"Jessika," he said with a growl.
"Yes?" I asked, feigning innocence.
He pulled my leg, removing me from my comfortable spot on the seat cushion. My rear slid forward under the table, and my back moved down so that my head rested where my shoulders used to be. Asher grinned at me, some devilishly delicious expression, before placing his black-socked foot—just so—right between my legs. I gasped as his big toe found the cleft of my sex, wriggling up and down along it.
"Asher!" I said, half whisper and half gasp.
"Yes?" he asked. His feigned innocence came as more of a predatory snarl.
My f**king God, I thought. What kinds of buttons was I pushing, and then what kinds was he pushing back? Never would I have expected this to happen. In fact, I was quite certain it wouldn't. I don't know why I started it in the first place, but now that he'd continued it I had no idea where to go from there.
And, this time wasn't a punishment, was it? It could be, I told myself. Who knew? His toes tweaked at my panties, moving the fabric against the arousal of my slick folds, making me squirm in his grasp. In an attempt to pull myself away, to reciprocate and return his action, I guided my foot up and down his crotch again.
He was going to get me off with his foot and I couldn't even understand how. It was so strange, entirely new, but I wanted it so badly. I writhed in the chair, grinding my pelvis against his foot, silently pleading with him with my eyes.
Just as things were getting good, someone knocked on the wooden sliding door. "I've brought the lover's special to start, and the rest will be available shortly," our waiter said.
Disheveled and completely undone as a person, I somehow managed to return to my sitting position. Asher did the same, though much more elegantly than I could have ever imagined. Once we were both sitting somewhat normally, Asher opened the sliding door and smiled at the waiter.
The man glanced at us oddly. My hair, I realized. Asher wouldn't have to worry about much, except maybe a crease in his suit coat, but when he'd pulled on my leg and made me fall backwards, he'd mussed up my hair. I struggled to fix it while the waiter and his assistant placed plates, the lover's special, and various saucers of sauces on our table.
"Let me know if you need anything else," the waiter said with a nod. Then he left.
Asher promptly closed the door again.
"Jessika," he said, hesitating.
"Yes?" I asked. No more innocence this time. I really didn't know what he wanted, but I was so pent up, orgasm lost, and I desperately wanted to continue where we'd left off.
"I—" he said, still hesitating. "I know you know I'm married, and I don't want you to get the wrong idea."
"Wrong idea about what?" I said. And, what an idiotic thing to say? Obviously I knew what he meant! I was fooling around with a married man in a private alcove in a luxury restaurant, then asking him what he meant when he said I shouldn't get the wrong idea? He probably thought I was stupid.
"You do... things... to me," he said.
"Hm?"
"I expected to come here and talk business with you. A friendly meeting, though. Not strictly business, mind you, but... the question I asked you about yesterday? Lunch, too, of course, but the main reason we're here is because of what I asked you before, about the favor for my wife and I. I've discussed it briefly with her and she's not completely opposed to the idea, and I talked with one of my financial advisers about the technicalities. He said to see if you would do it for no cost, since he assumes you might, considering the nature of my proposal and who I am. I would never do that, though. I'll compensate you quite generously if you agree, but I want you to know there's no pressure if you disagree, too."
"Asher?" I said. "Let's just eat first, alright?"
"I'm not trying to be so formal," he said. And with a laugh, he added, "Some romantic part of me wanted to say that you can give me your decision once we're done. Meaning, you choose when we finish by stating your decision, and we can stay and have a nice time before that, doing whatever you like."
"Romantic?" I asked, teasing. "Like this lover's special? You are married, aren't you?"
He grinned and shook his head in grief. "Romantic as in romanticized. And the lover's special is just a sushi platter for two. It's not my fault they named it that."
"Yeah, I know." I felt silly, but I grinned back at him. What was I, some silly schoolgirl with a crush? This was beyond me, he was beyond me, and I didn't know how to deal with it. But... "Is everything alright with your wife?" I asked, before I could stop myself.
Asher frowned, but only for a moment. "She's away," he said, carefully. "She prefers it. The city is too stuffy for her sometimes. She needs to go to different places to feel more comfortable. That's how she's always been."
"Do you miss her?"
He smiled. "You know? Sometimes I do, yes. But for better or for worse, right? I want her to be happy, too."
But she's leaving you alone! That's what I wanted to say. This handsome, wonderful man, who went into amazing fits of passion like any woman might dream of, who had the foresight to request us this closed off room so I might feel more comfortable in the unknown atmosphere of a ritzy establishment, and who was quick to offer a massage when my foot ached. And, yes, he was a bit commanding at times, perhaps far too much, but my God I wanted him to be so much more commanding, too.
For better or for worse? He wanted to make her happy? There was nothing in his expression or his tone that said this, but I felt like he wasn't—but should be—happy. And maybe that wasn't her fault. I wasn't anyone who should be dissecting their marriage and trying to figure out the flaws in it, since I had no clue about their relationship, but...
