His Turn (The Turning Series Book 3)

by JA Huss

  And he’s got hypnotic eyes. A weird green-brown-blue swirl of fucking sexy.

  I want to growl again when he trains them on me as I approach. “Nadia,” he says, reaching for me with both arms outstretched.

  I let him take my hands and pull me in so he can kiss my cheek. He wouldn’t dare do a full kiss on the lips in front of people. He’s not into public displays of affection. And neither am I, so I’m fine with that.

  “I was thinking of you today and just wanted to drop these off myself before my afternoon meetings.”

  The whole fucking room swoons as I take the flowers, sniff them as I smile for the crowd, then hand them to Chris and say, “Can you please put these in water for me? I’m going to walk Mr. Wells back to his car.”

  I have to control my eye-roll as all the women in the lobby continue their gaping and ogling, because I know what he’s doing. He was mad at me last night. I behaved… not quite badly, but I didn’t react to their invitation the way they’d hoped.

  “Did you come to any conclusions?” he asks.

  “About?” I say, smiling sweetly and hooking my arm around his as I guide him over to the back door. We exit the school and walk over to a small pavilion where students gather on nice days. I look up at him, waiting for his answer.

  “You know what,” he says in a low angry voice.

  See, I have him down so well. He would never lose his temper in public. He would never display his dissatisfaction with me in front of people I work with. But out here… I tuck down the smile… he’s free to just be himself.

  Control freak. Asshole. Kinky bastard. Dom. Sir. Take your pick, all of those words describe Jordan Wells.

  “I haven’t had time to do my research,” I say, nodding my head towards the school. “I’m working.”

  “Well,” he says, catching a stray piece of hair blowing in the slight wind and tucking it behind my ear. Such a player. “Plenty of time for that. We’re going out tonight, right?”

  “Yes,” I say, trying my best to appear bored. Bric is a mystery to me. One night is not enough time to understand what makes him tick. And that night we were together I was so angry. Fucking Jordan. It was Christmas night and he called me up, ordered me over to his apartment, dressed me up like a doll, and then sent me to his friend as a gift.

  Bric fucked me well enough. But he didn’t talk much and I was instructed not to talk. So I didn’t get much out of that night.

  I did manage to piss Bric off though. I almost smile at that, gazing up at Jordan with the most innocent expression I can muster. “We actually had a nice, long conversation last night,” I say.

  “I know.” Jordan says, not missing a beat. “He recorded it and sent it to me this morning.”

  Asshole.

  “So you’re playing games with other men?” he asks. His eye twitches as his words come out. This is his tell. I figured that out a long time ago. Sometimes it just means he’s thinking hard about something. But other times it’s a dead giveaway that he’s angry.

  And right now he’s angry.

  “Were you going to tell me about them? Or was this just yet another of your fucking games?”

  “Jordan,” I say, still smiling. Still being sweet. I might not be in control of him—yet. But I have one hundred percent control over myself at all times. This is why I love ballet. It’s an endless stream of self-control, self-abuse, and self-assessment. “You were the one who said you didn’t want to know about me. Not one thing. Remember that?”

  “I was not including your sex life in that, Nadia. And I’m pretty sure I made that clear.”

  “Did you?” I ask. I tap my finger on my lip as I pretend to think this over. He absolutely did say this was an exclusive arrangement. “I can’t remember,” I lie. “We didn’t write any of it down.”

  He nods his head and trains those green-brown-blue swirly eyes on me. “One point for Nadia,” he says, his voice deep and dangerous. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “No.” I sigh. “Probably not. Your friend seems like a dot the i’s and cross the t’s kind of man. I’m expecting a contract from him.”

  “As am I,” Jordan says. “And I’ll make you pay for this.”

  I smile sweetly as I lean up on my tiptoes, cup his face in both my hands, and kiss him chastely on the lips. “You can try.” I turn away then, calling out over my shoulder, “See you tonight. And thank you for the flowers.”

