Blac as Night

Black as Night

I shook my head.

"Stop it, Olivia," I said. "It's not that you

can't

break up with Ethan. You mean you

won't

break up with him."

"No, Bethany," said Olivia. "I

can't

. I've tried. I've tried a dozen times. I just can't."

"Breaking up is easy," I said. "Just grab hold of his favorite toy and twist. He'll suddenly discover he can't

wait

to break up with you, even if he has to do it with a higher-pitched voice."

"It doesn't work like that with Ethan, Bethany," she said. "It just doesn't work at all. Nothing works. I can't break up with him."

"For fuck's sake, Olivia! We're not teenagers anymore! At 27 years old, men don't tell us what to do.

We

tell

them

what to do. What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Ethan's different."

"He's controlling you, Olivia! He's even got a collar on you."

"It's not a collar! It's a choker. It's a symbol of our relationship."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, it's definitely that all right. Look, I'm going with you tonight. All right? I'm going and I'm going to get you away from him."

Olivia looked miserable, but I didn't let her argue. Tonight, whether she liked it or not, she was going to learn how to get rid of a parasite.

*****

We met Ethan at a piano bar called 'Keys'.

"It's his last name," said Olivia. "He thinks it just fits perfectly, being a piano bar and all."

"Wait a minute," I said. "It's Ethan's bar? He owns the bar?"

"Oh, yeah," said Olivia. "He's got a bunch of money. He's loaded."

I sighed. "No wonder he's a controlling jerk."

We moved through the dimly lit lounge as the piano player provided background music. The female musician sang while she played, throaty renditions of well-known and not so well-known tunes. A thin sax player dressed all in black accompanied the piano from time to time.

Olivia led me to a dimly lit table in the back. Ethan was already there.

He was annoyingly good-looking. Dark hair, thick shoulders, just the right amount of five-o'clock shadow. His clothes were expensive and he knew how to wear them. Confidence bordering on arrogance.

His eyes were wrong, though. That's what Olivia was missing. Ethan's eyes were just wrong. Dark, brooding, mysterious, whatever you wanted to call them. But they were wrong.

Ethan smiled as we arrived at his table. "Good evening, ladies," he said. "I don't recall instructing you to bring anyone tonight, Olivia, but you've done well regardless. Who is your attractive friend?"

I looked at Olivia and waited for her to explain my presence, but it only took a glance to realize that she was gazing at him in helpless thrall.

Olivia said, "I...I...you look sooooo good tonight, Ethan. I.."

I rolled my eyes. "My name is Bethany," I said. "I'm Olivia's friend. And I'm here to let you know that she's done with you."

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," I said. "She's done being bossed around by you. Done being your pretty little arm candy. Done being a decoration. Done being objectified. Just done. Do I need to spell it out for you?"

Ethan smiled. "I don't believe you do, Bethany," he said. "Between your articulation and air of barely suppressed rage and violence, I feel you were quite clear. But let's hear what Olivia has to say, shall we?"

One look at Olivia's blank gaze of adoration told me that was a lost cause. "Let's not," I said. "I've already said everything that needed saying."

"I'm sure you have," he said. Then, still holding my gaze, he said, "Olivia, sit next to me."

Olivia immediately moved to the chair next to him and sat down. She leaned forward and put her hand on his leg.

I rolled my eyes again. "Olivia, what the hell is wrong with you? I can't believe you're looking at him like that! I can't believe you-"

Ethan held up his hand.

I glared at him. "Don't you DARE try to shush me, you arrogant, misogynistic, piece of-"

Ethan held up both hands now. "Easy, Bethany. I'm not sure what you've heard about me, but I really think you're judging me harshly without even knowing me."

"I know enough," I grated.

He chuckled. "Perhaps you do," he said, "or perhaps you only think you do. Either way, do you really think you're treating me fairly? Does Olivia truly look mistreated?"

Olivia was still gazing at Ethan with big calf-eyes. I shook my head in disgust.

"I have no idea how you managed to inveigle your way into the head of an intelligent woman like Olivia, but I'm not going to let you get away with it."

Ethan laughed. "I could almost believe you. You have quite the fiery spirit, don't you?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't patronize me, dickhead."

He chuckled again. "I'll tell you what, Bethany. I'll make you a deal."

I shook my head. "I don't think so, Sparky. I don't make deals with slimeballs."

