Tell Me What You Want

  My cheeks are burning. What is happening to me? A kiss and a simple brush of his hand have practically brought me to orgasm. Eric is observing me. I see desire in his eyes.

  “I would undress you right here,” he whispers.

  I gasp. I want more, and this time, I’m the one who kisses him. He accepts my lips, but when I go to put my arms around his neck, he grabs my hands and pushes himself just a little bit away from me.

  “Exactly how far are you willing to go?” he asks, his lips very close to mine.

  The question completely bewilders me. What is he talking about? In that moment, I feel such an intense yearning for him that I’m entranced and I simply want to be naughty.

  “As far as we can go.”

  “You sure?”

  “Well,” I whisper, all worked up, “I don’t really go for S and M.”

  Eric grins. He places his hands under my legs, then around my waist, and pulls me onto his lap. I’m going to explode. He rubs his nose on my neck, inhaling my aroma. I close my eyes, and when I open them, I realize he’s staring at me.

  “Do you want to know what that orange light means?”

  I look over at the light, which is still on, and I nod. Eric moves his hand and presses one of the buttons on the side of the table. The curtains below the orange light part to reveal a dark glass. What is this? Eric watches me. An instant later, the glass brightens, and I can clearly see two women on a table engaged in oral sex.

  Incredulous, I’m captivated by the spectacle those two strangers offer us, when, abruptly, Eric presses another button and the women’s moans resound in our reserved space. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know where to look.

  “Are you ready for this?” he asks.

  My skin is feverish when I feel his strong fingers tickling my waist. I stare at him, confused.

  “Why are we watching this?”

  “Watching excites me. Doesn’t it excite you?”

  I don’t respond. I can’t. I don’t even know if I’m still breathing.

  “We all have a little voyeur inside. We love looking at what’s prohibited, perverse, or titillating. It stimulates us; it makes us want more.”

  I turn my eyes back to the glass as the breathing of the two women echoes in the room. Eric presses another button, and the curtains on the left part too. In seconds, the glass clears, and I see two men and a woman. She’s draped on a divan. One of the men penetrates her, and the other nips at her chest while she happily enjoys the moment.

  “It’s wonderful to watch scenes like these,” continues Eric. “I find the woman’s expressions hypnotizing as she lets them relish her body. Just look at her delight; she’s reveling in what they’re doing. She’s content to surrender to them, don’t you think?”

  “No . . . I don’t know.”

  My blood simmering, I lift the glass of wine and drink it in one swallow. I’m still thirsty, and he’s still talking.

  “Easy now. They can’t see us. But they’ve given us permission to watch them. The orange light lets us watch, and the green light is an invitation to join in. Would you like to?”

  “What?”

  “Join in.”

  “No,” I stammer, panicked.

  “Why not?”

  My heart is racing out of control.

  “I . . . I don’t do things like that,” I manage to say.

  His eyebrows arch.

  “Are you a virgin?”

  “Nooooooo,” I respond too effusively. “But I . . .”

  “I get it. I understand. You’re more into conventional sex, right?”

  Like a fool, I nod.

  He turns my face so I’ll look at the trio; they continue with their ardent game.

  “They’re also into conventional sex,” he says. “It’s just that now and again they play and experiment with different things. It really doesn’t turn you on?”

  I don’t want to take my eyes off them. I can see how much that woman is enjoying herself, and I unwittingly groan. I’m aroused.

  “No . . . I . . . ,” I respond.

  “Does it make you uncomfortable to talk about sex?”

  I’m flabbergasted.

  “Your eyes betray agitation, but your lips proclaim desire,” he insists. “You can’t deny that what you’re seeing makes you hot, right?”

  I don’t respond. I refuse to.

  “You’ll have a great time, Jude,” Eric whispers in my ear. “I’ll take care of all your needs. All you have to do is ask.”

  Like a fool, I nod again. Never in my life would I have imagined something like this. I’m so inflamed, I’m ashamed to admit it. The place, the moment, and the man next to me make it impossible to think straight.

