His Turn (The Turning Series Book 3)

by JA Huss

  “What are you doing?” I ask, wondering about her breathing.

  “Dancing,” she says, still huffing.

  “I thought this was a teaching week? Jordan mentioned something—”

  “I still dance, Bricman. Every day.”

  Of course she does. I smile, because…yeah. She has no idea what’s coming.

  “Anyway,” I say. “I guess you felt pretty good about last night, huh? Lying to me. Getting me to submit to your game. Getting me off.”

  She’s silent, except for her now more controlled breathing. But I know she’s smiling as she pictures it in her head.

  “I liked it though.”

  “Good,” she says. “I wanted you to like it.”

  “But I’m not happy about it.”

  “Of course not. I played you, Elias. And you hate being played.”

  “So you want the punishment coming tonight. You do this on purpose.” They aren’t questions.

  “I like challenge,” she coos into the phone. “So I upped the stakes.”

  “Jordan will pick you up at seven-thirty. Be ready. Wear something black. Slutty, you know. You’re really good at looking the part of a slut. So do it up right, Nadia. OK?”

  “Sure thing,” she purrs back. “I can’t wait to see what your next move is, Elias. Don’t disappoint me.”

  I end the call and smile, looking out at the golden dome of the capitol building. Then I text the details to Jordan.

  He doesn’t answer back right away. Must be in court. But when he does, the only message he sends is a little devil emoji.

  I never disappoint, Miss Wolfe. Ever.

  Chapter Ten - Nadia

  I want to defy Bricman by wearing white instead of black. But I only own one white dress and it’s made of lace and makes me feel like a cheap bride. So I give him that point and put on the black.

  He said slutty, so I’ve got that covered too. The dress is barely long enough to cover my pussy. I’m wearing pink lingerie, but not the sweet kind. The kind that showcases your goods when you open your legs. The kind that comes with garters and thigh-high stockings. The kind that pushes your tits up to your chin and lets the tops of your nipples peek out from behind the cups.

  I debated on whether to wear high boots or stilettos, and went with the stilettos. They cost more than one month’s rent for most people. But I didn’t buy them, Jordan did. So that means nothing to me. They make me taller than the boots, and even though I still won’t be as tall as Bric or Jordan, I’ll be closer to eye level.

  Being small isn’t something I find cute.

  I round it all off with some sterling silver jewelry. Nothing special, just a few pieces I have collected over the years.

  At exactly seven-thirty, the buzzer rings on my door. I take one more look at myself in the mirror, self-consciously pull my ridiculously short dress down one more time, and let out a deep breath.

  Let the game begin.

  “You look… slutty,” Jordan says when I open the door. He takes me in for a few seconds longer, then takes both hands, leans in for his kiss, and lets me go so he can grab my coat.

  It’s not slutty, it’s not warm, and it’s not cheap. It’s wool cashmere, but it’s short and black, so I think it’s better than the double-breasted pea coat I wore last night.

  “Bric wanted slutty,” I say casually as I slip my arms into the coat and grab my purse. “And you know how eager I am to please, Mr. Wells.”

  Jordan chuckles. He’s so easy-going compared to Bric. He laughs a lot too. I like it. He can be controlling and he’s definitely had some asshole moments with me over these past few weeks. But that’s not who he really is. Jordan is a decent guy in the real world. He’s a trial lawyer, so probably most people think he’s scum. But I’m OK with that. Because I know he takes a lot of pro bono cases. I looked him up and he’s been listed on the Crawford Top Fifty for three years in a row. That’s a special list for lawyers who give back to the community. And that’s Top Fifty in the whole country. Not just Colorado.

  I trust Jordan. Sure, he might be a dick to me tonight, but if he is, he’ll show up tomorrow with roses. Or new ballet slippers. Or he’ll send me lunch and it will consist of all things I will actually eat and not things I’d just throw away because they’re junk.

  And even though I know we’re playing a game, it doesn’t feel like a game with Jordan.

  I mean, I know it’s a game. I know he’s not serious about me. I know this isn’t a relationship and we’re on the road to nowhere.

