by C. M. Lally
“Mr. Solis?” Claryssa calls for my attention. “Thiago.” She demands in a whisper-like shriek across the floor.
“What?” I bark, before turning and seeing the startled expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Claryssa. Do you need me?”
“Yes, Matt is asking for you. He’s up in the lounge waiting,” she says.
“Thanks, Claryssa.” I reply with a big smile to undo my previous bark. “I’ll find him.” She smiles back at me, so I hope she forgives me. She’s one of my best managers, and I don’t want her to leave for something as stupid as my short-temper. It’s hard finding competent and trustworthy people these days.
I hope it’s not about Brooke. Fuck me, just thinking about not thinking about her makes me want her again. I’ve never been so mentally obsessed with a woman. What the hell is going on with me? She’s not the first gorgeous woman I’ve come in contact with. She’s also not the first intelligent or ambitious woman I’ve known. It’s something in the way she holds her head up and boldly speaks to what she needs. It’s a confidence that most women don’t have, or maybe don’t show. She’s worldly. It’s enticing for sure and definitely provocative at best.
Ten distractions pop up in the time it takes me to get to the dancer lounge, where Matt is sitting at the table sewing something back into his skimpy tights. I enter the room and acknowledge him as he looks up.
“Hey, Matt,” I mumble. “I heard you were looking for me.”
“Yeah...damn it,” he says and lets out a big sigh before sucking on his finger. “Fucking tiny needles still hurt.”
“What’s up?” I ask, turning a chair around and taking a seat. I watch him continue to sew, what looks like the banding, with difficulty.
“Mary from the business office came to me and asked about scheduling a weekly lap dance for a woman that I supposedly serviced last week. Said her name was Brooke. Isn’t that your woman?” He asks me in a tone that is rhetorical. He knows it is, because when our eyes meet, his eyebrow is cocked in surprise.
“What the fuck is she doing?” I ask out loud, not really directing it to him to answer, but he does anyway.
“I guess she liked what you gave her, Boss, because she wants it on a regular schedule now,” he laughs hysterically, making me laugh out loud and smile really big too. He’s got a point. A strange silence settles between us when the laughter and weird smirks end. He finally breaks the silence with his true purpose of wanting to talk to me. “I told Mary that I’d get back to her. What do you want me to do?”
“I’ll talk to Mary. Don’t worry about it,” I inform him, standing to walk away but before I can open the door, I turn and ask “And why isn’t Lisa sewing that for you?’
“Lisa? She quit a few weeks back. There isn’t anyone new yet, and this loose banding is pinching my boys. One of these days, one’s gonna fall off and roll across the floor.”
“Well, get back to sewing then. I can’t have that happen,” I chuckle, shaking my head and thinking that’s exactly why I wear boxer briefs.
I head straight down to the business office to see Mary. Words still escape me as to what I’m actually going to tell her so I slow my steps. It’s like walking through thick mud. My thoughts veer off in several different directions, but eventually I end up at the door and hover my hand over the knob leery to open it without any resolution in my mind. The door is heavy as I pull it back and walk on through.
Mary sits right inside the door at the first desk. I can’t hide from her, as she looks up directly into my eyes. “Hi, Mary. How are you today?” I ask.
“Mr. Solis. I’m well. Thank you for asking. May I help you?” she asks in her thick Cuban accent, as she stops typing and gives me her full attention.
“Yes, actually, you can,” I reply. “You took a call from a lady wanting to schedule regular weekly visits, or private dances, with Matt. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Sir. I did. Her name is...uh, hold on. I’ve got it right here,” she says as she leafs through a stack of phone messages on those pink ‘phone message’ notes from two decades ago. She finally pulls it free and waves it like a flag. “Here. Brooke Childer.” She hands me the slip of paper.
