by Tina Donahue
“Seven,” Tim said.
The young man opened a door she hadn’t noticed. “To the right,” he said.
She looked back at the dance floor as Tim pulled her inside. The door closed with a solid thud, the barrier partially muting the booming music. “Where are we?”
“A hall.”
Paneled in wood and lit with electric candles.
Tim moved down it, then went to the right as the staff member had suggested, tugging on her hand, expecting her to follow.
Catherine paused as the paneling stopped and opened up onto another hallway that ended at a glass wall. Through it, she saw the dance floor they’d just left, the writhing couples, sweeping lights. “Those are two-way mirrors out there?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
“Wait.”
He did, shifting from foot to foot, impatient, eager.
Because he frequented this place often? Catherine recalled the card he’d produced at the entrance, the way he’d so effortlessly said number seven to the other staff member. She didn’t want to think about him having been here with other women, but couldn’t help herself. “How often have you come to this club?”
“Never.” He seemed surprised she’d asked. “This is my first time. It’s only been open for a couple of weeks.” He regarded her mouth and breasts. “A client of mine told me about it. I dropped by to check it out before I made the arrangements. Come on.”
This time, she kept pace with him. They passed a series of halls and numbered doors—eleven, ten, nine… At last, he stopped in front of number seven. Catherine bounced on her heels in expectation, then gaped.
The door opened onto a large room cast in a rosy glow. A canopy bed of black wrought iron took up a good portion of the space to the left. Its four posts formed a dome over the top with gossamer panels cascading down them. Light-colored pillows and linens dressed the mattress. The furniture faced the glass wall and dance floor where another popular tuned played, and the patrons danced. Ample soundproofing muffled the worst of the noise, allowing enough of the tune to seep through for recognition. Thump, thump, thump the music’s bass went, reminiscent of a pounding heart or a bed frame rattling from a couple’s vigorous lovemaking.
The scene was surreal, her disorientation heightened by excitement and desire. She was ready to pull Tim onto the bed until another thought intruded. Catherine recalled when they’d been on the dance floor. She’d been so hungry for his touch and kisses, she hadn’t paid any attention to the mirrored walls.
“Can they see us?” she asked.
“If we want them to.”
She turned. Tim was at the formal dining table set for two with china, gold utensils, a floral centerpiece in holiday red and green. On a credenza were covered metal containers. For their coming food, no doubt, since she didn’t smell any spices or meat…only her perfume and his cologne. Had the staff sprayed the fragrances in anticipation of their arrival? Probably. A wet bar was to the right. Beyond it was another door. A bath?
With her cell phone in hand, Tim removed his jacket and tossed it on the sofa. The needlepoint cushions bore a delicate pattern. He placed her phone on the end table nearest him.
“What do you mean if we want them to?” Catherine asked.
He gestured to the electric candles she just now noticed gracing the walls near the door. What light there was in here was subdued and romantic, a result of the rose color that pulsed on this particular two-way mirror from the dance floor. However, if the candles blazed, those outside would be able to see what went on in here.
“Do you want that?”Tim asked, his expression tight with need.
Catherine’s body weakened further. Her soul yearned.
“Later,” she murmured, prepared to give him the night of his life. Not only as the woman Tim thought he knew, but as one who’d seen to men’s fantasies for years. “For now, just you and me.”
The corners of his mouth turned up in an impassioned smile. “Get naked,” he ordered.
Chapter Seven
She didn’t question or resist his demand. Tim liked that. In a few minutes, he’d show her how much. For now, he crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for her to strip.
Catherine regarded his stance, her expression filled with undisguised lust, no different from his. She lifted her hair, then released the tresses so they’d tumble over her shoulders. With the movement, she’d arched her back, displaying her breasts.
