His Turn (The Turning Series Book 3)

by JA Huss

  “He told me. He brought you to the Club a couple times. We were talking at the bar. You were looking at me that first time. You slapped him both times. And he said you thought yourself a top. And I laughed.”

  “It’s funny, huh?”

  “You’re just too young, Nadia. To know the difference.”

  “I don’t think so.” Her back is straighter now. Like I offended her.

  “Anyway, he invited me in that first day. But I said no.”

  “Because of… Rochelle and… Quin, right?”

  “Yes. We had something good.”

  “Obviously,” she concedes. “If it lasted so long. Do you miss them?”

  “Sure. All the time.”

  “And I’m the replacement?”

  I shrug. “Why not? Does it make you feel used?”

  “No,” she says. Defiantly. “I’m using you too.”

  “For what?”

  “Sex.” She shrugs. “What else.”

  “But you can get sex from the little boys at that club, right?”

  “They’re not little boys. Everyone there is eighteen. And two of those guys were twenty-two.”

  “Same difference,” I say. “Boys.”

  “And what? You’re a man? I need you, a man, to give me what I don’t know I want?”

  “You got it in one, sister.”

  “Shit.” She laughs. “You definitely have an ego, that’s for sure.”

  “So house hunt tomorrow?”

  “I’m working.”

  “At the ballet?”

  “You know where I work.”

  “So you’ll be too tired to go out tomorrow night?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Did you say yes, then?”

  “House hunt tomorrow. Got it on my calendar.”

  “Good,” I say. We eat in silence after that. It makes her uncomfortable, but that’s exactly why I don’t talk. Just eat. And when we’re both finished, I pick up our plates and take the dishes to the sink. “So, are you ready for your punishment?”

  “What?”

  I turn to face her. Cross my arms over my chest. Lean into the countertop. “For slapping me, Nadia. You can’t slap me and get away with it. So are you ready? Or would you like a day to think about your actions and see if you can make it up to me tomorrow?”

  “I thought you weren’t gonna make a big deal about the slaps?”

  “This is me being cool about it. But everything has consequences.”

  “What kind of punishment?”

  “Slaps, of course.”

  “On my face?”

  “You slapped mine.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “I won’t leave marks. You won’t need excuses for why you have a black eye. I won’t beat you, Nadia. But it’s gonna hurt.”

  “As much as I hurt you? Is that how this works? Well,” she says, dabbing her lips with her napkin, “I don’t think I hurt you too much. So let’s just do it now. Where do you want me?”

  Jesus Christ. Point to Nadia for having balls. “Go lie across the arm of the couch,” I say.

  “Face down? Or face up?”

  “Down.”

  “I thought you wanted to slap my face.”

  “I’ll get there eventually.”

  Her mouth makes an o shape. But she turns and walks across the room to the couch. One backward glance before she lowers herself as commanded.

  “Spread your legs,” I say.

  “Will you spank my ass?” she jokes. But she opens her legs. Her pussy is staring at me. Long, wet, pink folds stretched tight.

  “No,” I say, opening up a kitchen drawer and grabbing the rope I keep in there. “You’d like that though, wouldn’t you?”

  “No comment.”

  Wise girl.

  I take the rope over to her. “Hands behind your back.”

  She obeys, giving in so easy. She has no idea who and what I am. Which pleases me. I loop the rope around her wrists She looks over her shoulder at me, face screwed up with questions. “I didn’t tie you up, Elias.”

  “So?” I shrug. “What’s your point?”

  “You said slaps.”

  “I get it, Nadia,” I say, pulling the rope tight so she can’t get away. “You like this shit a lot. But try to play a little hard to get next time, will ya? Make it interesting for me?”

  “God.” She sighs. “You’re a dick.”

  “Stand up,” I say.

  She struggles a little, but manages. Then turns to face me. “Give it your best shot, Elias. I can take it.”

  Both of my eyebrows go up. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Very,” she purrs.