“Thank you, Mary. I’ll take care of this one. Legalities and all,” I explain tucking the note into my pocket and shrugging my shoulders at her. I honestly don’t know why I’m lying to this gentle women, but I respect her and don’t want her thinking there’s a prostitution ring in my private rooms. I also want to protect Brooke’s good name. Eventually, it will be on the invoices here, and that association could do more damage to both of us than necessary.
I take my leave and head back to my private apartment with my head hung low. Brooke surprises me at every fucking turn. Should I grant her wish? Will Matt trade places with me again and every time for her schedule? The guilt over the first switch overwhelms me. It’s wrong to have tasted her and not let her know it was me. I’ve morally sunken to my lowest point, but she makes me feel stronger when I’m with her.
The fuel that normally fires my moral compass is empty. I’ll do anything to have her; to taste her again and again. She heats my blood and drives me insane with wanting. I’ve never been addicted to anything or anyone before, but surely this is how it feels. The need. The want. The craving that possesses me is overwhelming. There are times when I want to say fuck it— she’s a vendor here, but I can’t. Then I think I should just commit to working hard to making it work out, but I can’t make special rules for myself. It’s not fair to her or everyone else that’s my responsibility.
My front door swings open and both Dante and Mateo walk in, leaving the door wide open. “You, bro. We hear you’ve got some girl on the hook who wants to schedule a weekly romp with you in the private rooms?” Dante asks jokingly. Damn fucking rumor mill. Don’t ever believe anyone when they tell you that men don’t gossip. I should fire Matt for this, but he keeps my secret about Brooke, so I’ll only exchange some harsh words with him over this. One slip up is all he gets though.
“That’s nothing for you to know about, so grow up and shut up, Dante,” I growl at him, getting up and slamming the front door closed.
“Man, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Mateo asks. “We don’t normally treat each other like shit. What’s going on with you lately?”
“Nothing. Just leave me alone,” I groan. My cell phone rings and the screen lights up with Brooke’s number. Fucking great. Just what I need right now. I walk into my kitchen for a little privacy and slide my finger across the green arrow to answer her call. “Yes, ma’am,” is all I can manage.
“Thiago, I’ve got all of the pricing together for the bar renovations. When do you and your brothers want to meet?” she asks. I guess we are back to business with her professional tone.
“Hold on just a moment. They’re in the other room. I’ll ask,” I explain. “Hey, Mat...Dante. Brooke is ready for the next meeting. When can you do it?”
“I’m good for whenever,” Mateo hollers across the room.
“Yeah, me too. Get her beautiful ass back in here ASAP!” Dante yells. God, I hope she didn’t hear that, but I hear her chuckle under her breath. Damn it, Dante.
“Brooke, they say whenever is good for them. When do you have time?” I ask, pushing the boys away as they creep closer to our conversation by coming into the kitchen. I pull out a cup from my cabinet and immediately drop it on the floor, letting it bounce into the living room while the bouncing plastic noise echoes through the room. Dante and Mateo both laugh as it bounces, neither one moving to catch it.
“How about Monday morning, at 10 am, or is that too early?” she asks. “My afternoon is booked solid.”
“No. Ten is fine. We’ll see you then,” I reply amid the moans and groans from my brothers for such an early time. Serves them right for giving me shit earlier. I go to hang up when I hear her say my name again. It’s like a hot brand on my skin, stinging me with pleasure, and then pain and guilt.
“Thiago,” she repeats.
>
“Yes,” I reply.
“I thought I would drop by tonight and see Matt. Do you know if he’s working?” she asks in that small voice of hers that says things I don’t want to hear. My first response is to rage and scream at her loudly, but that would show my jealousy. I swallow hard and try to think quickly. What the hell is she doing? She’s fucking killing me, is what she’s doing. I turned her down flat though. She’s obviously accepted it and moved on. Fuuuuck!
“No, he’s not here tonight, but tomorrow he’s on for a show at 9 pm,” I lie. Well, I’m not lying. I actually don’t know his schedule, but I’ll check it and make sure he’s here, if not. No one is going to have her, but me. I know it like I know my own name and the hardness of my own dick.