Tonight, she’d worn a bra. Bad girl. Tim figured he’d have to paddle her for that. When she was with him, he wanted her bare beneath her street clothes, ready at a moment’s notice to satisfy his every desire, no matter how shameless. With her, his need seemed unending. Fantine had done that to him too. Not that Tim could ever compare them. Catherine was so different. Driven to help others in her chosen career. Devoted to her aunt. Guileless.
Fantine would have prostituted her own mother or her child, if she’d had one, to get what she wanted. What a fucking shame he’d learned that too late, understanding finally what kind of a woman she was and wasn’t.
Catherine ran her fingers down her leather skirt as though debating whether to remove it first. The damn thing fit her like a second skin and drew Tim closer, making his pulse hammer against the base of his throat. Given how she stood, the slit in her skirt fell away from her thigh, exposing a smooth expanse of her tawny flesh. However, it didn’t as yet reveal if she’d worn panties, a thong or nothing at all.
Impatience ate at Tim, heightened by the throbbing music just outside…Carrie Underwood’s Before He Cheats. Behind Catherine, couples danced to the rough beat, the guys cupping their dates’ asses, the ladies nuzzling the men’s necks or slipping their tongues into their boyfriends’ mouths.
Come on, his thoughts ordered, desire coiling within him, traveling to his groin, thickening his cock.
Perversely, Catherine didn’t rush…she lowered her skirt’s zipper a fraction at a time. The leather parted, then drooped away from her body to reveal her navel, the silky expanse of skin beneath it.
Tim swallowed.
She shifted her weight, her movement coaxing the garment down even farther. It slid over the gentle swell of her belly to her mound, then to her—
Jesus. She was nude beneath the skirt, her cunt sleek, the soft folds bared to him, the tattoo above them as captivating as he recalled. Tim curled his fingers into fists to keep himself from reaching for her. As much as he needed her naked, he didn’t want this to end too quickly.
“Do you even own any panties?” he asked.
“Do you want me to?”
Hell no. “Go on,” he ordered.
“With what?” she asked.
Tim gave her a look that said she had better not make him wait any longer…she wouldn’t be denying him, not tonight.
Catherine’s lips parted on her quiet sigh, her insolence subdued, obedience replacing it.
Fuck, that was nice.
The skirt rustled down her thighs and calves, settling at her feet. She stepped out of the garment and stood facing him, her legs parted. In the room’s reddish light that pulsed occasionally, he caught the faint sparkle of moisture on her pussy, the lips plump. His cock pressed against his fly, wanting out of his damn clothing and into her sweet, heated pussy.
Up her arms went as she lifted her sweater and pulled it off. Her bra was a confection Tim should have expected but hadn’t. A light-colored satin for the swell of her breasts, even paler lace over the nipples, partially exposing them.
She undid the undergarment’s front clasp with far more expertise and patience than he might have used. The cups parted to reveal her breasts. Lush, perfect mounds. With a negligent shrug, she worked the thing off her, allowing the dainty straps to slide over her biceps, down her forearms to fall on top of her sweater and skirt.
“Leave the boots on,” he ordered before she could think to remove them.
Catherine honored his demand
and held her hands behind her back, a wanton and submissive move Tim adored. Her constricted areolas made the tips of her nipples appear even longer. He recalled how those small nubs had felt and tasted on his tongue when he’d made love to her at the party. At the time, Tim hadn’t believed anything could be more stirring.
This was.
“Now you,” she said, her command husky, giving away her mounting desire.
It didn’t come close to what was racing through him. Crossing the space that separated them, Tim placed his hands on her shoulders. God, god, god. Her skin was so fucking warm and unbelievably soft. She smelled of the floral tones and musk from the other night, fainter, more enticing than what the club’s staff had sprayed in this room. Never would he allow her to wear any other fragrance. He wanted this one alone. Shit, he wanted it all.
She lifted her face, her expression questioning why he didn’t kiss her or undress. Time enough for that later, just as she’d said. Gently, he turned her to face the mirrored wall.
Catherine looked over, her body stiffening slightly. “What are you doing?”
