For your own good, I’ll be by at one.
That just makes me laugh.
For your own good, Mr. Zimmerman, don’t come. I’m not in the mood.
My cell beeps again.
Miss Flores, are you trying to make me mad?
What I want is for you to forget about me.
I leave the cell on the counter, but it beeps anew. Quickly, I pick it up.
You have two options, the text reads. First: show me Madrid and enjoy the day with me. Or, second: make me mad while remembering I’m your BOSS. You decide.
I’m stunned. His abuse of power infuriates me but also kind of excites me.
I put the cell back on the counter. I have no intention of answering. But it buzzes again, and too curious for my own good, I read his message: Select option.
I imagine him grinning as he wrote that. That pisses me off again. I drop the phone. I’m not going to answer, but three seconds later, there’s the buzz again: I’m waiting and I don’t have infinite patience.
I recall all our previous stalemates. I finally text back: I’ll be ready at one. I make myself another cup of coffee and wait for his response, but it never comes. Convinced I’m letting myself be led into a game I shouldn’t play, I look up and see the clock on the microwave. Without a moment to lose, I run to get ready.
9
I put on a pair of jeans and a black Guns N’ Roses T-shirt my friend Ana gave me. At one o’clock, just as the phone rings, I put my hair up in a high ponytail. Sure it’s him, I don’t answer. He can call again. Ten seconds later, he does.
“Yes?” I answer.
“Come down. I’m waiting.”
Not even a “good afternoon.”
I’m totally taken aback when I come down and find him also wearing jeans and a black shirt and standing next to a red Ferrari. Wow.
I love it!
“Is it yours?” I ask as I get up close.
He shrugs and doesn’t answer.
I immediately fall in love with this amazing car. I run my hand tenderly over it as he looks on.
“Will you let me drive?” I ask.
“No.”
“C’mon,” I insist. “Don’t be a party pooper. My dad runs an auto shop. I swear I know what I’m doing.”
Eric stares at me. I stare back.
He sighs and I grin. Finally, he shakes his head.
“Show me Madrid, and if you behave, then maybe later I’ll let you drive it.”
That makes me happy.
“So, what do you say? Where shall we go?”
I think about it for a moment. “How about we go to the kitschiest places in Madrid—Plaza Mayor, Puerta del Sol, the Royal Palace. Have you been?”
He doesn’t say anything, so I just give him directions and we blend into traffic. While he drives, I delight in the fact that we’re in a Ferrari. What a ride! I turn up the music. I love the Juanes song that’s playing. He turns it down. I turn it up. Then he turns it back down.
“C’mon, I can’t hear it,” I protest.
“Are you deaf?”
“No . . . I’m not deaf, but a little volume in the car is no big deal.”
“Do you have to sing too?”
This takes me aback. “What? You never sing?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He makes a face as he thinks about it.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” he finally says.
I’m stunned. “Well, music is a marvelous thing. My mother always said music soothes the savage beast, and that many songs can even help us understand our own emotions.”
“You talk about your mother in past tense. How come?”
“She died of cancer two years ago.”
Eric touches my hand.
“I’m sorry, Jude,” he murmurs.
I nod. “She loved to sing, and I do too.”
“Aren’t you embarrassed to sing in front of me?”
“No, why?” I ask with a shrug.
“I don’t know, Jude.”
“Well, I’m crazy about music. I sing all day long. You should try it.”
To demonstrate just how shameless I am, I turn the music back on and, shimmying, sing along.
I finally see a hint of a smile on his face. That gives me a boost, and I continue singing. When we get to downtown Madrid, we park the car in an underground garage, and as the Ferrari disappears from view, I get a little sad. Eric notices and whispers in my ear: “Remember, if you’re good, I’m going to let you drive it.”
A wave of happiness revives me when I hear that. As we’re leaving the garage, he takes my hand confidently. That surprises me, but it also pleases me, so I don’t pull away. We walk along del Carmen Street until we wind up at Puerta del Sol. Then we go up Mayor Street until we come to Plaza Mayor. I see him marveling at everything he’s viewing. We make our way to the Royal Palace. Unfortunately, when we arrive, it’s closed. Our bellies are starting to growl, so I propose we grab a bite at an Italian restaurant owned by some friends of mine.
When we get to the eatery, my friends greet us warmly. They immediately set us up at a little table apart from the others, and as soon we order our meal, they bring us our drinks.
“You say the food is good here?”
“The best. Giovanni and Pepa are excellent chefs. And I promise you, everything comes straight from Milan.”
Ten minutes later, he sees for himself when he gets a taste of a glorious buffalo mozzarella in tomato sauce.
“Delicious.”
He stabs a piece and offers it to me.
“See?” I say. “I told you.”
He offers me another bite. I accept and pinch a piece with my fork, then offer it to him. We start eating from each other’s hands without caring what anyone around us thinks. Once the mozzarella is gone, he wipes his mouth with the napkin and looks my way.
“I have a proposition for you,” he says.
“Hmm, knowing you, it’s indecent.”
He taps the tip of my nose with his finger.