“Okay. Thank you,” she says quietly and hangs up without another word.
I pull out another cup to pour myself a drink and drop it too. “Holy fuck,” I holler, and slam my fists against the counter. She puts me off kilter. I look up and both of my brothers have smiles a mile wide on their faces.
“Looks like someone gets all shaken up when a certain sexy as fuck liqueur vendor calls,” Dante teases. They’re both blatantly laughing at me.
“Shut up and get the fuck out!” I bellow, pointing to the door for both of them to exit. They shove and push each other out the door singing “Thiago and Brooke, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G...” is all I hear before the door blocks them out. Jesus, I wish. I truly wish it were that easy.
Chapter 10 - Brooke
Why did I do that? Why did I ask him that? I don’t even want Matt. I want Thiago to do those things to me in the private rooms. The whole time I was laying there, as Matt ravaged my pussy with his fingers and tongue, he was the one running though my mind. It was his face, his hands on me, his tongue and lips. When Matt slid his hands up my legs and dug into my thighs, I felt the tingle of those same electrical pulses shooting up my legs that I get when he touches me. That’s how much my mind has me tricked. I’m consumed with him. I had to bite my tongue because I was so afraid I was going to scream out Thiago’s name when I came.
I really want to go to the club tonight just to be near him. To be a little selfish, I was hoping Matt was going to be there. Not for Matt, but to feel those feelings again and imagine that it’s Thiago. What kind of fucked up thought is that? I vowed never to go there for pleasure again, and now, I’ve called to schedule regular appointments. Thiago is a sickness that I have living and growing inside me, but he’s also the only person who can heal me. And he is healing me.
There hasn’t been one wakeful thought of Thomas in a long while. He still invades my dreams every now and then, but even that is growing less frequent since I’ve been back in the states. It’s been two years since I ran from him, and when the thought of sexual pleasure creeps into my mind, the anxiety from my time with him rolls back in like a quick summer storm. He’s always been a hurricane to me that I weather and wait for the sunshine to appear again. Maybe the sunshine is finally here to stay.
Thomas and I were so young when we dabbled with sex together. We were each other’s first, in both being shy and backward, it was easy and convenient. We were both quite studious and ambitious college students, but over time, sex got boring between us and he didn’t like that thought.
Thomas took it upon himself to research new stuff and went club hopping with some friends. Sex club hopping. Sex clubs in Europe are interesting to say the least. I’m sure they are interesting everywhere, but Americans can be prudish, where most of Europe is wild and free. We both learned some crazy stuff about wants and desires, and found new ways to bring exciting pleasure to our love life. But there’s a dark side that I didn’t expect. Thomas got possessive with it. Then he got absolutely obsessive with it.
Our whenever in the mood sexual relationship turned into whenever he was in the mood, and his mood was constantly on as school got more stressful. There were days where he made me skip class, tying me up and not setting me free. I resorted to begging and pleading the word no, which turned him on even more resulting in him raping me, for lack of a better description. But he followed that up with several days of completely apologetic and remorseful gentlemen— and so the pattern began for almost a year until I finally ran away with the help of my parents.
My computer dings with an incoming email and I shake the dark thoughts from my mind. I never want to dwell on that time in my life ever again. I need to concentrate on responding to the business at hand. Only those same dark thoughts bring back my bodily cravings for that same exciting sexual pleasure. My nipples are hard and they ache now just in those small thoughts I had. I did love most of the things we did together, but I want to be able to decide when and with whom and how far is too far. I want the pleasure back...desperately.
Now I’m restless, like an addict looking for a quick hit of choice drug. It’s not fair that I can’t beg, borrow, or steal to get a piece of him today, because I would. What’s that saying...’addiction is the only prison where the locks are on the inside’. The only time I felt free of my prison was my birthday and the time I spent with Matt, and I’ll do just about anything to have that feeling again— minus the alcohol and the blindfold. It took most of the pain of Thomas away since I was in control.