Ethan took a swallow of his drink, then set his glass down. "Hear me out, please. I'll make you a deal. You and I will go out on three dates, which should be a sufficient number for you to get to know me at least somewhat. If after those three dates, you still feel that Olivia and I should part ways, then I will agree to release her."

I said through gritted teeth, "You'll

agree

to release her? Like, what, a fucking prisoner exchange? Who the hell do you think you are? If she doesn't want to be with you, then it doesn't matter if I go on dates with you or not."

Ethan smiled, although it didn't touch his wrong eyes. "You'd think so, wouldn't you?" He turned to Olivia. "Olivia, baby, do you want to leave me?"

Olivia said, "Oh, no, sweetie! Never!"

Ethan looked back at me. "See?"

I could feel my face flushing with anger. I couldn't wait to pry Olivia away from this fucking arrogant asshole.

"You know what?" I said. "Fine. Three dates. After those three dates, you'll cut her loose. And you'll keep your word, because if you don't, I'll cut your fucking balls off. Understand?"

Ethan tilted his head in a way that almost made it look like a regal bow. "I do indeed, Bethany. Provided, of course, that you still feel she should no longer reside within my orbit."

"Very little chance of you changing my mind on that, dickhead," I said. "And to be clear...there will be no sexual payoffs during these 'dates', understood?"

Ethan smiled again, and this time his wrong eyes did as well. "Outside your presence," he said, "I place no expectations upon our dates."

"Good," I said. "Then we finally agree on something."

"Indeed," he said. "We'll set our first date for tomorrow night, then. Shall we meet here at, say, seven?"

I gave him a look, then nodded. "Seven is fine."

"Excellent," he said. "Until tomorrow night, then."

*****

I cooled down on the way home, mad more at myself for letting him get under my skin than at Ethan. Ethan was, after all, likely just being his usual misogynistic self and I had no business expecting anything less.

Thinking about expectations reminded me that I knew absolutely nothing about Ethan Keys and since I was going to be going on three dates with the man, I needed to perform some due diligence. Hell, 'Ethan Keys' might not even be his real name, for all I knew.

So, with my laptop open and a glass of red wine next to me, I started scanning the usual sites.

A typical scan of criminal record sites produced nothing. Not even a parking ticket. Not that that necessarily meant anything, of course. I had no doubt Ethan had a lawyer every bit as slick as he was and surely wore suits even more expensive than his. Still, I was disappointed not to find at least one or two pending tax evasion charges. Some kind of white-collar criminal activity would have given me something to work with.

I started scanning various social media sites then. He seemed to show up a lot more on other people's sites than on his own, and it was almost always with women. Very attractive women. He certainly had his share, it seemed. I was almost flattered that he was willing to ask me on a date.

Almost

flattered. I hadn't forgotten what he was about, even if Olivia had.

His own sites seemed to focus more on his bar and the various celebrities that stopped in from time to time. There were quite a number of pictures of him sitting with actors, sports stars and others of similar fame. I had to grudgingly admit he did appear to have a certain level of notoriety.

Whatever. I was not going to let him take advantage of Olivia any longer.

Chrystal Heights clerk of courts didn't give me any joy. I checked the property appraiser to see if he really owned the bar, and if he did, who his partners were. But all I learned was that he was indeed the owner, and the sole owner at that.

I even checked the sexual predator website, but came up just as empty.

So after an evening spent digging into Ethan's background, I knew very little that I didn't already know. Whatever. It was just three dates and that was the last I'd have to hear of Ethan Key.

*****

"Good evening," said Ethan. "Right on time, I see. Shall we commence?"

I had to admit he looked good. He was clean-shaven tonight and wearing a different suit from the evening before. It was tailored well and accentuated his movements, rather than hindering them, and probably cost more than my car. Whatever.

He stepped forward and offered his arm. I placed a hand on his forearm and smiled tolerantly. He could play a gallant gentleman all he liked, but I knew what he was about. He did smell nice, though. Masculine.

I didn't like Ethan and I hated being on his arm like a piece of fluff. But I had to admit that walking through his bar, with every eye in the place focused on me and knowing Ethan's reputation for only dating high-end women, gave me a warm rush. I glanced down, blushing as I realize the sensation in my belly had made me slightly wet. Not that I'd ever admit that to Ethan.