  “Be ready for us at seven fifteen,” he calls back.

  I don’t even bother replying.

  I feel powerful today.

  Here’s the thing about men who like to dominate women. They think we’re weak. That we enjoy submitting. And I’m sure there are weak ones out there. Just like I’m sure some of them like to submit. But I’m not submissive. Not at all. And no one who knows me would ever describe me as weak.

  I play this game with Jordan because I’m practicing. I’m learning how to be more dominant from an unequal starting point. I’m teaching myself to think outside the box when it comes to controlling men.

  I’m still in control. He has to know that. We’ve been playing for weeks now and the first two, at least, I must’ve slapped his face in public a couple dozen times.

  I’m testing him. Seeing how far I can push before he loses his cool.

  He’s doing well, so far. But I’m just getting started. And even though I didn’t anticipate him inviting his friend into our little arrangement, I’m all for it.

  Two clueless bastards to play with?

  Why, yes, sir, I’d like that very much.

  I smile all the way through my afternoon. All the way home to my apartment. And the whole time I’m soaking my aching feet and my aching body in my nightly bubble bath.

  I choose my favorite dress from the closet. It’s a charcoal-gray A-line, wool coat dress with a cut-out back and a tailored waist. The silk lining feels so soft when I slip it on. A nice contrast to the wool exterior.

  The zipper goes both directions. Down from the top and up from the above-the-knee hem. So you can button yourself up or let some skin show.

  I choose the skin. A push-up bra hikes my tits up to my chin and the stiletto heels make me five inches taller. I want to be as close to eye-to-eye with these men tonight as I can manage.

  The entire ensemble is professional in a very alluring way. We are equals, this dress says. In all ways but one. The only one that matters.

  I’m the one who owns a pussy in this little relationship.

  I chuckle at my reflection in the mirror and… stop.

  Am I happy?

  Hmm. I have to think about that for a moment.

  I’m not a sullen person. At least on the outside. I’m not bubbly. I’m neither dark nor light. But I’m not one of those boring in-between women either.

  I’m just careful. And I like to have a plan. So I don’t show happiness much because I think happiness is a weakness. I don’t like to laugh, but I don’t hate it. I don’t make myself unhappy on purpose. In fact, I’m not an unhappy person at all.

  I’m mostly quite… satisfied.

  “Yes,” I say, straighten my skirt and then plane my hand flat down the front of my breasts to smooth out a wrinkle. “I’m satisfied.”

  And it’s not a lie, either. I am pretty damn satisfied right now. My life is going better than expected. I love the job. I can’t wait for Christmas camp to be over at the school so I can get back to seven AM rehearsals and days filled with nothing but straining muscles and self-inflicted, internal mind games as I bend my body into an instrument that needs to be played… just so.

  “I’m ready,” I tell the reflection of me in the mirror, just as the doorbell rings. She nods back to me just before I turn away and walk to the front door.

  I open it wide to a straight-faced Jordan. He looks me up and down—approves, I can tell these things—and says, “You look very nice tonight, Nadia.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, turning so he can grab my coat from the closet near the do
or and help me into it. It was an automatic gesture and it occurs to me—we know each other now.

  He knows where my coats are. He knows I will answer the door and turn. And he will open the closet, get a coat, and help me into it.

  No words necessary.

  Is that… strange? I wonder about this as he lifts my hair out of my coat and arranges it along my back.

  “Bric’s in the car,” Jordan says in his low, gruff voice. He’s not unhappy right now. In fact, he seems a little subdued.

  I turn around and reach for my small clutch bag on the foyer table. “Is everything OK?” I ask.

  He gives me a questioning look. I’m not usually interested in his moods. Beyond horny, that is. “Yes, why?”

  “You seem… quiet.”

  He shrugs. “I’m not.”

  “Well, you look nice too,” I add for lack of anything else to say. He is quiet. Something is wrong. But… whatever. I’m not really interested. So the compliment is just a time filler. “I like this suit. Is it new?”

