by Emma Nichole
I pump harder as the vision takes over, my balls tighten to the point of pain and that’s when I hear it.
It’s so distant I almost think it’s a figment of my imagination, but there’s a moan coming from the other side of the wall—right where Nora is sleeping.
The thought of her touching herself while I do is too much, I can’t hold back any longer.
I focus my attention on the tip and squeeze before giving one last stroke.
“Ahhhh,” I huff out as I burst, blowing all over the tiled floor, letting the evidence disappear down the drain.
Both hands now press onto the wall as I catch my breath, and I know quickly what I just did is never going to be enough.
I want Nora Masen more than I’ve wanted anyone...ever.
Nora
I keep my eyes closed because I can feel him staring at me. I’m not ready to face morning Case.
Men in the mornings are my weakness, and I can feel from a mile away that Morning Case Carmichael would send me into a frenzy I may never recover from.
My body is acutely aware of his presence and my skin prickles in arousal.
I stuffed a wall of pillows between us last night, because I am a cuddler, and I’m drawn to warmth in my sleep. Waking up wrapped around Case Carmichael like a vine is not something I need right now.
I feel him stand, and my eyes, as if working on their own free will, blink open just a little to see his sculpted back and then he does the unthinkable.
He reaches down and grasps himself through his sweat pants.
I bite my lips to keep myself from moaning and my pussy weeps in response, wetness coating my thighs.
What is it about men and those damn gray sweatpants?
I clamp my eyes closed once again before he can catch me, and he disappears into the bathroom.
I release the breath I was holding and roll to my back, sliding my thighs against one another for some type of relief. Some type of friction.
The space between my legs is aching, craving attention, begging for release, begging for one little touch, but I can’t do that. Not when he could catch me.
I groan inwardly, already sexually frustrated, when the glorious sound of the shower fills the room.
He’s showering. That means he’ll be in there for at least, what, ten to fifteen minutes?
With the way I feel right now, I’ll just need sixty seconds to get there.
I pause for a moment, debating to myself, but my screaming libido wins.
I glide my left hand down the front of my body and underneath the waistband of my leggings and panties.
My right hand finds a home on my breast and I tease my nipple through the fabric. Instant shocks zing to my pussy.
I take my middle and ring fingers and press them onto my clit, applying just a bit of pressure and gently move them back and forth, just the way I like.
My back arches off the mattress and I squeeze my eyes closed—visions of a very wet Case enter my mind.
His back. His arms. His abs. His laugh. The way his hands would feel curled around my hips as he drives home between my thighs. The way my walls would clench around him and the way he’d command me to come and the...
“Ohhhhhhh God!” I moan, a little too loudly as I begin to come.
I clamp my right hand over my mouth in mortification as the waves of release overtake my body.
Did he hear me? Surely not...right?
But did I want him to hear me?
I kind of did.
I move from the bed a few minutes later when I hear the shower turn off. I take a second to pull the duvet back up where it belongs and then I take a quick peek in the mirror.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
My cheeks definitely have the “Yeah, I totally just fingered myself to the thought of you until I came all over the bed” flushed look.
I don’t have too much time to worry about it because the bathroom door swings open and out walks Case, wearing nothing but a thin, white towel.
“You’re awake,” he says.
“And you’re...wet,” I say, facing him.
“Shower.”
“I figured.”
His wet hair is slicked back and I want nothing more than to slide my hands through it.
“I left my clothes out here. If you’ll just give me a second, I’ll put them on in the bathroom.”
“No need. I’m going to shower anyway, so I’ll just leave you to do that in here.” I grab my outfit for the day, which happens to include my sexy bra and panties. “How is the shower, by the way?”
A look passes on his face, followed by a smile. “The shower is fucking epic.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Thirty minutes and an incredible shower later, I come out of the bathroom dressed in tight jeans and a floral, off-the-shoulder top. I’ve kept my hair wild and wavy, and I’ve got minimal makeup on, save for my signature red lips.
“Have you talked to Grayson today?” I look up to find Case staring at me. “What?”
“Nothing—you just—you look nice today,” he says, then clears his throat. “They are meeting us for breakfast downstairs in ten minutes.”
“Good, because I’m starving and in need of carbs.” I keep myself busy, finding myself slightly embarrassed by the fact I got myself off this morning while thinking about him.
“Then let’s roll, beautiful.”
The casual term of endearment makes me giddier than it should.
***
“I’m so full. Why did you let me eat all of this?” I ask the table after I’ve just demolished a short stack of pancakes and four pieces of bacon.
Case answers before anyone else. “Because watching you eat is incredibly entertaining.”
“Uh. Thanks, I think?
He laughs and takes a sip of water. “It was a compliment. You eat with gusto. Like it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever had, and you have no shame in eating whatever you want.”
“I’d like to take the credit for that,” Amelia chimes in. “Little Miss SoCal here was all no fat, no carbs, super picky, and a very tedious eater until I came along. I showed her the food ropes.” I smile her way.
