Stuck-Up Suit Page 6

  “I hate to eat it; it’s so beautiful.”

  “I have the opposite problem. It’s so beautiful; I can’t wait to eat it.” His smirk told me his comment had nothing to do with his fancy looking dinner.

  I shifted in my seat.

  We both dug into our meals. Mine was incredible. The fish literally melted in your mouth. “Mmm…this is so good.”

  Graham surprised me by reaching over and forking a piece from my plate. He didn’t seem like a plate sharer. I watched him swallow, and he gave a small nod of approval. Then I reached over and forked a piece of his meal. He smiled.

  “So. You’ve told me about Mitch the Itch and Funeral boy. Do you date a lot?”

  “I wouldn’t say a lot. But I’ve met my fair share of assholes.”

  “They were all assholes?”

  “Not all of them. Some were nice guys but just didn’t work for me.”

  “Didn’t work for you? How so?”

  I shrugged. “I just didn’t feel that way about them. You know. Like nothing more than a friend.”

  “And do you have any more dates in your forthcoming calendar?”

  “My forthcoming calendar?” I let out a ladylike snort. “You go from dirty talk to sounding like a snobby college professor pretty easily.”

  “Does that annoy you?”

  I thought about my answer for a moment. “I wouldn’t say annoy. More like amuse.”

  “I’m amusing?”

  “Yes. Yes, you are.”

  “Pretty sure I’ve never been called amusing before.”

  “I’d bet that’s because most people only see the asshole you show on the outside.”

  “That implies that I’m more than just an asshole on the inside.”

  Our eyes locked when I responded. “For some reason, I believe that you are. That there is more to you than just an asshole with a sexy exterior.”

  “You think I’m sexy.” He grinned, full of himself.

  “Of course I do. I mean look at you. You have a mirror. I’m guessing you figured that out all by yourself by now. It must not be difficult to fill up the evenings on your forthcoming calendar.”

  “Are you always such a wiseass?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He shook his head and grumbled something. “Speaking of forthcoming calendars. I would like yours cleared of any more dates. Other than me, of course.”

  “We’re halfway through our first date, and you’re telling me, not asking me, to not date other people?”

  He straightened in his seat. “You told me you weren’t going to sleep with me. That we were going to date and get to know each other. Does that still stand?”

  “It does.”

  “Well, if I’m not fucking you, no one else should be either.”

  “How romantic.”

  “It’s a deal breaker for me.”

  “And that would go both ways? You wouldn’t be seeing anyone else either?”

  “Of course.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  His eyebrows jumped in surprise. “You need to think about it?”

  “I do. I’ll get back to you on it.” It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the first time that Graham J. Morgan was not getting his way with a woman.

  Hours later, my phone buzzed in my bag. It was Delia checking on me since she knew I was out on a first date. I shot off a quick text to let her know I was safe and glanced at the time on my phone. We had been sitting in the restaurant for more than three hours. It wasn’t lost on me that it was the first time I had even thought about my phone.

  “Well, you were right about one thing.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific. I’m right about most things.”

  I shook my head. “And here I was about to give you a compliment, and you go and ruin it with your arrogant self.”

  “I believe arrogance is when you have an exaggerated sense of your own abilities. I don’t exaggerate. I would be a realist.”

  “Stuck-Up Suit is truly a fitting name for you, isn’t it?”

  Ignoring me, he asked, “What was the compliment?”

  “When we were texting during my funeral date the other night, you said if I were with you, I wouldn’t care where my cell phone was. Until it buzzed just now, I hadn’t even noticed I never took it out.”

  That pleased him. A little while later, Graham paid the bill, and I made a quick stop in the ladies’ room. Freshening up, it struck me that I really didn’t want our date to end. The thought brought on almost a melancholy feeling that surprised me.

  Outside of the restaurant, Graham’s black car was already curbside. He must have had it waiting and called the driver when I went to the restroom.

  “If you’re not going to come home with me, I insist on at least giving you a ride home to your place.”

  “The subway is right around the corner. I’m good.”

  He shot me an annoyed glance. “Give a little, Soraya. It’s a ride home, not a ride on my cock. And I think you know by now that I’m not a serial killer.”

  “You’re so crass.”

  He put his hand on the small of my back and steered me to the waiting open car door. I didn’t put up a fight. Graham was right, I was being stubborn while he had pretty much agreed to anything I demanded. Something told me it was a rare occasion when the man was this flexible.

  When we arrived at my apartment, Graham walked me to the door.

  “When will I see you again?”

  “Well, tomorrow is Saturday, so I suppose maybe Monday on the train.”

  “Have dinner with me again tomorrow?”

  “I have plans.”

  His jaw flexed. “With whom?”

  We embarked into a lengthy stare off. His gaze was hard. When neither of us gave for a few minutes, he grumbled Christ under his breath, and before I realized what was happening, my back was against the door, and his mouth was on mine.

  He kissed me as if he wanted to eat me alive. Before releasing my mouth, he took my lower lip between his teeth and tugged. Hard. With his lips vibrating up against mine, he spoke. “Don’t push me to my limit, Soraya.”