  But he makes it feel real. He’s a good actor. He deserves the Stepford Wife version of me.

  Elias Bricman though… No. He’s not worthy of the good-actress me. He’s not worthy of the girlfriend experience. Hell, he’s not even worthy of the whore experience. Bric gets what he gives.

  The Machiavellian me.

  Elias Bricman and I are definitely playing a game and we both know it. I got him good last night.

  “What are you smiling about?” Jordan asks me as we get inside the elevator.

  “This is fun,” I say, meaning it. But there are wild fluttering butterflies in my stomach for some reason.

  “It’s about to get better. Play your A-game, Nadia. Because what you did last night really pissed Bric off.”

  “So he told you?” I say, trying—and failing—to hide my smirk.

  “He told me. I’m just warning you—”

  “I know, I know,” I say, just as the elevator doors open. We step out, he offers me his arm and I curl my hand around it and let him lead me to the door. “You already told me he’s dangerous. I get it. I’m not a child, Jordan. And I’m not fragile. He won’t break me.”

  We walk through the first set of doors, the doormen on their toes tonight, opening it up ahead of us, and then the second.

  And that’s when I notice Bric isn’t here to pick us up. “Where’s Bric?” I ask.

  “He’s waiting for us, Nadia. At the Club.”

  “Hmmm,” I say as I slip into the open door of his car. Jordan gets in a second later and revs the engine of his sporty BMW.

  “Hmmm, indeed, Miss Wolfe. You have really gotten his attention. And I’m not sure the full attention of Elias Bricman is a good thing.”

  We’re both quiet on the way over to the Club. It’s not far, so the silence isn’t glaring. But his warning makes me second-guess all the moves I’ve planned.

  Still, it’s exciting. I’ve been to the Club many times with Jordan, but aside from that one night at Bric’s apartment, I don’t make it upstairs. Or downstairs, for that matter. We have dinner in the White Room or drinks and dinner in the Black Room. Then he takes me home and fucks me at my house. Or in his car. Or someplace public. Wherever.

  This will be the first time Elias is expecting me at the Club.

  Just as I get my stomach to calm down from nerves, we’re there and the valet is opening my door. He extends a hand to help me out and Jordan makes his way around the car to offer me his arm.

  I take it. Maybe even need it.

  OK, Nadia. Play well tonight.

  The people at the door greet Jordan and me. They take our coats, but then I am unexpectedly maneuvered towards the back stairs.

  “What?” I whisper, leaning up to Jordan’s ear. “No dinner first?”

  Jordan says nothing. And when I chance a glance up at his face, there’s no smile. His mouth is just a straight line of determination.

  Hmmm.

  So yes, all those butterflies in my stomach on the way over here were warranted. They have something planned for me tonight. Something that will put me in my place. Something that will give them power and make me submit.

  We enter the elevator, but instead of taking it up to the fifth floor where I know Bric lives, we exit on the third floor.

  “Where are we going?” I ask Jordan.

  The hallways are quiet. Empty. So even though my words weren’t loud, they seem loud.

  Jordan doesn’t answer. We keep walking down the
dimly lit hallway until we reach the last door on the right. And then we stop. Jordan turns to me, offers me a small smile, and then places both hands on my cheeks and kisses me softly on the lips.

  “Don’t make it hard, Nadia,” he says, whispering the words past my lips as he continues to kiss me.

  “What—”

  But his kiss becomes stronger now, his palms on my cheeks no longer gentle, but gripping.

  “Don’t say anything,” he replies, pulling back to look me in the eyes. “Just give in to us and everything will be fine.”

  Oh, yeah. The butterflies are back. I swallow hard, unfamiliar with the emotion coursing through my body.

  Dread, I realize.

  I’m considering my options. Thinking about backing out. But Jordan turns the handle and opens the door.

  The room inside is… soft and maybe even romantic. The first thing I see are the long, sheer, pale yellow curtains partially hiding the downtown view. The next thing I notice is the soft, room-sized sheepskin rug. And that’s mostly because I trip over it as Jordan leads me forward. Then there’s the long table in the center of the room, covered with a white sheet. And Elias, standing at the head of it.

