by JA Huss
“Let me out and wait here,” she says, her request mixing with the thumping beat.
I stand to let her out, her fingertips brush against my shirt, dragging along my chest. I look at them, then her face. She smiles, her hand dropping to my dick again. Squeezes it as she stands up and leans in to kiss me. “Remember our rule,” she says when she pulls away. “Don’t interfere.”
My heart beats faster as she walks away, her hips and shoulders swaying a little. Like her body can’t help but move to the beat. She is a dancer, after all. I should’ve said yes to the dance.
She stops a little way off, hands clasped behind her back. She’s in profile, so I watch—enthralled—as her back arches, pushing her breasts up and out, her peaked nipples in stark outline against the backdrop of flashing lights.
Then she points. I follow the line of her arm right up to the tip of her finger. Searching for her target.
A boy appears from the crowd. Young, handsome, shirtless. His chest rising and falling in rapid succession, like she makes him breathless.
He’s been dancing, I correct myself. He’s hot, and sweaty, and breathing hard from the dancing.
But I don’t believe it. It’s her who makes him breathless. His hands are on her body as soon as he’s close enough. Feeling their way up and down her slim waist, then reaching for her tits.
I almost walk over there, but her glance stops me. Don’t interfere.
She points again and another boy appears, then another. Same age as the first—Nadia’s age. Same hard bodies. Same handsome faces. Same undeniable attraction. They smother her for a moment. Their arms surrounding her. Hands seeking more. Knees pressing between her legs. For a moment I’m transfixed by the four of them. I see me, and Smith, and Quin with our chosen one, but with the power structure in reverse.
Is this how she plays her game? Is she me?
She turns away from them, walking back to me. They follow like dogs. When she gets back to our table she leans against it, like she needs help standing. I move aside, letting her have her space. None of the boys even bother looking at me. They only look at her.
Waiting for instructions, I realize. She kisses one. Her hands on his face. Like she needs to hold him. He kisses her back. I watch his tongue touch hers, his hands at his side, as if she gave a command, but I know she didn’t.
They know her. She has played with them before. And I don’t care what she says—she has fucked them before.
The other two wait patiently, still with eyes only for her. Her regular players waiting for her commands.
Nadia is a top, I remind myself. In her real life, she is a top.
She looks every bit her chosen role right now.
Her fingertips reach for the other two now, the first still kissing her as she plays with their chests, draws them into her. Closer and closer until they are nothing but a mass of bodies moving together. Writhing to the hard beat of the impromptu club.
Her hand presses on the shoulder of the one closest to me and he drops to his knees. The first one—the one she’s kissing—leans into her until she bends at the waist, letting her back rest on the table.
My cock is so fucking hard.
He—the first one—lifts up her top. A silky, pale chemise that belongs in the bedroom. He exposes her breasts. Squeezes them as she closes her eyes and opens her mouth. I can’t hear the moan that passes through her lips, but I feel it. I moan too.
The third boy lifts up her legs and opens them, just as the second places his face between her legs and begins to lick her.
The first is bent over the booth, still kissing her mouth. I don’t feel her moans now, he does.
Her back begins to arch as she enjoys the one between her legs. The third player caresses the back of the first and I wonder how far this will go.
People are watching. Some of the young men already jerking off. Some of them with girls on their knees, taking out their cocks.
It’s Turning Point Club. But not private. Nothing about this moment is private. And even though it should make me angry, even though I should want to take her out of here right now and whisk her away, back to the world I live in—the world I control—I don’t do any of that.
I just enjoy the show. The whole show. All of the people. All of the music. All of the club.
Nadia begins to writhe and I know she’s about to come. So quick, but it’s too erotic not to come. Too many eyes to not be ready. Too much stimulation. Too much hard music and way too fucking hot.
The third boy has his hand between her legs, his fingers playing with her clit as the second one licks.
I grab my cock again, wishing I could fuck her, right here, right now, in front of all these strangers.
She moans loud enough to be heard. Her body twists as the boys touch her, lick her, kiss her.
She comes all over the third boy’s fingers and when she calms down, breathing hard and eyes still closed, she reaches for his hand, finds it, guides it up to her lips, and puts his fingers in her mouth.
Her eyes open and she looks right at me.
She smiles, then lifts a leg and kicks the boys away. They back off, unperturbed, and slink back into the crowd, which has gone from clubbing kids enjoying an illicit party to writhing erotic orgy. All on the command of Nadia Wolfe.
She stands up and turns to me, her silky shirt falling back down to cover her tits. Her fingers reach for me, begin to unbutton my shirt, and then she pulls it open, exposing my chest. She is hot and sweaty from the thrill of other men.
And I don’t care.
I stand up and take her hand, pulling her towards me. Kiss her. My hands on her face as I hold her close. And then I push her face first onto the table, pressing her cheek into the hard wood. I lift up her skirt so I can see her pussy. Wet and glistening in the flashing lights from being licked to orgasm.
And then I look over my shoulder, find the first guy who gave me a peek at his girl, and give him a peek at mine.
