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  “I know women,” he said. “But I don’t know you enough. Let me.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll try to be… Open-minded?”

  Joseph said no more, preferring to let his body language do all the talking.

  And if I understood correctly, he never wanted anywhere but here. In his arms. Next to him.

  Chapter 11

  In the backdrop of the night, Joseph’s helicopter casted an ever-elongated shadow over us. By the time we were done and cleaned up, we had forgotten about our meal. We both laughed awkwardly, knowing how much of our night had gone to sex.

  As we walked back to his room, I was having second thoughts about knowing him more.

  Could I really love a banker? Someone who dealt with the gnarliest deals in Manhattan?

  From what I had read online and heard about the streets, Joseph went to exclusive parties, hung out with celebrities, and played only in the finest clubs—signs of privilege and elitism.

  Lighten up, a small voice in my head told me. Was this the devil or an angel? Just enjoy yourself, really.

  Then again, Joseph had proven himself an expert with my body. As if he had studied a schematic beforehand. He made a virgin’s first time sublime, never once remarking about the juices or my shaky limbs. Still, my hands and feet trembled, my legs knocked together. My kneecaps hurt from the constant momentum shared between them.

  Back inside, Joseph went to answer the door, since the bell was ringing. Whoever had been outside waiting for us must’ve been standing for at least thirty minutes.

  “Stay right here,” Joseph said, leaving me in the living room. I rested my spine against the duvet, lying down. My arms hung off the sides, my head throbbing gently, with the aftershock of Joseph’s tongue thrust.

  I began to think about living with Joseph. Just a fantasy, a fairytale, because I never thought it possible for us to go all the way.

  I would never have to work if I were married to him. Any money problems would become secondary, nonexistent. Schooling and further education were luxuries in this fantasy—I could study what I wanted.

  Maybe investment banking wasn’t a bad choice after all. I was right in the end: money would allow me to do more than if I stuck with my idealistic views. Joseph could move the world. I could only move dirt.

  “Here we are,” Joseph said, a rattling noise behind him. The bellhop and attendant from downstairs had come in with him, pushing a trolley. Two trolleys, in fact. One smaller than the other. They uncovered various dishes, everything ranging from crème brûlée to baked lobster. They set up our meal in the living room, only a couple of steps away and connecting to the kitchen, where they placed all the old covers in the sink.

  “In the morning, we’ll pick these right up,” the attendant said.

  Then the bellhop bowed deeply, with the attendant next.

  “Call us if you need anything,” the bellhop said. “Good night, sir, madame.”

  Hmm, I thought. He called me madame and not madameoiselle. Maybe we just look like a couple?

  Wishful thinking.

  “The two of us after a good fucking,” Joseph said, straddling his legs around a fine oak chair. He rested his plate down, all the food spread out in a long line, steaming and not, spicy and cold, sweet and sour. There were sauces, dips, and fresh fruits.

  “I feel uncomfortable taking your charity,” I said, rigidly.

  “You’re being overly formal? Why? I literally just sucked your clit.”

  I laughed. “I know, but I just want to stay on your good side, I guess.” I sat down, grabbing myself a spoon and fork from one of the folded napkins. I dug into a plate of spicy kale, turning for the arugula next—cream cheese and sauerkraut hoagies after.

  We ate mostly in silence, me thinking about what I had done, Joseph thinking about… I’m not sure. His blue eyes cut across for me, but I didn’t know what to say when his gaze lingered.

  “Are you sure that you like me?” I said. “What about me is so special?”

  “You have a certain edge,” Joseph said, smiling. “You’re cutthroat.”

  “Me?” I said. “How am I cutthroat?” I almost spat out my food.

  “Most presidents are,” he said, “and aren’t you the president of Manhattan’s Concern at Columbia?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re from the Ivy League now,” Joseph continued. “Everyone who sees you or your resume or your LinkedIn or your Facebook or whatever—everyone who looks at your bio will know about your past. And getting into the Ivy League is only for the type A personalities out there. Even those studying and art have to be anal about their pursual of higher learning.”

  I glanced at him. “I’m not doing anal,” I said, giggling.

  “There’s a first time for everything,” he winked. “Now, listen, what else? When you applied to Placarm Rhodes, and I came across your resume personally, I saw a woman who had developed a 4.0 GPA her last semester. What does that say about you?”

  “That I’m anal?”

  “Sort of,” Joseph said, picking at a pickled carrot with his fork. He rolled his sleeves down, taking off his jacket. “I believe anyone who’s at the top has some degree of viciousness. You have to be cutthroat to get where you are. Some people will hate you because you’re so… Pushy.”

  “Me?” Now I did spit out a chunk of lobster. I had no time to be embarrassed—I was insulted. “Hey, I’m no bitch. I’m definitely not like Lindsay or Zena or Ricarda…”

  Joseph bit into his carrot, letting me rant. When I finished, it was only because I realized how long I had gone on talking.

