Vicious
Page 54
Bastard.
We made a stop by Rockefeller Plaza. I told him I wanted to see the tree and watch people ice-skate. Truth was, all I wanted was to push him a little more. Poke at his patience. See how far he was willing to go. Turns out, it was pretty darn far. Further than I’ve ever known him to go for a girl. That, in itself, stroked my ego in places that made me shiver with pleasure.
Our next stop was Thin Crushed Ice in the East Village. I’d never been to this bar before, but I always passed by it when I went to The Paint Store for painting supplies and wondered what it was like inside. So, technically, it wasn’t a favorite place of mine, but I had a feeling it was going to become one. It looked sexy and dark, with a phone booth for an entrance, leading to an open bar with exposed bricked walls, taxidermy wearing sunglasses and ties, and wooden ceilings that made it look like we were somewhere far away from New York. The place was full of hipsters despite it only being a little after six p.m. on a weekday.
Vicious slid into one of the black leather sofas inside a booth, and when I went to sit across from him, he shook his head like I was a rookie and patted the space beside him. I slid next to him, and he hooked his arm over my shoulder. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to smell him—really take him in—enjoying the quiet moment of having him for myself.
When I opened my eyes, he reminded me once again that this wasn’t a date.
“Drink.” He threw the cocktail menu in my general direction, grabbing his phone and checking his emails. “But not enough so that I won’t be able to fuck you on the grounds of you being too shitfaced.”
Most girls would have walked away just then. But I knew Vicious had to make up for being vulnerable at The Met, when he admitted to feeling weak. When he admitted defeat.
“With that kind of attitude, sober me wouldn’t give you the time of the day either.” I checked out the food menu and, naturally, craved every single dish. My mouth watered even though I hardly knew what half the items were. They sounded sophisticated. A mix of Asian and Mediterranean. I didn’t care what they meant, I just wanted them all in my belly.
When I lifted my head from the menu to ask him what he wanted, I found him looking at me oddly again. He’s been doing that throughout our time at the museum, but I hadn’t wanted to ruin our fun day out and ask why then.
“What?” I finally asked.
“Third base is oral, right?”
I rolled my eyes. Just when I was about to answer, the waitress approached our table. She was the mother of all hipsters, with hair like mine and enough facial piercings to pass as a human sieve. She opened her mouth to greet us, but Vicious cut her off.
“Everything.” He threw the menus her way, looking back at me, but still talking to her. “Just bring everything. Cocktails. Food. Whatever. Everything. Now go.”
My instinctive response was to get up and leave before anyone concluded that I was down with this kind of rude behavior. I was wiggling my butt toward the edge of my seat when he jerked me into his body, hard.
“What the heck?” I scowled at him.
“You never answered me.” He looked down at me, businesslike. “What does third base include? Stretching your pussy with my tongue and getting my dick sucked?”
Good. Lord.
I couldn’t believe I used to have a serious crush on this man. And I definitely couldn’t believe I’d worried about sleeping with him without having my heart broken. This was going to be easy.
“Vic,” I gritted. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what third base is.”
“I prefer football terminology, seeing as I’m more familiar with the game. Which is why I know I’m definitely going to score tonight.”
“Smooth.” My face remained unsmiling.
“And thick,” he added. “With a slight tilt to the right.”
I was about to get up again, but then the waitress approached us with about ten glasses on her tray. Instead of leaving, I tossed down two cocktails like they were shots and swiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I wasn’t exactly keeping it classy, but then my boss was probing me about oral sex. Lines were being blurred, and they were becoming blurrier with every ounce of alcohol entering my blood stream.
Vicious took a sip of a beer. Slowly. Completely in control. The hunter was always more calculated and in charge. And then there was me, flailing around like the helpless prey.
“Why have you never pursued a career as a painter?” he asked.
It sounded more like an accusation than a question. Some of the food he ordered had arrived, and I picked at it with my fork, trying a little of everything.
“I have, and I’ve worked with other artists too. Interned at a gallery here in Manhattan after I graduated. Then Rosie moved in and got sick, so she couldn’t hold on to a steady part-time job. Why did you become a lawyer?”
“I like arguing with people.”
I laughed at that. I had to agree. “But you chose mergers and acquisitions, hardly a fast-paced, dramatic way to practice that skill,” I argued.
He picked an olive and brought it to my lips. “Open,” he said darkly.
I did.
“Now swallow.”
I smiled with the olive between my teeth, daring him. He dipped down and kissed me hard, shoving the olive into my mouth with his tongue. It was either choke or swallow. I chose swallow.
He pulled back from me, but his gaze remained on my lips. “Now that’s good practice. As for law, I have no desire to cover up for other people’s fuck-ups. I’d much rather see how my clients double and triple their investments…and mine. People don’t pay me because of my law-school pedigree. I went to a shit college in LA and graduated with people who went to work doing house closings and chasing ambulances. People pay me to make money, and I make a ton of it.”
“What’s your fascination with money? You have so much.”
He leaned forward, picking up a lock of my lavender hair. “Money is like pussy, sweetheart. You can’t ever get enough.”
“Yeah, and it’s made you so happy. You realize you sound like a walking, talking cliché?”
His eyes sparked with something devilish. “I am happy. I’ve never been happier. It’s seven o’clock, so Rosie should be long gone by now. Let’s go before I take you up on that offer about third base right here on the table.”