  “Get undressed,” he commands, his words and tone evoking a sense of power. There is soft music playing. Something meditative and calming. It does the job because even though I swallow hard again, the butterflies are receding.

  “Don’t make me tell you twice,” Elias says, his eyes trained on mine.

  Jordan is already undressing. Puling his tie through the collar of his shirt.

  I take a deep breath, hold it, and then let it out as I slip my shoes off. The rug is thick and luxurious under my constantly aching feet. I grip the long, soft fibers with my toes, ready to moan, that’s how good it feels.

  When I reach for the zipper at the nape of my neck, Jordan is there to help me. He drags it down my body, and even though it’s not cold in here—in fact, it’s slightly too warm—a chill runs up my spine when my back is exposed to the air.

  I slip the straps of the dress over my shoulders and let it fall to the ground at my feet. Jordan picks it up, takes it somewhere.

  “I like the lingerie, Nadia,” Elias says, staring at my body like a wolf about to have dinner. “But it’s not appropriate for tonight.”

  “OK,” I say, slightly out of breath for reasons I don’t want to think about. “But you did say slutty.”

  He offers me a small smile, just as Jordan returns. He’s bare from the waist up now. His well-muscled chest holds my attention for a few seconds before Elias’s words bring me back to him. “Take it all off.”

  I gulp air. I should not let him make me feel this way. I’m the one in control here, not him.

  But even as I say it in my head, I know it’s not true. Yes, I got Bricman good last night with the phone sex. But right now, there is only one person in charge. Only one person with total command in this room.

  “You need to move faster,” Bric says. He’s Bric now. Not Elias.

  I unhook the garters from my stockings and roll them down my legs. Jordan is there, kneeling in front of me, hands gently holding my foot as he slips them off. We do that again for the second leg.

  I like his touch. It’s soft and comforting. Jordan is grounding me now. Keeping me even and straight. Calming me.

  Bric sips his drink as he watches Jordan help me with my bra. He unhooks it, slipping it down my arms. And then his fingertips are on the waistband of my panties. Pulling them down my legs.

  I shiver as the soft silky fabric slides across my skin. I step out of them and Jordan takes everything away. I’m left standing in the middle of the room, completely bare.

  “Wash your face,” Bric commands while pointing to a countertop with a large ceramic bowl on top of it.

  This is a… spa room, I realize. The table is for massages. The walls are a pale gray-blue. Serene and calming.

  “Nadia,” Bric snaps. “I won’t tolerate having to tell you everything twice. Go wash that shit off your fucking face.”

  “You said slutty,” I say, feeling defensive.

  “Quiet, Nadia,” Jordan says, not unkindly. “Just do as you’re told.”

  My frustration at being stripped bare of my clothes and my control comes out of my mouth as a huff. But I obey. It’s a game, I tell myself. Just a stupid fucking game. In a few minutes, I’ll have a better grasp of the situation and I’ll be the one in control again. I’ll figure out what they’re doing and formulate a response. Make a plan.

  The water in the bowl is hot. I know this because there’s steam rising off it in little curly tendrils. There’s a few rolled-up washcloths off to the side, so I take one, open it up, and dip it in the water.

  My hands enjoy the soothing heat and then I bring the cloth to my face and start wiping. Once my face is wet, I pick up a small seashell-shaped bar of soap and get it wet, lather up the washcloth, and scrub the dark, smoky makeup off my eyes.

  I splash water on my face to rinse it off, and then Jordan says, “Here, Nadia,” as he thrusts a soft towel for me to dry off with.

  When I’m done, I lower the towel and open my eyes.

  Bric is smiling when I turn to look at him. “Much better,” he says.

  I glance at Jordan, who’s standing right next to me, taking my hand. Leading me over to the table. “Lie down, Nadia,” he says. “Face first.”

  I climb up onto the table and do as I’m told. Bric is still standing at the head, so he’s right in front of me, the outline of his hard cock through his pants staring me in the face. I raise my eyes up to try to gauge what he’s thinking. He stares down at me as he sips his drink.

  No smile. No words of encouragement. Just nothing but Bric from Bric.

