The Theory of Attraction (15 page)

“What do you need me to do? How can I help?”

He shook his head and slowed to a stop in front of me. “You probably can’t. Just help me get through this party without making too big an idiot of myself. But I don’t suppose it matters much.”

“Maybe it matters more,” I suggested, tipping my head back to look him in the eye. He cupped my cheek with one hand, an unexpected gesture of fond regard that stole my concentration for a moment.

“What do you mean?”

I tried to remember what I meant, while I pushed my head into his caress like a greedy kitten. “Um…oh, I mean if you charm enough big donors at the party, maybe they’ll reconsider. Because it isn’t all about the fundraising, right? And when it comes to the science part you still have more credibility.”

He mulled it over for a few moments, rubbing his fingers into my hair and stroking with a steady rhythm that seemed to soothe him as much as it soothed me. “What other suggestions do you have for me?” he asked at last.

It took me a moment to pry my mind away from the most immediate suggestions that sprang to mind. “I thought we could consider some literary examples. Characters who become more relatable, and what they do to accomplish that. We probably don’t have time to read the book, though, only to watch the movie.”

That was how we ended up watching
Pride and Prejudice
that night. Because whose transformation could possibly be more instructive than Mr. Darcy’s, despite my own decided preference for the Darcy of the story’s first half? And what sexier way to watch it could there possibly be than sitting naked between Ivan’s knees, my head on his thigh, while he stroked my hair and gave me sips of wine from his glass?

My being there with him like that seemed to calm him. He gave the movie due consideration, although he didn’t see what was wrong with Darcy to begin with. He agreed with me that a sound spanking or two definitely could have fit nicely into the narrative.

“But her mother really is awful,” he objected near the end of the film. “Why shouldn’t Darcy point out her shortcomings when even Elizabeth would agree Mrs. Bennett is clearly doing things wrong? Wrong by the standards of the time, I mean, when social niceties were so significant as indicators of standing?”

“Because it would be an even worse shortcoming to point all that out. By being a snot about it before, he was actually being much less classy.” Privately, I added
though a hell of a lot sexier
.

“His first proposal makes sense, though. He’s absolutely correct about the damage the marriage will probably do to him socially. It’s a significant challenge they’ll have to overcome.”

“True,” I conceded, “but it’s not really the sort of thing a girl wants to hear during a proposal. It’s not like she wouldn’t have been aware of all that. He’d have done much better to stick to telling her he was in love with her, and leave discussing the obstacles for later. He made it all about him.”

“Of course the actual speech he makes isn’t in the book, so we have no way to know what he really said. Only that he dwelt on the consequences too warmly,” Ivan mused.

It took me a moment to absorb what he’d said. “Wait. You’ve read this, and remember it that well? I didn’t even remember the way the thing was worded in the book. Why didn’t you tell me?” I turned around and caught him smiling at me with what I could only characterize as extremely fond tolerance.

“Watch the end of the movie,” he said softly, gesturing to the screen.

I turned around, but my mind was far from Hertfordshire. This wasn’t the first time I’d had cause to wonder how much Ivan really wanted or needed the help I was giving him. But it was the first time I’d wondered whether the whole thing had been an elaborate ruse to get me to go out with him. So silly, if that was the case. I would have said yes if he’d asked. Apparently he was exactly as dumb as most guys in that respect. They rarely thought to just ask. Or they over-thought, and scared themselves out of it.

“So what’s my lesson? Since I think it’s pretty obvious we both think Darcy had a certain amount going for him in the first place,” Ivan clarified. “What makes the transformed Darcy more desirable?”

I lifted my head from his lap and thought about it. “Well, for one thing, the early Darcy was a serious drag at parties. Too busy looking for things to condemn, instead of considering ways to enjoy himself.”

“I always find ways to enjoy myself,” Ivan protested. “I usually bring a book or my computer. If I have to attend a party at all, I mean.”

He didn’t seem too put out when I laughed at that.

