No Strings

He wondered if she felt the little current of whatever this was floating between them. The strong physical connection. The I feel like we’ve met before feeling. Xavier had only felt this once or twice before, once with his now ex-fiancée, Sasha.

The minute he thought about her he pushed memories of her away. They were too painful. They were the whole reason he and a group of his fraternity brothers had created Nost in the first place. The little app had exploded over the last few weeks, taking them from a bunch of largely unknown software engineers to being propositioned by Google and Facebook for potentially millions. Xavier had nearly the whole world at his feet, but all he wanted was a little companionship. Temporary companionship, he reminded himself. He thought of Sasha, her dark eyes and cocoa skin, the way she tilted her head back when she laughed, how much she reminded him of his own mother. His mother who died when he was a kid. Sasha used to have him wrapped around her little finger. That was...until he found out she betrayed him.

He didn’t need more pain. Not now. Probably not ever.

Concentrate on the now. The future is too painful. That’s why you live in the moment, he reminded himself.

“So...was that really your first date from Nost?” he asked her, which was his way of prying without prying. He got why anonymous sex wasn’t for everybody. Newbies were a wild card. But he wasn’t about putting pressure on anyone. You were in or out, as far as he was concerned.

He watched the color bleed into her cheeks. “Yep. Happy Fun Time was it. Just signed up yesterday...and not sure it’s for me. My friend Sarah actually insisted I try it. But...I don’t know. I’m a little skeptical. What’s in it for women?”

“Oh, everything, actually,” Xavier said, raising his glass to his lips. “You’d be surprised.”

She quirked an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, as she set her own glass back on the bar, and played with the small black straw, pushing the slice of lime around her cup. “Casual sex was invented by men.”

“I don’t know about that. Women want just as many partners as men do, you know. It’s just that society tells them they should be good girls. But that’s all just a construct, really, something men want.”

“You’re saying men want women to have fewer partners,” she challenged.

“Of course. Men want it both ways: they want to have sex with as many women as possible, but keep most women at home, under wraps. A fully realized sexual woman who isn’t afraid to go after what she needs terrifies most men.”

A small blush crept up her pale cheek, which Xavier found a little bit adorable.

Definite newbie. Xavier had more than a handful of women who claimed they’d never consider Nost, who suddenly wound up in his bed. And it wasn’t just his imposing physique. He knew that anonymous sex could be freeing. If you let the concept in.

“I write for Helena, the women’s online magazine?” He knew it and nodded. “I kind of thought this would all just be fodder for my next article.”

“Ah, so you’re going to tell your readers how terrible and sexist the whole thing is,” he teased.

“N-no,” she countered. “I mean, I was going to research it and...”

“But you’d made up your mind before you even tried it,” he said, reading her like the open book she was.

“Maybe.” She stirred her drink once more, focusing on the ice cubes there. “And Happy Fun Time didn’t help.”

“Don’t let him be the poster child for your experience,” Xavier said. “Believe me, he’s the exception not the rule.”

“So what do you do for a living?” she asked him, blue eyes intent on an answer. She was a seeker, a collector of facts, someone who wouldn’t rest until she got all the information.

“Work in tech,” he said, and shrugged. He glanced at the melting ice cubes in his glass.

“Where?”

“Here and there.” He grinned. It was the truth. He’d worked at other companies before founding Nost. He’d had a lot of practice not revealing details about himself. He’d made that mistake in the past, letting on where he’d worked, and a woman found him through a Google search with only his first name and Nost. She stalked him, showing up at work, at his apartment, asking for a relationship he wasn’t willing to give. He’d been up front with her, but after two nights with him...she’d fallen for him. It had been a whole mess, actually. Now he’d learned to be more careful. He knew exactly what to reveal—and what to keep secret. He had his rules.

“Tell me more about this article,” he said, deftly changing the subject as he deflected interest away from him. “Am I changing your mind about Nost?”

She glanced up at him. “Not sure yet,” she said. “I’m Emma, by the way.”

“X,” he replied, and she laughed a little. He never gave his name anymore. Not after the other woman found him.

“No, really.”

“Seriously—that’s what my friends call me.” Because Xavier is too much of a mouthful for most. “But, also, no names, it just makes it simpler. On Nost.”

“So I should just call you Mr. X?” Emma giggled at the idea. “What are you, a comic book villain?”

Xavier leaned in closer and got a whiff of her perfume...white flowers? Something light and floral. “That depends. Do you like bad boys?”