Monday seems too far away to get my fix of him. With a deep sigh, I realize— I’m so screwed. I can’t even concentrate on thoughts of not thinking about him. I push my brain towards work.
My sales calls are set for the week already. Everything has been researched for those meetings and my presentations are lined up. Hell, I’ve got charts and graphs of the summer drink trends on placards printed and ready to leave as calling cards. I’ve tried everything to clear him from my mind and have come to the conclusion that I need more shit to do to keep busy. Or I need to see him to ease this ache.
That’s it. I grab my purse and some of the drink placards. Why not? Maybe I was in the neighborhood, and it’s only a ten minute drive. That could mean I was in the neighborhood. I pull into the parking lot right about happy hour at 4:00 pm. There are only a few cars in the lot. I check my mirrors to make sure no one is walking past me again before I take another brother or patron down at the knees. All’s clear, so with my best excuse on the tip of my tongue, I go in.
Most of the seats at the bar are open, so I pop up onto one of the leather-cushioned stools and wait for the bartender to approach. I pull the trending drink placards out of my purse and scan the list— hmmm, a Slow Screaming Sunrise sounds like an exciting drink to start off with. I place my order and wait. Within minutes, my drink arrives and it looks and tastes divine. It’s perfect. Now that’s the sign of a great bartender.
I turn my stool around and look out at the floor and crowd. It’s quite busy for a late Saturday afternoon. I don’t see anyone that I know, but I’m getting looks from a few of the men. Dress pants and a button down blouse aren’t really sexy for this type of club, but I’m here on business. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
“Hey, gorgeous!” I hear someone call out from the far side of the bar. I turn my head towards the voice and see Dante. It looks like he was putting money into the register for the evening. I throw him a small wave and wait for him to finish. Within a few minutes, he’s spinning a stool around and leaning in to hug me. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming in until Monday morning,” he says.
“Well, someone said ASAP,” I laugh jokingly. “Oh, I was in the neighborhood, coming back from the printer with these babies,” I explain, handing him one of the drink placards, “and just thought with it being Saturday that I’d help boost a little business by dropping them off.”
“Aww, that’s really sweet of you. Does Thiago know you’re here?” he asks.
“I don’t think so. I just got here,” I say, shrugging my shoulders and flipping my long ponytail to lie over my shoulder. “He hasn’t stopped by,” trying to play it off like I’ve not been waiting for him to appear any minute now.
“What does that mean?” I ask. “Thiago is always so mild-tempered and congenial.”
“Not since you’ve been coming around. He’s been in a pissy mood since last week,” he elaborates. “Short-tempered is more like it.”
That thought puts a huge smile on my face. I don’t understand why he keeps denying himself. I know he wants me. He’s said it out loud. We could be great together, if only he’d get over whatever is holding him back. “Tell me, Dante. Does he always live and breathe by such high moral standards?” I ask.
“Yeah, pretty much. It’s funny that you say that. Most people think we don’t have any morals working in this industry. You’d have to know our family history with our dad though, to understand us as a whole. Thiago’s got big brother and father-figure role model mentality,” he replies in a low voice so his words don’t travel to the others close by. “He won’t make any moves that jeopardize our futures, especially since our dad fucked them up and continues to do just that from prison. Everything falls to Thiago to manage. He won’t let us help.”
“Oh, I didn’t know,” I reply, shaking my head and sipping my drink. That explains a lot in just those few words. “I’m sorry about your dad. It seems most of them aren’t perfect, as expected these days.”
“No worries, Beautiful. We don’t tell too many people. I’ve been sheltered away from it most of my life. Thiago shields me and Mateo pretty well, so I don’t know too much myself,” he says, getting antsy in his seat, shifting his feet up and down on the foot rest of the stool. He must be uncomfortable talking about this to me, a stranger.
“I assumed he didn’t want a relationship with me because of this industry he works in,” I admit. “At first, I thought he preferred to have many choices of women over just one, but now I know he prefers to establish his business and future over falling in love.”
