by Alice Ward
But I couldn’t do that.
I shifted, and pain shot through my leg.
Sympathy was clear on his face as he recognized my discomfort. The external discomfort at least. The internal problem was that I knew how this could go down, had heard too many horror stories from Jewels. I was ready to retaliate if he pressed the whole “make love” thing in a sinister way.
There was a panic button hidden under the table next to me. My mind was so on fire that I was surprised I remembered it. But I didn’t think, somehow knew, that he wasn’t even remotely that kind of guy — that he might take what he wanted from people in business, but that he would never waiver from his word.
My breath left my lungs in a puff. For god’s sake, he wanted to love the pain away. The pain he’d seen in under five questions.
As he approached me, my eyes must’ve gone wild.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was calm and steady as he reached his hand out to me.
“Of course you won’t. There are cameras all over the room and you wouldn’t want to be banned from returning to Jewel.” The air was sucked out of the room as he came closer.
When he gently laid his strong hand over mine and pulled me to my feet, I feared that I might topple over, but in one strong motion, he drew me to his chest. I was one hundred percent positive he could now feel my heart beating out of control. Was that his heart I felt, pounding out a beat close to mine?
“Can I see you again?” he whispered breathlessly, our faces too close for any kind of sanity. His eyes were translucent under the light, the tiny valleys of brown in his iris going light to dark and so clear I thought I could see deep inside of him, see the surprise he also felt at what was happening between us.
But I couldn’t let myself look, couldn’t let my heart love anyone ever again.
I sidestepped Roman gracefully, happy I was able to maneuver away from him without my cane and not falter. Oh no you don’t, Mr. Make-love-to-you. I won’t melt into your arms.
“I’ve enjoyed our evening, Mr. Wellington, but your time is up. This one time was an exception on my part, so I’m afraid that can’t happen.” I bowed my head, playing the Jewel card.
My taking on the subservient-hostess-to-guest role snapped us back to our proper places, making an awkwardness fill the room.
He took my hand in his and placed a tender kiss on my palm. “I wish I’d met you before whoever broke your heart did, my beautiful butterfly.”
I willed my hostess-face not to crack, pressed down the ache that was so fresh and had nothing to do with Nate. A lone tear silently ran down my cheek as I turned away from him and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Roman
Stepping out of the room, I was reeling from my encounter. And while I didn’t know her real name or anything about her as I’d hoped I would, I felt a connection between us. A connection that for some reason had sent her off in tears. Had my suggestion of loving her caused her so much anguish that she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me any longer? If so, I was to blame and wanted to set things right.
I have to find a way to see her again.
I didn’t mind paying, but sensed there was something deep inside she would never reveal as long as we were at Jewel. My mind immediately began devising ways I could sequester the Butterfly, when I was met by our hostess.
“Good evening, Mr. Wellington. I hope you enjoyed your experience.” Her eyes were wide and hopeful.
“It was quite enjoyable. Please offer my gratitude to my clever conversationalist,” I said as the haze of my lust and fascination dissipated.
As much as my cock was unsatisfied with my “purchase,” the warm tingling sensation ignited within me was so foreign, it was worth twice what I paid for it. I knew the raw and heady sensations of lust, but this was deeper, this was something more grounded in admiration and empathy. Maybe it boiled down to those two things simultaneously.
“I’ll be sure to let her know how pleased you are. I’m afraid your colleague has not yet completed his evening, so may I suggest that you use one of our private rooms to enjoy a massage or a nightcap?” Her eyes sought my response, which for the moment was nonexistent. “It’s two a.m. and you’re welcome to have a rest if you prefer. We have temporary accommodations as well as professionals available to relax you. If you’d like something more stimulating we can negotiate a price, otherwise we’ll wake you when your driver is ready to take you home. These services are complimentary and provided with our deepest appreciation for your patronage.”