  I slap her face. Her head turns into it from momentum. I leave a bright pink handprint across her cheek.

  “Fuck, Bric!”

  “Elias,” I say. “This is me, Nadia. Elias. The real me.”

  She huffs out a breath of air. Grinds her teeth for a second. Then says, “Do it. You’ve got one more, asshole. So just do it.”

  “Fuck that,” I say, chuckling a little. “I think I got you good enough with one.”

  “One little slap? Then why did you tie me up?”

  I take off my fun apron and throw it on the ground. My dick is hard and Nadia can’t help herself. She stares at it. “We can fuck, if you want. I don’t care.”

  “No,” I say. “No. I’m not gonna fuck you.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing?”

  “Get on your knees,” I say. “And open your legs so I can see your pussy.”

  I walk over to the kitchen, pull out a note pad from a drawer and a big, fat, red marker, write five words on the pad, then rip the piece of paper off with a quick flick of my hand.

  My phone is on the counter, so I grab that too, and walk back over to stand in front of Nadia. “Open your mouth,” I say.

  She looks at my cock. Licks her lips. And opens her mouth. I press the piece of paper on her tongue and say, “Close.”

  She obeys again. A little confused, but still not quite getting it.

  I take a picture. Smile at it. At her. That haughty, defiant look plastered all over her face. “You’re pretty,” I say, taking the piece of paper out of her mouth.

  “Thank you,” she says back, voice filled with mockery.

  “You know what I’m gonna do with this?” I ask her, showing her the picture.

  Her eyes narrow as she reads what I wrote. Considers all the possibilities as they flood her mind.

  “Well, I’m not going to do anything with it if you behave,” I say. “But if you ever”—I cover the two steps between us and grab her face with my free hand—“ever fucking hit me again, Nadia Wolfe, I’ll ruin your fucking life with this picture.”

  The mind fuck continues. She just hasn’t caught on yet.

  Chapter Twenty - Nadia

  Later, when I’m alone, and after Bric dressed me up in the promised sweats and had a car drive me home—not him, mind you, but a service. Dick—I think about that note.

  I want to be owned.

  I actually laughed when I read it. “This,” I said, “is the best you can do?” There were moments when I actually felt sorry for Bric’s game. Or lack thereof.

  But they were brief moments.

  “It’s powerful enough for me,” he’d said. “And you can tell yourself that making this little fact public won’t bother you a bit. But you’d be lying.”

  “I don’t want to be owned, Bric.”

  “Elias,” he corrected me. “And you definitely do. This note proves it. Besides, it won’t matter. People will believe it. They’ll see you differently, Nadia.” He whispered that last part. “They’ll see you as pathetic, and stupid, and weak.” He leaned into my ear for the second half of that threat.

  And then he drew back and smiled at me. “Of course it’s a lie. You’re none of those things.” He shrugged. “But will it matter?”

  Dick.

  Now, I’m sitting in my apartment holding a
hot cup of tea in my hands, staring out the window, eyes blurring the city lights in front of me, thinking up ways to get even with him.

  Because he’s right. People will believe that note even though it’s not true. And maybe they never say anything to me, or anyone else. It doesn’t matter. They have that note in their head and I will turn into this pathetic, stupid, weak person that Bric made me into.

  He’s not going to get away with this. Never. I will die fighting before I will let him change people’s perception of me.

  Plan something, Nadia. Now.

  OK, calm. I’m calm.

  He wants to believe he can control me. Dominate me. Bend me to his will. Make me submit. But he needs to believe he’s the reason it’s happening. Because I’m not naturally submissive, right? I’m like him. We’re two sides of the same coin. So if he can get me to bend that makes him… special.

  Oh, Elias Bricman. I have you now, honey. You want to be special? I can make you feel special. I can fuck with your head just as much as you can fuck with mine.

  I grab my phone and press his contact number.

  He picks up on the first ring. “Hello, Nadia.”

