Bound to Accept (8 page)

He stops outside a place called Hana Hana
and I'm disappointed when he pulls his hand away. “This is it.”

“
Oh! I've heard about this
place. It's supposed to have an amazing happy hour.”

“
It's quiet, too,” he
says. “Secluded. Perfect for a private discussion, I
thought.”

I gulp. “I suppose we do have a lot of
things to talk about.”

“
Yes, we do.” He wraps his
arm around my waist, which is even better than the hand-holding. “I
forgot to mention. I like your breasts in that top.”

“
Thanks.” I blush—but why
am I embarrassed? I
wanted
him to notice. “I like your glasses.”

“
Most people say I look
better without them,” he says, amused.

“
People say the same thing
about my shirts,” I grumble.

“
I'd have to agree with
that.”

I hit him on the shoulder. “Pervert.”

“
You don't know the half
of it.” He skirts his fingers under the hem of my shirt and tickles
me. I try to slap him away, and he grabs my wrist and tickles me
harder.

“
No! Stop it!” I can't
stop laughing.
“Tristan!”

He tips me backwards, leaving me very prone,
with only his arm for support. The way he's holding me, it's like
we're going to start waltzing down the street at any moment.

“
Your breasts jiggle when
you laugh like that.”

“
Fuck you.”

His expression is unrepentant as he sets me
on my feet and smacks my ass. “I might just take you up on
that.”

“
Shh! People are
staring
.”

It's true. Our tussle outside the restaurant
is drawing some furtive looks. Some look disapproving. A few are
clearly trying not to smile. Some aren't trying at all.

“
That, I can't have. Looks
like I'll have to make like the Illuminati and do a cover-up.” He
whips his coat out from under his arm and slings it around my
shoulders.

“
You are such a freak.” I
yank the coat off and throw it at him. “It's too hot for
that.”

Tristan's eyes go back to my breasts as we
walk towards the door. “It's kind of weird,” he says. “That pony's
eye is right where I'm pretty sure your nipple is.”

I have the urge to fold my arms over my
chest. “Oh my God, what are you, fourteen?”

“
No. I was worse when I
was fourteen. I'd be trying to dry-hump your leg with a
boner.”

“
Please don't say 'boner'
in public. You weren't that bad.”

“
Well,” he says. “Maybe
not around
you
.”

A bell tinkles overhead,
putting a momentary end to the conversation. The waiter is this
really cute Asian guy who looks a bit like Lee Min Ho. He greets us
with a cheery
sumimasen
. “How many? Two?”

“
Yes—and can we get a
booth please?”

“
Sure,” he says, bowing
his head.

The Lee Min Ho-lookalike seats us in the
back, and the low lighting gives the place an intimate feel. It
seems too cosy for a dinner between friends. Does that mean this is
a date? Is Tristan my boyfriend? He acts like it, but so far our
relationship seems like it's based more on sex than actually going
out and pursuing our common interests.

But maybe he's trying to change that?

Tristan scans his menu, and then sets it
aside. “You order for me,” he says. “Apparently I'm not very
'adventurous' when it comes to fine dining.”

It takes me a moment to realize that he's
referring to what I said at the Tapioca Barn. “I can't believe I
said that.” I duck my head. “How ironic.”

“
It was certainly very
amusing.”

Yeah, maybe to
him
.

When the waiter comes
back, pen and pad at the ready, I order a bowl of wakame as an
appetizer, two bowls of miso soup, two salads with wasabi dressing,
sake maki, an oshinko roll, and the “hana roll”—a specialty roll
that has salmon, scallions, avocado, masago, and unagi sauce
drizzled over spicy mayo. It sounds
amazing
.

“
Excellent choices,” says
the waiter, tucking his pen into his apron. “Any
drinks?”

“
A large Kirin,” Tristan
says. “Kelly?”

“
Just water,
please.”

Tristan sips the beer that's brought to him
and looks pleased. “You're very relaxed today.”

“
It's been a good day,” I
say, excited by the prospect of food. “And I got to see
you.”

Tristan strokes my cheek. “You're sweet. I
enjoy your company, too. In fact, I was thinking that after dinner,
you could come to my place. I want to practice blindfolding you.
Tying you up. No sex. Just submission.”

The wakame, miso soup, and salads arrive. I
thank the waiter, grateful for the distraction, and pick up the
bowl. Tristan's still waiting for an answer, though, so I say, “I
don't know…”

“
Think about it.” He
unwraps his chopsticks and slurps the seaweed salad. “This is quite
good.”

“
Of course it is,” I say
haughtily. “I have very good taste, you know.”

“
I haven't tasted you
yet.” He smiles, sips more beer. “I'll take your word for it,
though.”

He teases and flirts so easily. I lean
against him, shoving him a little, and he puts his hand on my
thigh.

When the rest of the sushi arrives, there
isn't much more talking. I explain to him what's in the various
rolls and though he tries everything, he ends up eating most of the
oshinko and the wakame. I get the impression that he doesn't care
for the taste of fish all that much. I wish he'd told me he didn't
like fish. I would have ordered something different. We could have
gone someplace else.

At least he doesn't seem to be having a bad
time. When he finishes his beer, he orders a glass of iced tea, and
he keeps his hand on my thigh during the whole meal.

There's more sushi than the two of us can
eat, so I end up having to ask for a box. As I plunk the pieces of
sushi into the plastic carton the waiter brought, Tristan says, “So
what will it be? Back to your place—or mine?”

“
I…I'm not
sure.”

“
Decide,” he says. “I'm
going to the restroom.” He gets up and I watch him say something to
the lingering waiter, who disappears back into the kitchen and
brings me a tin cup of hot tea.