  “Why? What will happen?”

  “I’ll push back. And I’m trying not to do that with you.”

  He was being honest, and I realized I should appreciate that. “To my sister’s house. It’s my niece’s birthday party. That’s where I’m going tomorrow night.

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  It took every bit of my willpower to go inside and shut the door behind me. I leaned my back against the door, unable to remember the last time I was so hot and bothered. Maybe not ever. His mouth was sinful; the thought of what he could do with that wicked tongue other places on my body kept me in a state of arousal that bordered on frenzied. But it was more than that. The way he was so dominating and controlling, yet exercised restraint to respect my wishes, was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. The man stimulated something that had been sleeping inside of me. I needed a glass of wine and an orgasm. Not necessarily in that order. If I was going to be firm on my stance that we get to know each other and not have sex, then taking things into my own hands was absolutely essential.

  In my bedroom, I stripped out of my clothes. I didn’t sleep naked every night, but tonight was definitely a bare evening. As I slipped into bed, my cell rang.

  “Is phone sex on the table?” Graham’s voice was a needy rasp. Whatever cooling off my body had done since I left him on the other side of the door was instantly reheated. His voice could definitely speed things up for me. But…

  “Sex is off the table. That should probably include all types of sex. Intercourse, oral, phone.”

  He groaned. “Oral. God, I want to taste you. And feel that metal tongue ring on my cock. You have no idea how difficult it was to control myself tonight every time I caught a glimpse of that metal when you spoke. It’s like you’re taunting me with every word. What are you wearing, Soraya?”

  That voice. I needed to record him s
aying What are you wearing, Soraya? So I could play it over and over again in a loop when I needed to satisfy my own needs. “I’m actually not wearing anything. I just got undressed and slipped into bed.”

  “You sleep naked?”

  “Sometimes.”

  He actually growled. “Touch yourself.”

  “I plan to. But I think I’m going to need both hands tonight. So I’m going to hang up first.”

  “How long do you plan on driving me crazy, Soraya?”

  “Good night, Graham.” I hung up without waiting for him to respond. Even though my body physically ached for the man, I wasn’t ready to open that door with him just yet. Although as I glided my hand down my body alone in my bed, the only thing I could think of was God, I wish it was his hand.

  CHAPTER 8

  GRAHAM

  I DIDN’T HEAR FROM HER ALL DAY Saturday, not that I’d expected to. Soraya Venedetta was intent on driving me fucking nuts. I’d never been in this position before. I’d relentlessly pursued business ventures that I wanted until they inevitably gave in when I sweetened the pot and gave an offer they couldn’t refuse. But pursuing a woman was new to me. Sure, there were a few who made me chase for a first date. But by the end of the night, I was always certain what it was that made them tick. They wanted to be wined and dined, flattery, a business connection, a certain lifestyle. It wasn’t ever difficult to figure out. Until now.

  What makes you tick, Soraya Venedetta?

  The more the woman pissed me off, the more I wanted her. By ten in the evening, I couldn’t resist any longer. I was turning into an aggrieved pussy.

  Graham: How was your party?

  She responded a few minutes later. It gave me some sense of peace that she wasn’t so enraptured with someone she met that she stopped checking her phone.

  Soraya: On the train home now. Have I mentioned I don’t like clowns?

  Graham: You haven’t. But I think that is a pretty common phobia.

  Soraya: My little monster of a niece wasn’t scared in the slightest. Figures. What did you do tonight?

  I was sitting alone in my living room with piles of documents strewn all over my glass coffee table and a cognac in my hand. Today had been a fourteen-hour day. Every time I thought of contacting her, I forced my nose back into my work. My eyes gave out before my desire.

  Graham: I worked late.

  Soraya: You know the old saying…all work and no play…

  Graham: Makes Graham a wealthy boy.

  Soraya: Maybe. But what good is wealth if you have no time to enjoy it.

  I tossed back the remnant of my glass. I’d heard those exact words too many times to count. From my grandmother.

  Graham: Have you thought about what I asked?

  Soraya: Are you referring to my forthcoming calendar?

  Wiseass. It was driving me nuts to know she was out tonight and had refused to commit to not seeing other people. Yesterday, I had told her that it was a deal breaker. At the time, I was trying to push her into an all or nothing decision in my favor. But after the last twenty-four hours, I was certain there was no way in hell I could do an open relationship with this woman. Usually, it’s me who avoids committing. I was getting a taste of my own medicine, I suppose.

  Graham: I am.

  Soraya: How about this? You’ll come with me to a social event of my choosing, and I’ll attend one of your choosing. If you still want to see me exclusively after, I’m game.

  What did she think? That my spending time with her friends was going to make me realize we were so vastly different that it could never work? Or was it the other way around? She wouldn’t fit into my lifestyle. Clearly, she overestimated the extent in which I give a fuck about what people think in either camp.

  Graham: It’s entirely unnecessary, but if that makes you happy, I’ll do it. When can I attend a social event of your choosing?