  “Hello… Elias.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Perfect,” I say. “But…” I pause. Count the seconds until he gives in and has to ask.

  “But? What?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “For those slaps. And being difficult earlier. I know I apologized already, but I don’t think it was sincere enough. So I’d like to try again.”

  If he were here in front of me, I’d see that eyebrow shoot up his forehead in surprise. But he’s not. So I just imagine it instead.

  “I’m not sure if I believe you more now, or then,” Bric says.

  “And I just want to say goodnight. And thank you,” I add. It’s a nice touch. “For the great New Year’s Eve experience. I haven’t talked to Jordan yet but he’ll probably come for lunch tomorrow so I’ll tell him then.”

  “He’s busy tomorrow,” Bric says.

  “Oh,” I say, adding in a wistful sigh.

  “He called me a little while ago and told me to tell you he won’t be around this week. But we’re gonna house-hunt without him.”

  I roll my eyes. House-hunt. Jesus Christ.

  “What time do you get home tomorrow?”

  “Well,” I say softly. “The camp stuff is over now, so I have rehearsals until two.”

  “So you’re off at two now?”

  “Yes,” I say, trying not to sound regretful. Not because of class, but because now he’ll want to dominate my days as well as my nights

  “Perfect. Be down in your lobby at three. Wear something classy and make sure you’re smiling.”

  He hangs up.

  I just stare at the phone. I’m so pissed off for a few seconds, my hand shakes. But I take a few deep breaths, picture my plan in my head, and let it all out.

  Elias Bricman wants me to be the slave of his dreams? Wants to own me? Dominate me? Make me submit?

  I can do that. If it gets me the payout at the end, I can most definitely do that.

  “Nadia?” Chris says the second I walk through the door of the company.

  “Yes?” I say, anxious to get to class. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed pushing my body beyond its limits. Making it bend to my will.

  “This was just delivered.” She’s holding out a large yellow envelope.

  “Who’s it from?” I ask, reaching for it.

  “Elias Bricman,” she says through her smirk. “Are you dating him? I thought you were dating that Jordan guy? I like him. He’s fucking hot. But Elias Bricman. Jesus, Nadia. Tell me how you do it.”

  “Do what?” I ask, staring down at the envelope. He put his fucking name on it. And I recall that one conversation we had. The one where I warned him about the gossip that would start circulating if people from the company saw us together.

  That dick. He did this on purpose. I want to be owned. He used my own words against me. Dick.

  “How do you get all these deviant men to like you?”

  I drag my eyes off the envelope and meet her gaze. “He’s helping me find a house, Chris. That’s all.”

  “But you live in a company apartment. Why do you need a house?”

  I want to tell her to mind her own fucking business. And I would. If this was last week. But I can’t, because this is today. And Bricman has a picture that will change people’s perceptions of me. “Oh, I just want to make sure people who need that apartment more than I do can live there.” It’s a stupid excuse because I make no money as a dancer, and my rank of demi has only slightly better pay than the other girls in the corps. But it makes me look generous. Magnanimous.

  “So sweet of you,” Chris says. I’m not sure she’s buying it because I’m naturally bitchy and she’s caught on to that fact. But it gets me through her questions.

  “Gotta run,” I say. “If you know anyone who needs that apartment, you can tell them I’m moving out soon.”

  I don’t wait for her answer, just take my envelope to the locker room and dump my bag. I’m a few minutes early, people chatting as they adjust their clothes, slip on their shoes. Whatever. So I rip open the envelope and peek inside.

  “What’s that?”

  “Jesus, Matthew. Way to sneak up on a girl.” He’s leaning over my shoulder to get a look at my envelope.

  And lucky me. It’s nothing kinky or threatening. It’s just real-estate brochures. “Just house-hunting stuff,” I say.

  “Lemme see!” he says, grabbing the envelope out of my hands. “What the…” He holds the brochures in his hand and I’m immediately sorry I mentioned the house hunt.