  “Yes,” he says, looking down at himself. And then he smiles. “My mother gave it to me for Christmas.”

  “Did she?” He’s never talked about his mother before. And I had no idea where he was for Christmas Day. But apparently, he was with family. Good for him.

  “Yes,” he says, holding out his arm for me. I take it and we step out into the hallway, turning together, just enough so I can pull the door closed behind us. “She says I’m big and important now, so I should dress the part.”

  “The other bazillion-dollar suits weren’t up to her standards?”

  We both grin as he shakes his head. “God, don’t get me started on my fucking mother and her goddamned standards.”

  I smile all the way down the hall, picturing his uptight mother. I met her once. By accident. God, I was horrified when I realized who she was. Where I was. Jordan took me to a party just before Christmas. I only said yes because I mistakenly presumed it was a work thing.

  It wasn’t. It was a family thing. At his parents’ home, if you can call a twelve-thousand-square-foot mansion in Cherry Creek a home.

  He fucked me senseless in his childhood bedroom.

  And just thinking about it now kinda makes me wet. I wonder if we’ll fuck tonight or if it will be all games?

  “What is going through that dark mind of yours?” he asks me as he waves me into the elevator.

  I wait for the doors to close and the car to descend before I answer. “Fucking you tonight,” I say. “What else would I be thinking about?”

  “Do you think we will? Fuck tonight?” He’s trying to hide a smirk.

  “Why wouldn’t we?” I ask.

  “You might not like Bric’s terms.”

  “Hmmm,” I say. “Should I be worried?”

  The elevator doors open and he waves me through. “Yes, Nadia,” he says with a long sigh. “You should. He’s not like me.”

  “What’s that mean?” I can see Bric through the lobby doors. He’s waiting in the car. We walk down a few steps and cross the main lobby. There’s a few people having drinks at a bar. A few more sitting in small gatherings, talking. This place reminds me of a hotel.

  “He’s very good at playing games.”

  “Well, so are you, right?”

  “No,” he says, serious. He opens the vestibule door and waits for me to enter. The doorman is busy outside, talking to someone. But he sees us and jogs to get the second door before we reach it. “He’s serious. This game he plays, Nadia, it’s fucking real to him, OK? So don’t push the guy too far.”

  “Or what?” I ask, just as the doorman opens the door for us and we step out into the cold winter night.

  “He’s been known to… go too far sometimes. He’s dangerous.”

  “And you’re not?” I just barely get the words out before we reach Bric’s waiting car.

  But there’s no time for Jordan to answer me. He doesn’t even try. The doorman is there, opening the passenger side door. Jordan veers away to walk around to the other side. I slip in next to Bric and Jordan gets in behind him.

  “You look nice,” Bric says, glancing over at me as he revs the car engine.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  The two of them talk after that, Jordan from behind, Bric glancing up into the rear-view mirror to see him. And I am left to wonder just what the hell Jordan was getting at back there.

  He’s dangerous? So? Aren’t all men dangerous?

  I shake it off and enjoy the smooth ride as we make our way through downtown.

  I’m dangerous too. So if Jordan thinks I’ll cower because he feels I’m getting in over my head… well. He doesn’t know me very well.

  I like a challenge. That affirmation is practically my mantra. I say it over, and over, and over again. Every time things get hard, those words run through my mind. When Jordan has me tied to the bed and my face is stinging from his slaps. Or my ass is hot and red from his heavy hand. Or my pussy is raw from being fucked.

  I repeat it.

  I like a challenge.

  I like a challenge.

  I like a challenge.

  “You’re very quiet tonight,” Bric says, pulling into the Mountain View Country Club valet area. There’s a car ahead of us, so we have a moment to wait.

  “I’m just enjoying the ride.”

  “Listen carefully, darling,” Bric says. “The ride hasn’t started yet. So don’t get too excited.”

