Pleasure Extraordinaire 2 (PURSUIT) (7 page)

“You know her actually?”

He separates his hands to pick up his phone on the table and types something on it
before handing it to me. “I haven’t met her in person. I found out her name when I
was fifteen. Fortunately, she’s relatively famous so I could look her up. Read her
Wikipedia page. Her name is Alexa Averin.”

If I had any doubts about Ace’s revelation, they all disappear abruptly as I look
at the older, female version of Ace with the same hue of blond hair and the exact
set of ice blue eyes staring back at me. She has dozens of academic accomplishments,
is a devoted advocate for providing equal education rights to children in poverty,
but isn’t married or has no recorded children. Does she know anything about Ace? Does
she wonder what has become of him?

I glance up and see Ace’s softened expression. The usual impassiveness has left its
place to warmth and a little sadness, and I stare at him intently and with marvel
as if I’ve seen him for the first time. In a way, it’s the first time, since he’s
never been this open to me. I extend my hand to give him the phone, but as I drop
it in his hand, I can’t find it in me to end the physical contact and lace my fingers
through his.

He lets out a sigh, lowering his eyes on our attached hands. “I know what you think,
and no, I don’t feel any resentment toward her for almost having me aborted or giving
me away. She was raped. What would she do with the product of a rape?”

I wasn’t thinking about that, but I don’t correct him about his wrong assumption of
my thoughts. I caress the back of his hand with my thumb, enjoying the softness of
his skin. He melts like a kitten being caressed and closes his eyes.

“Sometimes,” he says, opening his eyes. “I wonder to myself if I have any aggressive
tendencies toward women. I researched a lot about aggression and rape and whether
they’re hereditary to see if there’s a possibility for me to become like the monster
who raped my biological mother. The results I found are very confusing. Some state
aggression is genetic, others defend that it’s a result of the upbringing. I don’t
know which one to believe. I check myself and my emotions regularly. I watch my words
while talking to a woman more than an ordinary man would. Thanks to my work, I’ve
seen every kind of sex that can exist between a consenting couple, and I couldn’t
for the life of me understand how a man can force a woman to have sex rather than
having the chance to watch her moan and shake with the ecstasy of sexual pleasure.”

The pained look on his face breaks my heart and makes me want to smooth those worry
lines creasing his face. I shake my head and squeeze his hand, letting the phone in
his palm slide onto the table in the process. “I don’t see a rapist in you. In fact,
I feel comfortable enough with you that I’d sleep naked in a bed with you and know
you wouldn’t do anything I wouldn’t agree to.”

“Is that why you yanked my hand away when I was massaging you?”

I don’t reply as I’m not sure how to categorize that behavior of him while he shoved
his finger into me without my permission. I must admit, though, the line he crossed
was a vague one. He might have thought I’d given my okay on getting massaged inside
my vagina as well.

His finger inside me.

That’s not the visualization I need right now, as I’m already soaking wet beneath
my panties.

“I believed that the studies that supported heredity as the reason were wrong,” he
continues once he sees he won’t coax an answer out of me. “I convinced myself that
I didn’t inherit the wickedness of my biological fathe,r and I’d never even dream
about raping. Until you came to my life,” he says and moves his hand to grip mine
in a hard squeeze. “You’re my nightmare come true. You ruined all my beliefs about
my good nature.”

“What are you talking about?” I blink several times, shocked at the new direction
of our intimate talk.

“For the first time in my existence, I started fantasizing about forcing a woman into
sex. You ... You turned me into a crazy mess. I can’t control my thoughts or my physical
reactions around you. I’m afraid to be alone with you for attempting to do a wrong
move that I’ll regret for the rest of my life, but I can’t help it. My mental faculties
take a break and I’m constantly hard when you show up. I can’t stop fantasizing about
taking you hard.”

I should get mad at his words, or better yet, get him familiarized with my iron slap,
but instead I sigh loudly, wondering if he’s hard for me at this very moment, too,
enjoying the thought of him fucking me forcefully. Just like his, my own brain seems
to have stopped working, I guess. “How does that fantasy play out?” I manage to ask
in my hazed and lustful state.

