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1. Visual chemistry. Animal attraction. It’s not just about looks. Charisma, charm, intrigue, mystery, enticement…they all play a part.
2. Perceived value. You have to sell you. You have to ask yourself…how do I show that I have a lot to bring to the table?
3. Perceived challenge. People value what they earn. If it comes too easily, they do not respect it. You must find natural ways to be a challenge. It’s not about playing games; it’s about creating desire. It’s about giving just enough to leave them wanting more.
4. Connection. Initial attraction is one thing—that’s easy. That part I had already accomplished. We were fucking. But to maintain desire, you have to level up. You have to get down to what drives a person. You have to ask yourself: what are their core motives? Rather than ask what they do, ask why they do it.
James hasn’t asked about Leo. I didn’t kill his cat. But someone did. I think he thinks that someone is me, and I think he is biding his time. Payback is coming. In the meantime, the traditional method of punishment prevails: silence.
One thing that is becoming clear is that while I am always on guard against people knowing me too much, they wind up knowing me too little. With Max, I understand this has to change. He needs to understand my bliss point. And I desperately need to understand his.
It was three thirty by the time I left the care home. I knew Max would be waiting. I also knew he wouldn’t be happy. Even as the nurse tried to calm Dad, I was only halfway present at his bedside. The rest of me was already down the road, thrust into the future, naked in that hotel room. I could imagine Max pacing the room, sitting in the lounge chair adjacent to the bed, reading or doing whatever it was he did on his phone.
He would be annoyed with me for being late, although he would not say so, and even if I explained the reason, which I wouldn’t, it wouldn’t change his feelings. Even then, even with Dad in tears, refusing his medication, refusing water, refusing everything—even with him flailing his arms, even with the nurses subduing him, even with the injection of Ativan, I was haunted by thoughts of Max and our last encounter.
I could smell him in the room. I could smell him on my skin. I saw him in places he wasn’t. I could feel his fingers pressed into my back, his stubble against my thighs, his eyes heavy on mine.
I’d hoped the nurses might page Dr. Hastings, draw him back here so that we could be in this together. I half-heartedly hoped Dad’s outburst might stop the trajectory of what was about to happen down the road. At least then I wouldn’t have to leave Dad’s room and enter the other one, with its own kind of sickness, just a few blocks down.
Maybe that’s bliss. A little pleasure, a little pain. A little uncertainty. Maybe that’s how Max has gotten me hooked.
Certainty turns out to be one of the sexiest qualities a person can possess. That’s why, as humans, we’re so drawn to confidence. Take it away, add a little doubt to the mix, and y
ou create instability. Instability fuels desire. You need a little of both to sustain a love affair.
It keeps the feelings real, which is important.
I’ve never had feelings that were more real than those that Max provokes. He rides an edge in me, and that edge has dangerous curves. When we met last week, the Belmond had been booked, so we met at the Fairmont instead. He scared me.
In full view of the summer sky, he ran his hands through my hair and pushed my head down between his thighs. “You’re late,” he said, his dick touching the back of my throat. “My time is valuable, Laurel,” he murmured, matter of factly. His actions did not match his tone. “This is something you’ll come to understand.”
Maybe he thought it was all a game, the way it had been. But I didn’t see it that way. It had stopped being fun when I had to repress the urge to vomit and bite down. I should have left. But I was worried. Max calls the shots when it comes to my father’s care. I wasn’t sure how far he might take things. What might happen if I protested? If I changed the rules?
Later, in the shower, inside me, his palm firmly plastered over my mouth, he used his other hand to pinch my nose. As hot water scalded our bodies, he drove into me, quickly at first and then painfully slowly, so slowly I thought I might die. And the scary thing, I wasn’t even sure I’d mind.
“Take care of yourself.” We weren’t speaking; Max was dressing, and I was sulking. “It’s important, Laurel.”
“Oh?” I offered through gritted teeth. My fists had been clenched so hard I felt my fingernails breaking open the skin on my palms. “Is that what you’d call what just happened? Taking care of me?”
“You shouldn’t show up to see your father when you look like shit.”
I felt tears brimming, but they had no business in this conversation. Be careful Max, I almost said. Sometimes people bite back.
“Huh. Well, maybe that’s the way I feel.”
“Then it will be the way he feels.”
“So?” I replied incredulously, his words a gut-check I feel to my soul. “He doesn’t even know where he is half the time—and he’s dying.”
“Yeah, well. He’s not dead yet.”
I rolled my eyes and began furiously throwing on my clothes. “Is that all?”
“No, actually. It isn’t.”
I paused in the center of the room in search of my bra.
Max swallowed hard and took a step toward me, cautiously. “I can’t stand to see you that way.”
