* * *
The elevator sounds, and the doors open. The bodyguard gestures me forward, and I step out.
CHAPTER 7
“Stop.” Nathan’s word is a growled command and I instantly obey.
* * *
We are just inside the suite, a pale room decorated in blues and creams. The windows are dark, and in them, I see a small reflection of myself, a thin slice of vulnerability, framed by the two men. To my left, a large dining table. To my right, Nathan. I look to the table, and wonder if the tremble in my bones is visible to the men.
* * *
His hand touches my back, sliding my hair over, pulling the strapless minidress down, over my breasts. There is the light dig of his fingernails, and then the clasp of my swimsuit style top is undone.
* * *
I turn toward him, his eyes meeting mine as he reaches up and unties the strings around my neck, his fingers trailing over my skin as he pulls it away. I wet my lips, stalling. “We haven’t discussed money.”
* * *
“That didn’t stop you from sucking my cock.” He doesn’t smile, and the first real stab of fear hits me.
* * *
I shiver in the cool air, feeling the fabric brush against my nipples as my top falls at my feet. “I don’t normally do this,” I whisper.
* * *
“What, leave the club?”
* * *
“No. Sex. That isn’t something I do with clients.” And not something I am going to do for free. My body argues with my mind, physically pulled to the man, my hands wanting to reach forward right now and take his cock into my palm. My mind understands the reality of my situation and pushes back, winning the fight.
* * *
His eyes are thousand-foot depths with flecks of blue domination in them, his tan skin stretching over perfect features as he speaks. “Ten grand.”
* * *
I swallow as his hands slide down my sides, pushing the minidress lower. I feel a cheap stretch of fabric as he slides the polyester over my hips and then drops it to the floor. His fingertips, a little rough on their surface, trail back up, over the curve of my ass, and I feel them dip beneath the lace of my panties. Ten thousand dollars. A figure I can’t turn down. Not that, at this stage in the game, turning him down is necessarily an option. “Okay.” I’m not sure if I actually speak the words or just mouth them.
* * *
He yanks outward, the quick motion startling me, a ripping sound heard, and then I am naked, feeling a tickle of lace as the ruined cloth that was my panties drops to the ground between my heels, my eyes passing over his shoulder and colliding with the man who stands at attention, watching us.
* * *
“Your man,” I whisper, feeling the strength of his hands as they move over my body, gentle and caressing, my breasts the current object of their focus. I am a woman conditioned to touch, conditioned to stolen gropes and caresses, some worshipful, some crude, all of which occur in the smoky air of Sammy’s. Here, in a room that smells of ocean and money, with a man that reeks of class and power—every point of contact is magnified, my senses overwhelmed, my heart crying out for more.
* * *
Ten thousand dollars. I hope he is gentle. I hope he is kind. I hope, what is about to happen, isn’t something that I will regret for the rest of my life.
* * *
His fingers spread, running lightly over my nipples, which stand to attention under his touch. “He stays.”
* * *
“But…” my voice is as weak as my knees. “He can see us.”
* * *
His hands still and he moves forward, so close that I have to tilt my face up to meet his. “That’s the point. I thought you, of all people, wouldn’t be shy.”
* * *
I shut my mouth, and swallow the questions. Why do you need protection? Why does he have to watch us? I think of the money to distract me, picture crisp dollar bills so I won’t have to think about the man, his eyes following our movement. He steps back, almost to the wall, and it helps slightly. He’s already seen me give head; this isn’t much different.
* * *
But sex is different. I may have gotten to the sad point where occasional hand and blowjobs occur, but sex has always been that one line I won’t cross, proof to myself that I am not ruined, that I am still pure in some fucked-up form.
* * *
He leans forward and kisses me. The image of dollar bills disappears. Everything flees in the moment his lips touch mine.
* * *
A soft, sweet kiss. Not what I expect. He brushes my lips softly, and they part for him, wanting more. A groan slips from my mouth before I have a chance to capture it. His hands move up through my hair, gripping and pulling its strands. His tongue dips inside and I respond eagerly, my body taking over, shoving aside my thoughts as a wave of desire hits. His touch turns harder, his mouth more demanding and he moves me further into the suite, my heels skittering over wood floors, till the edge of the table bites into the back of my thighs.