  “In these especially reserved rooms, whoever wants to can have an exquisite meal and then . . . something else. Only a select group of people has access to these. So if you want to play after dinner, all you have to do is push that button, and the glass partitions disappear.”

  Suddenly, I’m beyond nervous. I don’t want any of what he’s proposing. I try to get up, but Eric doesn’t let me move.

  “I want to leave,” I whisper, my breathing hard and fast.

  “It’s only eleven.”

  “I don’t care . . . I want to go.”

  “Why, Jude?” When I don’t respond, he adds, “I think I remember your saying you were willing to do whatever I wanted.”

  “I wasn’t referring to that. I . . . I don’t do those things.”

  Holding me even tighter, he forces me to look at him.

  “You might surprise yourself if you tried it,” he murmurs as his eyes stare into mine.

  “Eric, I don’t . . .”

  “Jude, sex is a fun game. You just have to dare to experiment.”

  I shake my head. A prisoner of my nerves. I don’t want to experiment. The conventional sex I know is more than enough. After a few more seconds that seem like an eternity, Eric presses the buttons and the moans disappear. A few more seconds and the glass turns dark again. The curtains fall.

  “Thank you,” I whimper.

  He lifts me off his lap and looks at me gravely.

  “C’mon, Jude. I’ll take you home.” Half an hour later and after a strange but not uncomfortable silence, broken only by his phone conversation with some woman, we finally turn onto my street. He exits the car and comes in with me. He’s cold and distant again. He accompanies me in the elevator. When we get to my door, I want to ask him in, but he doesn’t let me.

  “It was a very pleasant dinner, Ms. Flores,” he says. “Thank you for your company.”

  Then he kisses my hand and leaves. I’m Ms. Flores again?

  5

  The next day at work, I enter my supervisor’s office to look for some files, and sigh at the memory of what occurred there the day before. I’ve hardly slept. My mind has not stopped thinking about Mr. Zimmerman and what happened between us.

  Miguel comes in, and together we go have breakfast with Paco and Raúl. The whole time I’m watching the door, waiting for Eric to appear, but he never shows. I’m disappointed.

  Back in the office, I’m just turning on my computer when my phone rings. It’s the receptionist. She says there’s a young man with a flower delivery, asking for me. Flowers? No one’s ever sent me flowers, and I know very well who’s behind these: Zimmerman.

  My heart beating a mile a minute, I meet the elevator as the doors open and a young man with a red cap and a beautiful bouquet steps out. As soon as he sees me, he rushes over.

  “Are you Ms. Flores?” he says.

  The bouquet is spectacular. Gorgeous yellow roses.

  The young man looks at me and I nod, finally. He hands me the bouquet.

  “Sign here,” he says, “and please give the bouquet to Mónica Sánchez.”

  My jaw drops.

  They’re for my supervisor?

  My happiness vanishes. Those brief seconds of joy when I thought I was someone special are erased in a blink. Not wanting
to give away my disillusionment, I take the bouquet, but I’m on the verge of tears. It would have been so lovely if they had been for me . . .

  I put the bouquet on my desk and sign the slip the young man has handed me. Once he leaves, I take the beautiful flowers to my supervisor’s office. I leave them on her desk and turn to leave. But that’s when curiosity gets the better of me, so I turn back and look for the card amidst the flowers. I open it and read: Mónica, next time, seconds? Eric Zimmerman.

  It makes me furious. What does he mean, “seconds”?

  I quickly put the note back in its place and exit the office. My mood is black. I hope no one so much as coughs in my direction in the next few hours, because they’re going to pay dearly for it.

  I can’t get that “seconds?” out of my head. Then my supervisor comes in as I’m typing up a report on my computer.

  “Good morning, Judith. Come into my office, please,” she says without even glancing at me.

  No! Not now.

  She sees the flowers as I step in and close the door. She picks them up. She reads the card, and I see her smile. My neck itches.

  “I’ve been talking to Roberto in personnel,” she tells me. “The company is making some changes. I had a very interesting meeting yesterday with Mr. Zimmerman, and they’re going to make a few adjustments at some of the Spanish branches.”

