The Stranger I Know (Dark Romance) (10 page)

"I don't even know why I bother with you anymore, you're nothing but — ah —" Something is wrong, the vibrator has ratcheted up several speeds. I didn't even know it could. My stomach tightens and my face flushes. God Dammit. I grit my teeth and clench a fist to steel myself.

James can't see me buckle and collapse against this stupid machine. He'll know. There's something in his eyes that tell me he already does. He can't.

I close my eyes and cough again, before pretending that I have to sneeze by staring up at the bar lights. He's smiling, waiting for my reply so he can shoot it down. The torment ceases as the vibrator slows and I can finally speak again. I shake my head. "Never mind. I'll just contact your boss from now on. You're wasting both of our company's time. It's all bureaucratic bullshit."

He laughs again, but not at me. His laughter is genuine and table shaking. He slaps his hand on the table. The waitress returns and sets my drink down on a small napkin in front of me. James gives her a warm smile that I've never seen before and she flushes instantly. I want to punch her face off. He feeds her a credit card, and her fingers briefly touch his palm as she takes it from him. "I'll cover it."

He's controlling me. I don't like it. "I can pay for my own drinks. I'm an adult."

"You certainly are, Ms. Stone," he whispers. He picks up his empty scotch and swirls the ice at the bottom. It clinks gently against the glass. For a moment, the soccer game on the television behind my head goes mute, the cleaning and filling of glasses vanishes, and the whole room seems to quiet. I haven't taken my eyes off his hand since the waitress left. I'm staring at him. There's a twitch on his cheek before he smiles at my gaze, then a vulgar look in his eyes when they dip down to my chest. I'm not showing any cleavage, and besides, I'm not exactly gifted in that department anyway. My hands shake a little, and a cold sweat threatens my coat. My dream from before, my scream of his name when I was with the Stranger, and this vibrator. It's all getting tangled — no — fucked up. I'm not this kind of woman. I'm not this unsure, fragile, vulnerable thing am I?

"I have to give you some credit, Ms. Stone, you're a real pain in the ass."

"Is that why you dragged me out two blocks further for a bar?"

He's silent. He examines the ice at the bottom of his glass. I take a sip of the scotch, it's strong, but I can tell it is watered down. He must notice my expression. "Yeah, it's shit scotch, but it's cheap."

I lower my voice and lean over the table. "Then why did you pick such a shitty bar? Wait, let me guess." I pause. "Nostalgia for your cracked out college days?" I want him to be offended. Upset, even.

He grins and shakes his head knowingly. "You know me a little too well, Marcy, it makes me uncomfortable."

My name. He's only called me Ms. Stone. My cheeks flush against my will. I want to burst into laughter, break down into tears, and roar in anger at the frustration of this torture.

But, I inflicted this torture on myself, didn't I? I didn't have to listen to the Stranger, I didn't have to do shit.

But I wanted to. I wanted to.

Right now, with James leaning in close and his cologne reaching across the table to grab my throat, I don't know if it was the right thing to do.

"Cheaper to get girls wasted," I say. "That's what I really think."

He surrenders, holding up his hands, one still clenching his drink tightly. "You caught me. I thought you might not ramble on about mergers and acquisitions if we got together here. God fucking knows they won't shut up about it over at the office."

"You taking heat?" I hope.

"No," he says, leaning back and pulling his scent with him. I almost lean forward to suck it back in. "But I am getting a hard time for not being able to make you melt." I feel a twinge in my chest. A wet knot of rope twisting tighter and tighter. Unbreakable.

"I'm nothing but prey? A warm, fresh steak for you to take a bite out of?" My voice darkens. I thought we were connecting on some level for a second. I feel tricked. I lean back in my seat and compose myself again. I was getting too comfortable.

"You're much too cold for that." He tips back his empty glass and lets an ice cube fall into his mouth. He crushes it without even the slightest flinch. "Much too cold. You're frigid." He glances over his glass as he sets it down. His brow deep and his eyes wide.

My heart races without my permission. From anyone else, it would be a harsh insult, but coming from him it's something else entirely. An invitation?

