His Turn (The Turning Series Book 3)

by JA Huss

  I’m still silent. Letting Jordan field this one.

  “Because I was intrigued. But Elias has already written me off as a poor loser. I don’t know if the two of you deserve my full attention.”

  “So walk out,” I say. “If you’re waiting for me to beg you to stay, well”—I laugh—“you’re gonna grow old waiting for that to happen.”

  “It’s just fun, Nadia,” Jordan says, shooting me a let-me-do-the-talking look. I suddenly feel like I’m playing the game as someone else. As Smith, actually. I’m usually the one in control and he’s the one being a dick.

  And that’s a little bit sad. I miss that old game.

  “We’re just here for the fun. Just ignore Bric’s bad mood, OK? He’s getting over some shit.”

  She lifts one eyebrow at me. I roll my eyes in return. “Now that is interesting,” she says. “What is it you’re getting over, Elias?” She sips her wine and waits.

  “Nothing that concerns you.” I don’t bother shooting Jordan a chastising look for bringing my personal life into this little meeting. He’ll get an earful later. I won’t put on a show for this stranger.

  “OK,” she says, dropping it and refocusing on the papers in her hand. “This says payment. We’ve already discussed this. I don’t want it, you’re insisting on it, so I am scratching this out.” She actually has a pen too. Where she just pulled that from, I have no idea. She draws a line through the section about money. And then begins to write something in.

  I don’t want to crane my neck to get a better look. I don’t want to show her that I’m intrigued. But I can’t help it. She’s renegotiating my fucking contract.

  “Do you want to know what I wrote?” she says, still writing.

  “Yes,” Jordan says. God, this guy. Sometimes I think he has no game at all. He’s way too eager for this girl. What makes her so special?

  OK. So she’s a ballerina. I admit, that’s pretty cool. And she’s beautiful with her pale skin, long legs, and sweet face. But all the players are pretty. I think Jordan likes her because she’s aloof. Distant. And she tries to dominate him. It gets him off. He likes her public displays of anger.

  And if I’m being honest, that whole slapping gig she pulls on him—it’s fucking hot. It might be the only reason I’m here.

  I wonder if I could get her to slap me in this restaurant?

  I look around at the country-club types, all buttoned up and proper, sitting at their impeccably laid out tables covered in expensive food and drink, and almost laugh.

  I should show her who’s in charge here.

  “Write whatever you want in that contract, Nadia. I’ll sign it.”

  “You will?” she asks. I can tell she doesn’t want to look up at me. She’s trying very hard to not look up at me.

  But when she fails, I get a thrill of victory as I meet her eyes. They are brown. Just plain old brown. But not plain, either. They are lit up with fire. With determination. With strength.

  Maybe that’s what Jordan likes about her? The fierce look in her eyes?

  “Of course,” I say. “I’m gonna get what I want out of it no matter what you do to that contract.”

  “And what’s that?” she asks.

  “You.”

  She looks back down at the contract, quickly averting her gaze. Maybe she even blushes a little, but the light in here is too dim to really make that determination for sure.

  I’m so going to win this game.

  “I wrote what I want out of it. Since you’re so easy to please, Elias.” She puts her pen down and pushes the contract over to me with one finger. “Sign then, if you’re so agreeable.”

  I pick it up and read her hand-written words.

  Payment to Nadia Wolfe to include something dear from Elias Bricman and Jordan Wells.

  I shrug and hand it over to Jordan’s outstretched hand. “What’s that mean?” he asks. “Something dear? Like… my car? Or something from my apartment?”

  “Think bigger, Jordan,” Nadia says, feeling confident. “Any questions?” This one is directed at me.

  “None,” I reply. “I’m well versed in the rules of the game.”

  “Good,” she says, chuckling as she leans back in her chair. She takes a long sip of wine and smiles to herself. Like the cat with the grin. The one in the tree that’s always putting something over on the other characters in the story.