“Seriously? You want to hear my rape fantasy?”

My arousal overcomes my shame, and I nod with curiosity.

Unfortunately, the server arrives with our plates, interrupting our arousing conversation,
and takes her sweet time placing them in front of us, grating cheese on the raviolis
and then finally leaves us alone.

Ace pulls his hand away to get his fork and fishes a piece of ravioli out. I mirror
his behavior just to appear less interested, but in reality, I’m dying to hear his
fantasy. I think I’ve never listened to a man confessing his dirty thoughts about
me. Oh, I’ve heard a lot of men’s fantasies. Only, they were about some Hollywood
celebrities or porn stars. One was about a fictional character in a space opera. But
none about me.

Ace takes his glass of white wine and sips unhurriedly, eyeing me with intent. If
he’s planning to torture me with his silence, he’s succeeding it.

“Your fantasy?” I point out, intrigued and upset for him taking so long and making
me look impatient.

He places the glass back on the table ever so slowly, glancing at me with dubious
eyes, as if weighing his options or trying to get over some kind of internal struggle.
“First, I need you to promise me you won’t run for the hills. I can assure you, I’ll
do anything and everything under my control to not make this fantasy come true.”

“Okay. Let’s hear it.” And please hurry!

“It always starts out with me spotting you leaving a club, wearing a mini skirt and
high heels. Your ass is my favorite part of your body, and I like imagining it wrapped
around by a mini skirt.”

Huh! I knew he had a thing for my ass.

“You walk very slowly thanks to your high heels, and I follow you until you’re on
a deserted street and then pull you onto another small street. I flip you and push
you against the wall. You scream but there’s no one around to answer your call for
help. I reach down between your legs and rip your panties off. The rest is just pure
fucking until you pass out.”

I squeeze the fork in my hand hard, feeling the cold metal digging into my skin. His
eyes are narrowed and burning like fire, as if belonging to another man, not the impassive
and controlled Ace who runs a brothel or the hurtful Ace whose birth mother abandoned
him. This new Ace is wild and primitive and frankly gives me shivers of fear.

“That’ll never happen,” I say in an attempt to hide my fright.

“I know. I’ll never allow it.”

“I’m not talking about that. It’ll not happen the way you fantasize it, because I’ll
not go down without a fight.”

“That makes it all the more exciting. The more you try to fight against me, the bigger
my reward will be and the harder I’ll fuck you.”

I gasp involuntarily.  “Oh, shut up.” I throw him the cloth napkin and it lands on
the top of his head. With the fear that’s surrounding my heart, I start laughing like
a nervous wreck. I relax a bit when he laughs too and the savage expression is erased
from his face. He pulls the napkin from his head, folds it, and places it next to
my plate,

“I have to repeat it; that’s a fantasy only, and I’ll make sure it’ll never happen,
even if it means I’ll stop seeing you to protect you.”

“Is that fantasy a result of the assumption that I won’t willingly have sex with you?”

“Possibly.”

“I don’t think you have a nasty bone in you. For one thing, a lot of good men and
women fantasize about rape. And for another, you run a brothel to ensure women get
sexual pleasure. If that’s not one hundred percent against the notion of raping, then
I don’t know what is. If you’re honest about your constant examination of your behavior,
even in the heat of blinding lust, your rationale will kick in and prevent you from
making a mistake.”

“I hope your assumptions are true. I really hope that, because I don’t want to hurt
you or any other person for that matter.”

We eat our raviolis and drink our wine in silence. After the waitress brings us our
desert and leaves, I clear my throat to mentally prepare myself for my indecent proposal.
“I wanted to talk to you about something else.” I bite my lip, hesitant to go on.

“Sure,” he says when my pause takes too long.

“I kinda decided who I want to have threesome with.”

He raises an eyebrow, a trace of a smile grazing his lips. “Oh, yeah? Who are the
lucky winners?”

“One is you.”

His smile broadens with amusement, and he leans back against his chair, the move making
his shoulders appear twice their size. “And, the other?”