I stare at my glass of scotch and take a self-conscious drink. "I usually can get a company to cave within one meeting, but you're a bit tougher than that, Ms. Stone." He is either leveling with me, or talking down to me. A part of me wants to break the glass over the table's edge and cut him with it. "And maybe something rougher."

He stands up and I tilt my chin up to follow him. I recall the facts from the document I had on him before we first met. His suit is a 42. Black as lava rock. Made in Italy. I'm too washed in emotion and redness.

His arms threaten to break the hand-stitched seams. His watch slips out from under his sleeve for a brief second. Everything feels slow. He pulls out his wallet and drops some cash on the table. "Tip for the wait staff. Don't make me look bad by taking the money for yourself."

"Do I look that desperate?"

"Not yet." He smirks.

I frown and watch him leave. His pants are tight on his ass and they make him look like an athlete. I don't know that many people who work in offices that get a chance to chisel themselves down that much. At least, no one in my office does.

Something rougher? What was he saying, really? I've never felt so in the dark and lost as I do with this fucking guy. He didn't really answer my questions about tempting me or taking advantage.

What will the Stranger think? We agreed this would be only our game until we met someone else. I told him I wouldn't continue if I got into a relationship.

But am I really considering that with... James Pierce? No.

It's just my dreams and nerves talking. I grip my drink to try and fight my tremor, but it's useless. He's gone anyway. Who do I have to impress?

I eye one of the drunks at the bar who has turned around in his stool to face me. He's gesturing for me to come closer. I shake my head and stand up. He scowls and mouths the word 'bitch,' at me. Not the time, buddy. I flip him off and head out of the entrance. The chill claws at my skin the instant I step outside and I huddle in my coat to try and keep myself shielded. Good thing I drove.

My clit is numb. My legs are shaking. I'm dehydrated.

***

A
s soon as I get back into work, I disappear into my office. I pull the blinds shut to hide in the darkness, the sky too overcast to bring much light in. I just don't want my coworkers to see me change. I don't know into what, but I know I do.

I pick up the receiver and hold the endless tone against my ear. My hands hesitate over the number pad, but I have to do it. I can't finish the day like this. I'm a mess. Horny, numb, desiccated, worn out, pissed off, upset.

I call the Stranger up. His number changes every month. I don't know if I'm his only submissive. I don't think I want to either. What would it matter? He isn't free enough to be spreading diseases, so if he has more friends to play with, I shouldn't really care.

I bite my lip as the thought hovers in the air, like it's about to break. The image of him fucking another blindfolded woman, her moans and hands scratching the headboard of
our
hotel room. The line rings twice, and a man answers it with an inhalation.

"Hello." Just the sound of his voice is enough to knead the tension from my neck. His hands are just a bonus when we're together. My chest rises rapidly and my heart pounds. Like a shot of alcohol just hit the back of my throat. "You can't handle waiting... can you?"

I shrug to myself. His voice has lit me back up and I'm trying to keep my composure. I let out a little breath by accident and it catches the end of the receiver. Immediately, he lets out a dark chuckle for me to savor. I suck on it like a peach. His chuckle fades into a smile, just by the intonation of his words. "I thought that might be the case. How about... now?"

The vibration intensifies and I clutch the receiver as I fall face down on my desk. I slap the lacquer with my free hand to stop myself from caving my head in on it. It's like electricity has taken over my body from within, a parasite is controlling me. I can't keep myself from gasping.

"Ah... ah..."

"Good, huh?" He's a bit casual, which is surprising. "And you probably thought it would be easy. Set it low and forget about it. I've had control all day."

I turn in my chair and look over my shoulder. "Have you been watching me?" I swallow, my mouth dry.

"Not watching, exactly. I know where you are though. I have control over the device with my phone."

Even when he's not here... he's controlling me. Dominating me. Is it domination if I don't know it's happening?

He turns it up to a level I haven't experienced since I was in my conference with Michael. I seize up and drop the phone as I clutch my desk and feel pulse after pulse of warmth course through me. My thighs are wet, but thankfully, covered in dark leggings. No one will know.

