Hard Read Free

of hers. How much are we alike, her and I? And then, as an after thought, I consider how her eyes might change when she comes. When her orgasm has her at the verge of euphoria—that moment when, no matter how tightly controlled someone is, they all eventually let go.
    That moment when her body becomes all nerves and sensations, consumed with pure and utter bliss.
    I want to witness that.
    I need to witness that.
    I have to capture that.
    “Whiskey Sour,” I say. My words are curt, bordering on rude, because I’ve ordered the exact same drink for the last three months. Regardless of this fact, I am just another customer. A faceless patron she serves with that mild, false smile that has become routine. She flashes it now as she turns to go make my drink. My gaze flicks down to her round ass as she walks away. I imagine what her face will look like when I get my hands on her. When I sink my incisors into that supple flesh.
    It’s painful to consider. Agonizingly so. I want to follow her behind the bar, lift her skirt in front of all these people and plunge deep inside of her. The thought has my balls tightening. But knowing I can’t causes an ache in my gut. All in time. And until then, I will enjoy the sight in front of me.
    Beauty is for the eyes. And she is a sight for these sore eyes.
    Holland goes right to work, mixing my cocktail. Always efficient. Always the good employee. She drops the cherry in and places a straw into the glass, never once looking away from her task. Even as she brings it to me, her eyes never shift my way.
    She reaches across the table, setting my glass down, and I grasp her wrist around the cuff of her sleeve. My thumb overlaps my long fingers and I wonder how good her delicate arms will look tied to my bed. Yes . I need to experience that.
    Her eyes snap up to finally meet mine. I find it interesting that though I’m squeezing her arm, her pulse remains steady beneath my grip, and her gaze shows no sign of fear or anger. Though it should. It definitely should. I am not a nice man.
    This woman is a robot. A highly educated, well-mannered, nearly perfect, cold, emotionless machine. Maybe that’s what sparks my need further and fuels my next move.
    “When do you get off work, Holland?” If she’s surprised by my question or use of her name, she hides it well. Even more fascinating, she answers me immediately, without hesitation.
    “Two o’clock.”
    Still holding her wrist, I quickly check my watch. Two is not good. It’s too late. Too dark. I don’t like to drive at night. But I’ll make it work. I tug on her arm, pulling her closer.
    “I’d like to take you somewhere.” I don’t present it as a question. Though she has a choice—because I always give them a choice—I state it in such a way that makes it clear I won’t be taking no for an answer.
    The light clinking of glass reminds me we’re still in a public place. I release her arm, but she doesn’t step back to a safe distance. It’s this lack of self-preservation that has me fixated on this woman.
    So undeniably damaged to perfection.
    “Where?” she asks.
    “Does it matter?” I lean on my elbows, inclining toward her. It doesn’t matter to her. I know it doesn’t. I could tell her I want to take her into the woods to sacrifice her body to the devil and I don’t think she’d bat an eyelash.
    Her small shoulders lift in a shrug, her head shifting from side to side, and my dick twitches with yearning. She has no inkling what she’s just signed on for.
    I am contradiction in its most basic form. There’s nothing I love more than a compliant, pliable woman.
    Easy.
    Submissive.
    Willing.
    And at the same time, she’s a puzzle that needs solving. A challenge. An enigma.
    “Two o’clock,” I confirm. “And don’t change.”
    She looks down at her white blouse and black pencil skirt, running her fingers over her stomach. “You want me to keep my uniform on?”
    Yes. Yes I do . For now .
    I nod dismissively.