Page 18 of Madame X

“What about you, X? What are you attracted to?” Suddenly, the air is thick, and tense, and I am caught off guard.

I take a step back. “This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it? If I succeed at your little game, then shouldn’t you be affected by it?” You follow me, and now you are in my space.

Staring down at me. Eyeing me. Assessing me.

We’re of a height—flat-footed you would actually be an inch shorter than I am, but in those boots with the thick heel, we are even. Yet somehow you manage to look down at me. Your presence somehow captures that masculine energy of dominance, of heat, hardness. You are close, too close, nose to nose with me, green eyes blazing, seeing. Your hands go to mywaist, clutch me. Pull me flat against you. Breasts smash against breasts. Hips mash against hips. Yet, despite the scent of your arousal in the air, in my nose, there is no thick ridge between us, no physical thickening of desire. It’s baffling. Disorienting. You exude masculine need. You hunger. Your hands dig into my hips just so, and your eyes rake down from my eyes to my cleavage, and your lips tip up in an appreciative grin.

I am breathing hard. Gasping for air. Dragging deep lungfuls of oxygen, swelling my chest within my dress, and you notice. Your hips grind. Something in me sparks, flashes. Heats. The strange mix of your of softness and hardness is alluring and disorienting. Your hip bones are hard against mine, yet there is softness too, and when you grind again, I feel the spark once more, when your front rubs against mine.

I am still, tensed, rigid. Frozen. I do not know what to do. What is happening? What am I feeling? What are you doing?

What amIdoing, letting this happen?

I shove away, stumble backward. “This... that isn’t appropriate, George—Georgia.”

You smirk. Swagger as you follow my retreat. “Ain’t so absurdly simplistic anymore, is it, X?”

“You signed a contract, Georgia.” I am reminding both of us, and you somehow know it.

“Ain’t none of us that simple, babe. You felt it. You feltme.”

“The contract, Georgia.”

You sneer. “Fuck the contract, X. You and your haughty pussy want me, X. You smell me, and you don’t like it. Icomplicateshit for you, don’t I?” You stand chest to chest with me again. My nipples betray me, go hard. I know you feel it. “You wet, X? All slippery for me? You know how good a dyke can make you feel? I know what you like, ’causeIlike it too. Just the same way. No guy can ever lick your pussy as good as I can. I knowjusthow to make you squirm, make you want it and wantit and want it, and not give it to you till it’s too fuckin’ much to take. I know, X. Iknow. You want a taste? Get a little dirty? Be a little bad?”

How did this happen? Where did this come from? One moment we were discussing you, your appearance, everything was proper and in control and at least somewhat familiar. And then, suddenly, apropos of nothing,this. You, in my space, in my head, under my skin.

There is a gleam in your eye. Something... clever, and malicious. You know exactly what you are doing.

You’re fucking with me.

And I do not like it. Not one bit.

“Enough.” I stand my ground, steel my spine, razors in my gaze. “Our hour is done.”

You smile, a slow, knowing curve of your lips. “All right, then. If you say so.”

I have no idea how much time has passed. I do not care. You disrupt my worldview, George. You make it seem narrow, somehow.

My worldviewisnarrow. My worldview is made up of 3,565 square feet. Three bedrooms, one bathroom, and an expansive open-plan kitchen and living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the heart of Manhattan. That’s my worldview.

That’s my whole world.

And you in it, this sudden seduction... it disrupts everything I know.

I, fighting for equilibrium and composure and breath, push past you. Wrench the door open with far too much force. Wait, eyes staring at you but not seeing you.

You swagger to the doorway, boot heels clicking, and stop face to face with me yet again. Too close, yet again. “Confident enough for you now, X?”

You’ve taken control of this, somehow, stolen my grip on what I do and who I am and what I want. I look at you, feigning calm. You smirk, knowing the lie. You push closer, until our bodies are flush, lean in, in, and I think you’re going to kiss me. Instead, you lick the tip of my nose. My upper lip. Smirk.

“See ya next week, X. Think about what I said. What I offered. I wasn’t kidding, you know. I’ll get you out of here, show you a good time you won’t ever forget, I can guaran-damn-tee you that, sweetheart.”

“Good-bye, Georgia.”

“Call me George. We ain’t in the boardroom, are we? We’re past formalities, I’d say. I’ve felt your nips get hard, smelled your pussy get wet. Makes us friends, I’d say.”