I can only pray. After a few moments of breathing and tremors, he turns it down below my threshold again.

"I need to see you."

"I know," he says cooly. "I know you do. I would too if I was experiencing what you have been all day too." I hang onto his words. He's always had final say. "I don't know if I can make it though. Work. You know."

"I don't give a shit," I blurt. I cover my mouth and the receiver at the same time, horror stricken. His voice is mute, but I can hear him take in breath. He mutters quietly and I hear some paperwork move around in the background.

"Be there at eight." The line clicks off.

The phone is still planted against the side of my face when I realize what he said. I thought he scolded me. I didn't even hear him. Like when a person calls your name and you only realize it minutes later.

I lift the phone off my face. Sweat has made the plastic tacky. I drop it back in its holder and lean back in my chair.

Another wave of intensity shoots through me. I squeeze my eyes shut and ride it out. Imagining James pounding me against my desk. Imagining him slapping my ass, before pushing himself into me with enough force to make the edge of the desk cut into my legs.

Mhm. I sigh heavily. My hand, without my permission really, snakes down my clothes and prods at my clit through the layers of fabric. It's satisfying, something hard and smooth pressed against it really... makes... the vibrator...

Work.

I
t's been over twelve hours since I slipped the vibrator in. I can only feel part of the horror that I'm sure my panties have become. Destroyed, most likely. My legs are cold, but I don't bother changing before it's time to go to the hotel. I don't go home, I go straight from my office to the hotel parking lot.

I've never done that before. I always told myself it was risky. But right now, risk is the last thing on my mind with this thing dominating every emotion and thought I've had since I turned it on.

I need it free and I can only get that kind of permission from the man who told me to use it.

The lobby is deserted, despite the time, and I hustle to the elevator to avoid interaction with anyone. He'll be there and he'll let me in.

As the elevator ascends, I feel lightheaded. My stomach aches and my head hurts. Have I eaten today? I don't remember. I could have forgotten, like anyone can blame me. Stacie bothered me after my phone call, trying to get me riled up with something stupid about staying late and asking if I needed help with anything. The sarcasm dripped down her chin the whole time and I wanted nothing more than to take the vibrator that'd been punishing me all day and shove it up her ass.

I take a deep breath and brush my hair from my forehead. A bit greasy. The elevator dings as it slows down and reaches the floor. I climb out and head down the hall, my head tilted toward the room. I already know where it is, I don't even bother scanning the numbers anymore.

***

I
reach the room and knock on the door three times. No answer. Odd.

I lift myself up a little onto my toes and try to see if there is any light coming through the peephole. It looks dark. I knock again, more violently this time. I'm usually punished if I show any kind of impatience. I don't care. Anything would be preferable to the mental and physical inferno I've experienced all day.

Another set of knocks, and someone opens the adjacent room's door and peers out into the hallway. A fat man, balding with glasses, stares at me like I'm on sale at the deli counter. I narrow my eyes on him. "Fuck off, okay?"

His look of dumb pleasure instantly turns into a scowl and he dips his head back into his room. The heavy door slams against the threshold.

My watch isn't off. It's eight o'clock on the money. Where is he? He can't do this to me. If he doesn't show up in ten minutes, I'll take the damn thing out myself and forget it ever happened.

This isn't what I agreed to. This isn't part of the game we play. It was fun at first but now it's only a test of fortitude.

Minutes pass and I ache. My feet are sore. My legs tremble. My body wants me to die, I can tell.

Eight after eight. I stare into the peephole. Two minutes.

I start counting the seconds.

A light flashes on the other side and the door is unlocked. It opens and floods the hallway with the smell of steak and garlic mashed potatoes. The Stranger stands before me, beckoning me to come inside. His mask tightly fitted to his face. A smile on his lips.

My impatience and anger disappear the instant I see the room service platters waiting near the bed. As I throw my jacket off and lift the lid, the door falls shut with a bang and I feel the Stranger walk up behind me.

"I thought you might be hungry."