  “I don’t care about those people. They sound terrible by the way,” he said. “I care about you. And what I like most about you is that you have fire. I could teach you everything there is about investment banking. Or, if you prefer, you could stay here with me every night, every morning, pleasuring me, pleasuring you.”

  “That does sound relaxing, I’ll admit.”

  Joseph uncorked a bottle of seltzer. Man, now I knew I was in the domain of wealth. This was brand-name seltzer, I’m talking like, $1000 per bottle.

  “But don’t you ever feel bad about wasting money on things like this?” I said, simultaneously jealous and angsty. “I get that living this kind of lifestyle is wonderful and lovely, but do you ever get bored with life? Isn’t there any more meaning that you want to follow up on?”

  “Not necessarily,” Joseph said, pouring me a glass. I drank slowly, letting his words simmer in my ears before I said anything rash. “When you wake up in the morning, do you feel bad about everyone on planet Earth? You know there are horrible, awful situations everywhere. But you can’t fathom them all. You can’t be Mother Teresa to planet Earth.”

  “You’re right, and I’m aware, but I… Would like to make an impact. And learning investment banking or living here forever doing nothing would do nothing for me.”

  “What do you want then?”

  “To own my own real homeless shelter. To have all of Manhattan under my nonprofit jurisdiction.”

  Joseph smirked. “See what I mean? You have two conflicting personalities there. You want to help people. But you’re going to be crushing the competition. And if you want to do the latter—be the best homeless shelter—then you need to learn from the best.”

  I plucked another piece of kale onto my fork, tasting the salted flavor. He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t wrong at all.

  I wanted him to be wrong. But the math made sense: nonprofits were ultimately businesses of a different kind replete with employees and a budget.

  “I’ll be crushing the competition for the greater good,” I said.

  “Right,” Joseph said. “Everyone says that.”

  Now I was worried that Joseph’s influence would affect me somehow. Maybe he wasn’t the best mentor—he, being a part of his banking environment, had to have some degree of greediness. More greediness than the average person walking around. I had seen all of the news reports—enough to just
ify my bias.

  “You think that I can be like you?” I said.

  “I know you’re like me,” Joseph said, “which is why we’ve got such good… Chemistry.” He drank from his glass, my eyes following his muscular forearms. I loved it when a man rolled up his sleeves. God, did he have to be so attractive? His skin in the light was tanned to perfection, baked like the bread in my hands. Soft and warm. Inviting. “You can run from who you are, Ophelia, but I know you’ll come running back.”

  “That’s not… Necessarily true.”

  “You might think so,” Joseph said. “But I know so—you’re just like me.”

  I slammed my fork down on the table. “I’m not,” I said, a little too loud. “Sorry, I’m just not feeling the way you’re taking this conversation around.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said, “you know the truth already.”

  I stared at my plate, lobster and kale at the edges and in the center. Pushing away my dinner, I sat back in my chair, not hungry anymore.

  Was I really no better than him? Could I make an impact like I wanted to?

  “Finished?” he asked. I wasn’t full, but I needed time to think to myself.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Thank you, Joseph. You’re exercising my mind tonight. And my body.”

  Joseph smiled. He walked around the table, his shirt still rolled up, his pants still slightly stained from my juices.

  “Stay with me tonight,” he said, placing his hands on my shoulders. He rubbed up and down, caressing my neck, my cheeks. I groaned, pulling my head back against him.

  Well, I could stay with him, or going sleep with Lindsay.

  I didn’t want to hear any nasty pot-snores, so I guessed my luck would be with Joseph.

  “That’s good to hear,” he said. Kneeling next to me, he kissed my neck, biting and leaving hickies. “It’s very nice to hear…”

  “God,” I said, cunt lips throbbing, clit vibrating. Already, Joseph’s hands groped for my hood, expanding my canal wide and open.

  “I can do something else for you,” he said, sweeping me up in his arms. I kicked my legs suddenly, and when I rebounded forward, Joseph used the momentum to carry us into his bedroom. He kicked down the rosewood door, glittering sconces along the sloping upright bend of the roof. In the center of his room was a king-sized bed, cashmere sheets and pillows wrapping the sides of my body in sheer comfort.

  I had only linen sheets and the roughest fabrics for my dresses, so I couldn’t wait to rip them off and just experience pure comfort and luxury.

  Sure, I might’ve been a bit of a hypocrite, but I needed to allow myself some degree of curiosity… Right?

  Okay, fine. I was a total hypocrite. But I didn’t care anymore in his arms—not having had sex for most of my life prevented me from understanding how to work my body and emotions together.

  And hell, it felt good. Plenty of people have sex just to relieve themselves.

  “I want to fuck you,” Joseph said, mounting me, his legs drawing across my own. He lay on top of me, kissing the back of my neck, grabbing my hair. I groaned in ecstasy, my throat passionately burning from the air rushing out of my lungs.