  Soraya: Thursday night. Tig and Delia are having a party at their tattoo shop. It’s the one-year anniversary of the grand opening.

  Graham: Friday night. The Pink Ribbon Gala at the Met. It’s an annual fundraiser I support.

  Soraya: A gala, huh? I’ll have to dye my tips to match my fancy dress.

  Graham: Is it a date?

  Soraya: Two dates. And yes.

  That night, I slept better than I had the last week. As usual, Sunday afternoon I visited my grandmother. She had me take her shopping and then made me one of my favorite meals. It was generally my only homemade meal each week.

  Monday morning, I was up early and ran seven miles instead of my usual morning four. As I headed for the train station, I realized how much I was looking forward to seeing Soraya. When her stop came and went, and she didn’t get on, I pouted, then called my secretary to give her a list of things to do before I arrived. I knew it wasn’t possible to accomplish all of them, but at least it gave me an excuse to unload my frustration on someone.

  That day, I was especially cranky. By five o’clock, I found myself again writing to Ask Ida.

  Dear Ida:

  There’s a woman who I look forward to seeing on the train every day. This morning she wasn’t there. I think she might be intentionally avoiding me because she’s unable to fight her sexual attraction any longer and is worried she’ll give in and let me have my way with her. How can I be sure?

  –Celibate in Manhattan

  Twenty minutes later, a response popped up in my inbox.

  Dear Celibate:

  Get a hold of yourself. Contrary to what it appears you may believe, the world does not revolve around you. Perhaps this woman had an early morning doctor’s appointment to refill her birth control pills. Something a celibate man like yourself might appreciate—that is, if you are ever afforded the opportunity to break that vow of celibacy. Perhaps you should take a different train for a while. Better yet, take a trip to your own physician for some testing. On the off chance that you have an opportunity with this mysterious train woman, you’ll want to be prepared.

  My day had already been monopolized thinking about why she wasn’t on the train this morning. Fucking great. Now it would be impossible to think about anything else but coming inside of her, for the entire night.

  ***

  SORAYA NEVER SHOWED UP on the train the following two days either. I got the feeling she had chosen to intentionally avoid me until our date. Thank God tonight was the night of the party at the tattoo shop. Otherwise, I might have lost my damn mind.

  I was about to explode in more ways than one. My emotions were out of control, and it no longer felt healthy to hold everything in. There was only one person I could trust with details of my personal life. I normally never called my grandmother during the week, but for some reason, I felt like I needed her to set me straight today before I made a total ass of myself tonight. Pushing the pile of papers on my desk aside, I picked up the phone. It rang three times before she answered.

  “Graham? Are you alright?”

  “Everything is fine, Meme.”

  “You don’t normally call me on a Thursday.”

  “I know.”

  “What’s going on? You seemed preoccupied last Sunday. Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  Letting out a deep breath, I cut to the chase. “Am I a bad person?”

  “What kind of a question is that?”

  “There’s this…woman I’ve been seeing. She seems to distrust me. And I have to wonder if there’s a legitimate reason for that. Maybe I’m not good for her. Maybe I’m not good for anyone.”

  Never one to mince words, Meme laughed and said, “You do have a tendency to be a dick, sweetheart. But from what you tell me, that’s par for the course when it comes to your business dealings. Dealing with a woman, on the other hand, is a whole different ball game. And you’ve certainly played the field…”

  “That’s the thing. I have…but this one is different. It feels different. I don’t even know how to explain it. It ma
kes no sense, really. We’re nothing alike at all. She’s from Brooklyn…an Italian, hot-tempered, loose cannon with multi-colored hair. She calls me out on stuff. She can even be downright mean sometimes. Yet…I can’t get enough of her. But I can tell she doesn’t trust me. I don’t know how to get through to her.”

  Meme snorted. “I’m assuming by get through…you also mean she hasn’t allowed you to have your way with her?”

  “She hasn’t allowed anything to happen in that area, no.”

  “You’re just not used to women keeping their legs closed. There is such a thing as a lady with self-respect, you know. I think I like this girl.”

  I sighed into the phone as she continued.

  “It takes time to see people for who they really are. You need to be yourself and have patience, and eventually, she will see the real you.”

  “But what if the real me isn’t good for her? What if I’m toxic?”

  “Who said that?”

  “I don’t know if I am capable of love anymore…”

  “Just the fact that you even care, Graham, is a good sign. If it’s the right person, we’re all capable of it. You fell in love with that Genevieve, didn’t you?”

  Just the mention of her name made my stomach sour.

  “Look where that got me.”

  “You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think you’ve been trying so hard to control everything, intentionally picking the wrong people, just so you won’t get hurt. And now you’re starting to believe that you’re incapable of anything more. You’re beginning to believe your own lies.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I think this girl…what’s her name?”

  “Soraya…”

  “Soraya…huh…pretty.”

  I closed my eyes and twirled my watch around my wrist. “She is.”

  “Anyway, I think this girl is a wake-up call for you, that we don’t always have control over things. Just go with the flow. Let things happen on their own. Give up control. But more importantly, for God’s sake, don’t be an asshole.”