“I’m going to be in Spain for a while before I return to Germany. I suppose you know my father died three weeks ago . . . I want to visit every branch the company has in Spain. I need to know what’s going on because I want to expand. Up until recently, it was my father who was in charge of everything, and . . . well . . . now I’m in charge.”
“I’m sorry about your father—”
“Listen, Jude,” he says, interrupting me. He doesn’t let me get too far when it comes to his personal life. “I’d like you to go with me. You speak and write perfect German, and I need various documents to be sent to my headquarters in Germany after each meeting. I have to be in Barcelona Thursday . . .”
“I can’t. I have too much work.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m the boss.”
“Why don’t you ask Miguel? He was your father’s administrative assistant.”
“I’d rather have you.” He sees my expression. “You’d be there as my administrative assistant. You’d be putting off your vacation until we got back. And of course, your expenses would be taken care of.”
“Uff . . . don’t tempt me to take advantage of you.”
“Take advantage of me,” he whispers.
I don’t really want to think about what he’s proposing. At least, I don’t want to understand it the way I’m thinking about it. But of course, I can’t keep my mouth shut.
“You’re going to pay me to be with you?” I ask.
He looks me right in the eye. “I’m going to pay you for your work, Jude. What kind of person do you think I am?”
I’m nervous and my stomach does a flip-flop, but I have another question.
“And what do you suppose my work will be?” I ask, this time in a low voice so no one can hear.
Without the slightest trace of annoyance, he keeps his impressive eyes on me. “I just explained it to you, sweetness,” he says. “You’ll be my administrative assistant. The person in charge of sending
a summary to Germany of what’s discussed at those meetings.”
Before I can say anything else, he takes my hand.
“I’m not going to deny that I’m attracted to you. I get excited when I touch you, and even more when I hear you moan. But trust me; what I’m proposing is entirely legit.”
That amuses me, and I laugh. I feel like Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal.
“Separate hotel rooms?” I ask.
“Of course. We’ll each have our own space. You can think about it until Tuesday. I’ll need an answer then, or I’ll have to look for another assistant.”
Just then, Giovanni shows up with an amazing pizza. The smell of the spices makes my mouth water. From that moment on, we drop the subject. I’m grateful. I have time to think about it. For the moment, we concentrate instead on our splendid meal.
10
When we leave the restaurant, Eric takes my hand again possessively, and I let him. More and more, I like how he makes me feel, though I’m a bit rattled by his proposal.
A part of me wants to reject it, and another part wants to accept it. I like Eric. I like his kisses. I like his touch, and his games. We walk in search of shade in the Royal Palace gardens while we talk about a million things, but nothing very seriously.
“Would you like to come to my hotel?” he asks abruptly.
“Now?”
He looks at me hungrily.
“Yes, now,” he whispers in a raspy voice. “I’m staying at the Hotel Villa Magna.”
My stomach flips. After just a few seconds of looking back at him, I nod, sure that’s what I want. We go hand in hand back to the parking garage.
“Are you going to let me drive?”
He looks at me with his disconcerting eyes and brings his lips close to my ear.
“Have you been good?”
“Very, very good.”
“And are you going to sing again?”
“You can bet on it.”
I hear him laugh, but he doesn’t answer. When we get to the parking garage and pay the ticket, he hands me the keys.
“Your wish is my command, sweetness.”
Excited, I jump in the air like Rocky Balboa, which makes him laugh again. I get on tiptoe and kiss him on the lips. This time, I’m the one who takes his hand and pulls him along to find the Ferrari.
Eric gets into the car and puts on his seat belt.
I turn the ignition and snap on the radio. Immediately, Maroon 5 fills the car.
“Don’t even think about turning it down,” I say before he has a chance to touch the volume. I give him a stern look.
He rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. As we leave the parking garage, with that amazing car in my hands I feel like an Amazon warrior. I know where the Hotel Villa Magna is, but I think I’m going to take a little ride around the M-30. Eric doesn’t say anything, just watches me and contends stoically with the radio and my singing. Half an hour later, when I’m finally satisfied, I slow down and ease off the M-30 to find my way to the Hotel Villa Magna.
“Happy now?”
“Very much,” I respond, still high from having driven such a car.
His hands caress me as they go up my legs and stop on my mons. He draws little circles, which makes me instantly wet.
“I hope that in the next half hour, you’ll be even happier,” he says.
That makes me laugh, while his hands play and squeeze my sex through my jeans. When we get to the door of the Hotel Villa Magna and get out of the car, he takes my hand again, grabs the keys, and gives them to the valet. He pulls me over to the elevator. The elevator operator doesn’t need to ask us anything: he knows perfectly well where to take us. As soon as we arrive at the top floor, the elevator doors open, and I see a sign, “Royal Suite.”
We enter, and I breathe in the luxury and glamour. Coffee-colored furniture, a Japanese garden . . . Then I realize there are two doors in that suite. I open them and discover two fantastic rooms with enormous beds.
“Why do you have a double suite?”
Eric comes close and leans on the wall.
“Because I play in one room and sleep in the other,” he whispers.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. A middle-aged man comes in.
“Bring us strawberries, chocolate, and a good French champagne,” Eric says. “I’ll leave the selection to your discretion.”