My mind was in a faraway place. The Butterfly had left with one lone tear streaking down her face, and I wanted to find her, needed to. I knew I probably wouldn’t be permitted to roam the halls freely, but that’s all I wanted to do.
The hostess took my silence to mean I was considering her proposal. “If you’d like to consider another package, Mr. Wellington,” the hostess added, “we still have many tempting offers for you. I can escort you to our consulting rooms, if you’d like.” Her face never broke its soft, tempting, subservient countenance.
With such refinement and pleasantry, a fastidious commitment to discretion and the most beautiful women in Montana, it was no mystery how Jewel had become such a maverick in men’s entertainment worldwide.
I smiled. “I’m afraid other women would pale in comparison to the Butterfly. A private chamber with some cold sparkling mineral water sounds perfect right about now. Thank you.” I needed a place to recompose. A moment to myself was an absolute necessity at this point. My cock could no longer be ignored.
Within moments, she showed me to a room with a lounger in the corner. Hidden speakers lilted out a sensual, foreign melody and the lighting was so dim, it merely casted an amber glow. My mineral water was waiting on a side table and there was a seventy-inch TV mounted on the wall.
“The television is programmed to receive channels from every country in the world. We also have ten of our own channels which are guaranteed to delight you. Can I get you anything?” she offered, curtseying.
“Yes, just one thing. What was the name of the woman I just met, her real name?” I wondered what it would take to wear a hostess down, or if it was even possible in this place.
“I’m not at liberty to say.” She smiled devilishly, cocked her head, pushing her neck and breasts forward invitingly. A clever distraction.
“And your name?”
“Alma Rain,” she cooed in an even-toned cadence.
“That your real name? Alma Rain?” I singsonged back at her, knowing very well she was just as well-crafted as the Butterfly.
“It is if you want it to be.” Her voice dropped some, and her lips formed into a pout as she understood I saw through her.
“I bring clients here, Alma, but I’m not really into this show. I’m always more interested in the real person, even here in this brothel. I may have a hell of a lot of money, but I do have some heart to go with it.” I was nearly pleading with her to bring some truth to the table. This place could cause a man to feel like the world was slicked over with lasciviousness, like I’d eaten the Turkish delights in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. Only they made everyone sexed up and bowing to please.
A hint of a smile cracked across her face as she whispered “Anne” nervously under her breath, her eyes darting up to the hallway ceiling and quickly down again.
My gaze followed hers, and on the ceiling was the glistening rainbow reflection of a camera lens.
I then moved closer to Anne and touched her shoulder. “Thank you for being an exceptional hostess this evening.” I reached into my pocket and produced a wad of bills. I slipped them into her jacket, blocking the movement from the camera with her body. “This is only for you. No need to share with the establishment.”
She nodded and touched my hand as I removed it from her pocket.
Thank you, she mouthed and bowed before turning to walk away.
I walked into the room an
d plopped down on the lounger, which was large and comfortable, astounded my conversation with the Butterfly had lasted less than an hour. What a strange night. I cupped myself, also marveling that I still had such an almost painful hard-on. It’d been a while since it’d seen any real action.
The last woman I dated was a foreign diplomat from the Ukraine. I knew the affair would only last as long as her business trip, so I enjoyed a little no-strings-attached fun. That was about six weeks ago.
I thought about some TV, but I was still hyper-charged with sexual tension. This I wanted to flatline — it was making me feel jumpy and irritated. I looked around the room for visual stimulus since I knew I’d find it in abundance.
There was a specially designed Jewel-encrusted list of channels for the television. First on the list was The Spanking and Flogger Festival. No, thanks.
There was also a glossy menu with pictures of services to consider that could be rendered at the touch of an in-house iPhone — which I still had in my possession. And of course, a drawer full of goodies, all shrink-wrapped and ready for play.
Maybe just a cold shower. I glanced over the adjacent marble-lined bathroom. Despite the opulence and elegance, it was all feeling more than a little tawdry. But I had more than an hour to wait and this hard on wasn’t going away anytime soon.
