Page 68 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

“No?” he asks. “You’ve never tried it, obviously. Would you like me to explain it? Why some girls like it?”

I nod. Because I just don’t understand.

Off in the distance I hear a bugle. Nolan turns his head and looks out the window where down below people are living their lives, wholly unaware of what is happening up in this bedroom, high above them on the hill.

“You know when you’re watching a horse race?” he says, looking back down at me. “And they’re coming down the home stretch. Each horse jockeying for position, going all out for the final furlong, just trying get to the finish line first. People are fucking screaming. The bettors who think they’re going to win a trifecta, or the owners who are hoping for a little bit of money to keep their stable going, or the claimers who want to buy that winner and change their luck.

“But the horses are excited too, Ivy. And the jockey has a crop in his hand. He’s reaching back to smack his horse on the ass or wave it in front of his face, give him one more reason to try harder. Driving him home. They don’t use the crop in the beginning of the race. It’s only a signal, Ivy. A way to harness the excitement the horse feels, his energy—or lack thereof at this point in the race. A way to focus the horse on the win.”

He stops talking as I picture this in my head.

“That smack on the ass—or the face—is only a signal, Ivy. To focus you on the sex and the way we’re going to come together. That’s all. The winning horse could give a fuck about that spanking he’s getting at the end. He doesn’t even feel it. He’s so pumped up on adrenaline, that smack is the last thing on his mind. And when I’m fucking you, Ivy, and I reach down and smack your face, you’ll only feel what you want to feel. If you’re scared, I did it wrong. If you’re not turned on, then I did it wrong. If you don’t want me to do it again later, then I did it wrong. Do you understand me?”

I nod, unable to speak.

“Do you want me to untie you?” he asks. “Or would you like to renegotiate? Because I really do want to fuck you right now. And if you want to fuck me too but have limits you need to make clear, then now is the time to do that.”

“I don’t want to be hit. Not right now.”

Nolan smiles and a small laugh escapes. “I’m not going to hit you right now, Ivy. Don’t be crazy.”

“You’re the one who’s crazy,” I say. “And don’t laugh at me. I have no idea what’s happening.”

“You should trust me.”

“Why? You just asked if you could rape me.”

His head is shaking no. “That’s not what I asked you. I asked if you’d like to participate in a fantasy with me.”

“You fantasize about rape?” I cannot believe he’s saying this shit.

“No,” he says. “No. You’re not listening. I want to feel the struggle but have permission at the same time, Ivy. It’s really not that uncommon. And it should feel good for both of us, or I’m doing it wrong. It’s not something you do on the fly. It’s something that’s set up. I told you that.”

“I just don’t know.”

“Then tell me to untie you and let’s just go to dinner. How hard is that? Just say it and it’s done.”

But I’m silent. Because I don’t want it to be done. I want more of him. I’m just not sure how much more. Or in what way.

“Can I touch you?” he asks. “Like this?” His fingertips start caressing small circles around my nipple. His touch is so light and gentle I close my eyes, feeling exhausted at the pleasure of that small caress. “You need to answer me, Ivy. Or I’ll stop and make this final decision for both of us.”

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, you can touch me.”

He pinches my nipple so hard, I squeak. But in the next instant, that soft swirling of his fingertip is back.

“It’s a give and take, Ivy. Everything we do from here on out is a give and take. You give, I take. I give, you take. That’s how you come to terms. You understand this. You’re a businesswoman. You know that negotiation is an art. Just like those pictures I just drew. It’s all part of the negotiations. I’ve laid out the contract and the next step is for you to agree to the terms or ask for something else.”

“I just don’t know what I want.”

“I know you want this, Ivy.” His fingers lightly trace the length of my ribcage, round the bone of my hip, and slip back between my legs.

I have to squeeze my eyes closed, that’s how good it feels.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” I say. “I do.”

“Can I keep going?”