Now Emma just threw her head back and laughed. The sound was all light and air—music to Xavier’s ears. The only thing he loved more than making a woman laugh was making her come.

“No. Not usually. I’m the strictly nice guy type.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Xavier sloshed his whiskey around the ice cubes in his glass, still studying her perfect cheekbones, and the lovely tilt of her chin. He wanted to kiss the tiny dimple that lay there.

She self-consciously played with a strand of her hair, and glanced at him sideways. Her eyes sparkled just a little. She was flirting with him. He was one hundred percent sure.

“Not that great,” she admitted. “All the nice guys I’ve dated ended up being...not so nice.” She frowned, her full, pink lips falling into a pout that could drive most men wild. “My last boyfriend decided a promotion was more important than me. He took the job across the country without even talking to me about it first.”

“Maybe you should just start with a bad boy and then you know what you’re getting.” Xavier flashed a grin and Emma laughed.

“Maybe,” she conceded. “Why are you on Nost?”

Her eyes probed him for an answer. This was the journalist at work, he realized. He liked the fire in her, the curious intelligence in her blue gaze. She wasn’t like the other women he’d met recently. This one thrived on information. Keeping it from her would be a challenge, but one he’d happily accept.

“I love women,” he said. “Sex for me isn’t about me, it’s about them. I can’t be satisfied...unless they are. There’s nothing more beautiful...or more humbling than giving a woman pleasure.” To him, this was absolute truth. Nothing satisfied him more than seeing a woman, head back, mouth open, lost in ecstasy. Knowing that he brought her there.

Emma shifted uncomfortably in her seat and rattled her drink. “But don’t you want...more? Don’t you want love and...a real relationship and all of it?”

“I used to want that. I had that,” he said, feeling a wave of sadness that was stronger than he expected. “I was engaged last year. But...” He thought of Sasha, of finding the passionate text messages she’d sent to another man, of the photos she’d sent wearing the lingerie he’d bought her. Those images would be seared into his brain forever. “I found out she’d been sleeping with someone else. Actually, a lot of someones.” He took a long sip of his whiskey, the alcohol leaving a distant burning sensation down his throat. “I’d never been so blindsided. So...heartbroken.” He shrugged. “I guess I’m just not ready for any of that, anything more serious. Not right now. Maybe not ever.”

“She did a number on you,” Emma said, her blue eyes sad, empathy radiating from them.

He nodded and shrugged.

“What was her name?”

“Sasha,” he said, almost at the level of a whisper. “I thought she was the one.” He remembered her dark eyes, her throaty, sexy laugh. The fact that she’d been so free in bed, willing to try anything, game for whatever he asked. Turned out, he wasn’t the only one she was free with.

“But she wasn’t.”

“No,” he said, biting off the word, eager to stop talking about Sasha. “But what about you? Why don’t you like the idea of Nost?”

Xavier moved closer, and their knees touched. Emma didn’t move away. He took that as a good sign.

She swooped her long, shaggy blond bangs from her forehead. “It seems like it’s just what men want. Not what women want. Women want commitment, they want relationships...”

“Yes, with the right man, but what about the freedom to indulge in a fantasy, to play with someone who’s not the right man, but then walk away the next day? There’s something more liberating in that for women than men.” Now Xavier felt like he was right back in front of the venture capitalists, telling them why Nost was worth their time, and more importantly, their money. “Look, women choose. They always choose. We men? We’re powerless over that. We wait for you to decide. The power’s all yours.”

Emma rested her chin on her elbow and cocked her head to one side. “You think?” She shifted a little, so that their knees and legs touched. They were side-by-side now, elbows almost touching on the bar.

“Sure. You decide who’s fit enough, strong enough, alpha-male enough. Every decision women make about men is based on that immense responsibility—those thousands of years of you being the ones bearing the reproductive cost and the future of the species. That’s a lot of responsibility. But how are you supposed to know who’s right for you, who’s the perfect man, if you don’t play around? What if the man you always thought was perfect for you wasn’t, because you’d never allowed yourself to date outside that very confining box?”

She sent him a lopsided smile. “You’re saying I need to sleep around with bad boys to find a good one.”

He was aware of the feel of her thigh against his, the heat coming from her. “You need to know what it is you want. How are you supposed to know that without experimenting a little?”

“But, it’s all so impersonal... How are you supposed to find something real when it’s all just fake?”

“Oh, it’s far from fake,” he said with a strong shake of his head. “People can often have their most authentic connections when they’re with strangers. You don’t have to worry about what the other person might think, or if you’ll hurt their feelings or how you might be judged. You can be your real self because you aren’t worried about the future. You’re just living in the now.”