She’s casually stroking Grayson’s neck, and he’s rubbing his hand up and down her thigh. It's like they can’t keep their hands off of each other. There’s a pang in my chest, envious of that type of closeness with someone.
“And for that, I thank you,” Case says, pulling out his debit card. “Breakfast is on me.”
All three of us attempt to stop him, but he’s having none of it.
“So what’s the plan for today?”
“Well, I’m having a dinner meeting with Justine from Bubbly late this evening. Apparently, these people haven’t heard of normal business hours. Grayson and I are meeting her at nine o’clock tonight, so we have the entire day to make Atlanta our bitch.”
So, that’s exactly what we did.
The Aquarium, The World of Coca Cola, the baseball stadium, and the shopping. Oh, my God, the shopping.
The men were good sports, of course, letting us explore any and all the boutiques we wanted to without a single complaint.
Where are men like this created? In a lab somewhere?
It’s nearing 5:00 p.m. when we hit our final store.
“I just want to find something special to wear tonight,” Amelia tells me, as the men hang back by the chairs on either side of the fitting rooms.
“You’re freaking out, aren’t you? You never worry about clothes or how you look. I mean that in the best way possible. You’re just so effortlessly gorgeous.”
“You’re biased, and yes, I’m freaking out. I want to look nice. Like I belong working for a publication like this.” She holds up a green dress. “Would it look too—festive—with my hair?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Between the red hair and the green dress, I do get some Christmas vibes.”
“Dang it.” She hangs it back up and my phone vibrates in my back
pocket, I pull it free and smile.
A text from Case.
I look to where he’s sitting and catch him watching me before I open the message.
Case: Pick something for yourself too. I’m taking you out tonight. Any objections?
Me: Are you asking me on a date? What if I don’t want to date you?
Case: Yes, ma’am, I am. And I know better, I see you staring.
Me: Sorry, I don’t date cocky cops.
Case: Now, now, Miss Masen, no need to lie.
Me: Ugh. Fine. But I won’t have fun and I’ll be a brat the whole time.
Case: So like you are every day?
I look up at him and flip him the bird when my phone buzzes again.
Case: Do you trust me?
I don’t even hesitate when I reply.
Me: I do.
Looks like I’m spending some money in here after all.
I make an internal decision to try to enjoy the night with him as best I can.
I need something: black and showstopping.
And Case Carmichael approved.
Chapter 11
Case
I’m sitting on the sofa by the window, holding my phone up to my face, dialing a video call out to Justin to check on Arya.
He answers after only two rings. “Yes, Helicopter Dog Dad.”
“You’re an asshole.” I laugh. “And I don’t hover. I just wanted to check in on her.”
“Arya is perfect. She’s always great. I’d steal her away if it wasn’t kidnapping, and if you two weren’t so disgustingly cute together.” He flips the phone around and lets me see her.
She’s lying across their sofa with her head propped on the armrest, fast asleep.
“I miss her.”
“I’d be worried if you didn’t. She’s your right hand,” he says. “How’s Atlanta?”
The bathroom door opens before I can answer and out walks Nora.
“About to get even better,” I tell him.
She’s dressed in a very tight black dress with long sleeves and a high neck, but the back is completely missing.
The fabric hits right above her knees, showcasing her perfect legs, all the way down to her bright red fuck-me heels.
Her hair is loose, wild, a little wavy, and tumbling over her shoulders.
“Eww. Do I want to know why? If it has to do with vagina, keep it to yourself,” he says, and Nora clearly hears his voice, as it’s on speakerphone.
She simply smiles and laughs.
“Tell Arya I said I love her. I’ll check in tomorrow morning,” I say.
“Will do, Hoverer. Have fun tonight.”
We end the call and I shove my phone into the pocket of my jeans after rising from the sofa.
“Did you just call to check on your dog?” she asks, standing in the mirror, applying her red lipstick.
“I did. I like to know she’s okay. And well, I miss her.” I step closer to really take a look at her. “You look...WOW.”
She finally looks from the mirror to me. She’s kept her eye makeup simple, gold and bronze. She’s perfect.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.”
I dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans, a plain white tee and my leather jacket.
She tugs and fiddles with her dress a bit more, it seems it be a nervous habit.
Christ, I want to rip it off.
“Are you ready?” I ask her.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“You seem nervous,” I mention, as we step into the hallway.
“I am, a little.”
“Don’t be. Tonight, will be fun, simple, and easy. I promise. I don’t bite.”
“What if I want you to?” she says it softly, nearly a whisper, like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“Well, in that case, Phoenix,” I take her hand, rubbing my thumb over the tattoo on her wrist, “I’ll bite hard when you ask me to.”
“Phoenix?” she asks after an audible swallow.
I bring her hand up and place a soft kiss to the inked skin. “Phoenix. Rising from the flames. It suits you for many reasons.”
“I like it,” she says.
“Good.” I take her hand in mine and give it a squeeze, then we make our way to the elevator.