Deciding to handle things like a man, I made myself comfortable on the soft cushions, then unbuttoned my dress shirt. Releasing my still partially engorged dick from its confines, I stroked myself from tip to root, then again as I imagined my hand being replaced by another.
Closing my eyes, I could almost see her walk into the room, still wearing the black mask that so frustratingly covered the most distinguishing features of her face. Instead of wearing wide slacks and a sheer black blouse as she did for our conversation, she was enveloped in a long, gauzy robe with draping arm sleeves that nearly touched the floor. And fully revealed her gorgeous curves.
The front floated open when she moved. The slopes of her breasts peaked out from the robe’s opening, and beneath the filmy covering, deep rose-colored nipples peeked out, a sharp contrast against her pale white skin. Her nipples were pert and attentive, her tits gorgeously natural and round.
I wanted to gather them up, press my face into them, and breathe in her hypnotizing scent. It brought to mind orange trees in bloom and jasmine vines growing wherever they pleased.
Below her incredible breasts was a well-toned waist that gradually slanted into ample hips. I loved a woman with curves. Thin, muscular women were fun, but I wanted something more robust to hold on to. Her toned body told me she could handle my style of lovemaking. Since when had I called it lovemaking?
I worked out and I liked it when the woman I was with was athletic enough to keep up with me. The gym — working out — was my happy place. Where I conquered my demons. Like when I fucked. I needed a woman who could handle me.
As I returned to the image I’d constructed of her in my head, I wondered if she could handle my length and girth, and started to stroke my rigid cock in earnest. As lust painted my vision into a vivid fantasy, I noticed the Butterfly’s sexy thigh gap, just enough to make a man go insane wanting to push himself into that space. She was, from top to toe, the entire package. Absolutely everything.
I begin to stroke harder, faster, as I imagined looking my fill. My eyes traveled farther down her body, past her subtle hips, my gaze landed on the beautifully shaped hair just above her pussy. Her petal pink lips glistened beneath a thin strip of curls, her raven-colored hair trimmed neatly, ready to be touched.
I pulsed my hand harder and forced my lungs to suck in air. My fucking god, she was perfection, and I was already close.
I reeled myself in, slowed down, took a look at her legs. In my mental picture, they were shapely, strong, and lean, with no evidence of injury. I was still marveling at the beauty of her body when she advanced like a cat stalking its prey in the tall grass. Her eyes were fixed on mine, sparkling with desire. Her lips were plump and moist, shimmering with pink lip gloss as she gracefully straddled my lap and eyed my tortured cock. Fuck, she was sexy.
She didn’t tease or stroke, but rubbed her naked center over my rigid erection. Immediately, a shout escaped me. Every muscle in my body went painfully rigid. My heart sent shock waves throbbing through my veins that had my cock leaping so high I felt her opening at my tip. I clamped my hands down on her hips to control the urge to grind up into her. Press her hips down. Shoot my cock into her and fuck her until we were both bruised and limp.
Instead, I gritted my teeth and let her sensuous dance continue as she ignited every nerve in my body. My skin was electric with sensation as she undulated, my aching dick already drizzled with pre-cum and her wetness. I could feel the soft brush of her pubic hair tickle my shaft as it slid up the length. The moist velvet of her pussy lips painting me with her juices as she stroked herself against my engorged mushroom head, gently rocking back and forth on the tip.
Her fingers curled around the base of my shaft and tugged it closer to her body. Then with gentle beckoning strokes that made it grow harder and more ready for her, she pressed me deeper into her folds, building more friction as she moved her hips over me.
“Please,” I begged, the blood forcing my cock upright, my need blinding. A shiver coursed down my spine and it took everything in me not to throw her onto the bed and take her like I was some kind of animal. My body was glistening with sweat as I fought for a rationale I no longer possessed.