“
Thanks,” I sigh. Hot tea,
again. It tastes like oolong—it has that rich, smoky taste that
evokes the image of damask curtains—and settles the nerves in my
stomach.

His place or mine? Obviously, I know what he
would prefer, and I want to please him. But I am so nervous.

Where
is
he, anyway? He's taking his time
coming back.

Maybe he's stalling on purpose, giving me a
chance to think. Which is kind of him—though hopefully no one is
waiting in line for the men's room right now.

When he returns, he stands beside me instead
of sliding back into the booth. “Have you decided?”

“
I'll come with
you.”

His face breaks into a smile. “I'm glad.” He
extends his hand towards me. “Let's get moving, then.”

I look around. “What about the check?”

“
I already paid
it.”

“
Oh Tristan,
no
.”

“
My sub doesn't pay for
me,” he says, pulling me to my feet. “That just doesn't
happen.”

“
But we ordered so much,”
I say helplessly.

“
It made you happy,” he
says simply. “Now I get to play with you. And that makes
me
happy.”

“
I don't think it's that
simple an equation.”

“
Maybe not,” he concedes.
“But then, if sex were the same thing as math, a lot more people
would be lining up to take calculus.”

Another song from his
“Andrew's Cross” playlist comes on as we drive back to his
apartment. It's Foreigner's “Urgent”—and I can't help but
think,
how appropriate
.

Once we arrive back at his place, Tristan
takes my box of sushi from me and puts it in the fridge. I don't
know what to do with my hands after that, or myself, and linger in
the hall, feeling apprehensive.

Tristan takes me by the wrist and leads me
into his bedroom. My heart starts pounding in my ears as he sits me
on the bed. “You may keep all your clothes on this time,” he says.
“Would that make the experience more bearable?”

I nod slowly.

“
On your knees, then,” he
says. “Like you're praying.”

I assume the position and he slips the
blindfold over my eyes, tying it tightly enough that I can feel the
pressure of it against my eyelids and across the bridge of my
nose.

“
Think about how you're
feeling right now.”

“
Like I ate too much
sushi.”

I can hear the frown in his voice. “Do you
feel like you're going to throw up?”

I have to think about it,
but then I shake my head. There is nothing less sexy than
that—
although I'm sure
someone, somewhere, has a fetish for it.

Rule 34 of the internet: if it exists, there
is porn of it.

“
Your pulse is kind of
fast.” He taps my pulse point before weaving a cord over and around
my wrists, knotting them behind my back. With each pass, they cinch
tighter.

The mattress depresses as he gets on the bed
with me. He sits in front of me, pulling me down on top of him so
that I am straddling his lap. “Your fight-or-flight is kicking
in.”

He traces the outline of my lower lip with
the pad of his thumb, sliding two of his fingers into my mouth when
my lips part. He draws his fingers back out of my mouth, and swipes
them on my face and neck.

“
Sex can be a bit like
predation,” he says. “Except the outcome is copulation—not
death.”

He takes my earlobe between his teeth and
bites down lightly, pulling me against him. I can feel his beating
heart against my breast, faster than normal, but slower than
mine.

“
The human body is highly
attuned to sensation—to temperature, texture, pain.”

Tristan burns a trail of kisses down the
other side of my throat. He doesn't stay in any one spot too long,
but he's doing it hard enough that I think he might leave a
mark.

He pulls away with a slight gasp that
affects my own breathing. “All this helped with survival in the
past. But now, it often gets in the way of daily life. Or worse,
makes us numb to it.”

His hair tickles the underside of my chin. I
giggle, and fidget, leaning back to avoid him, and my nervous
laughter turns to another sort of sound entirely when he rubs his
stubbled cheek against the tops of my breasts.

“
Being blindfolded
increases your awareness of what's going on around you. Are you
numb, Kelly? Or can you feel me?”

He blows on the side of my neck he marked
with his fingers and I shiver. “I feel you.”

“
Let's see what else you
can feel.”

He gets up for a moment, and I count the
seconds, wondering what's coming next. It doesn't take long to find
out. Something cold drips down my shirtfront.

“
Ahh! What is that? Is
that
ice
?”

Tristan chuckles and I whip my head in that
direction, following the sound. He's somewhere on my left.
“Maybe.”

“
You are
evil
.”

“
No,” he breathes,
tickling my ear. “Just a little sadistic.”

Something soft and silky slides across my
fingers.

Still by my ear, he says, “What do you think
this is?”

The guessing makes this fun, like a game. “A
ribbon?”

“
No. It's one of the ties
I wear to work.”

“
Which one?”

“
The gray one.
Metallic”

I know the one he's talking about. It makes
him look like a sleazy car salesman. “You should get rid of that
one.”

“
Talk about the blind
leading the blind.”

“
Are you saying I have bad
fashion sense?”

“
Kelly,” he says, “you
have a pony's eye on your nipple.”

There's a crinkling sound that reminds me of
a candy wrapper. I crane my neck, even though there's nothing to
see, and jump when something rubbery and smooth, but also a little
slimy, rubs against the inside of my wrist.

“
Ugh, gross. What
is
that?”

“
A lubricated
condom.”

I make a moue of disgust and he laughs.

“
I am going to wash my
hands,” he informs me. “I just got lube all over them.”

“
That sounds so
wrong.”

“
Lube is your friend.”
Water runs in the next room. “Especially if you change your mind
about letting me put things up your asshole.”

Said body part clenches as I cringe. “I
don't think so.”

“
Then I'll just find
something else to play with.” He's back, running a finger along my
lips, leaving some sort of sticky residue in his wake. “What does
this taste like?”