He smiles big, gives me a thumbs up—all the while, his girl is sucking his dick—and then I turn back to Nadia Wolfe, take out my cock, and push it inside her as hard as I can.
I fuck her. I fuck her until I come inside her pussy and then pull back to watch the creamy evidence of my arousal leak out from between her lips.
We dance after that. Her body is a work of art. Her long hair stuck to her face from the sweat. My fingers inside her sometimes. Her hand on my cock sometimes.
We drink the brandy but get drunk on each other. We get drunk on the night, on the dancing, on the sweat, and the lights, and the music.
I fuck her again when we get to the car. Face first on the hood of the cold metal. Her moans loud, and clear, and erotic as they echo through the dark night and turn into screams of ecstasy.
People watch us.
People I don’t know. People I don’t trust.
People like me.
Chapter Fourteen - Nadia
My whole body aches when I wake. And not the usual kind, because I can’t even remember a time before my body was in a constant state of ache from dancing. It’s the… hangover kind. Uggggh. I groan, rolling over, to check my phone for the time. “Jesus,” I mumble, closing my eyes. Way too early.
“I gotta go,” a deep voice says. I open my eyes again, searching for the voice. Bric is here. “It’s New Year’s Eve and there’s a lot of shit to do before the party.”
He’s buttoning his shirt. Almost dressed. I just stare at him as he reaches for his tie. What in the ever-loving fuck is he doing here? There’s no way I was drunk enough to bring him home. Not like a… a date or a one-night stand. Or, God forbid, a relationship.
I do not bring men home with me after a party. Not even Bric.
He finishes with his tie and goes for the coat, shrugging it over his broad shoulders and adjusting his collar. It’s wrinkled as all hell. And he’s got dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He looks like I feel.
“Do you want me to pick you up? Or just come by?”
“Be there before nine then. We lock everyone in at nine.”
And then he walks over to me, leans down, and gives me a kiss.
A goodbye kiss, I realize.
“I hope you’re not planning on going back on our deal, Nadia. I gave you control last night. We did it your way, inside your world. It was fun.” He shrugs. “But now I get to have it my way. And we do it inside my world.”
“Yeah,” I croak out. My throat is dry and thick and that’s all I can manage.
“Good.”
He walks out. I hear the jingle of his keys, then the small squeak of the front door. The click as he closes it behind him.
“What the fuck did we do last night?” I say it as I attempt to sit up, but my head is fucking spinning.
Then I remember the brandy. A whole bottle of brandy. As if on cue, I see the empty bottle sitting on my nightstand. It’s bejeweled with sterling silver and crystal. A collector’s item decanter and not really a bottle, which is probably why we brought it home with us.
“Yuk,” I say, trying to get some moisture in my mouth as I get up, walk into my bathroom, stick my mouth under the tap, and gulp water.
I stop drinking when my stomach feels like a water balloon and drag the back of my hand across my face. Stare at myself in the mirror.
I’m naked. So yes, I brought him home and fucked him in my bed.
I glance at it, appalled.
My pussy is sore. My tits ache and there are bruises on them. Little fingerprint-shaped bruises. My hair is a tangled mess of darkness that mimics my eyes. I’m pale, and skinny, and not at all attractive.
I remember letting Chad, Matt, and Kevin play with me at the table. Bric’s attentive glare taking us in as I made them get me off. Then I remember Bric pushing them aside and bending me over and holding my face against the wood as he fucked me from behind.
The rest of the night… dancing? Drinking, obviously, and more fucking. Which I do not remember.
I crawl back into bed, pulling the soft fluffy blanket around my body, glad it’s cold in here because I feel hot. And then pass back out.
Sometime later my phone wakes me dinging a text.
Jordan.
Sending a package. Open the fucking door.
I realize someone is knocking at the door. Probably has been knocking at the fucking door for a while and I didn’t hear them, which is why Jordan needed to text.
I drag myself out of bed, pull a robe around me, and stumble out to the front room. I don’t look at myself in the hall mirror—I can only imagine it’s worse than the last time. I pull the door open.
“Delivery,” the guy says, looking pretty pissed off. “Sign.”
I sign his clipboard and he reaches down to pick up a large black box with a white bow. Hands it to me. I don’t have a tip, but he knows this. I’m in a fucking robe. So he says, “I’ve already been tipped. Enjoy your package.” And then he turns away and walks down the hallway.
My phone rings in the bedroom and I know this is Jordan, so I get my shit together and run, almost fall on my face when I stumble over a rug, and catch it before it goes to voice mail. “Hello?” I say, breathless and disheveled.
“I’m picking you up. Bric thinks you’re going to stay home and you two made a deal. I heard all about last night, Nadia.”
“Yes…” And then I realize we’re in character. “Sir,” I finish.
I can feel him smile on the other side of the phone. “You’re going to need those manners tonight. Bring them with you.”
“Are you going to be there?”
He’s silent.
“Sir,” I add, rolling my eyes.
“Of course I’m going to be there. I’m playing the game, aren’t I?”
I wasn’t sure, asshole. I was just asking a simple fucking question. But I don’t say any of that out loud. Instead I say, “What time would you like me ready, sir?”
