His Turn (The Turning Series Book 3)

by JA Huss

  I’d rather be twenty-three. So I came. I was offered the position pretty much out of nowhere. And two weeks later I was living in a company apartment in Denver.

  It was a whirlwind dream come true.

  But there has to be a string. Everything requires payment. And even though Jordan has nothing to do with the ballet—hates it, in fact. Hasn’t even ever seen The Nutcracker, for fuck’s sake—he’s the condition. Fate or luck or whatever you want to call it always has a price and I think Jordan Wells is my price.

  That’s why I put up with his bullshit. I just know—feel it in my heart—that if I walk away from him luck will walk away from me.

  It’s stupid. I realize this. But I still believe it. So I stay.

  But he’s dangerous, this man. He has rules, and expectations, and he insists on being in control.

  Control is something I like as well. I’m in control of everything in my life if you take Jordan out of the equation. It’s why I told him I wasn’t submissive. I’m not. That wasn’t a lie. But I was hoping to dissuade him after his offer.

  He called me a challenge. Like I’m a game. Like I’m just a piece of a puzzle he’s trying to put together.

  And he wants us to play the game with Elias Bricman.

  I’ve seen Elias around the Club. He’s the owner, or part-owner. Manager. One of those three. I have no idea. So last night, when Jordan came over to my apartment and ordered me to dress up in the clothes he brought me, tied a gift tag onto my wrist, and told me to go meet Mr. Bricman at his second-story bar inside the Club, I went.

  He instructed me not to speak, so I didn’t.

  But he never told me to have a good time.

  I smile at that. Stupid asshole. He should know how to play his own game by now.

  Of course, the joke’s on me. Because now he’s pissed off and I’m expected to satisfy his friend tonight. Again.

  “What are you smiling about?” Matthew asks.

  “Oh, nothing,” I say, chuckling to myself. “Just a guy.”

  Matthew smiles back and winks. I don’t know him well, but well enough. I get up before he can pry into my personal life and he sings out after me, “I’ll get that story, Nadia. So don’t think walking away will help you escape.”

  I’m really not trying to escape. Escaping is easy. I’m practically an escape artist. I never choose the easy way out.

  I love a challenge.

  I can take it. I can take anything the world throws at me. So if Jordan thinks his little game will break me? He’s wrong.

  Many have tried.

  He won’t succeed.

  Classes end at four, so by the time I finish up everything at the school and walk through my apartment door, it’s almost five-thirty. I throw my keys down on a side table and I’m just walking over to the comfy chair I like so I can relax for a few minutes when I spy the present on the coffee table and stop in my tracks.

  It’s a pretty box. Light pink with a white chiffon ribbon. There’s a single pink rose lying on top next to a card.

  I allow myself a smirk as I walk over, drop my purse on the table, pick up the card, and open it.

  Nadia,

  Sorry about the shoes today.

  Jordan

  The ribbon falls off the present like water when I untie it, and then I lift off the lid.

  Brand new pair of black ballet slippers.

  See, this is the thing about this relationship I have going with Jordan. He’s a dick, but it’s an act. He’s actually a nice guy. I never said a word about having to walk out into the snow in my slippers. I never even looked down at my feet, so he didn’t pick up some subliminal clue from my expression.

  He just knows. He knows because he cares enough to pay attention to me. This is a great quality in a dominant/submissive relationship. Like, number one on the list kind of quality.

  But it’s going to be his downfall.

  I pick up the rose and walk over to my big chair, sinking down into the cushions as I lift it to my nose and take in the sweet scent. My phone buzzes in my purse, so I lean over, fish it out, and tab accept. “Hello?”

  “Can you be ready by six?”

  “No,” I tell him. “I just got home. And I’m enjoying my rose at the moment. So no. Not by six.”

  I can feel Jordan smile on the other side of the phone. “I’ll be there at six. And you will be ready.”

  The call drops and now it’s my turn to smile. I like this game. A lot. I like the power play we’re doing. The push and the pull. The give and the take. Most men like Jordan like to take. Taking is easy. But giving in is a lot harder.