  I heaved my breasts forward, my elbows propping me up doggy style. Just like I had seen everywhere online—now, this nerdy overachiever was about to feel what all those porn stars did.

  “Make me your dirty slut,” I gasped. “Please, go ahead.”

  Joseph’s cock slid along my ass cheeks, all the way until he reached to the top of my crack.

  Pressing his hands on my clit, he stroked the back side of my cunt, pushing me forward, his hand grabbing at my hair again.

  “There’s two women in you,” Joseph said, “the woman who wants to play goody-two shoes, and the other who’s bad-ass.”

  “I can be both,” I said, “I can have it my way.”

  Joseph’s cock slipped to my hood, pre-come dripping across and between the chasm of my cunt. I groaned, pressing my forehead into the pillow in front of me, groping at the sheets. My knees slipped backwards, as Joseph’s weight fell into me, my cunt expanding, my canal taking the full girth of him. I groaned, ecstasy and euphoria traveling from the tips of my fingers and arching over my spine.

  Joseph’s hands yanked at my ass, and as he slid further in, he warmed me to a melting point.

  “Oh,” I said, my head stretching up, “yes, yes I can be both.”

  Joseph struck my pleasure spot. “What makes you think so?” he said.

  God, why did he have to play around with my feelings like this? I was sure of my being a nonprofit queen, but he only highlighted how inexperienced I was in comparison.

  “I’ve always pursued my dreams,” I said, “what makes you think it’ll all come crumbling down around me?”

  “Nothing,” Joseph said, thrusting with his hips, his balls slapping my ass. He dragged his fingers over my clit, moaning, grunting. Pre-come spilled from his cock into my pleasure spot, worming to the crevices of my canal.

  “Then why question me?”

  “I’ve never seen anyone make it,” Joseph said, “you’ll need my help eventually.”

  Joseph yanked on my hair, making my ass jut out instinctively.

  My breasts swung underneath me, my skin stinging with a bite of ecstasy manifesting.

  Climax was about to make me come.

  “I like it when you squirt,” Joseph said, his finger on my clit. He pressed forward, as hard and as far as he could, compressing my back, launching forward to my breasts. He rubbed my nipples gently, one and then the other, his cock jerking to the side, contracting.

  “Oh,” I said, “just make me…”

  “I’ll make you,” he said, exploding inside me. Come gushed out in a long run, like a river, spilling forth from his mushroom head, emptying into my canal. I squeezed my thighs together, the juices from my clit squirting over the mattress, the bed sheets. Groaning, I turned over slightly, angling myself so his cock could pound again my pleasure spot.

  I flailed underneath him, my heart heavy with the decisions I had to make.

  He could save me and solve all my problems. Or he could corrupt me, changing me little by little, injecting the evils of finance into me.

  Too late for that, I thought.

  His hands swept under for my breasts, cupping each nipple.

  His kissed the back of my legs, slowly drawing closer until his cock lay on my back.

  Warm and gooey, sex was exactly what I had thought: too good if you’re with the right man.

  I wished in that instance that Joseph wasn’t so capable.

  Anyone else, and I could’ve dumped him quickly. But he was my boss, and someone I had come to acknowledge on a professional level. He wasn’t wrong either when he talked to me during dinner or sex.

  I liked him. I resented him.

  And he was right. I needed him.

  Chapter 12

  I couldn’t challenge the world alone. I had to have support somehow. Working at Placarm Rhodes might not have been exactly aligned with my interests, but after thinking over what Joseph had to say to me, it became clear: I had to barrel forward and get as much money as I required for my goals.

  Witnessing his lifestyle had only exposed me to the precision that wealth could bring. The types of food. Clothes. Housing. These things—luxuries?—all humans craved for.

  Regardless, I had my qualms. Joseph was my boss.

  My boss.

  And sleeping around with your officemates was a huge taboo. Even if Joseph were only my coworker, he represented the untouchable boundary I never meant to cross.

  Not love, but the beginning of a deep interest.

  “Sleep,” Joseph whispered. He cuddled next to me, gracing my face with his stubble. I became the little spoon, dipping into his flesh, his warm cock still at my cunt entrance. “There we go…”

  “Joseph,” I said, “where do you think the two of us are going with this?”

  Joseph wiggled his hips against me. I could feel
his smile spread across his face. “As far as we can go,” he said. “Why?”

  “You’re very nice and all,” I said, “and very handsome. But…” I yawned, sleepiness blearing my vision. “When it comes to guys, I’ve… I’m a virgin. Or I was.”

  “I could tell,” Joseph said, shrugging. He squeezed me tight, his hands capturing a nipple between his thumbs. He rubbed the perimeter of one, releasing the tension there under my skin. I groaned, as he twisted his fingers. “I didn’t mind though. You got into the rhythm. You followed my lead and were accepting.”