The man nods and leaves. I’m still in something of a state of shock from all the exclusive delights here. We take a few steps from the door and then walk around the suite. I go directly to the terrace.
Eric is soon behind me. He takes me by the waist and squeezes me against him. He leans his head down, and I feel sweet kisses all over my neck. I close my eyes and surrender. His hands move under my T-shirt and take a firm hold of my breasts. He rubs them, and I start to hum. We’ve just come into the room, and I can tell he is ready to ravage me.
I’m getting wetter with every second.
“Are you carrying the vibrator in your bag?” he asks.
“No,” I respond.
He doesn’t say anything, but without my making a move, he begins to unbutton my jeans and pull down my zipper. He slips his hand into my panties to my wet slit. He puts a finger on my clit and begins to move, stimulating it.
“I said to always have it with you, remember?”
“Yes.”
“You have to follow my advice if you want to truly enjoy our time together.”
I nod, totally under his spell, as his finger stops and he slowly pulls it away. I want to ask him to go on. Instead, he brings the finger to my mouth.
“I want you to know what you taste like. I want you to understand why I’m dying to devour you again.”
Without another word, I lean over and take his finger in my mouth. My sex is salty.
“Today, Miss Flores,” he whispers again in my ear, “you’ll have to pay for not having brought the vibrator.”
“I’m sorry . . .”
“No, don’t be sorry, sweetness,” he whispers. “We’ll play another game. Do you dare?”
“Yes . . . ,” I sigh, more excited with every second.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes . . .”
“Without limits?”
“But no S and M.”
I can feel him grinning, when we hear a knock on the door. Eric pulls away from me. I turn around and see the waiter has brought our order on a beautiful glass-and-silver table. Eric uncorks the champagne, pours two glasses, and offers a toast.
“To how much fun we’re going to have, Miss Flores.”
I gaze at him. He gazes back.
I tap my glass against his and nod with as much confidence as I can.
“Cheers to that, Mr. Zimmerman.”
11
Laughing, teasing, and touching each other, we drink almost the entire bottle of champagne out on the beautiful and enormous terrace. Madrid is at my feet, and I love the view. I’m still giving a lot of thought to the proposal Eric made at the restaurant.
Should I accept or reject it, given what it means?
I’m a little tipsy. I’m not used to drinking—and champagne, even less. I watch Eric talk on his cell phone. Dressed in those low-slung jeans and that black T-shirt, he really gets me going. He’s strong and athletic. He’s the type of man you can’t help but stare at, what with his clear blue eyes and short hair.
I hungrily check out his whole body and notice the top button of his jeans is undone. It excites me. An instant later, he drops the cell and grabs the ice bucket. He looks my way, his face bright. Hot. I’m very hot. He pours the last of the champagne into our glasses and jams the bottle upside down in the ice. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” he whispers, then kisses my forehead.
I’m suddenly nervous. The moment I’ve been wanting, desiring, and imagining since I saw him waiting for me with his Ferrari at the door of my apartment building has arrived. When we finally go into one of those beautiful and spacious bedrooms, I can’t take
my eyes off the huge bed. Eric moves about the room; suddenly, sensual music surrounds us. He sits and puts one hand on the bed. With the other, he lifts his glass and takes a drink.
“Are you ready to play, sweetness?”
He’s so sexy, so boyish . . . I’m willing. “Yes,” I manage to respond.
He nods and gets up to open a drawer.
He pulls out two black silk handkerchiefs and some gloves. This surprises and scares me all at once. But unable to move, I wait for him to come to me. And he does. He kisses me provocatively as his hand squeezes my behind.
“You have a sweet little ass. I want it so much.”
I step back. I’ve never had anal sex!
He grabs me by the ass again and squeezes me against him.
“Relax, sweetness. I’m not going to take you that way today. It excites me to know I’ll be the first—I will, won’t I?—but when we do it, you’ll be so excited that you’ll feel pleasure, not pain. Trust me.”
I nod in response to his question and swallow the knot in my throat.
“Today we’ll play with the senses,” he says. “I’m going to cover your eyes with this handkerchief. Touch it.”
I obey without a word and discover the smoothness of the fabric. Silk.
“What you will feel when I have you nude in bed will be as soft as what you felt when touching this handkerchief.”
That stirs my interest again. I assent. “I love your eyes,” I whisper, unable to contain myself. “Your gaze.”
Eric just looks at me for a few seconds, but he doesn’t acknowledge my words.
“After I blindfold you, I’m going to tie your hands to the headboard so you can’t touch me.” I begin to protest, but he brings a finger to my mouth. “This is your punishment, Miss Flores, for having forgotten the vibrator,” he adds.
That amuses me, and I look at the gloves with curiosity. He puts them on and touches my arms. I love how soft they are.
Without a word, he sits on the bed and looks up at me. I immediately understand what he wants, and I follow through. I undress. I come back to him, wearing just my bra and panties, and he leans his forehead on my belly; his mouth hovers over my panties. The sensation reaches my clit, and I feel it pulse. He takes off the gloves and leaves them on the bed. He grabs my waist with his strong hands and has me straddle him. I feel his hard penis between my thighs and his exhalations on my breasts.