  We both have trouble with that.

  So it goes on like this. I’ve only been in this relationship a few weeks, but I’ve got him all figured out. He’s not the mystery he thinks he is. He’s a player, for sure. Not an amateur, but certainly not at a professional level yet.

  I might not be at the top of my game either, but I’m farther along than he is.

  Thirty seconds have gone by now and I’m on a timer. So I run to the bedroom, taking off my ballet skirt as I go, and when I get to the bathroom, I slip out of my shoes, my tights, and run the water for the shower.

  I’m washed, dressed in a robe, hair still piled up on my head in a bun, two minutes after that. Make-up takes five minutes. Way too long. Then I unpin my hair, let it fall over my shoulders, and brush it out so the long waves are shiny and brilliant.

  Five more minutes go by.

  I choose a dress from the closet. It doesn’t matter which one I put on. Jordan purchased all of them, so he’ll like whatever I wear. I choose black because it feels like a dark night coming.

  It’s low-cut, so I skip the bra and then decide to skip the panties as well because… what’s the point?

  At five minutes to six I’m fastening the diamond necklace around my neck—yet another gift from Jordan—and slipping my aching feet into a pair of black five-inch heels.

  When he walks into the apartment at exactly six o’clock, I’m sitting on the couch, legs crossed, leaning towards the door, holding a glass of wine.

  He smiles at me because he knows what we’re doing too.

  It’s a game. A very fun game.

  And even though calling him ‘sir’ makes me want to roll my eyes and spit in his face, I do it because the payoff is all that matters. The expression on his face when I disappoint him is almost as delicious as the expression when I surprise him.

  He’s not surprised tonight. He knew I’d be ready.

  I stand as Jordan walks over to me. He takes my hands, leans in, and kisses me on the cheek. “You look nice,” he whispers into my ear.

  “You as well,” I say, wanting very badly to check him out thoroughly, but not daring to take my eyes off his as he leans back.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” he says. “We’re going to dinner first.”

  “I’m famished,” I say, purring the words out. “And thank you for the shoes.”

  He shrugs off the gratitude and walks over to the coat closet, chooses a black cape, and throws it over my shoulders with a gentlemanly flair. “Ready?” he asks, holding out his arm for me.

  I nod. “Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

  I don’t know what he’s got up his sleeve for tonight, but all this polite talk is my first clue that it will be challenging.

  That’s OK with me.

  I just love a challenge.

  Chapter Three - Bric

  My phone buzzes on the bedside table. I lift up my head, confused as to whether it’s morning or night, then decide I don’t really care and let it drop back onto the pillow.

  The phone stops buzzing, goes to voicemail. But a few seconds later it buzzes again.

  I make a grab for it, miss, and it slides off the table and drops to the floor.

  “Fuck,” I grumble, reaching down to pick it up again. I read the screen. Jordan. “What?” I say into the phone.

  “We’re coming up.”

  “Who?” I ask, still confuse
d.

  “Are you… sleeping?” he asks.

  “Who?” I say again, ignoring his question.

  “Nadia and me,” he says. “We’re just finishing up dinner. Be up in ten.”

  He ends the call before I can say anything else, so I just stare at it for a second, trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

  I roll over, sighing heavily, and check the time. Seven-thirty.

  I slept all goddamned day.

  I close my eyes, not caring.

  Pounding on my front door wakes me again. “Goddammit!” I yell. Can’t I have a fucking day to myself without people demanding attention?

  But the pounding continues. Relentlessly. I swing my legs out of bed, walk out to the front room half naked, and pull the door open. “What the fuck?”

  Jordan is standing there with the girl from last night. “Jesus Christ, man,” Jordan says, pushing past me. “Pull yourself together, Bric.”

  He leaves Nadia at the door.

  We stare at each other. Her eyes dip down to my bare chest, then slowly come back up to meet mine again.