We exited the club. To my surprise, a limousine awaited us. The driver opened the door for us with a tip of his cap.

Ethan wasn't fooled by my non-chalance. "You expected less?"

I ignored him.

Ethan motioned for me to enter first, so I slid onto the plush limo seating, settling in. Ethan then entered and took his place on the seat next to me. I felt he was sitting closer to me than necessary, his hand on the seat right next to my leg, though not touching. Not quite.

It was weird. Twenty-seven years old and I felt like a fucking teenager on a date. I thrust it out of my mind and made a show of looking through the windows, watching the scenery pass.

Despite our proximity, Ethan thankfully made no move to touch me. "You really should relax, Bethany," he said. "We're just going out for dinner and conversation. Your purity is quite safe this evening."

I shrugged, but strangely enough, I did feel myself relaxing slightly. Ethan was still a jerk, but at least he was sensitive to the awkwardness of the situation.

He left me alone for the rest of the ride. Eventually the limo pulled in front of our destination and the driver got out and circled around to open our door.

As I stepped out of the limo, I realized we were at

The Avenue

, a five-star restaurant in downtown Heights that had a menu without prices and a maître d' that could out-British the queen. Or at least the story went, since I had never set foot in the place. A doorman opened the door as we approached.

"Good evening, Mister Key," said the doorman. "So good of you to join us again."

Ethan nodded as we entered. "Thank you, Lawrence."

Our way was suddenly blocked by a large man in a perfectly tailored tux. It was difficult to see his eyes, as his head was tilted back. He studied us as he stared down the bridge of his nose.

I paused, prepared to walk right back out the door, but Ethan just said, "Good evening, Charles. Have you lost weight? You're looking well."

The ghost of a smile passed over his face. "Thank you for noticing, sir. Your table is ready, of course. Follow me, please."

The legendary maître d', then. And Ethan was all buddy-buddy with him.

I looked at Ethan. "We just arranged the date last night. How were you able to get reservations at a place that's usually booked weeks in advance?"

Ethan shrugged modestly. "There are always cancellations, tables held in reserve for unexpected VIP guests, that sort of thing. I'm sure I just got lucky."

Grrrrr. Fucking showoff.

Ethan grinned, as if he could read my mind. "Don't ask questions you don't want answers to, my sweet."

Flushing, I said, "Don't call me that."

Charles showed us to our table, pulling out my chair for me before allowing me to sit. A pitcher of ice water awaited us. He took our drink orders and disappeared, moving impossibly fast and quiet for a big man.

We studied the menu in silence for a few minutes. I got the impression that Ethan was just being polite, as he likely already knew the menu well. A waiter arrived with our drinks and took our order. The waiter wasn't quite as snooty as Charles, but you could tell he aspired to be.

The food ordering business done, Ethan settled back, a half-smile on his face. "So tell me, Bethany," he said, drink in hand, "just what is it about me that you feel makes me so bad for Olivia?"

Your eyes

, I thought.

Your eyes are all wrong.

"The way you treat her," I said.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. I hated how aristocratic that made him look. "The way I treat her?"

"Yes. Like property. Like she's

your

property."

He smiled again. His eyes were wrong, but his smile...his lips...actually weren't bad. Almost sensual.

"I'm sorry you see it that way," he said, "but I'm afraid I have to disagree. Olivia is quite free to come and go as she pleases. I've never placed any restrictions on her."

I took a swallow of my wine, which was superb. The best red wine I'd ever tried, by far. "I don't mean restrictions like chains," I said. "I mean emotional chains. She can't make a move unless she knows you approve."

He looked thoughtful then and I was again struck by how sensual his mouth was. There was mystery in the strength of his jawline, his lips, something I couldn't put my finger on. Something expressive. Stealthy, enigmatic one moment, straightforward the next, unfathomable after that. I wanted to kiss his mouth, to taste those lips...

I gasped, pulling myself from the thought-stream. Where the hell did that come from?

Ethan looked at me, his eyes slightly narrowed in apparent concern. The expression looked foreign on his features. "Are you all right, my sweet?"

"Of course I am," I said, taking another swallow of wine to cover my irritation. "And I told you not to call me that."

Ethan chuckled. "Of course you did," he said. "My apologies."

