I felt a wet tongue slip over my head as her hips swayed in front of me, begging for me to return the sentiment on the skin before me. My hands grasped her legs, but I refused to taste the platter presented.
Blood rushed to my groin as I imagined toned ass cheeks in front of me, hiding the softest folds of skin between them. “There he is,” the foreign voice teased.
She readjusted herself so she was facing me again, my dick aiming straight for her entrance. She worked me with her hand, spreading what little precum that had beaded on the tip around my head. Satisfied with her work, she ripped the package of a condom open and rolled it onto me. Before sliding down my length, she purred, “Baby girl likes when Daddy fills me up.”
My eyes flashed to hers, searching for crystal blue ones like I had seen through hooded lids when their owner whispered my name before reaching ecstasy. Instead, all I found were green ones rimmed with brown, indicating the presence of colored contact lenses. She had never referred to herself this way before and I had only ever used the name for one other person before. This wasn’t my baby girl. What the fuck was I doing?
Like cold water had been splashed on my face, I shot up. “Get off.”
My tone made her body jump with surprise since I had never spoken to her that way. “What?”
“I said, get off.”
She pawed at my chest, desperate to settle me. “Just give me a chance to—”
“Leave, now,” I roared.
She climbed off me and slid on her dress, still in shock that I had rejected her. Without pushing me further, she slinked out of the room.
I pulled on my boxers and pants angrily. Rage pulsed through my veins. Cassandra hadn’t deserved that. She had always been there for me when I needed sex, and I usually enjoyed her company. But tonight, my irritation was unrelenting. No one was safe from my temper.
My foot smashed into the side table, sending glass flying and scotch spilling everywhere. Collapsing onto the couch, I gripped my hair, elbows on my knees wondering what the hell had just happened. Nothing satisfied me anymore. The restlessness that I felt ate away at me, making it impossible to think clearly.
I clenched my fist, ready to punch the wall behind my head, when my phone vibrated, stopping me in my tracks.
Studying the screen, I read the message that had come through.
Hi.
I didn’t recognize the number.
Another text came through. This time from Amelia.
Hey. Just a heads-up. I gave Claire your number. She had a rough day.
Followed by another from Amelia.
P.S. Don’t be a dickhead.
I rolled my eyes. I was always a dickhead. Didn’t she know that by now?
I opened Claire’s text again to stare at it like it was the holy grail. How could two letters and a punctuation mark make my insides contract with anxiety?
I couldn’t think of a good enough response to text back, so I called her instead. Gripping the phone to my ear, I waited through the rings.
She picked up on the third ring. From what little I knew about her, she had probably been debating whether to even answer.
“Hey.” Her voice cracked from her own nerves.
I willed mine to remain steady even though I felt the same way. “Claire. Are you okay?”
She paused for a moment. “Yeah.” I could tell it was a lie but contacting me was probably emotionally challenging enough for her, judging from the strain in her voice, so I didn’t press.
“Do you want to meet me for a drink?” It was late, but since she was still awake, I wouldn’t pass up the chance to be with her.
“Is anything even open?” I could tell she was smirking on the other end.
“Baby girl, it’s New York. Everything’s open. And if something isn’t, I’ll open it for you.”
“That’s so cheesy,” she replied. I could hear her eyes rolling over the line.
“Isn’t that what women like?” I teased.
“Not this one.” Noted. She was a hard one with an even harder exterior.
“Then help me out here. What does this woman like?” Maybe directness would win me tips on how to approach her.
She sighed. “Is it sad that I don’t even know how to answer that?”
“Not sad. You just need to let someone into the fortress you’ve built around yourself.”
She paused for a moment. “You mean I should let you in?”
“I mean, sure…if you’re opening the gate to the castle, why not let me in?”
The beautiful sound of her soft laugh on the other end sent goosebumps raising along my skin. “Are you supposed to be a knight in shining armor?”
“No, baby girl, I’m the motherfucking king,” I rumbled.
She laughed again. That was two laughs—I had already deemed this conversation a success. “Again, cheesy. And why do you keep calling me ‘baby girl’?”
“You don’t like it?” My lips perked up into a crooked smile.
“It’s just that I know I’m young, but it makes me feel like I’m even younger.”
A sense of dread filled me. If she wasn’t legal, I was going to lose it. I preferred to keep my criminal activities exclusive to drugs and weapons, not children. “How young?”
“Twenty-one.’ Fuck me. She looked young, but I hadn’t thought she was barely the drinking age. I had gotten the impression she was older from the way she carried herself. The depth in her eyes gave her an air of wisdom usually seen in someone older. “How old are you?” she asked.
I paced slowly around the room, the soles of my shoes sinking slightly into the plush carpet as I walked. “Probably too old for you.”
She groaned in protest over the nickname, but I wasn’t changing it. I liked how little digs at her revealed bits of her true self. “Be serious.”
“Thirty-six.”
“Merde. I guess I really am a ‘baby girl’ to you, then?” she said, her light tone returning.
I shrugged to no one. “Method to my madness.”
I could hear her brain working over the line, even though she didn’t speak for nearly thirty seconds. “Look, I’m not very good at this stuff…like talking about my feelings.”
My free hand found the inside of my pocket as I walked, toying with the seam that held it together inside. “I’m not trying to be your therapist and analyze you. Just be yourself.”
She sighed. “I’m trying.”
“That’s good enough, then.” I only ever wanted her to be genuine, not the person she pretended to be to push the world away.