  Because those brochures are for multi-million-dollar mansions in Cherry Creek. The swankiest neighborhood in the entire city.

  “You…” He shakes his head. “You can’t afford these houses.”

  “I know.” I laugh. “Don’t be stupid. It’s for my dad. He’s buying a house.”

  My dad? Oh, my God.

  “Oh,” Matthew says, hand on hip. Pursed lips on face. “So you’re moving in with him? Chris just told me you’re vacating the apartment. I think I’ll apply for it.”

  “You should,” I say brightly as I take the envelope back and stuff it in my locker.

  “Elias Bricman though,” Matthew says, rubbing his chin in a gesture that says he doesn’t believe a fucking word I’m saying. “I didn’t know he’s a real-estate agent.”

  “I think he owns houses there.” I leave it at that. Just grab my water bottle and go to class.

  But the whole time I’m dancing I’m also thinking.

  Nice move, Bricman. I have to hand it to him. He’s definitely playing his A-game with me. He’s got everyone talking about me, he’s got my full attention, and he’s picking me up at three. Smiling. And wearing something classy.

  We take a break at eleven forty-five and I head straight for my locker, grab the envelope, and retreat to a stall in the bathroom.

  The brochures are glossy and sleek. The houses are huge and pretentious.

  The note is direct.

  Nadia—

  Choose three and text me before noon so I can set up the appointments.

  Elias.

  Shit. I only have like eight minutes to meet his demands. I shuffle through dozens of brochures. Randomly choose three, take pictures, text.

  Done.

  Take that, asshole.

  The rest of my day goes as planned. I work hard. I sweat my ass off. I make my body ache and my feet hurt, until everything goes numb. I am berated repeatedly by the ballet mistress, but we all know if she’s not berating you on technique, or style, or lack thereof, she’s not seeing you. And we all want to be seen.

  At two, I’m exhausted, but high on dancing endorphins. When I get to my apartment I have forty minutes to turn myself into something classy for the monster I’m… dating.

  At two fifty-five I’m in the lobby wearing a cream-colored pen
cil sweater dress, a pair of tan leather knee-high boots, and a cape. And I have an ostentatious bag on my arm that Jordan got me the first real date we went on.

  At exactly three o’clock Bric pulls up in his silver BMW.

  I wait in the lobby, our eyes meet, and I can almost see him roll his eyes as he gets out of the car and comes inside to greet me.

  Because I will not run out to his stupid car and get in like a teenager. If he thinks I will allow him to treat me like some cheap drive-up whore, he’s wrong.

  “Miss Wolfe,” he says, checking out my choice of outfit as he offers me his arm.

  “Mr. Bricman,” I say back.

  He leads me to the car, where the valet is already opening the door. I slide into the soft leather seats and then he’s inside with me, hand on the gear shift. Car moving forward.

  “Do you approve?” I ask.

  He glances at me and nods. “Very nice.”

  “I’m classy enough for you?”

  “Yes,” he says. Short. Curt. Dick. “Interesting choices,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

  “Oh?” I say. “How so?” I don’t even remember what I picked.

  “They’re not traditional,” Bric says.

  Shit. What did I pick?

  “But whatever. I can see this is a game to you. So we’re going to choose one of them tonight and you’ll have to live with it.”

  There’s brochures stuffed between his seat and the center console, so I take them out and look at them again.

  Yeah. Not really my thing. One has turrets. Looks like a fucking castle. One is contemporary, but not traditional. And the third is Santa Fe Spanish. I almost can’t stop the laugh.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Nadia.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you put no thought into this. These are not your choices. And tonight I’m going to spend somewhere between three and five million dollars trying to make you happy by giving you a home, and you put no thought into it.”

  “That’s not fair. First of all, I’m not asking you for a house. Second, I didn’t even have a chance to look at what was in the envelope until my break. And by that time, it was almost noon. If you want to make me happy don’t give me deadlines.”