  Jordan places a towel across my bare ass and that’s when things start to make sense.

  His hands on my legs are my next clue.

  A massage? They’ve brought me up here for a massage?

  “Does it feel good, Nadia?” Jordan asks as he kneads the tight, overworked muscles of my calves.

  “So good,” I mutter, closing my eyes. It’s a mistake, I know this. It’s a mistake to think that they’ve brought me here for this. But I can’t help myself. My body is in a constant state of dull ache from dance and exercise and I don’t even remember the last time I had a massage. I’ve never had a full-body massage like this, that’s for damn sure.

  “Good,” Bric says, gathering my long, dark hair and twisting it up. He ties it together with a slip of yellow ribbon that flutters in front of my face, pulling the knot tight. He arranges my new ponytail off to the side of my shoulder and then his large, strong hands press down on my upper back. Kneading the muscles into submission. Pulling the tension out of my body with his fingertips.

  I moan. It feels too good to keep up the pretense that I won’t fully enjoy this. I don’t know what they’re doing, or why. But right now, I do not care.

  Jordan is busy with my legs. He grips my calves tightly, then releases. Hot oil is dripped on my shoulders, then down the curve of my spine. More hot oil down each leg, starting from where my thigh meets my ass, and ending at the tip of my toes.

  And when they touch me again, those four strong hands make me give in.

  Completely. Utterly. Submit.

  “You don’t take good care of yourself,” Bric says, the heel of his palm pushing into a pressure point near my shoulder blade. There’s a sharp pain at first when he hits a knot in some hidden, but well-used muscle. It makes me gasp. But after a few seconds the knot begins to disappear. The pain goes away. The pleasure sets in.

  I relax.

  I don’t even know how to describe the feelings Jordan is evoking on my lower body. One minute it’s painful enough to make me gasp again, but the next, he’s got his thumbs pressing against my inner thighs, so close to my pussy, it makes me bite my lip.

  I want him to stick his fingers inside me.

  And just that thought is enough to make me throb with desir
e.

  But he doesn’t venture into new territory. He takes his attention back to my legs. My thighs. My calves. My feet. He bends one leg at the knee and takes my foot with both hands. Kneads it. Presses on the arch and… oh, God, it feels good.

  I don’t have any Band-Aids on my toes, but they are raw and they hurt. They always hurt. I cannot remember a time when my feet did not hurt.

  Jordan massages them carefully, the oil a perfect lubricant that keeps the pain at bay.

  “You can fall asleep if you want,” Elias says. He’s Elias again. Not Bric. This man, touching me with his strong, but gentle, hands, making me feel so damn good, cannot be Bric in my mind. They are two different people. “Just enjoy it. We won’t mind.”

  I nod my head. Or I try to, but I’m so relaxed, I don’t succeed. I mumble, “Mmmm,” as they stay busy bringing me pleasure.

  I allow myself this pleasure. I let my mind stop wondering things. I let my body stop doing things. I let everything drift off as they work their way up and down my body.

  The only thought that creeps in—and then only when Jordan’s hands wander too close to the wet space between my legs—is when will they fuck me?

  Will they fuck me?

  I worry about it for a few moments, but then Jordan lifts the towel off my ass and begins to massage my cheeks. He spreads me open, leans down and licks my asshole.

  My pussy throbs with the heat of his breath. I want him to lick me there so bad.

  “Are you ready to turn over?” Elias asks.

  So ready. I don’t even wait for him to tell me to. I simply force my submissive body to turn. And when I open my eyes, Elias Bricman is smiling down at me. He takes his hands to my breasts, pinches my nipples hard enough to make me gasp, and then resumes his calming massage. Gripping them in his palms like fruit, then releasing them, allowing them to fall back and rest, before doing it again.

  He leans down—just as Jordan begins to knead the large muscles of my upper thighs, his thumbs once again dipping in between my legs, teasing me so sweetly—and kisses my mouth.

  He tastes sweet, like the fruity brandy he’s been drinking.

  “Do you want my cock in your pussy?” Jordan asks, his fingers, finally—finally—playing with my throbbing clit.