“But that approach isn’t going to win hearts or donations. So what did Darcy do differently, how did he change?” I stood and stretched my legs as I spoke, having honestly forgotten I was nude until I felt Ivan’s hand cupping my butt, stroking down the back of one thigh.

“Did I tell you to get up and distract me, Camilla?”

Grinning, I took a longer stretch to see what would happen. “Sorry, Professor.”

“You might be later. Darcy traded his external and internal motivations.”

“He what?” I’d been looking for an answer about being nice or paying attention to people. Ivan’s summary forced me to actually think again, when I’d already started shutting the thinking parts of my mind down for the evening.

“Turn around.” Patiently, Ivan turned me to face him, his hands on my hips, his legs sliding between mine to part them until I was practically straddling his lap. “To begin with, Darcy’s internal motivation was all for himself. How would things work to his advantage, how would things reflect on him? And he had an external locus of control. He viewed the dictates of society as forces that controlled him. If he acted a certain way, it was because society demanded that. Lace your fingers behind your neck, Camilla.”

“Huh? Oh…” I put my hands to my neck, trying to focus on Ivan’s discourse about Darcy while at the same time battling sudden, overwhelming arousal. The sexy professor voice was like an aphrodisiac to me now, I realized. God help me if I ever tried to audit one of Ivan’s classes.

“Very good. Have I mentioned that your breasts are almost perfectly symmetrical? Today at work, I couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of your nipple on my tongue, hardening as I sucked. It was very distracting. As was the thought of ejaculating all over your breasts. I like that idea very much. Would you like that?”

Guh.

“Y-yes, Professor.”

“Of course what really matters is that I’d like it. But it’s good to know what you find rewarding. Do you like the idea of being marked that way? Like territory, or property?”

“Oh God, yes.”

“It makes you wet just to think about it.”

He wasn’t making an assumption, he was testing a theory, pressing one long finger between my legs and sliding it between folds that were already slick and throbbing in anticipation of that touch. My legs were getting wobbly. I bit my lip and tried to slow my breathing.

“After he realizes his approach is ineffective, Darcy begins to see the constraints of class and social expectations as matters of choice, and he realizes that he is a free agent who must take responsibility not only for his choices but their consequences.”

“Wow. That’s a really good analysis.” How was he thinking so calmly about character development at the same time he was driving me crazy doing
that
with his hands?

“I don’t buy it, though,” Ivan said firmly, thrusting another finger inside my clenching channel. “I think he was just putting up a good front because it was the only way to get Elizabeth to marry him, so he could get her into bed.”

His lips grazed my belly and I swayed toward him, nearly falling into his lap but snatching myself upright at the last second.

“There’s another possible explanation,” I gasped, trying to act like I had the same control, the same degree of cool, as the man currently driving me to sweet distraction. “Darcy was shy and insecure, but when he realized he didn’t have to impress everybody and he could be himself with Lizzie, he turned out to be okay. Oh,
God,
do that again.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No. What’s the lesson for tonight? Wrap it up. You tell me mine, and I’ll tell you yours.”

It was hard to think with my body melting, much less talk. How I managed, I really don’t know. “What you did at the barbecue. Focus on one person at a time, get into that one person’s head. That works for you. Now,
please?
”

“Upstairs.”

Chapter Nine

Ivan’s bed was taller than mine, because he had it up on risers. I found out why that night when he bent me over the edge of it. It was the perfect height to support my upper body but allow me to plant my feet comfortably on the floor. This was fortunate, as I was to spend quite a bit of time in that position. As soon as I was situated, Ivan set about securing me into place with cuffs and tethers. Not very tight, as I could move my arms quite a bit and bring my legs all the way together. But I couldn’t get away, which was the main point.

“Comfortable? You’ll be there quite some time,” he said, resting one hand on my lower back.

“Yes, Professor.”

I wasn’t merely comfortable, I still had that melting sensation, like I was sinking into the bed. Boneless and accepting, but at the same time coursing with eagerness.

“On with the lesson, then.”

As he spoke, he rubbed my back gently, relaxing me even further. Then he slid his hands down, spreading my ass with one palm on each cheek and kneading until I was aching for him to shift his attention to my pussy or clit.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. It never ceased to amaze me, the things he suddenly chose to give opinions about. “Have you ever had anal sex?”