Soon, we are sliding into the back seat of a Lyft, taking us to our final destination for the evening.
“Do I get any clues as to where we are going?” She looks across the car to me. It’s dark out, so I’m only catching glimpses of her through beams of streetlamps and other car headlights.
“There will be dancing...and not just by us.”
“Oh, God, are you taking me to strip club?” Light passes over her face so I can see her eyes are wide.
“Not exactly a strip club, no.”
“What do you mean ‘not exactly.’ I wouldn’t say no to one, but a girl needs to get amped up for that first.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
“So confident.”
“Oh, yes, I absolutely am.”
We continue the ride mostly silent, listening to the music our driver has decided to turn on. It’s a soft, alternative rock song and really, it’s pretty hot.
I catch Nora sliding her hands against her thighs then folding them in her lap. She won’t sit still.
“Are you all right?” I ask, placing my hand on her thigh.
She gives me a small smile. “Never better.”
I give her leg a squeeze then return my hands to myself, just as the car slows to a halt.
We thank the driver and I get out of the car, running quickly around to open her door for her.
“M’lady.” I offer my hand, pulling her to stand.
“Thank you, but you don’t have to be so chivalrous all the time. A girl likes an asshole now and again.” She kisses my cheek then walks to the sidewalk, looking up at the sign of our destination.
“Erotique,” she says, reading the sign. “I thought you said this wasn’t a strip club.”
“It’s not. Just trust me, Phoenix.”
Nora
There is a line leading into the main entrance of the club. Bar? I don’t know what it is yet, all I know is there is a line, and I’m shaking like a leaf.
We bypass the line completely and head right to the front door, where Case shakes hands with the doorman, a very muscular, very attractive African American man.
“Well, I’ll be goddamned. Officer Carmichael on the scene,” the gentleman says.
“It’s good to see you, Andre.”
Andre’s eyes settle on me. “Who is this pretty one?”
“Andre, this is my friend, Nora. Nora, this is Andre. He worked on the force with me in Savannah until a few years ago. Now he’s head of security for Erotique.”
“Hi, Andre. It’s nice to meet you. How exactly does one go from cop to security here?” I ask in complete curiosity.
“On the job injury and my girlfriend’s passion project. This is her place. I’m just supporting cast,” he says.
I smile, but my heart hurts knowing he was hurt in the line of duty, just like Case could be. Just like my father was.
“Thanks for getting us in tonight, man,” Case says. “We had some free time, so I wanted to let Nora see a show.”
“Starts in about ten. Plenty of time to get a drink and get settled.” Andre pushes open the large, frosted glass door for us and we step inside, immediately transformed into another world.
It’s dark, but warm lights cast over the floor, guiding us down a hallway toward a set of dark wooden doors.
The walls are lined with blood red cloth and dotted with fiberoptic lights, making it seem like a red sky covered with stars.
Case squeezes my hand then releases it to push the door open.
It’s a small, intimate club with a stage to the right. A plum-colored velvet curtain is hiding whoever is on the stage, and it seems everyone is scurrying toward their seats at small tables and booths.
“What is this pl
ace?” I ask, as we approach the bar.
“You’ll see. What will you be drinking tonight?” he replies, placing his hand on the small of my back.
“Vodka soda with lime, please. Just the one. I’ll have water after that.” I want to be completely sober tonight.
He looks to the bartender. “I’ll have a glass of water as well.”
“You aren’t having a drink?” I cock my brow.
“Nah, keeping my wits about me tonight. I may never get you out on a date again. I want to remember it.” He flashes that panty-dropping smirk.
I lean in closer so he can hear me. “You’re such a flirt. It’s not fair sometimes.”
“How’s it not fair?” He slides his credit card to the bartender then we receive our drinks.
“You look like you do, with all your hot cop glory, then you turn on the charm and women are done for.” I sip my drink slowly.
“Are you done for?”
“That’s up for debate.”
The lights begin to dim and he takes my hand. “Let’s go sit.”
We weave through the tables until we reach an empty one just in front of the stage. He must have called in a favor with Andre.
The lights lower until it’s pitch-black, save for the candles on the table, and I feel his hand creep onto my thigh.
The curtain raises as a classic, twenties crooning classic bursts from the speakers and a very scantily clad woman with auburn hair takes the stage, singing her heart out.
A burlesque show.
Case freaking Carmichael brought me to a burlesque show. I’ve always wanted to see one, but never got around to it.
It’s so impressive, watching these women dance in perfectly choreographed numbers wearing next to nothing and sky-high heels.
It’s sexual in nature, yes, but it’s so much more than that. It’s a show. Like Broadway.
I’m entranced by them and their aura. It’s intoxicating and having Case by my side only intensifies it.
All the skin, the sequins, the music, the dancing, the singing.
I look over to Case and he’s not watching the show, he’s watching me. His eyes on me make me feel alive. Like I could overcome anything. Like I could run into a roaring fire and come out unscathed. That’s a scary feeling.