  Jordan reaches across the table, grabs her pen, and signs his name. He passes the contract back to me. I sign, then tuck it back inside the envelope and hide it away in my coat pocket. “I’ll email you a copy.”

  “I really don’t need a copy. I don’t need a contract, either. I’m not interested in this game business. I’m playing because it’s fun.” She looks at Jordan. “Like you said, right? It’s just fun.”

  “We usually supply an apartment,” I say. “But not this time, Nadia.”

  “I don’t need an apartment,” she says.

  “I know. And I don’t want you there anyway. You can live wherever you want, but we’re going to play at my house.”

  “Which house?” Jordan asks.

  “My Club apartment.”

  He raises both eyebrows at me. Surprised.

  I don’t like to bring girls to my apartment. Last night with Nadia was a daring move on Jordan’s part. Bringing her to me like that. I don’t want to share my space. But I’ve decided to move out of the Club, so who the fuck cares. It’s not my space anymore. “I have some things in there we might find useful,” I say to Jordan. “A little bit of this and a little bit of that.”

  Jordan grins, catching my meaning.

  Nadia’s hand on my cock under the table jerks my attention back to her. She rubs me through the fabric of my pants and I grow hard and thick at her touch. “If we were there,” she purrs, “and not here, I’d be under this table sucking you off right now.”

  “Fuck, yeah,” Jordan whispers back.

  “And if I could reach you, Jordan, I’d be playing with your cock right now too.”

  Dirty. Little. Whore.

  “If we were at my apartment and you touched me without permission, Miss Wolfe,” I growl at her in a deep, low voice, “I’d slap your face and make you choke on my dick for not knowing your place.”

  She withdraws her hand. But her retreat comes with a devious smile.

  I’m just about to set her straight with another warning when the waiter comes up to the table to take our order.

  I order for all of us, just wanting to get rid of the company so I can resume my threats. “You better know what you’re getting into, Miss Wolfe. Because this game is not what you think.”

  I wait for Jordan to run interference like he usually does when I get in a mood like this. But he keeps quiet. It’s Nadia who speaks.

  “No,” she says softly. “It’s not what you think either.”

  I think about her after that. I can’t stop thinking about her. She will be very interesting at least. Not anything like Chella. So far away from Rochelle, there’s no comparison. And I have no feelings for her other than pure carnal desire.

  It’s just a peek, I tell myself. I know how to control it. I know how to navigate my way through the puzzle of an erotic maze.

  I will win this one.

  There is no fucking way in hell this stupid girl will come out on top.

  The rest of dinner is pleasant enough. I drink. Jordan and Nadia talk like they are old friends. They already know each other. She is his, after all.

  I ponder that as they talk about her job. His job. Last weekend—apparently, he took her to a play—and what they are doing for New Year’s.

  “We have a party on New Year’s,” I say absently. They look at me. Almost startled. Like they forgot I was here. It doesn’t bother me at all. That’s the funny part of all this. None of this bothers me. He can have her. I’m passing time, that’s all. “The Club has a party, remember?” I say again, looking at Jordan this time.

  “Does that mean I’m invited?” Nadi
a asks.

  Usually this is a great big no. None of the girls we keep in that apartment are allowed to participate in Club business.

  But fuck it. She doesn’t even count. And she won’t be living in the apartment.

  “Sure,” I say. “As long as you’re prepared for what will happen when you get there.”

  She waits to see if I’ll explain. But I don’t. I just pour myself another drink from the bottle the waiter left after we finished dinner, and enjoy leaving her hanging.

  “Well, is it a secret? Or are you going to tell me?”

  “It’s…” Jordan begins, but stops. “It’s Club stuff, Nadia. You don’t want to participate in that.”

  “Sure she does, Jordan,” I say. “She’s a dirty fucking whore.”

  “Nice,” Nadia says. “Is that how you refer to all your female members?”

  “We don’t have female members. But yes. The men in my Club join because their wives are addicted to dirty sex and want to be fucked by more than one man at a time. You get us. Do you need more than two, Nadia?”

  She glares at me.