  Hearing that she had an interesting meeting really irritates me. But then the phone rings, and I quickly pick it up. “Good morning. Mónica Sánchez’s office. This is her assistant, Ms. Flores. How may I help you?”

  “Good morning, Ms. Flores.” It’s Zimmerman! “Could I speak with your supervisor?”

  “Just one moment, please,” I utter, my heart racing.

  It’s no surprise that as soon as I tell my supervisor who it is, she claps and signals for me to leave the office. As I’m closing the door behind me, I hear her. “Hi. Did you get back to your hotel all right last night?”

  Last night? Last night? What does she mean, “last night”?

  But he was with me last night! Then, quickly, my prodigious imagination puts together what happened. She must have been the person he was speaking with on the phone in the car. He left me at home, then went to meet her. Did they go back to Moroccio?

  I’m angrier with each passing second. But why? There’s nothing between Mr. Zimmerman and me. We merely went out for dinner. He touched me over my clothes, and together we witnessed a sexual spectacle. Does that give me the right to be angry?

  I return to my desk and my computer. I have to work. I don’t want to think. At one o’clock, my boss emerges from her office and winks at Miguel. He gets up, and they leave together. I know what they’re going to do.

  I’m so angry that I work with vigor and clear off a bunch of paperwork. At about two thirty, Óscar, one of the company’s security guards, comes over to me.

  “Mr. Zimmerman’s driver left this for you,” he says, handing me a large envelope.

  Dumbstruck, I see the sealed envelope has my name on it. I nod at Óscar, and he leaves. I just stare at the envelope for a while, and without knowing why, I toss it in a drawer.

  The telephone rings. I pick it up, and after the usual office greeting, I hear a voice on the other end. “Have you opened what I sent you?”

  Zimmerman! I don’t respond.

  “I can hear you breathing. Answer me.”

  A thousand things cross my mind. The first is “You’re so bossy!” The second is worse.

  “Mr. Zimmerman, it just got here. And I’ve decided to leave the matter for Monday,” I finally say.

  “It’s a gift for you.”

  “I don’t want any gifts from you,” I whisper in a thin voice, surprised at his words.

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “Oh, Ms. Flores, come on. Open it, please.”

  “No,” I insist.

  I hear him sigh . . . I’m making him mad.

  “Please, open it.”

  “Why do I have to open it?”

  “Jude, it’s something I got for you.”

  Well now . . . I’m back to Jude?

  But since I’m a softie, a fool, and—most important—an innately curious person, I open the drawer, pluck out the envelope, and rip it open.

  “What is this?”

  I hear him laugh.

  “Well, you said you were willing to do anything.”

  “Oh, well . . . I . . .”

  “You’ll like it, sweetness, I promise,” he says, interrupting me. “One is for home, and the other is so you can carry it in your bag and use it anywhere at any time.”

  Hearing the tone of his voice when he says “any time” makes me catch my breath. God, here we go again!

  “I’ll be at your apartment at six,” he says before I can respond. “I’ll show you how they work.”

  “No, I won’t be there. I’ll be at the gym.”

  “See you at six.”

  He hangs up.

  As I listen to the buzzing on the other end of the phone, all I want to do is scream out hundreds of improprieties. Furious, I hang up.

  I look inside the envelope again and read the words: “Fairy Vibrator Japanese Star.” I let out a long breath. I finally put it in my bag, place my elbows on my desk, and drop my head in my hands.

  “I should stop this,” I say in a low voice. “Right now.”

  6

  When I get home, Curro welcomes me. My sister has left a note saying she gave him his medication.

  I put on something more comfortable and cook up some delicious pasta carbonara. I plop down on the couch to watch TV while I devour it. When I finish, I lie back and fall into a deep sleep. Some time later, a shrieking sound abruptly awakens me. Drowsy, I get up; the sound is insistent. It’s the phone.

  “Who is it?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.