My brain made a record-scratch noise and I lifted my head like an antelope sniffing for predators. “No! Have you?”

Ivan snickered at my entry in the stupid-question-of-the-day contest. After a second, I joined him. It really was pretty stupid. Obviously he had, as if it mattered.

“Yes. And I’d like to have it tonight.”

“Oh, holy cow. Wait, is that my lesson?”

He leaned over my back, still fondling my butt, pressing his semi-hard cock against the cleft and nibbling on my neck. “Your lesson for tonight is that you’re mine, Camilla, and I can take you whenever and however I like.” He slid his tongue around my earlobe, pulling a chill from me, chuckling when I pushed my hips back into his. “I can have you on your knees, servicing me with your mouth. I can spread your legs and fuck your pussy whenever the mood strikes me. But tonight…”

He paused, nipping harder against the taut muscle that led from my jaw to my shoulder. The hint of pain made a delicious contrast with the unexpected dirty language Ivan was indulging in. When I groaned, charmed beyond sense at the combination, his lips curled against my skin. “Tonight I want to teach you to take my cock in your ass like a good little slut. Because I’m in the mood, and it’s time you learned that your ass is mine to fuck, just like your pussy and your mouth.”

Evil.
Pure unadulterated evil, this man was. His voice and hands were clearly agents of some dark, seductive force that caused me to do things I would normally never have considered. Because when he said all that, it sounded like the best idea in the world. Really, I could hardly wait. Except that I was still a bit—

“Scared,” I confessed, despite the fact that I was grinding my hips back into his body in a steady, needy beat. “It’ll hurt.”

“So does paddling,” he reminded me. He moved his hands down a bit and used his thumbs, stroking my slick lower lips apart and dipping between them. “This doesn’t really have to hurt as much as you’d think. Not if it’s done right. I assure you I will do it right, because I want you to enjoy it so you’ll let me do it again. I’ll go slowly, and I’ll do a lot of prep work.”

“’Kay,” I mumbled into my arm, resisting the urge to beg so early in the evening. “Prep work?”

He stood and pushed away from the bed, leaving me chilly again from the loss of his heat. I heard fabric rustling, and the drawer to the bedside table being opened, and some other noises I couldn’t identify. I knew better than to try to turn around and look, however.

What was more, I didn’t want to look. I didn’t need to. I wanted the surprise, the shock and apprehension dissolving into pain and pleasure. I wanted to accept whatever Ivan chose to do. To submit to it, absorb it. Not mindlessly, either, despite how brainless with pleasure he often made me feel.

He called it taking, but I felt as though he were
giving
me these things, these actions, like pieces of himself. Challenging me to receive these odd gifts, because they were all he had to give. His attention, his regard. His respect, which was the strangest thing of all, because I had expected to feel degraded at some point in all this and instead I felt valued beyond measure. Cherished. Strong.

“Professor?” I couldn’t hear him, but I sensed he was still there in the room behind me.

“Yes, Camilla?”

“I need you,” I whispered. A last-minute alteration from what my mind had first supplied for me to say. It was way too soon to say that other thing, to even think that.

“You’ll have me soon enough.” His voice was calm, reassuring. I basked in it. “Do you want me to tell you the plan for the evening, so you’ll know what to expect?”

“No.” I was vaguely bewildered to hear myself sounding so insistent. “I don’t. I trust you.”

I could hear him approach, feet padding softly on the carpet. Then the warmth of his thighs against mine, his stomach leaning in over my lower back again. Skin to skin, against my back—he had taken off his shirt, but his jeans and the warmed metal of his belt buckle scuffed against my legs and ass.

“I know you trust me, but you said it was scary, too. Are you saying you want to be surprised?” He sounded a little dubious.

“I’m saying…” I struggled to frame it in words, this incoherent jumble of feelings and desires. “I trust you. And I want to just be here and accept whatever you choose to do to me. I want to—to give that to you.”