“Did he ask for a raincheck?”
“I would never tell you if he did.”
I blushed, unsure of what to say.
“Would you like a tour of the club?” he asked.
“Right now?”
“Yes,” he said. “Seeing as though your date was too cheap to pay for bottle service in advance, you’ll have to wait for a hostess to bring you drinks if you stay here.”
“I feel like you’re making that up.”
“I am.” He smiled. “Tour?”
I nodded and he pressed his hand against my back again, returning the same flurry of sparks and adrenaline I’d felt the other day. He led me through the VIP booth section and into a cigar bar that overlooked the left side of the dance floor.
He shook hands with the high rollers as we walked through a hallway that was dedicated to high stakes poker, and then he led me down a set of steps that led to a massive room that overlooked every angle of the dance floor.
“This is my office,” he said, dimming the lights.
“Is there any reason why you need this much space to yourself?”
“I don’t like sharing.” He looked at me. “Or, as someone said yesterday, I like having something that very few people know about. “
“I thought it was because you need this much space to fuck all the other women you bring here on weekends.”
“I’ve only fucked one woman in my office.”
“Lucky her.”
“Maybe. She’ll have to let me know if that sentiment holds when we’re done.” His lips suddenly met mine and my back hit the wall. His hands fisted my hair, and my arms went around his neck.
I didn’t want his lips to ever leave mine, didn’t want him to ever let go.
He pushed the dress up my waist, and I sucked in a breath as I felt his cock hardening against me. As I felt the thickness and the length of it.
Oh my god…
He slid a finger between my thighs and touched my soaking wet slit, making me moan.
A loud knock came to the door.
“Mr. Anderson!” It was a female’s voice, and she was knocking even harder now. “Mr. Anderson, are you in there?”
“Yes…” He groaned as he kissed my neck.
“Um, can you meet me downstairs in four minutes? A certain guest of ours wants to speak with you.”
“Tell him I’m fucking busy.”
“It’s Rio Warren sir,” she said. “He seems to think that you’re fine with him being here, and I’ve told him that you’re not.”
“Jesus Christ…” He moved back. “I’ll be there. Get away from the goddamn door.”
“Yes sir.”
Looking into my eyes, he sighed as he pulled my dress down over my thighs.
“Give me five minutes to come back to you and finish what we started,” he said. He smoothed my dress before opening the door and letting me out. He led me back to my booth and poured me a glass of champagne before walking away.
On edge, I downed the entire glass in one gulp. As I was leaning forward to pour another, the familiar sound of Adele’s “Set Fire to the Rain” song came over the club’s speakers. Although it was over a much faster beat, her words were the same, and each syllable she sang cut deep.
All of a sudden, I couldn’t focus on sitting in this club anymore. I was now sitting next to my mother in the front seat of her truck—singing the lyrics at the top of my lungs, laughing as she said, “Even your terrible singing voice can’t ruin my new favorite song of all time, Meredith. I’ll be singing this one for the next fifty years…”
Shaking away the memory, I grabbed my purse and left the booth before the tears could fall. I took the elevator to the lobby and collected all of my things from the security check. I rushed outside, stopping when I saw the sea of slow moving cabs. The music was now gone, and I could breathe again. I could also go home and try to forget about fucking up this night.
Stepping close to the curb, I held up my hand to hail a cab, but I felt someone pulling it down. A set of hands gently grabbed my waist from behind and spun me around.
“So, this is going to be a pattern with you…” Michael said, smiling. “Running away from things you want?”
“No, it’s—” I shook my head. “It’s a lot of things.”
“Tell me the most important ones.”
“Well, for one, what type of DJ plays Adele at a fucking party? Like, what the hell is that?”
He raised his eyebrow.
“What type of best friend tries to talk you out of having sex after you’ve been in a dry spell for two years because she thinks that deep down you want more than that?”
“Do you?”
I didn’t answer that. “I just wanted to get fucked tonight. Really hard, really rough, and then really soft, too. I wanted to feel something other than the feelings that are in my chest right now, and I was so close to getting it, and—” I stopped talking. I was baring my soul to a man I hardly knew. “Your club is beautiful,” I said instead. “It deserves all the praise it gets in the press and—”