“Is that right?” Emma still seemed a little skeptical.

“Sure,” he said, taking another sip of his drink, which was now three-quarters gone. “For instance, you can tell me anything you want. You can be a hundred percent honest. We probably won’t see each other again after this night.”

“Okay...” Emma hesitated.

“So, in that spirit, say you do sleep with me tonight.” Xavier leaned in closer.

Emma barked a laugh and ran a nervous hand through her hair. “Aren’t you a little overconfident?”

“Maybe,” he said, even though at this point, he thought she’d have to feel the pull between them, the magnetism that drew them together. “But, just indulge me in a little theoretical. Say we do fall into bed tonight. Say we go upstairs into this room.” He pulled out a hotel key card and laid it flat on the bar. Emma glanced at it, intrigued. Tread carefully, he told himself. “Which, by the way, is completely and totally up to you. But if we did...what’s the first thing you want me to do to you?”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE KEY CARD ON the bar and his question sent a thrill through Emma. What did she want him to do to her? Short answer: Everything.

She felt her throat go dry. She had a hard time concentrating when Mr. X leaned in so close to her. His strong chin, the unwavering golden-eyed gaze. The thick jet-black hair that she badly wanted to put her hands in. She glanced at the Ritz-Carlton key card on the bar. That was it. The key to a room upstairs where...where...she could indulge in...him. That squared-off, strong chin, the barely-there stubble, those full, sensual lips. All she could think about was how he’d taste if she kissed him, how those lips would feel on hers. The attraction felt palpable, as if it was a physical law of nature that couldn’t be denied, like gravity. Emma realized the absurdity of this situation: that just minutes ago she’d dismissed Happy Fun Time in an instant, but X was different. Calm, collected, confident. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this kind of pull, this kind of attraction. It had been instantaneous the minute he’d walked into the bar. She’d been aware of him every second, every little move he made.

And the more she learned about him, the more intrigued she became. He had loved deeply before. She saw it in the hurt on his face. He was a complicated man, and as much as she hated to admit it, she loved complicated.

He studied her, waiting for her answer, and she felt the weight of his golden gaze. For the first time since signing up for this ridiculous app, she almost felt tempted. What would it be like to follow this man up to a room and...?

“If we went upstairs right now...” He leaned closer, so their elbows were now touching on the bar. “What’s the first thing you’d want? This would be a night for you. So...?”

She stared at his full lips.

“A k-kiss?” she offered.

He let out a low chuckle, and she felt the reverberations in her toes. She loved how he laughed—almost like a sensual growl. “You’re still behaving like you can’t be one hundred percent honest with me. You can. You don’t have to tell me the answers you think I want to hear.” He studied her. “What did you want your last boyfriend to do...that he’d never do?”

Emma thought about her predictable, staid boyfriend, Devin. He’d never been interested in how she felt about sex. It was always quick, the same position, with him coming in about two minutes, just when she was starting to get warmed up. Emma blamed herself: she never complained about it, and they’d just got stuck in this terrible kind of rhythm. But she didn’t know how to talk about it without hurting his feelings, so she didn’t.

Now Mr. X was waiting for her answer. And why not be honest? After all, he was right: they probably would never meet again. Even if they didn’t have sex tonight, what did she have to lose?

“He never let me...come first.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt a little bit lighter. Admitting that—the first time she’d admitted it to anyone—felt like a burden had been lifted. Like she’d finally let go of a dirty secret.

Mr. X stared at her. “He always came first?” He looked shocked, even bewildered as his dark eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

She nodded and took another drink of her gin and tonic, the second cocktail heading to her head with rapid speed. She felt pleasantly light-headed, but didn’t know if that was the Hendrick’s or Mr. X’s eyes on her.

Her experience limited, Emma thought maybe that was how it went with most men: they’d do what they wanted first, and then if they had the energy left over, they’d handle the woman’s needs.

“That’s unacceptable.” The finality of his tone sent another little thrill through her. “I’d make sure you came at least three times.”

“Three times?” She nearly spit out her drink. “That’s a lot.”

“Not nearly enough.” He grinned, and his bright white smile in his tanned face seemed blinding. “But we’d have all night.”

“All night?” Devin subscribed to the one and done philosophy. She doubted sex had ever lasted for her longer than about twenty minutes, and that was a marathon.

“And, of course, all positions. We have to find the one that’s right for you.” A teasing smile tugged at the corner of his full mouth.