  Before I can snap a reply back at him, we’re moving forward and several young men are pulling our doors open in haste.

  I smile at the one helping me, as he takes my hand and pulls me from the car. “Thank you,” I say. But I’m fuming inside.

  I don’t like this Bric guy. I don’t like the way he talks to me. Like I’m a child. You’re so young, Nadia. What do you know about anything?

  Asshole.

  I know plenty. So much more than I should.

  Let me take you to school, Mr. Bricman. You listen carefully.

  I’m the one with the power here.

  Don’t you forget it.

  Chapter Seven - Bric

  It’s a good thing Jordan is here. He’s lively. A conversationalist. And he’s very interested in this Nadia girl, so he’s trying his best to keep the conversation going after we order drinks. Nadia looks… pretty, but professional. Like this is a business meeting. I’m wearing the same suit I put on this morning. I didn’t see Jordan this morning, so I’m not sure if this suit he’s wearing is special or not. I don’t pay much attention to what he wears from day to day.

  But all of it together makes this… not a date.

  I sigh as I take a sip of brandy.

  “Am I boring you already, Mr. Bricman?”

  “Not in the least, Nadia. And please,” I say, setting my glass back down on the white linen tablecloth. “It’s Elias.” I glance at Jordan, who is shooting me a confused look. “What?” I ask him.

  “Elias, huh?” He tries to hide a smirk when he takes a sip of his whiskey.

  “I’m trying to pick up the mood. Why am I getting the feeling none of us want to be here?”

  “I want to be here,” Jordan says. “How about you, Nadia? Is Elias”—he stresses my name with a sneer—“someone you see yourself with?”

  Nadia shrugs. She’s drinking wine. They carded her and she produced an ID. So I guess she’s at least twenty-one. “I don’t do anything I’m not interested in.”

  “How do you manage that?” I ask her. I’m genuinely curious. “Surely you must do lots of things you’re not really interested in.”

  “No,” she says. She carries herself with confidence. Not quite arrogant, but definitely on the edge of it. Stuck-up. Snooty. Too good. All words a casual acquaintance might use to describe Nadia Wolfe. “I made a promise to myself when I was a child. I would never cower to the demands of others. Unless, of course,” she says, winking at Jordan, “I enjoy cowering.”

  “You don’t cower, Nadia. You always put up a
good fight.”

  “Like now,” I mumble.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Am I disappointing you, Elias?”

  “Not yet,” I say, taking another sip of brandy. “But I think you have the potential.”

  Jordan laughs. I try not to, because I’m being a dick and I know it. But fuck it. She’s being a bitch.

  “Should we call it a night then?” Nadia actually stands up like she’s gonna walk out.

  “Come on, Nadia,” Jordan says. “He’s just fucking with you.”

  I look her in the eye. Meet her gaze. Hold it prisoner. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood, Miss Wolfe. But by all means, you’re free to walk out. Just know that you can’t ever come back.”

  “Is that a rule?” she asks, taking her seat once more. People are looking at us. I don’t like to be stared at. But if she wants to make a scene, that’s on her. I’m not gonna let it be a reflection on me.

  “Yes,” I say. “That is a rule. You stay, we’re together. You walk out, we’re not. Take it or leave it.”

  “Can I get this in writing?” she asks.

  I pull the contract out of my suit coat pocket and place the thick envelope on the table. “Of course you can.”

  She glances at Jordan. Maybe nervous. Maybe not. He nods to her. “Sign it,” he says. “It’s all standard language.”

  Nadia reaches for the envelope, pulls out the stack of folded papers, and begins to read. She looks up after a few seconds. Stares at me. “I told you I’m already playing games with several other men.”

  “So quit,” Jordan says.

  I say nothing. I just stare her down and slowly sip my drink.

  Nadia redirects her gaze to Jordan. “I like them. I’m winning. Why should I quit?”

  “Then why are you here?” Jordan asks.