  I stand aside to let her in, and she enters. Silently. Just like last night. Bitch is playing with me, I can tell.

  “Did you go to work today?” Jordan asks as he pours drinks into two cut-crystal glasses at my bar.

  “I live at work, asshole.” I’m pissed off for a dozen reasons right now. He woke me up, twice. He’s drinking my best bottle of brandy, and he brought that game piece to my apartment. Not to mention that they are both dressed and I’m wearing—I look down at myself—pajama pants and nothing else. Add in the fact that I don’t like this girl, he’s brought her here for us to share, and I’m not in the mood for sex, let alone sharing sex, and yeah. Plenty of reasons for me to be pissed off.

  “Get out,” I growl. I’m talking to Jordan but I’m looking at the girl.

  She doesn’t even give me the courtesy of a scowl.

  Bitch.

  “No,” Jordan says. “I’ve brought Nadia back for a second chance. She’s sorry she wasn’t more accommodating last night and she’d like to try again.”

  I stare at her. She stares back.

  “Isn’t that right, Nadia?” Jordan asks.

  “That’s right, Jordan,” she says. Her voice is… nice. A little deeper than I expected since she’s so young and her face is… kinda sweet. A little bit innocent.

  Everything about her screams liar.

  I realize I’m still holding the door open, so I close it and walk over to get my drink. My bare feet thud heavily across the floor. Nadia turns her body to watch me pass, and that pisses me off too. “Why did you bring her here?” I ask, taking my glass and sipping the drink. “Take her up to the apartment and I’ll be up later.”

  “No,” Jordan says. Cool as can be. I have to admit, he’s a better player than I first thought. I thought I’d have to teach him to stand his ground and be more assertive. But he’s got no problem with aggression. We’re equals in this game and he knows it.

  I like it, but hate it at the same time. I’m not used to playing with Jordan, even though we’ve been doing this for a while now. I’m used to Smith and Quin. I know them. And we always complemented each other’s personalities. They both had their assertive moments, but it was understood that I pretty much run the show. I’m the game master, if you will. The arbitrator. The one in control.

  Jordan isn’t about to bow to my demands. Just one more thing to tick me off.

  “I don’t feel like playing tonight, Jordan,” I say. It comes out as a sigh. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Tonight,” Jordan says, walking over to Nadia. “Get on your knees, Nadia,” he says, just before kissing her mouth.

  She closes her eyes and enjoys the kiss. But the moment Jordan pulls back, she’s dropping to her knees. Her head is turned up, eyes on his. Glued to him. Her hands go behind her back as Jordan walks around her and stands in front of me.

  “You need a game, brother,” he says, then takes a sip of my good brandy. “And this is the perfect player for us. She’s willing, Bric. She’s got some fight in her, I’ve seen it. So whatever happened last night…”—he growls those words out as he reaches for Nadia’s hair and gives it a tug hard enough to make her head jerk—“won’t happen again. Will it, Nadia?”

  He looks down at her as she looks up. “No, sir,” she says, just loud enough. With just the right amount of submission, but not too much. Because, as we both know, she’s not really submissive. He pulls her hair towards me, making her pivot in place, until I can see her face.

  “He’s your master now too, Nadia. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replies, eyes darting away from his and landing on mine.

  “You will obey both of us. Unconditionally. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” Jordan says. He looks at me as he takes off his suit coat. I watch him as he drapes it over a nearby chair. Then he untucks his shirt from his pants and begins to unbutton it. A moment later, it lands on top of the coat. He smiles at me.

  But his smile reminds me of Quin when things finally fell into place with Rochelle, and I look away. Down at Nadia. I have her full attention and I don’t like it. “Close your eyes,” I say.

  She obeys. Chin still lifted.

  “And lower your fucking head, whore.”

  She lowers her head.

  I look at Jordan to see if he’ll say anything about this, but he doesn’t. He’s too busy unbuckling his belt. A second later he’s got his cock out. Fists it, then pumps it. It’s hard and thick in his hand.