Emma felt the blush inch its way up her neck. She wasn’t even sure she knew all the positions. The thought was a bit naughty...and a bit thrilling. She was beginning to see the allure of anonymous sex. She wouldn’t have to worry about what she looked like from certain vantage points, a concern that nearly always plagued her, or whether or not she ought to suck in her stomach. X was a stranger, and would remain a stranger, so why worry about... any of the normal things she worried about?

She ran her finger around the lip of her glass. “I’m beginning to see why women would want to fall into bed with you right when they meet you.”

He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “Well, I can tell you this. If you do, you won’t be disappointed.” She felt the warmth of his breath on her ear and the delicious naughtiness of the whole situation delighted her. She liked flirting—scratch that—loved flirting with this man. She even found herself seriously considering his proposition.

“Somehow, I believe you.”

“You should.” His confident gaze never left her. He slowly reached out and took her hand. He held it palm up, running a strong finger down her life line. “I like to start slowly. Explore you. Like so.” His delicate, featherlike touch sent electric sparks darting upward. Goose bumps ran up her arm. “Every woman is different, and I’d spend a lot of time finding out how unique you are.”

“Just how many women have you...” She figured probably hundreds. With eyes like that and a body that seemed ready for an underwear ad. She thought he probably got laid anytime he wanted it. Women lining up on Nost to have a drink date.

He cocked his head to one side, looking coy. “I’ve had my share.”

Now he was so close to her that when she looked up, she almost felt like she could fall into his gaze, a pool of hazel with flecks of gold. So close to him, she inhaled his spicy sweet scent, like cinnamon with a hint of some woodsy aftershave. He looked good. Smelled good. I wonder if he tastes good, too.

The thought jolted her.

“I’m not usually so impulsive.”

“Why not?” He wasn’t being flippant, she could tell. He really wanted to know.

“I don’t know. I guess I worry about what people will think.” There, she’d said it. It was her dirty little secret: she cared about other people’s opinions. She spent a great deal of time writing in her articles about how women need to believe in themselves and be independent, and yet, she feared the weight of judgment herself.

And was she falling into the trap of believing that women who sleep around, who have casual sex, were somehow less than the ones who were more particular? That little feminist thread would have her head spinning for days.

“No one has to know,” Mr. X said simply, as if this answered everything.

“But what if I want to write about it?” she asked. And part of her did. This little drink date was bringing up all kinds of feelings in her: Was she wrong to assume casual sex just benefited men? Should she try to find out? Why did her gut tell her to lean forward right now and kiss this man she’d just met?

“Then, do. I promise to give you something worth writing about.” He was so confident, so sure. And part of her knew he was telling the truth. She couldn’t imagine sex with this man being anything other than amazing. She could almost feel the electricity zapping between them. He was so close now that if she leaned forward, even slightly, their lips would touch. She held eye contact, unable to break it, caught in a kind of trance. He inched forward and she felt in that instant, he was going to kiss her. Suddenly, she got cold feet. Was he going to kiss her right here at the bar? Was she ready for where that kiss might lead?

She pulled away, ever so slightly. He paused, studying her face. Then, he let her hand go and leaned back. He smiled at her, gently.

“I think I want...I don’t know...a real connection,” she admitted. This was true. She wanted the whole package: amazing sex and love, but what she wanted above all else was a true connection. Something that meant something. Could she get that in one night?

He nodded. “You’re not ready,” he declared as a statement of fact.

“I’m...” Was he right? She felt all sorts of hormones rushing through her body, nerves tingling along her arms and up the back of her legs. She wanted love, but would she take sex right now in this moment?

“It’s okay.” He squeezed her hand. “Nost isn’t for everybody.”

That almost sounded like a goodbye. Was he abandoning the chase?

“I make it a rule never to pressure women,” he said and shrugged, as he finished the last bit of his drink in his glass and signaled the bartender for his tab. “This is something you want or you don’t.”

But...wait. I haven’t decided. Not yet. Maybe I do want this. The inner admission shocked her.

He signed the check and tucked his credit card back into his expensive leather wallet. “Emma, you’re an amazing and beautiful woman and it’s been my pleasure sharing this time with you.” He took her hand and kissed it, lingering a little over it, his lips soft and gentle.

She still felt shock. Was he leaving? Was this it? But she didn’t want the night to end. She didn’t want him to walk out of her life and never come back. This connection between them, it had to be real, didn’t it? He had to feel it, too?

“Can I...call you?”

He slowly shook his head. “I think we want different things.”

Did they? All she knew in that moment was that she didn’t want him to leave.

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