She leaned into me, her near naked body against my chest as she softly pressed her lips to mine. Her taut nipples grazed over my shirt, her mouth giving me just a taste of her frosted cherry lip gloss.
I wanted her to linger there so I could relish her mouth, but she moved downward to my neck, first kissing then biting. Streaks of electric fire shot to my cock.
All that existed was tension and heat.
I bit my lip and willed my cock not to explode in her hand. I had to have her.
She trailed kisses down my chest to my nipples, teasing them with her tongue. At the same time, one hand gently floated across my body, tracing the contours and ripples formed by my labor in the gym. The other hand smoothed fingers over the dew beading on the tip of my cock and glazed it across the head. Holding it firmly, she gently stroked, and I quivered under her — the sensations of her hand playing my cock had me no longer able to resist my urges.
I hooked my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her face to mine until I could look into those gorgeous eyes. I wanted to push the mask away from her face, but I didn’t dare lose her trust in such a way. Instead, I devoured her in a kiss, her fingers tightening on my dick. Her mouth was tender and soft, sweet as my tongue explored it. And she explored mine in return.
I forced one hand to release from her hip and it took its own journey upward, tracing the contours of her body. Into the dip of her waist. Over the ribs that showed just a little too much. Around the beautiful curve of her breast to her breastbone. Then straight down in a firm line that pushed through the center of her soft breasts and down her tight stomach to her hip again, then her long, elegant thighs.
She pumped my cock harder as my finger neared her soft, moist center. I tore my mouth from hers and nibbled down her neck to her firm breast, where I found the pebbled bud of her nipple, drawing it deep into my mouth. A gasp escaped her lips as my finger found the silky folds of her entrance and slid toward her wet and ready center before unceremoniously driving inside her. She was warm and tight, her pussy sucking on my finger as a long cry escaped her throat.
Unable to wait any longer, I shifted her hips, positioning myself next to my finger, poised to plunge into her.
Yet I waited. And held my finger still inside her.
“Please,” My mouth detached from her nipple and found her ear, “let me have you.”
She smiled slyly as her pussy writhed on my finger. “No,” she teased.
“Why not?” The words were torture, even my
lungs were burning for her.
“Because.” Her breath hitched as she dislodged herself from my finger and held my dick firmly in her hand. “I’ll have you,” she demanded as she quickly slid my steely erection into her heat.
I gasped as she ground herself down to my balls, resting there a moment so I could feel her tight pussy sheathed over my aching cock.
“Stay still,” she ordered as she carefully rocked back and forth, my cock so hard now that I couldn’t decide if I felt more pleasure or pain.
“Fuck.” I clenched my jaw as I clung to the shreds of my restraint while she maneuvered back and forth, driving deeper into her core. I dug my fingers into her thighs to keep myself from taking control.
“Shhh,” she playfully scolded as she took my mouth with hers again, her rhythm steady as she rocked on me, driving me insane.
With want battering my brain, my hands found her breasts, squeezing the soft flesh while I used every ounce of my endurance to withhold myself from thrusting into her deep and fast. My tongue mirrored the needs of my dick as I drove it into her mouth as if to consume her.
A laugh vibrated against my lips. She knew the effort it was taking to keep from rocketing into her. She ended our kiss with a simple peck then slid over to my ear.
“Good boy,” she purred as she bit it gently and sped up her ride, bouncing and building the friction between us.
“Please, let me take you,” I growled. I couldn’t let her have the control much longer, but couldn’t risk her withdrawing from me.
She lifted herself off of me in response, like I was somehow misbehaving. My cock came out of her with a pop and stood in the cool air, deprived and abandoned.
Her eyes were still commanding me to stay still as her fingers found me, rigid and slick with our combined juices. She rubbed my tortured member across the opening to her warm pussy, letting only the tip dip in for a moment, then slip out again.
I groaned with pleasure, sweat running down my temple to my neck and into my open collar. She rubbed, dipped, over and over again.