“Zane.” I watch the smile freeze on his face, and he resumes his old deadpan, controlled
expression that chills my heart in an instant.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“Why? Because he’s your adopted brother?”

“No. It’s not that. I can’t stand the thought of being with him in the same room,
and you want me to share a woman with him? It’ll likely end up in a bloody fight rather
than a pleasant memory to remember.”

“Oh. That wasn’t how I pictured it,” I say, disappointed, although that’s what I feared
might happen.

“You actually fantasized about it?” His tone is accusatory and hurtful, as if he hasn’t
just told me about his raping fantasy.

If he wants to disguise himself behind his cold mask, I’ll have the up most pleasure
to play mean. I frown and shoot him a glare. “And masturbated on it, too.”

“You really like him, don’t you?” His face is still cold and controlled, but there’s
disappointment coating his voice.

“No, I don’t. I don’t like you, either.” I’m angry, and I sound harsh, but that’s
okay. I’m not the one to hide feelings, especially when angry. “It’s only sex. Nothing
else. Why are you acting like a whiny teenager all of a sudden? He works for you as
an escort. You offered me a complimentary man for a threesome, including yourself.
I enjoyed both occasions I had with you and Zane, and now I want to have you together.
That’s not against the rules, but you’re coming up with irrelevant emotional problems.
This is your business. Get over your emotional issues and do your job”

“You’re right. There’s nothing against the rules in theory, but we’re talking about
Zane and me here. Zane and I don’t get along at all. There have been more than a couple
of times that we ended up hurting each other physically. He doesn’t like me and I
don’t like him. There needs to be at least neutral feelings among the parties for
a threesome to be enjoyable. In this combination, I can assure you that you won’t
enjoy it in the least.”

“If that’s the case, why did you hire him as an escort? Why do you allow him anywhere
near your clients and employees?”

“Fair question with a simple answer. Michael. He told me to hire him. I’d declined
Zane’s application twice. When he couldn’t get what he wanted, he complained to his
Daddy, and once Michael asked me to hire Zane, I couldn’t say no.”

“Why? I thought the company was fully under your proprietorship.”

“Why?” He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t talk as if you don’t know Michael. The company
might belong to me, but I don’t have the power to refuse his orders. Nobody can say
no to him, not even his children.”

“Now you’re throwing mud at an additional person.”

A pained smile spreads across his face, not really reaching his eyes. He drops his
fork on the table and tosses the napkin beside it. “I’m in no place to tell you what
to believe in, but let me at least give you a friendly warning. Michael and Zane are
the most dangerous two men you can ever meet in L.A. Please, keep your distance from
them. If you ever happen to get into trouble, consider me as a friend. I’ll try to
help you as much as I can.” Standing, he pulls out his wallet and throws a hundred
on the table. ”I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. I have work to do.” He leans in to give
me a kiss on the cheek, and I let him because I’m taken by surprise, and then watch
him leave.

I rest my head between my hands, exhausted and moody for having gone through an intense
conversation with Ace. From his birth mother, to a rape fantasy, and then to a dangerous
warning about his own father and brother. The talk was everything but what I expected.
I see now my wish to have both Zane and Ace devour me will remain as a fantasy forever.

First Zane, now Ace. What is it with Michael’s sons and their dislike for him?

I gather my handbag and leave the restaurant. My stomach rises, though I don’t think
the meal had anything to do with it. I drive to Taylor’s apartment to spend the afternoon
with them, help them pack for their move to their new home and hopefully help my mind
take a break from the Hawkins men.

Taylor fixes us tea and settles beside me on a couch in the living room, while Adam
bustles around, gathering items and placing them in large cardboard boxes.

“Adam’s older sister is coming tomorrow from New York, that’s why we’re trying to
get everything done by tonight,” Taylor whispers when Adam leaves for another room.

“That’s an ambitious goal. Do you need my help?”

“If you don’t mind?”

“I love to help. What was her name? Adriana?”

“Yeah, the one who doesn’t like me. Well, I can’t say any of his sisters like me at
all, but Adriana really hates me,” Taylor adds.

“Pain in the ass.”