"One: I don't believe in God, per se, but I do believe in fate. I believe there's a reason I'm the one you've decided to help you end this. Is it bad timing? Sure. But when's the last time anyone was ready to find something as fantastic as we are together and it was just handed to them? Never. The best things happen when it's least convenient. Two: I can help support you while you sort out your marriage. I know it's not optimal, and I know you don't need anyone's help, but I can make it easier for you. I'd like to make it easier on you." He paused and took another sip of his scotch, swallowing slowly. "My third reason is my most compelling: I want you, Lena. I've never wanted anything more than I want you, and I'm willing to do anything to have you. I'm hoping you'll trust me to make this decision for us."
What he said was nuts. It was crazy. It was every bad idea I'd ever had, wrapped up in a bow, and put under the crazy tree. But it'd been years since someone had wanted me. And even though I knew it was a reckless decision, I couldn't admit I wasn't swayed by his words. I couldn't tell my heart to stop pounding in my chest, couldn't make my pulse stop skipping around, and couldn't keep the corners of my mouth from tipping up and even more, I didn't want to.
I could see the unease come over Preston when I didn't answer right away, and he began fidgeting with his glass again.
"I can't give you everything he gave you, can't provide the same kind of life he could, but I'm hoping you're looking for something different."
My hand instinctively found his again, trying to ease him slightly.
"Preston," I whispered, suddenly acutely aware we were having a supremely private conversation at a table in the middle of a swanky restaurant. "Look at me." His eyes found mine and I saw the worry in them. His apparent vulnerability tugged at my heart. "I'd be lying if I said I knew exactly what I wanted, or where I think I'll be in a month, or a year. But I do know that being with you has been the highlight of the last few years. Even in the wreckage that is my life," I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped me, "you've been able to give me something I've been lacking for so long, something I've always wanted."
"You haven't given me an answer."
"I don't have an answer."
"That's not good enough."
I shrugged. "It's the best I've got for now. I can't give you something I don't have, and I don't have any assurances. All I know with complete certainty is, I'm here with you right now and there's nowhere else I'd rather be."
Preston didn't move for a few moments and I felt my breath stall, afraid I'd lost him by not agreeing to his proposition. The panic that swelled within me was palpable, and I instantly wanted to take my words back, grab them right from the air and shove them back in my mouth. In fact, I opened my mouth to take it all back when he finally moved, only to grab his tumbler and throw back the rest of his scotch. He winced as he swallowed but then his gaze found me yet again.
"Lena." His voice was harsh and removed. Usually when he said my name, something inside me liquefied. This voice made everything tense up. "I want you to walk to the ladies room, remove your panties, keep them in the palm of your hand, and then come back out here to me."
His words shocked me, but they also excited me. The memory of being panty-less in the storage closet at the gala flashed through my mind and I remembered how exhilarating it felt. I saw this man, someone who I couldn't say I knew, really, but also did know. I knew how he worked, how he operated, and how, most of the time, he was transparent. He was always up front with me, always telling me exactly what he wanted and so, even though I couldn't agree to some exclusive relationship where we lived together and pretended as if everything were normal and not the fuck-up my life actually was, I could give him this.
Without a word, I scooted my chair back, stood slowly, and headed toward the back of the restaurant. I found the restroom with little difficulty and thanked the bathroom gods for a single room with a lock on the door. I didn't want to have to worry about another woman seeing me peel my underwear down my legs from the stall next to me.
With the black lace bundled up between my fingers, I rested both hands against the sink and looked at myself in the mirror, trying to figure out if I recognized the woman staring back at me. It was the same face I'd always seen, but she had a glint in her eye that was new. A glow to her skin she'd never had before. She was excited about something; and far be it from me to deny myself the one person who could make me come alive again.
I took a deep breath and closed my fingers around my panties, trying to be sure no piece of errant lace peeked out and shouted to the entire restaurant what I was up to. I also pulled down on my dress, which now seemed quite a bit shorter than it had when I left Preston's condo. The respectable just-above – the-knee hem now seemed like an expressway to my most private of areas.
Walking back to our table, my eyes flitted over everyone in the room, waiting for someone to notice I wasn't wearing underwear and point it out to everyone else. When I came upon our table, I noticed Preston had moved my chair to the very edge of the table, right on the corner, and he was sitting close to the corner as well. I managed to sit down, smoothing the hem of my dress down over my ass as I did, trying to make sure no one got a free show, and I noticed our elbows were touching; that was how close our chairs were now situated.
Preston watched me sit, a satisfied grin gracing his face, making his handsome rating skyrocket. When my hands smoothed over my ass, I saw his eyebrow quirk, his grin growing. My heart fluttered thinking about his eyes on my ass.
He cleared his throat and held out his hand, his eyes boring into mine. I gave him a questioning look. Obviously, I wasn't going to hand him my panties out in the open.
He simply snapped his fingers and laid his open palm out again, waiting for me to deposit my underwear.
"Preston," I whispered with annoyance, leaning a smidge closer to him.
"Sweetheart," he answered, looking expectantly at me.
I quickly placed the panties in his hand and forcefully curled his fingers around them, hoping no one nearby could tell what they were.
His eyes lit up when the lace hit his skin and I saw his fingers grinding into his palm, feeling the fabric. Then I watched, horrified, as he placed them in the front pocket of his suit jacket, a tiny bit of black lace peeking out, taunting me, like a dirty, erotic pocket square.
Just then our waiter brought our meals and my heart stopped while I waited for him to notice my underwear. Waited for him to catch on to us, realize our dirty game, and throw us out with our heads bowed in shame. But he didn't bat an eyelash at us. Didn't notice a thing. It was then I realized I was being paranoid and I was likely going to have to play along with Preston's game.
"Calm down, Lena. You're practically trembling in your chair and even though I like to see you tremble, I usually like it to be caused by me making you come, not because you're about to have a heart attack. No one knows what we're up to."
I took a deep breath in as I closed my eyes. He was right. I could eat a meal with no panties. No big deal.
I opened my eyes, picked up my fork, and brought a bite of risotto to my mouth. I stopped, mid-bite, when I felt Preston's warm hand on the chilled skin of my thigh. I tensed, waiting to see where his hand was headed, but I also shivered in excitement, goose bumps rising up on the skin of my arms. His touch did magnificent things to my system, caused so many wonderful nerves to go haywire. When his hand rested between my thighs, I pressed them firmly together in an effort to maintain some boundaries, but sighed in relief. I loved his hand on me, but could hardly enjoy my meal if it wandered where it wasn't allowed.
I continued to eat, as did Preston, and we shared trivial conversation. We spoke about our day and asked questions you would usually ask on a date with someone you were trying to get to know. At some point, I had to laugh to myself, finding humor in the fact that we were doing everything backward. I was married. He'd just asked me to live with him, and I'd just asked him where his favorite vacation spot was. I also had to smile because even though it was backward, it wasn't wrong. In fact, it was the most right conversation I'd had with a man in years. Our situation was strange, uncommon, and perhaps a little dramatic, but the way I felt for Preston was anything but wrong.
My breath caught again when his hand slid farther up my leg, now brushing the hem of my dress. I grabbed my water, taking a sip, the muscles in my legs becoming strained from holding my knees together. His hand squeezed the fleshy part of my thigh and he leaned over to me, his face just inches from my ear.
"Open up for me, Lena," he whispered. I could not move my eyes from my plate, afraid if I met his gaze I'd give in to him. I wanted to give in to him, wanted to feel his hand slide up my leg and into me, but not here. I worried my bottom lip between my teeth and shook my head slightly.