I couldn't do this. I was setting myself up for something horrible and wrong and I wouldn't allow myself to concoct these dreams and emotions of helping this man overcome his loneliness. For all I knew, he liked it that way. Maybe he had more time to himself. He was reclusive, right? That's what every article said about him, and even if they were similar to tabloids, entertainment gossip, why would anyone lie about that?
He liked being alone, and his wife liked to travel, so perhaps they were a match made in heaven. I had no right to judge their relationship, or them.
"Would you pour me some sake?" Asher asked, snapping me back to reality.
I stared at him. "Can't you pour it yourself?"
He grinned. "I could, but it's Japanese custom for two people eating to pour each other's drinks. I'll pour yours if you'll pour mine?"
"Is that like 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours?'" I asked in a fit of sassiness.
"Similar," he said with a laugh, "but not quite."
I stuck my tongue out at him. I don't know why. It was a silly, girlish thing to do, but he stuck his tongue out right back at me. I smiled, then reached for the ceramic pitcher and poured him a cup of the heated drink. The warmth of it let up a slip of steam. He returned the favor, leaving me with a cup of warm sake to drink.
I sipped at my drink, letting the hot, warmth of it trickle down my throat and leave a pleasant burn. Asher raised his cup in a toast. I wasn't used to this, to toasting, or customs, or anything at all like what he was treating me to, but I didn't feel as awkward as I'd first felt. Lifting my cup, I waited for him to speak.
"To your answer," he said. "Whatever it may be. I hope it leads us both to a revelation."
I laughed and tapped my cup against his when he tipped it towards mine. The sake rippled in our cups, and when I went to drink, it seemed more like a pond than a cup of spirits. Some infinite, endless, bottomless cup, where if I tossed something into it, that something would never come out again. But then, what if I tossed it into me? I drank the contents of my cup in one large, unladylike gulp.
I guess I'd find out? Philosophy wasn't my inherent strong suit, but I loved literature, and there was a certain amount of depth required to understand much of it, so I liked to think I had a knack for thought-provoking topics. Granted, sake was sake, no matter how I looked at it, but maybe it would change my life some day? It already had, in a way. I would never have gotten as drunk as I had before, fallen asleep on a park bench with a friend, if it weren't for sake. Not a lot of people could say the same.
I don't think a lot of people would want to, either.
"So, Jessika," Asher said, conversationally. With a pair of chopsticks he found wrapped in a napkin near his plate, he plucked up a few pieces of sushi from our platter. "What do you do?"
"I... what?" I asked, stalling. To possibly give me more time, I snatched up some sushi for myself, too. If need be, I could eat one and use the excuse of chewing? Not a very good excuse, as I probably shouldn't put something in my mouth right as I needed to answer a question, but the option was there.
"You work for a temp agency, but do you clean offices often? Are you looking for a more steady job? A career? You strike me as someone who has potential."
I smiled, though I felt faint. "You sound like a hiring manager," I said. I wanted that to come across as witty and a joke, but my voice cracked when I talked.
I didn't want to tell him. I wanted to retain some mystery about myself, safeguard any potentially disruptive information. If he knew I had no idea, that I worked as a temp because there just weren't a lot of "good" jobs requiring an English Language and Literature degree, would he dislike me for it?
"I..." I started to say. He refused to respond, merely sitting and watching me while he chewed an unagi roll. "I don't... well, I don't have anything lined up right now. I sort of..."
I stumbled, hoping he might catch me and go with it. Maybe he would see my anxiety and relieve me from having to continue? But, no, no he didn't. The only thing he did that was somewhat helpful was pour me another cup of sake. I sipped at it, plopped a cucumber roll into my mouth, chewed, and figured out where to go from there.
"The thing is," I said, thinking I could soften this if I used the right angle. "I graduated with a BA in English and Literature. It's not the most lucrative career option, I know, but reading and the English language have always been my passion. There's just so much more that you can describe in English that isn't in any other language. We have so many words for so many things, and multiple words for the same things that give entirely different impressions or contexts, and..."
I drank some more sake. I definitely felt like I needed it. "I don't know what to do with it, though. No one tells you when you're in school, but some degrees are worthless. I have a degree to have a degree, basically. I can't really do anything with it, except get a few jobs that require a general BA with no real focus. I could go into a writing related field, but the most surefire one is a technical writer, and I..."
"You'd rather clean offices and do menial labor than ruin your passion for the language by reducing it to a base, technical thing?" he offered.
"Yes," I said, letting out a sigh of relief. No one else had really understood that before.
And, sure, technical writing paid decently. It wasn't a bad job in the least, and I imagine a lot of people enjoyed it. But I couldn't make myself do it, no matter how hard I tried. If I could hold out hope, give myself a chance towards something else, then at least my dreams would survive, no matter what else died. If not for dreams, what did we have?