  “I can arrange another player. In fact, most of the games I play involve three men.”

  “This isn’t your game, Elias,” she says.

  I lift my drink to her in a mock cheer. “No, it isn’t.”

  She ignores me after that. And when we leave, it’s Jordan who helps her on with her coat. It’s Jordan’s arm she hangs on as we walk to the valet. It’s Jordan who drives—I’m well on my way to drunk. And it’s Jordan who walks her up to her apartment.

  I wait in front of the building in the passenger seat of my own fucking car until he comes back and gets in with me.

  “Well?” he says. “What do you think?”

  I shrug. Eager to get home and do some more drinking. “She’ll do.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Jordan asks as we make our way through the nearly empty streets of downtown towards the club. I stare at the gold dome of the capitol building, lost in my own thoughts. “Well?” Jordan prods. “You gonna answer me?”

  “Nothing,” I say.

  What I don’t say is… I’m thinking about Rochelle and Adley living their little happily ever after with Quin. I’m thinking about Chella and Smith and when that announcement will come. The one when Smith says, “We’re pregnant.” I’m thinking about how they’ve moved on and I’m still here… alone.

  Because I’m not thinking about any of that.

  “I like her,” Jordan says as we pull up to Turning Point. “I think she’s… interesting.”

  “Well, good for you. Do you need a ride home? Tell the valet to give you a car.”

  And then I get out, slam the door, and walk inside without saying goodbye.

  I don’t know why I’m so pissed off, but I am.

  I don’t talk to anyone in the lobby. I don’t stop and have a drink at Smith’s bar on my way upstairs.

  I just disappear.

  My apartment is… God. I need to get the fuck out of this place.

  I walk into the kitchen, get the bottle of brandy and a glass, and sit down on the couch. I stare out the window, just fixated on the capitol building, wishing I could turn back time one year. One year and a few weeks, anyway. Back to when Rochelle was just a weird mystery and Chella, Smith, and Quin were still mine.

  My cell phone rings in my suit coat pocket. I take it out, and look at the screen.

  Nadia’s number. I recognize it from the other night when I called her.

  “Yes,” I say, after tabbing accept.

  “I just wanted to thank you for a lovely evening.”

  I almost snort my drink. “Was it lovely?” I ask.

  “Yes, it was. Didn’t you have a good time?”

  “Not particularly,” I say.

  “Was it me?”

  “Are you needy tonight, Miss Wolfe?”

  “Yes,” she says. She’s using that purring voice. The low, whispery, husky one. “I thought we’d spend the night together after dinner. I can’t deny I was a little disappointed.”

  “Well.” I sigh. “New game, new rules, right?”

  “I’m not sure. I never played the old game.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I say. Which is the whole problem. I want the old game back and it’s gone for good. But I don’t tell her any of that. She’s not worth it.

  “Would you like a goodnight… kiss?” she coos.

  “You want to make sucky-face noises in the phone?” I ask. “Pass.”

  She laughs then. A soft one. Maybe even a real one. “No, you dumbass. Like… phone sex, Bricman. Come on. Why are you so surly?”

  “You want to phone-sex me?”

  “Are you a phone sex virgin?”

  “No… not exactly.”

  “Have you ever done it before?”

  “Did Jordan put you up to this?” I ask her.

  “No. I just kissed him goodnight a few minutes ago. He enjoyed it, he said. Came all over my imaginary face.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. Just a small one.

  “Ha,” she says, still almost whispering. “I made you smile. So do you? Want to phone-sex, I mean?”

  I look down at my cock and find it… uninterested.

  “I can make it fun.”

  “Were you a cam girl in your other life?”

  “No,” she says. Still playful. “I just think it’s erotic to get someone off with words, you know? And imagination. It’s an art, I think.”

  “And you’re what? A come artist?”

  She chortles this time. “Call it whatever you want. But how about you unbutton your pants while we talk? Take that fat cock out and hold it. Grip it tight for me, Elias.”

