I do a half-hearted search on social media, but then slap my laptop closed and decide it’s not worth my time.
Who cares who she is or why she’s doing this? Nadia Wolfe has obvious issues. Most of which will prevent her from playing a game with us. And if she does agree tomorrow night, well, she won’t be around long, that’s for sure. She wants something, but it’s some prize that has nothing to do with Jordan or me.
So fuck it. Fuck her. I don’t care about her motives.
I just want her on her knees. I want to bend her backwards and make her submit.
This is not the game I usually play. This game has nothing to do with taking turns.
This is about me for once.
It’s my turn, I realize. It’s my turn to take, and take, and take until I use her up and spit her out.
It’s been a long time since I did something like this. A very long time since I’ve had it my way. And now’s my chance. Just a little detour, I think in my head. A shortcut to ease the pain from losing the last game to Quin and Rochelle.
I won’t get lost.
I know my way through this dark forest.
Chapter Six - Nadia
Oddly, I do not think of them all day until… until… grrrrr, he makes me so mad. Until Jordan shows up—in person, at the front desk of the school—with a huge bouquet of red roses. Not the kind in the vase, either. The bouquet all wrapped up in pretty paper. The kind a prima ballerina might get on stage after opening night.
Of course he’s wearing one of those bazillion-dollar suits and looking hot as fuck. So by the time I follow Chris back to the front desk to see what the hell is going on, there’s a horde of young women, not to mention the mothers of the young students, hovering around. Buzzing like bees and asking him questions and… and he’s generally just being… him. Which is so irritating because he’s fucking hot and charming as all hell. And he knows it. Jordan is one of those guys who looks unapproachable at first. Very handsome. Strong square jaw with the perfect amount of stubble on it. Like he grooms himself that way on purpose. Which he does, because I’ve been at his house when he’s been getting ready for work on several occasions.
And he’s got hypnotic eyes. A weird green-brown-blue swirl of fucking sexy.
I want to growl again when he trains them on me as I approach. “Nadia,” he says, reaching for me with both arms outstretched.
I let him take my hands and pull me in so he can kiss my cheek. He wouldn’t dare do a full kiss on the lips in front of people. He’s not into public displays of affection. And neither am I, so I’m fine with that.
“I was thinking of you today and just wanted to drop these off myself before my afternoon meetings.”
The whole fucking room swoons as I take the flowers, sniff them as I smile for the crowd, then hand them to Chris and say, “Can you please put these in water for me? I’m going to walk Mr. Wells back to his car.”
I have to control my eye-roll as all the women in the lobby continue their gaping and ogling, because I know what he’s doing. He was mad at me last night. I behaved… not quite badly, but I didn’t react to their invitation the way they’d hoped.
“Did you come to any conclusions?” he asks.
“About?” I say, smiling sweetly and hooking my arm around his as I guide him over to the back door. We exit the school and walk over to a small pavilion where students gather on nice days. I look up at him, waiting for his answer.
“You know what,” he says in a low angry voice.
See, I have him down so well. He would never lose his temper in public. He would never display his dissatisfaction with me in front of people I work with. But out here… I tuck down the smile… he’s free to just be himself.
Control freak. Asshole. Kinky bastard. Dom. Sir. Take your pick, all of those words describe Jordan Wells.
“I haven’t had time to do my research,” I say, nodding my head towards the school. “I’m working.”
“Well,” he says, catching a stray piece of hair blowing in the slight wind and tucking it behind my ear. Such a player. “Plenty of time for that. We’re going out tonight, right?”
“Yes,” I say, trying my best to appear bored. Bric is a mystery to me. One night is not enough time to understand what makes him tick. And that night we were together I was so angry. Fucking Jordan. It was Christmas night and he called me up, ordered me over to his apartment, dressed me up like a doll, and then sent me to his friend as a gift.
Bric fucked me well enough. But he didn’t talk much and I was instructed not to talk. So I didn’t get much out of that night.
I did manage to piss Bric off though. I almost smile at that, gazing up at Jordan with the most innocent expression I can muster. “We actually had a nice, long conversation last night,” I say.
“I know.” Jordan says, not missing a beat. “He recorded it and sent it to me this morning.”
Asshole.
“So you’re playing games with other men?” he asks. His eye twitches as his words come out. This is his tell. I figured that out a long time ago. Sometimes it just means he’s thinking hard about something. But other times it’s a dead giveaway that he’s angry.
And right now he’s angry.
“Were you going to tell me about them? Or was this just yet another of your fucking games?”
“Jordan,” I say, still smiling. Still being sweet. I might not be in control of him—yet. But I have one hundred percent control over myself at all times. This is why I love ballet. It’s an endless stream of self-control, self-abuse, and self-assessment. “You were the one who said you didn’t want to know about me. Not one thing. Remember that?”
“I was not including your sex life in that, Nadia. And I’m pretty sure I made that clear.”
“Did you?” I ask. I tap my finger on my lip as I pretend to think this over. He absolutely did say this was an exclusive arrangement. “I can’t remember,” I lie. “We didn’t write any of it down.”
He nods his head and trains those green-brown-blue swirly eyes on me. “One point for Nadia,” he says, his voice deep and dangerous. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
“No.” I sigh. “Probably not. Your friend seems like a dot the i’s and cross the t’s kind of man. I’m expecting a contract from him.”
“As am I,” Jordan says. “And I’ll make you pay for this.”
I smile sweetly as I lean up on my tiptoes, cup his face in both my hands, and kiss him chastely on the lips. “You can try.” I turn away then, calling out over my shoulder, “See you tonight. And thank you for the flowers.”
“Be ready for us at seven fifteen,” he calls back.
I don’t even bother replying.
I feel powerful today.
Here’s the thing about men who like to dominate women. They think we’re weak. That we enjoy submitting. And I’m sure there are weak ones out there. Just like I’m sure some of them like to submit. But I’m not submissive. Not at all. And no one who knows me would ever describe me as weak.
I play this game with Jordan because I’m practicing. I’m learning how to be more dominant from an unequal starting point. I’m teaching myself to think outside the box when it comes to controlling men.
I’m still in control. He has to know that. We’ve been playing for weeks now and the first two, at least, I must’ve slapped his face in public a couple dozen times.
I’m testing him. Seeing how far I can push before he loses his cool.
He’s doing well, so far. But I’m just getting started. And even though I didn’t anticipate him inviting his friend into our little arrangement, I’m all for it.
Two clueless bastards to play with?
Why, yes, sir, I’d like that very much.
I smile all the way through my afternoon. All the way home to my apartment. And the whole time I’m soaking my aching feet and my aching body in my nightly bubble bath.
I choose my favorite dress from the closet. It’s a charcoal-gray A-line, wool coat dress with a cut-out back and a tailored waist. The silk lining feels so soft when I slip it on. A nice contrast to the wool exterior.