Volatile

La Petite Mort - Part 2

I watched the way his long fingers curled around the bottle of scotch while he poured the liquid into the two glasses that were placed on his central table. I imagined those fingers elsewhere. Whiskey was a strong drink, but I had grown accustomed to the taste as my father and I always had our catch-ups over a glass of the stuff. Do you like it neat or on the rocks? Tobias had asked. On the rocks, I answered. I had always preferred my drink with some ice in it, and I definitely needed it now, because I needed to cool down. 

There was a warmth in my cheeks that had formed since we were in the car; he drove a black jaguar, a vehicle of expensive taste. The heat worked its way through my bloodstream when I made the decision to watch him as he drove. His posture was straight, like a business man, yet he looked relaxed. When I could, I'd steal glances at his body. His shoulders were broad and the muscles in his thighs were thick. The way his fingers grasped onto the steering wheel put images in my head, and if I closed my eyes, I could imagine how it would feel if he grabbed my ass with those large hands, or if he squeezed my throat with those thick fingers.

"Thank you," I said, sending Tobias a grateful nod of my head as he passed me the glass of whiskey. He nodded back at me before he took a seat on his beige couch, leaning back into it. 

We were on the balcony of his apartment, which to me, was more like a penthouse. It was a skyscraper building predominantly made of glass, and from where I was stood, I could overlook the whole city. Since it was late, the sky was pitch-black, and the sight of thousands of little lights across the scene illuminated the night. I didn't know what the man did for a living, but it must have paid well.

"Please, sit." Tobias gestured at the spot beside him, beckoning me to come closer to him, so I did. I sat next to him, and because his arm was resting on the back of the couch, I was in close proximity to his body. 

Silence lingered heavily in the air - not an awkward one, it was tension - while I brought the glass to my lips and took a sip of the cold drink. He watched me as I did so. His eyes were so dark as he examined my face like I was his possession to admire whenever he wanted to, and it was at that moment that I realised he hadn't looked anywhere below my face the whole night. The usual would be a man's gaze immediately scoping my figure before they even thought about seeing what colour my eyes were, but this man was different. Was he a gentleman? No, he couldn't be. He invited me back to his place after a conversation so short it could barely be considered one. 

Whatever it was, he maintained his mysterious demeanour.

"So, tell me," he began, eyes hard and locked, "What is it that you like to do, Sofia?" 

Within an instance, a vibration was sent straight between my legs at the sound of his gravelly yet velvety voice speaking my name. I contemplated jumping on him, there and then, to crash my lips against his own and have sex with him on the couch. Skip the small talk, and get right to the action. But no, he wanted to talk, so I would go along with it. I craved to see how he would make the first move; would he be subtle about it, or would he be forthright and pin me down roughly? Although I knew this would only be a one-night thing, I couldn't deny that I was utterly intrigued by him.

Once again, I found myself having to cross my legs. I had to clench my thighs together - I had to compose myself.

I spoke the first thing that came to mind. "I like to read."

His eyebrows lifted slightly. "You do? Any specific genre?"

Would I give him honesty? I didn't see why I shouldn't.

"Yes." I fought back the urge to smile. "Erotica."

I didn't want to seem childish. I didn't want to be cheeky. I wanted to be serious, like he was. I wanted to be controlled, like he was.