  “She’s going to suck your dick,” Jordan says to me.

  “Is she?” I laugh.

  He nods. “And I’m gonna help her.”

  I raise my eyebrows at that, then shake my head so Nadia won’t know I’m rejecting the offer.

  Jordan smiles and nods back a, Yes, I am. “Watch me,” he says, walking over to Nadia. He grabs her hair and says, “Keep your eyes closed, Nadia. And crawl forward a little.”

  She crawls. Jordan guides her by the hair and then yanks on it to signal stop. She’s right in front of me. Jordan reaches down, takes one of her hands from behind her back, and places it over my cock. When his eyes meet mine again, he has a look on his face that says, See.

  “Take out Bric’s cock, Nadia.”

  She uses the one hand—and only the one hand—to pull my pajama pants down and take me out. I’m half hard already just from the little show Jordan is putting on. But it only takes a few pumps of her warm palm to get me all the way there.

  “That’s nice,” Jordan says. “Now put it behind your back again.”

  She obeys just as Jordan scoots closer, so he’s standing directly behind her. His cock is hard too, and he presses it to the back of her head as he places his palms against her temples.

  He pushes her face towards me and says, “Open your mouth, Nadia. Wider.” He chuckles. “Bric is bigger than that.”

  I look down—watching—as she opens wide and Jordan guides her head until the tip of my cock passes between her lips and rests on her warm tongue. “Lick him, Nadia,” Jordan says.

  Her tongue begins to twirl around the tip of my head. She licks, then drags her tongue all the way down my shaft. I realize that Jordan is the one controlling her. She obeys the pressure he places on her temples. He guides her back up and then pushes her forward until she’s got my cock in her mouth again.

  I look up at Jordan and he smiles.

  I manage a crooked grin. It’s hot, I decide. And not something we’ve ever done before. But I redirect my attention back to Nadia, because Jordan is urging her to take more of me in her mouth. He pushes on her head, forcing my cock down into her throat. I feel her contract around me—almost gagging but not quite.

  And that must not be enough for Jordan, because he makes her take more.

  She is choking when he finally pulls her head back. Drool falls out of her mouth, slides down her chin, and drips
onto her dress.

  Jordan moves his hand downward, noticing my gaze, and yanks the dress down until one tit comes free. It hangs out, perky and plump from the surrounding fabric. He plays with her nipple as his other hand guides her back to my waiting cock.

  He helps her blow me. In his own way.

  And I enjoy it… a lot. I close my eyes, wanting very badly to lie back, but I’m standing up and so I can’t completely let go.

  My hands join Jordan’s on her head. He gives me space. Then, once I’ve got a rhythm going and I’m pumping her head good and fast as I fuck her throat, he places his hand on top of mine.

  I don’t bother looking at him. If he wants to make it more personal… fuck it. It feels good.

  Nadia is making the most delicious noises as I pump my cock in her mouth. Gagging and whimpering. So very, very different than the way she was last night.

  When I close my eyes and start moaning too, Jordan reaches under my balls and grips them tight as I spew my release in long, contracting waves of pleasure.

  She swallows. Twice. “Fuck,” I whisper, once I’m finished. I needed that.

  I open my eyes and see Jordan groaning as he fists his cock now. He grabs Nadia by the hair, spins her around, and shoots his climax on the front of her dress.

  “Yes,” he says, still pumping his cock. “Yes.”

  He takes a long breath before looking at me. Smiles. “OK, decision time, Bric. Do you wanna play a game with me?”

  I look down at Nadia, who still has her hands behind her back and her eyes closed.

  “She wants it,” Jordan says. “If you reach between her legs right now, you’ll find a warm pool of gimme more in there.”

  I grin. Chuckle. Then give in. “Why the fuck not?” I say back. “But only for tonight.”

  “Sure,” Jordan says. “We can make it a one-time thing. Nadia won’t care, will you, baby?”

  She keeps her eyes closed as she shakes her head. “No, sir. I’m here to do whatever you want.”