  “Jude, it’s Eric.” And then I wake up in a flash. I check the clock. It’s six on the dot. I’m a wreck! My apartment is a disaster. The dirty dish is still on the table, the kitchen is like a swamp, and I look terrible.

  “Jude, will you open up?”

  I want to say no, but I don’t dare. I huff and press the button. Quickly, I hang up the phone. I know I have—more or less—a minute and a half. I leap over the chair, and it’s a miracle I don’t smash my face against the table. I’m about to make my next move, when I hear the doorbell.

  I check myself in the mirror. My hair is all tangled up. I fix it as best I can and dash to get the door. When I open it, I find Eric, wearing jeans and a dark shirt, and looking very handsome. Then he gives me the once-over.

  “Were you running?” he asks.

  Like an idiot, I lean on the door. “Just short distances.”

  He scans me up and down. I’m about to scream, “Yes, I know—I look horrible!” But he surprises me.

  “I love your shoes.”

  I turn red when I look down and see the SpongeBob SquarePants sneakers my niece gave me. Eric comes in without asking permission. Curro sidles up to him, and Eric bends down to pet him.

  I close the door and lean against it again. Eric stands and hands me a bottle.

  “Here you go, beautiful. Open it. Put it in a bucket with lots of ice, and get two wineglasses.”

  I nod without complaint. He’s already giving orders.

  When I get to the kitchen, I notice the Moët & Chandon pink label.

  “I guessed that you like strawberries,” he says from behind me as he puts his hand on my waist to bring me closer. “It’s wild strawberry champagne. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  Enraptured by his proximity, I close my eyes and give in. He really does something to me. Suddenly, he turns me around, and I’m pinned between him and the refrigerator. My breathing picks up. He stares at me. I stare back, and then he does that thing I like so much. He leans down and brings his tongue to my upper lip and licks it.

  I open my mouth in anticipation, and he takes me in his arms and lifts me up so we’r
e at the same height. Then he launches his tongue directly and voraciously into my mouth.

  I coil my legs around his waist, and when he shoves his thigh into the center of my being, I melt; feeling his hard, ardent desire makes me want to tear his clothes off. But then he pulls his mouth back from mine.

  “Where is the gift I got you?” he asks.

  I turn red again.

  “There,” I say.

  He walks over with me still wrapped around his body, and then lets me down. He grabs the envelope, takes out the vibrator, and opens it. The whole time, he never takes his eyes off me. He thrills me.

  “Get the champagne and the glasses.”

  He meets me as I’m coming out of the kitchen and takes my hand.

  “Take me to your bedroom,” he says.

  Ready to take him up to heaven itself, I lead him down the hall to the door of my room. I open it, and my pretty, white bed lies before us. I place the champagne and the two glasses on the night table.

  Slowly, he bends over and kisses me. He gives me his most serious look.

  I like that so much!

  He sucks my lips with delight, and I respond by stretching up on my tiptoes. Once more, he pulls away and sits on the bed. We don’t speak. I take off my sneakers; then, without missing a beat, I pull off my shorts and my T-shirt. I’m standing there in just my bra and panties. Seeing him breathe so hard, I feel powerful. I like that. I’ve never done anything like this with a stranger, but I’m really enjoying it.

  Instinctively, I come close to him to offer temptation. He closes his eyes and brings his nose near my panties. I step back and flash him a naughty smile. With a sensuousness I didn’t realize I could pull off, I slip one of my bra straps down, then the other, and go back to him. This time, he grabs me forcefully by the ass and brings his face to my panties again. I shudder when I feel his breath and a sweet nibble on my hairless mound.

  Without a word, he lifts his head and peels the bra off my right breast. He pulls me to him and swallows my nipple with a possessive fervor. I’m going to scream. He plays with my nipple while I grab his hair and squeeze him against me. I feel powerful again. Sexy. I see myself in the mirror above my dresser, and the image is intriguing. A little kinky. Just when I think I’m going to explode, he pushes me away, and I know what he wants. I take off my bra and panties and stand completely nude before him. For just a few seconds, he runs his gaze all over me.