We made a stop by Rockefeller Plaza. I told him I wanted to see the tree and watch people ice-skate. Truth was, all I wanted was to push him a little more. Poke at his patience. See how far he was willing to go. Turns out, it was pretty darn far. Further than I’ve ever known him to go for a girl. That, in itself, stroked my ego in places that made me shiver with pleasure.
Our next stop was Thin Crushed Ice in the East Village. I’d never been to this bar before, but I always passed by it when I went to The Paint Store for painting supplies and wondered what it was like inside. So, technically, it wasn’t a favorite place of mine, but I had a feeling it was going to become one. It looked sexy and dark, with a phone booth for an entrance, leading to an open bar with exposed bricked walls, taxidermy wearing sunglasses and ties, and wooden ceilings that made it look like we were somewhere far away from New York. The place was full of hipsters despite it only being a little after six p.m. on a weekday.
Vicious slid into one of the black leather sofas inside a booth, and when I went to sit across from him, he shook his head like I was a rookie and patted the space beside him. I slid next to him, and he hooked his arm over my shoulder. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to smell him—really take him in—enjoying the quiet moment of having him for myself.
When I opened my eyes, he reminded me once again that this wasn’t a date.
“Drink.” He threw the cocktail menu in my general direction, grabbing his phone and checking his emails. “But not enough so that I won’t be able to fuck you on the grounds of you being too shitfaced.”
Most girls would have walked away just then. But I knew Vicious had to make up for being vulnerable at The Met, when he admitted to feeling weak. When he admitted defeat.
“With that kind of attitude, sober me wouldn’t give you the time of the day either.” I checked out the food menu and, naturally, craved every single dish. My mouth watered even though I hardly knew what half the items were. They sounded sophisticated. A mix of Asian and Mediterranean. I didn’t care what they meant, I just wanted them all in my belly.
When I lifted my head from the menu to ask him what he wanted, I found him looking at me oddly again. He’s been doing that throughout our time at the museum, but I hadn’t wanted to ruin our fun day out and ask why then.
“What?” I finally asked.
“Third base is oral, right?”
I rolled my eyes. Just when I was about to answer, the waitress approached our table. She was the mother of all hipsters, with hair like mine and enough facial piercings to pass as a human sieve. She opened her mouth to greet us, but Vicious cut her off.
“Everything.” He threw the menus her way, looking back at me, but still talking to her. “Just bring everything. Cocktails. Food. Whatever. Everything. Now go.”
My instinctive response was to get up and leave before anyone concluded that I was down with this kind of rude behavior. I was wiggling my butt toward the edge of my seat when he jerked me into his body, hard.
“What the heck?” I scowled at him.
“You never answered me.” He looked down at me, businesslike. “What does third base include? Stretching your pussy with my tongue and getting my dick sucked?”
Good. Lord.
I couldn’t believe I used to have a serious crush on this man. And I definitely couldn’t believe I’d worried about sleeping with him without having my heart broken. This was going to be easy.
“Vic,” I gritted. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what third base is.”
“I prefer football terminology, seeing as I’m more familiar with the game. Which is why I know I’m definitely going to score tonight.”
“Smooth.” My face remained unsmiling.
“And thick,” he added. “With a slight tilt to the right.”
I was about to get up again, but then the waitress approached us with about ten glasses on her tray. Instead of leaving, I tossed down two cocktails like they were shots and swiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I wasn’t exactly keeping it classy, but then my boss was probing me about oral sex. Lines were being blurred, and they were becoming blurrier with every ounce of alcohol entering my blood stream.
Vicious took a sip of a beer. Slowly. Completely in control. The hunter was always more calculated and in charge. And then there was me, flailing around like the helpless prey.
“Why have you never pursued a career as a painter?” he asked.
It sounded more like an accusation than a question. Some of the food he ordered had arrived, and I picked at it with my fork, trying a little of everything.
“I have, and I’ve worked with other artists too. Interned at a gallery here in Manhattan after I graduated. Then Rosie moved in and got sick, so she couldn’t hold on to a steady part-time job. Why did you become a lawyer?”
“I like arguing with people.”
I laughed at that. I had to agree. “But you chose mergers and acquisitions, hardly a fast-paced, dramatic way to practice that skill,” I argued.
He picked an olive and brought it to my lips. “Open,” he said darkly.
I did.
“Now swallow.”
I smiled with the olive between my teeth, daring him. He dipped down and kissed me hard, shoving the olive into my mouth with his tongue. It was either choke or swallow. I chose swallow.
He pulled back from me, but his gaze remained on my lips. “Now that’s good practice. As for law, I have no desire to cover up for other people’s fuck-ups. I’d much rather see how my clients double and triple their investments…and mine. People don’t pay me because of my law-school pedigree. I went to a shit college in LA and graduated with people who went to work doing house closings and chasing ambulances. People pay me to make money, and I make a ton of it.”
“What’s your fascination with money? You have so much.”
He leaned forward, picking up a lock of my lavender hair. “Money is like pussy, sweetheart. You can’t ever get enough.”
“Yeah, and it’s made you so happy. You realize you sound like a walking, talking cliché?”
His eyes sparked with something devilish. “I am happy. I’ve never been happier. It’s seven o’clock, so Rosie should be long gone by now. Let’s go before I take you up on that offer about third base right here on the table.”