“Eight-thirty. Be dressed and downstairs. I don’t want to come up. And Nadia, wear the capelet I bought you for Christmas.”
Jerk. “Yes, sir—”
But before I can finish I get hang-up beeps.
How is this my life? Any of it. Well, besides the dancing. I don’t even remember having fun last night and I know I’m sure as hell not going to have fun tonight. They’re going to boss the hell out of me. It’s not going to be anything like the other night when they softened me up with that massage. It’s going to be humiliation to the extreme.
So don’t go, a little voice says in my head. Stop all of this. Put it behind you. Let go of the past and start over.
I would. It’s a good idea. But I can’t.
Because I like it.
I like when Jordan forces me to obey him. Not because I want to submit, but because he expects me to fight about it. He expects me to rebel. He expects me to be bad.
I am bad.
And that makes me smile.
I go back out into the living room and pick up the package. It’s heavy and big.
The box is glossy black and the ribbon is smooth white satin. I set it down on the couch and pull the bow, making it fall apart and puddle into a soft heap.
Then I whisk it aside, lift off the lid, and peel back the white tissue paper.
The gown is exquisite. I know this before I even pick it up and lift it out.
Silver, with elegant beading down the middle of the deep v-neck of a sheer bodice. My tits will show through. My nipples will push against the thin mesh, peaking and eager. They will probably be pinched.
My hand goes to one. It’s already sore from last night. Tonight they will use clamps, I bet. But I have tomorrow off, is all I think about that. I will have a day to recover from whatever they have planned.
I check the time and realize it’s late already. Almost five o’clock. So I run the bathtub, making the water as hot as I can stand to bring some pink life back to my pale skin, and soak in soft bubbles. This tub is so big, three people could fit in it. I wonder if I will ever get Bric and Jordan in here with me?
And I feel stupid. Because… Bric. In a tub. Ridiculous.
When I’m done I take a long time to dry and brush my hair, blowing it out perfectly straight and glossy. I will leave it down tonight. So they can pull it.
And then I start on my make-up. I go light. Silver accents on my eyelids, black lashes, and a blush of pink on my cheeks.
I’m glowing again. Last night’s abuse already behind me.
My lips are a shade darker than my cheeks when I decide that’s enough. I like the soft contrast of my face against my dark hair and eyes.
Then I go for the dress. I slip it on. It fits like it was tailored for my curves. Makes my hips round and my waist small. My nipples are already peaked against the mesh of the bodice.
I drag my fingertips over the beads. They are glass and they sparkle.
The box had shoes too. Silver, to match the dress. And jewelry. Nice jewelry. Drop diamond earrings, a silver cuff that is probably platinum, lined with pavé diamonds, and a matching necklace that looks more like a collar than a choker.
There is no ring.
At exactly eight-twenty I swing the black velvet capelet with silver fox-fur trim that Jordan bought me for Christmas over my shoulders.
Hmmm. I wonder if he was always planning on bringing me to this party. It matches my dress suspiciously well.
And then I grab the small silver clutch, also a Christmas present from Jordan, and walk out the door to meet him downstairs.
I don’t expect him to be waiting, since I’m a few minutes early and he said he didn’t want to come up, but when I step off the elevator, he is waiting. Black tux framing his perfect body. Smile on his handsome face. One hand outstretched to take mine and lead me down the half-flight of steps to the main lobby.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, leaving off the ‘sir,’ since we’re in p
ublic and the lobby is filled with people. That’s something, I think. He’s not so controlling that he wants me to play in front of strangers.
He doesn’t do this for ego. Neither do I.
“Are you nervous?” he asks as the doormen nod their heads to us and we pass through the doors and out into the frigid night air.
“Should I be?”
“Yes,” he says, opening the passenger door to his car and holding my hand until I’m seated in the soft leather seat. I look up at him, wondering how far they’ll go tonight. But he just smiles and pushes the door closed with a soft thunk.
The engine is running so the heat is on, but the warmth is only momentary because he opens his door, letting the cold in, and a breeze of it flashes past my face when he pulls it closed.
“We’re going to have a lot of fun tonight, Nadia,” he says, putting the car in gear and pulling away from my building.
“Did you miss me last night?”
“No,” he says. “I was thinking about someone else.”
Chapter Fifteen - Bric
I spend the day thinking about Quin as the workers bustle around the lobby setting up for tonight’s carnal proclivities. Smith too, but not as much as Quin. I think his absence at the New Year’s Eve parties these past two years was a symptom of the disease eating away at us that I failed to recognize.
And I miss him. We spent almost the entire year apart and I should’ve seen all this coming, but I missed it.
I missed it.
I have an urge to call him. Them. Ask how Christmas went. Did Adley have fun? Did they take pictures? Can I see them?
But it’s a stupid excuse. Adley is too young to know what Christmas is. And while I am interested in all those things, she wouldn’t be the reason I was calling.
I don’t even know why I’d be calling. For Rochelle? For Quin? For both of them? All of them?
I just don’t know.
It hurts to think about it. But then I see Nadia and Jordan coming through the revolving doors. All dressed up, looking sexy as hell, and ready for whatever this night brings.