“You’ll see.”
She laughed. “Oh screw that. What—”
She didn’t finish as Tim took her hands and placed them on the glass. The two-way mirror was far enough away that she had to lean forward slightly. A couple danced very close to the barrier and them. The man cupped his girlfriend’s breast and tilted his head to the ceiling, rapture on his youthful face. With the next beat, his date changed positions and so did he. At that moment, he looked at the mirror, his gaze touching Tim’s and he suspected Catherine’s.
A sound of surprise sweetened with arousal poured from her.
Tim rested one hand on her hip and ran his other down her belly. Those muscles quivered. She gasped. Pleased with her response, he dipped his fingers lower, curling them over her mound, touching her moist slit.
“Oh god,” she moaned.
“Quiet,” he whispered, his mouth on her ear. “The room isn’t completely soundproof. If anyone out there hears you, you’ll draw a crowd. They’ll see you…they’ll see us.”
She breathed, “Would you like that?”
Only in his fantasies. Although he wasn’t the least bit shy, having another man watch as he took her wasn’t something Tim wanted to do, feeling uncharacteristically protective, possessive. However, when it came to women observing their bed play, he was all for that, which Catherine would soon discover.
He pictured her surprise at what he had in store for her. Not the threesomes and group sex she wasn’t into. That shit was taking place upstairs. No way was she getting near any of it.
“No,” he answered, “I would not.”
She turned her face to his, her pleasure intensified by building lust.
Nurturing it, Tim claimed her mouth, slipping his tongue inside, stifling a groan at what she did to him. He stroked the length of her cleft. She couldn’t have been any wetter. He bathed his fingers in her moisture, then slid the tips over her erect little nub.
She pushed to her toes, her indecent moan muffled by his lips and tongue.
Tim wound his arm around Catherine’s waist to keep her still, tamed to everything he demanded. He worked her clit, but made certain to keep her just shy of orgasm. The way her muscles tightened told him how badly she needed release.
Not yet. Not until he allowed it. Finishing their kiss, he pulled his mouth free. “Watch the crowd, not me.”
He wanted her to feel exposed and vulnerable to heighten her pleasure.
She swallowed, then sucked in another breath as he stroked her cunt.
“Go on,” he directed, touching her clit again.
She moaned. “No.”
Uh-uh. Defiance wasn’t allowed. Not in this room. Not this evening. Offering no argument, he lifted his hand and settled it on her sweet belly, deliberately abandoning her cunt.
“Shit,” she hissed.
“The crowd,” he repeated, “watch them. A few are already looking this way. They’re moving closer now and frowning. I think they might have seen us.”
She turned her face in that direction, no doubt catching what he did. Two guys were squinting at the glass wall as they danced with their dates, their expressions saying they thought they saw something behind the glass, but weren’t quite sure.
With Catherine distracted by the scene, Tim cupped her mound and returned to her clit, masturbating her at a decidedly slow pace that wouldn’t allow her to come for minutes.
Her head fell back on a strangled gasp, loud enough for him to note, too quiet for the others to hear. She pressed her ass into his groin, her actions saying she found his stroking torturous. If he wasn’t going to give her immediate relief, she needed it to stop.
Dream on.
He continued. She was slick and ripe, needing his skilled touch. No matter whom she’d slept with in the past, after this evening Tim wanted to make certain she thought of no one else except him. Some of it was male arrogance and pride. The other part wasn’t a matter he wanted to explore right now. It was too overwhelming. Better to keep his emotions at bay, at least for a time, and settle on the physical.
He suckled her shoulder, enjoying its salty taste. Perspiration bathed her throat, which enhanced her fragrance. He sensed her nipples were tight enough to hurt, the same as his fucking balls. Each time she pushed into him, the pressure of her body made his cock even harder.
