floor of a major office building in the middle of the city, with a floor-to-ceilingview of Pierce to the grassy fields of Crown Creek. A coffee and liquor bar stood in one corner of the room next to a landscape painting. A slate velvet u-sectional was positioned to the side with a pillow and blanket on top.

Fiona’s eyes landed on the pillow.

“You sleep here?” she asked.

I headed to the bar, filling the portafilter with finely ground coffee. My phone buzzed in my pocket;Wilderflashed on the screen. I stowed it. Once I was finished making our drinks, I would call him back.

Fiona tucked hair behind her ear as she sat down on the sectional. Her hands skimmed the fabric of the blanket, then fell back into her lap. I waited for her to question me, but she was quiet. She studied the room, trying to use it to figure out more about me.

I brought her a cappuccino. She thanked me and we sipped in silence. And yet, with Fiona in my office, a lightness fell over my chest. In this space, it was like we had the world to ourselves. The double doors were locked. No one could see inside my office from that side of the building. But we could see the world out of those windows. It was almost like admiring our kingdom together.

“Humor me,” I said. I put my mug down on the side table. We could try this again. “What do you want?”

“Huh?” Confusion rippled across her lips. “My own library. I told you that.”

I crooked my head. “You’re obsessed with books?”

“I like the sense of community, actually,” she said. “It doesn’t matter who you are. People from out of town, people who have nothing, people who need a quiet place to study—everyone can use the library, and no one polices you. It’s one of the last public spaces we have.”

It was the same sentiment she had repeated at the restaurant, but right then, those words hit a different chord in me. She didn’t seem arrogant enough to think she could save the world, but she did obviously want to protect a safe place for others.

I gave her a casual nod. “I’m not talking about that.”

“No?”

“You, Fiona. What doyouwant?”

She sipped her drink, her eyes falling down to her lap. “I don’t understand.”

“You can talk all day about your dream library and how it will fulfill you. But that doesn’t come close to what keepsyougoing, what suits you, thatneedthat perpetually fills you.”

Her knees parted slightly. “Are you talking about last night?”

Last night, while lying on that same cushion she was sitting on right now, I had stroked myself to that memory of her pressed up against the wall, molding to my touch.

I could give her a hint.

“Your needs. Your desires, Fiona. What are they?”

“Do you mean sexually?” she asked. I nodded deeply. Her eyes blinked. “I don’t know. I guess I like the stuff everyone else does.”

“I’m not talking about everyone else. I’m talking about you. Tell me what you want.”

“I’ve never thought about it.”

I dipped my chin, staring down at her. “Your knees,” I said. “Every time a bolt of energy runs through you, they part further, opening yourself to me. The same with your lips. Your hand twitches when you’re nervous, but it’s your eyes that give you away.” Our eyes locked then, her gaze glossy and hungry. “Your pupils dilate. And like manypassionate people, you only focus on what you want.” And right then, her attention was on me. “But the best part? When you’re nervous, your eyes blink until you can focus again.” I leaned in closer. “Do I make you nervous, Fiona?”

She sucked in her breath, her eyes blinking.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Do you wantme,Fiona?”

She blushed, touching her cheek. Her answer was almost inaudible: “Yes.”

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