  And maybe I’m just drunk, or maybe I’m just lonely, or maybe I’m actually thinking it might be fun, but I do it.

  “OK,” I say into the phone. And then I put her on speaker and set the phone down. “I’ve got it in my hand. Now what?”

  “Play with your balls,” she says. “Grab them, lift them up, and massage them. Press them against your hard shaft, Elias. I want you good and ready for me.”

  “Are your fingers in your pussy?” I ask.

  “Not yet. I’m just getting started.”

  “Are you already wet? From Jordan?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Are you playing with your balls?”

  “Yes,” I say, massaging them in the palm of my hand, rubbing them against my now fully-erect cock. There are all kinds of warning bells going off in my head right now. Warnings like… She’s controlling you, Bric. She’s getting her way. She’s trying to change the rules in her favor. She wants to win, Bric.

  But I don’t even know what winning means anymore. I’ve been on a losing streak for so long, I’ve lost perspective. Maybe this is winning?

  “Stop thinking so hard, Elias.” She purrs my name. Like a trained whore, I tell myself. Or… like a woman and not a girl. “Just relax. Lean back. Are you on your couch? Or in a chair? Give me a visual.”

  It’s a bad idea, but I don’t care. “Couch,” I say.

  “Keep playing,” she says. Her voice is so low now. Such a soft whisper. And her breathing is picking up. Just a little. Just enough for me to picture her too. “And tell me what the room looks like.”

  I look around my apartment. “It’s cold,” I say. “Leather chairs and couch.”

  “What color?” she asks.

  “White. And the floors are black marble.”

  “So you live in your own version of the Black and White Rooms?”

  “What?” I say, my hand pausing mid-stroke on my cock.

  “Do you have a view? From where you’re sitting?”

  I glance out the window and find the gold dome of the capitol building. “No.”

  “Such a shame. Do you want to know where I am?”

  “Sure,” I say, losing interest fast. What the fuck am I doing?

  “Well…” she breathes. “I undressed as soon as I came home. I was regretting my choic
e of dress all night because I didn’t feel sexy in it. It was too tailored. Too buttoned up. Too professional. I wanted you to look at me, Elias. Look at me in a way that made your eyes heavy and your heart beat faster. And you didn’t. So I was disappointed.”

  I wonder how true that is?

  “So I put on something else. And made myself up in a different way. Do you want a picture?”

  “Sure,” I say, glancing down at the phone.

  I hear the sound of a camera click, then a few seconds later my phone beeps. I tab the message and open it up.

  Good. Fucking. God.

  Her hair looks like someone just fucked her brains out. All messy and long. Hanging over her eyes, which have been darked up with smoky colors. Grays and blacks. Her brown eyes still have that glint of sultry power shining from within. And her lips are glossy and red. I picture them wrapped around my cock, those tantalizing brown eyes looking up at me as I hold her head in place and fuck her mouth.

  She’s lying back on her bed wearing black lingerie. A corset. She’s got her knees up, legs open, panties pulled aside, fingers spreading herself so I can see her pussy.

  Her tits are practically spilling out of the push-up bra built into the corset. Her other hand is pulling down the fabric to reveal a nipple.

  It’s a really good visual.

  “Do you like me this way, Elias?”

  “Yes,” I mumble. My hand is busier now. My strokes faster. My heart faster. Everything is faster.

  Her breathing picks up too. A few seconds later she’s panting, but it sounds like she’s holding back. “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I have my fingers in my pussy. Wishing they were your fat cock.”

  I allow myself a smile.

  “Pretend your hand is mine now, Elias. That’s my hand on your cock. That’s my hand stroking you.”

  I do pretend. I stare down at the picture, hold the image of her in my head, and then close my eyes.

  “Drag my hand up and down your shaft, Elias. Slowly. All the way up. Over the tip of your head, squeezing out little drops of liquid. I would lean over and lick it off if I was there. Looking up at you as I do it. Relishing the taste of your arousal.”

  I see the whole thing as I lean back into the couch cushions and stretch my legs out. My hand becomes her hand.