I steered the conversation away from Olivia then, into safer territory while I re-centered myself. By the time I was ready to get back to business, our meals arrived, so there was a brief respite as we began eating.

I was shocked at how rich the food tasted. Ethan ate without pause, apparently used to decadent dining, but it was a new experience for me. I was savoring every bite, trying to hide my pure pleasure. Ethan wasn't fooled and appeared to enjoy my almost silent moans of indulgence.

Of course, I wasn't going to admit that part of my enjoyment derived from watching his mouth move, his jawline shifting as he chewed his steak. It was just...so masculine.

I gasped again as I jerked myself out of that thought-stream, although it was less jarring this time. All right, fine, so I liked the man's lips. Not a big deal. I could like his lips without liking the man himself. Geez.

We made it through dinner without me further embarrassing myself, so I considered it a win. I finally set my fork on the plate and pushed it away from me, stifling a belch. I forced myself to look at Ethan again.

"All right," I said, "let's get back to it. Back to your plans with Olivia."

"Of course," said Ethan. "As you wish. But first, there is some sauce on your cheek. Please allow me."

Ethan lifted his clean, white cloth napkin to his mouth and pressed it to his tongue. I suddenly knew what he was going to do- I

knew

- but for some reason I was unable to react, to form a protest, anything. In what felt like slow motion, he moved the cloth from his tongue and moved it toward me, pressing it against the side of my mouth. He held it there for several moments. Then he wiped off whatever it was he had seen.

I lubricated. Completely, helplessly, embarrassingly wet.

And worse, I was sure he knew. Positive he could smell my arousal. But all he did was pull back his napkin and set it back on his lap.

"I'm sorry, my sweet," he said. "You were saying...?"

My heart was beating in my throat. I was so wet, my panties soaked. I was tempted to slip off to the bathroom, do what I needed to do to be able to think straight. But I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

"I was saying..." I said, controlling my squirm with an iron will, "...I was saying...do they have a dessert menu?"

The bastard laughed. Grrrrrr.

*****

I made it through dinner without further embarrassing myself. Dessert was something I couldn't pronounce, but it was so decadent and heady, it felt like a religious experience.

We exited the restaurant and Ethan's limousine was waiting outside. The driver once again held open the door. Ethan put a hand on my hip as I slid into the car, ostensibly helping me inside. I let him get away with it. I was aching to get home now, aching with need to get home, to get my vibe, to obliterate the heat in my belly. And to maybe put a dent in a bottle of wine.

Ethan was once again sitting too close to me, on the edge of my personal space, his masculine scent enveloping me. His lips once again distracting me.

I squirmed in my seat. Concentration was a chore. I realized I was unconsciously wriggling my hips and I immediately stopped. I pressed my thighs together and bit my lower lip. I wasn't going to give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten to me. Wasn't going to happen.

Ethan said, "Are you all right, my sweet?"

Grrrrrr. "I told you not to call me that!"

"You're right, of course," he said. "I apologize. I only asked because we've been back at the bar for several minutes and you haven't moved."

I looked up. Crap. It was true. We were parked in front of Ethan's piano bar. I immediately got up to move for the door, but I stumbled slightly and tumbled across Ethan's lap.

Ethan caught me, his arms around my shoulders, his face inches from mine. I gazed at his face...those lips...just inches from mine. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

"Be careful, my sweet," he said. "We wouldn't want you getting hurt before you separate Olivia from myself, would we?"

Then he leaned in slightly and pressed his lips against mine.

I couldn't have pulled away even if I had tried, but I didn't even try. I had no strength. I moaned into his mouth, helpless to stop, as the sudden intensity from our lips touching caused my barely restrained heat to smolder, seethe and then explode.

I shuddered as pure heat and pleasure surged through my body. I knew I was wriggling in his arms, moaning like a slut as his kiss turned me into a squirming, overheated creature of want and need. His lips, his tongue seemed to activate every erogenous zone I had and I suddenly realized that if I didn't stop right now...if I didn't get away this very moment...I never would. I'd be naked on the floor of Ethan's limo, on all fours, my bare hips high as he stroked into me again and again, filling me, using me as he would any other object he owned...

With a sudden wrench of will, I pulled away and rolled off his lap. It was undignified, but that was the least of my worries now. I scrambled for the door handle.

Ethan didn't try to stop me. He chuckled as I tumbled out the door.