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“From?”
“Getting hurt while boxing.” He gestured towards the stairs, “The bag is heavy, and I hit real hard. Can’t let my strength get in the way of that.” He took another sip of water, while his Adam’s apple hypnotized me with a subtle bob.
“You have a gym in here too?”
“I have lots of things, but still adjusting to the new space.” He admitted, reminding me this wasn’t his first home in New York. He was no longer welcomed at The Pierre, the location of an apparent out of control party turned lawsuit. I wanted to ask but knew I shouldn’t. That’d be a dangerous game, especially for someone as observant as Alex. I knew I couldn't ask questions if I wasn't willing to reciprocate, and I would be hard pressed to do so.
“Well, it’s very lovely… Mr. Rivers.” I asserted my stance once more.
“Call me that again, and I’ll correct you.” His tone was a warning, shooting shivers up my spine. He leaned over the counter as his hands gripped the edge. I followed his eyes which led to the couch, nodding at the cuffs as if they were a promise.
“I won’t call you Alex, alone,” I snipped. “I told you already, I’m not comfortable with that.”
“Then call me by my name,” he commanded. “Only for you, myrealname.I want to hear you say it, for it to leave your lips.” He took another sip as my arms stiffened, his request as simple as it was provocative. I didn’t like his desire for me to say his name as if that would have any bearing or ownership over me, but mostly, I didn’t like how it made me feel—tight, nervous, wet.
“And what would that be?” I asked but was met with a devilish smirk.
“Alejandro,” he growled, his voice thick and soft all at once, “Alejandro Rivera-Marquez.” I mouthed the name,Alejandro,denying his satisfaction to hear it out loud, but sacrificing my own pleasure in the process. He shifted his dark eyes from the floor towards me, staring through the fullness of his lashes.
I looked away, almost too self-aware of my body and who was staring at it. Why did he look at me with such desire, such patient conviction? I was pressured by no one, but by the voice in my head, where I repeated a thought:He wants you, and he’ll take you. I couldn’t fixate on anything but his body, the sweat riddled tattoos and blood pumped veins. Maybe it was just him, maybe it was the penthouse, but now that we were alone, I found it more difficult to resist his stare, to stay professional as I promised.
“I expected something more Californian,” I laughed, breaking my awkward silence. I held my breath, but I was unaware for how long, so my words came out with a deep inhale.
“As opposed to something more New York?”
“Well, we’re different here.”
“How?”
“More pushy, in your face, get what you want kind of people.” My words were laughable at best, I was none of these things. Should I even call myself a New Yorker? I wasn’t pushy nor did I enjoy oysters on the regular.
“Who says I don’t do any of those things?” He asked, shifting his eyes from the floor and back to me. I concealed a whimper which twisted in my chest like a snake, wet and loose, slipping past my stomach and down my legs.
“Then you must fit in.” I added quickly, “You must be enjoying New York.”
“No,” he corrected, “Not in the least.”
“That can’t be true.” I scoffed. This was the world’s greatest city, who wouldn’t enjoy it?
“It is,” he insisted, “It’s too loud. The cars, the streets, the people. There’s no place to think or to be alone.”
“There’s plenty.” I hushed him, taking offense to the city I loved.
“Like?” He challenged, “Where do you go?” He was doing it again, studying me, rolling his tongue as he posed a question that seemed intentional.
“Nowhere in particular.” That wasn’t true, and he knew it. His body adjusted with a sigh; his shoulders expanded.
“Tell me.” He repeated the demand, cocking his neck.
“Honestly,” I admitted, “I have an annual pass to The Met. I mean, Ihadone. Money’s been tight.” I waved away.
“The Met?”
“Yes. I like art, I like expression, I like…”
“Fashion.” He interrupted, scanning my outfit. His eyes moved down every curve of my body, deciphering it as if it were code. He was learning and quickly, my admission of expression being taken to heart.
“Amongst other things.” I added, not letting him get too carried away. He ignored this though, staring along my hips and up to my chest. I figured he would gawk, but he didn't, he moved along, studying my neck and the bun in my hair. I wasn't sure how to interpret his eyes, both hungry and appreciative. “Shall we?” I motioned, “Alejandro?” Saying his name evoked a smile, introducing the pinch of his dimple, something I hadn’t noticed outside the furrowed creases above his brow.