On a pained growl, he increased the pace of his stroking. Her fingers curled on the glass. If it had been his back, Tim was certain she would have left scratches, marking him as her own. Pleased at the thought, he kissed her throat. She mewled and wiggled again, trying to get away.
He increased his grip around her waist. His fingers slowed on her nub.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she whined.
“Shhh.”
“Oh fuck that. I don’t care if they see or hear—god.”
He rubbed her harder, faster than he had before. Within seconds, she went over the edge, gulping air, wheezing it out.
Tim pulled her away from the glass and lifted her into his arms. She curled into him with such ease they might as well have been doing this forever. Her body shuddered with the last of her climax. He cradled her close, bringing her to the bed.
The moment she was on it, Catherine pulled him down to her. For a kiss, he thought. To his surprise, she put her hand on his mouth to keep it from hers and growled, “Get undressed. I mean it.”
He licked her palm.
“I’m not kidding.” She dropped her hand to his chest and pushed him back. “Un-fucking-dress. Please.”
“Later.”
“No. Now.” Propped on her elbows, she regarded him and went from demanding to soft. “What’s the matter? Are you shy? Ashamed of your body? You have three nipples or something? It’s okay…I. Don’t. Mind.
“Or wait,” she suddenly added, her brows lifting. “Do you have a tattoo you don’t want me to see? It has an emblem of a gang you used to belong to? Oh shit, does it say ‘mother’?” She screwed up her mouth. “That would be bad. But I swear I won’t laugh. I won’t even look at—”
“Holy shit, shut up.”
She giggled, then pleaded. “Come on, take off your damned clothes. Tell you what, I’ll help.”
Off the bed she came, sinking to her knees in front of him, one hand on his fly, the other cupping his balls.
Tim groaned at her touch, desperate for it…lost in it.
Now she had him.
Having undressed scores of men, Catherine knew that once she had her hands on the precious cargo between their legs, they weren’t going to say word one, afraid the good times might end.
This was just the beginning for her and Tim during the next few hours. She couldn’t hope for more or even chance it. She liked him too much. If she allowed herself to fall in love with…
God no. That wasn’t remotely possible. To lose him afterward—and she would lose him—would be more than she could bear.
Oh hell, why are you thinking about that now? Have fun. That’s all this is.
Determined to prove it, she unhooked the clasp on his pants’ waistband and lowered his fly quickly. Ooh nice.He hadn’t worn tighty-whities. His boxers were the stretchy variety, a dark blue or black. Unable to stand another moment separated from him, Catherine hooked her thumbs in his clothing and shoved it down, not at all surprised that he didn’t have any tan lines. This man was a definite hedonist, preferring to sunbathe in the nude.
As she pushed his clothing to his feet, he made a sound only guys could produce. Carnal hunger to the point of panic.
“Careful,” he groaned. “I’m so fucking hard I can’t stand much more.”
No kidding. His cock looked close to bursting and was simply exquisite. Thick, long and so erect it had bounced when freed from his clothes. Catherine ran her fingers down the rigid column, the prominent veins. In her palm, she lifted the crown, meaty, the skin darkened and shiny from being stretched so tight. Within the small slit in the head, a tiny drop of pre-cum emerged, evidence of his passion for her. She licked away the clear pearl of moisture.
“Damn.”
“Quiet,” she teased. “Someone out there might hear you.”
“Like I care.”
“Don’t,” she said, grabbing the edge of his sweater, stopping him from removing it. “Let me.”
“No.” He pried her fingers from the garment and pulled it off.
His chest was as amazing as Catherine had expected, all hard muscle and smooth golden skin, his nipples a dark brown, the tiny nubs erect.
“Next time,” he added and tossed his sweater.
Catherine watched it sail across the room to land on the sofa next to his jacket. His words—that promise of next time—echoed in her thoughts, bringing a measure of hope followed by a whole lot of pain. The kind that twisted her belly and snatched her breath. Crap. Already she was in too deep. No way would she get out of this without being hurt, while he…