She let out a yawn. I found the soft squeak at the end to be adorable. “I should go now. I have class tomorrow.”
I didn’t want the call to end even though we weren’t really talking about anything. It was the best conversation I’d had with a woman in a long time.
“Good night, baby girl,” I said, reluctant to let her go.
“Good night, Jai,” she whispered, making my insides melt like they did anytime she said my name.
Holding my phone in my hands, I stared at the screen long after the call ended—no hint of the constant restlessness that I had been suffering remained.
Chapter XI
Claire
“Okay, that’s all for class today. Be sure to practice your ronde de jambes for next week. And I will know if you haven’t been practicing.” I eyed each of the girls before dismissing my last class of the day. The older girls were always chattier than the little ones as they collected their belongings before leaving the studio.
Loud giggling by the door made me turn to see what had prompted it. A group of my girls were huddled, gawking at the tall figure leaning against the wall. Jai.
My eyes caught his as he strode over, all cool and full of confidence. His signature arrogant smirk was set on his lips as he passed
his ogling fan club.
They weren’t out of line for gawking. He was one hell of a man—incredibly handsome with the combination of the charming twinkle in his eyes and rugged scruff on his jaw. The way he carried his shoulders when he walked, so proud and strong, would make any woman drop her panties in a heartbeat. And now that I knew he had the skills to back his good looks, I couldn’t ease jitters in my belly.
My gaze caught the aforementioned twinkle as he looked down at me. “Happy to see me, baby girl?”
Crossing my arms over my belly to stifle the butterflies, I clenched my fists to apply extra pressure to my core. “Maybe.”
“Your students seem happier to see me than you do right now.” He nodded over to the girls, who were still staring at him. One of them let out a shriek, before they all ran out of the studio cackling like baby hyenas.
I rolled my eyes at the huge grin on his face from all the attention. Moving to the wall where I kept my bag on the floor, I sat down to change out of my dance shoes. “What are you doing here?” I asked as I focused on my feet instead of his beautiful face.
He moved closer to where I sat, slipping his hands in his pockets. “Trying to take you to dinner.”
I glared up at him, his presumptuousness annoying me. “What if I already have plans?” I said, standing up.
He nodded to the sneakers on my feet. “Looks like you’re finished teaching for the day. And you still need dinner, right?”
My stomach roiled at the mere mention of food. As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. If I went straight home, I’d probably just make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on bread that was two days past its expiration date. Though it would be very dry, the bread at home was still edible and insanely cheap since it was already past its prime when I bought it.
I looked down at my purple leotard and black tights covered by a white wrap around my waist. I didn’t have a change of clothes on me, only a jacket to cover my torso. “But I’m dressed like a ninety’s jazzercise teacher.”
His gaze roamed too slowly down my body, taking in every part of me. “As long as you aren’t naked, you’re allowed inside of a restaurant, right?” he teased, putting extra emphasis on the word “naked.” “Plus, I loved the nineties.”
I hesitated as I thought it over. My resolve always went to hell whenever I was close to him. Exhaling in defeat, I pushed past him with my bag on my shoulder. “Fine, but I’m ordering dessert,” I said, striding ahead.
We walked to an Italian restaurant nearby. The sky had just turned a deep cerulean color signaling early dusk and the warmth from the summer sun still lingered. I felt too warm with my jacket on, but I didn’t want to look like a lunatic by taking it off, especially in this rich of an area. I already didn’t fit in here when dressed in regular clothes. There was a time when I would have easily blended in, but not anymore. Now, it was imperative to not draw attention to myself.
A short walk later, we found our destination, a seemingly unassuming place the size of a shoe closet. We sat across from each other, separated by a tealight candle enclosed by a cheap red glass holder and a basket of warm ciabatta bread on the table. I wasn’t sure how an old-school place like this was still open for business in such a posh neighborhood since the rent was probably astronomical. The authentic food that was boasted on the signage out front must have just been that damn good.
Various paintings stroked in Mediterranean hues of orange and blue hung on the wall, featuring scenes of different Italian landscapes like a Tuscan vineyard, the Amalfi Coast, and a cottage in Naples.
We sipped on glasses of red wine as we waited for our food to arrive. The drinking age in France was lower than in America, so I had years of practice identifying good wine, and this was good. Notes of cherries and black pepper teased my tongue, instantly numbing the awkwardness that swathed us.
Jai’s eyes were on me when I opened them after savoring the red liquid. Eyes dark like coal blazed into mine, as the spark between us ignited the flame. “Have you ever eaten here before?”
I shook my head. “Never. I don’t usually eat out.” Not by choice, really. Rent was my biggest expense, and I could barely make enough to cover it every month. Throwing money away at a restaurant just didn’t seem like the smartest idea when I was scrounging to stay in that poor excuse for an apartment that I called home.
“Do you cook a lot?” he asked, his lips slick from the wine.
I snorted in laughter. “Me? Cook? No way. You?”
“I do.” I couldn’t hide my surprise. “I actually prefer it. I find creating dishes to be cathartic,” he said. His tongue darted out, skimming over his bottom lip to collect the moisture that had coated it after his last sip.
My thoughts wandered. Visions of him bare-chested in the kitchen, his brow creased as he devoted his attention to chopping and sautéing, hypnotized me. There was nothing sexier than a man who could cook.
“If you don’t eat out or cook, then what do you eat?” he asked.
“Sandwiches. Mostly peanut butter and jelly or lunch meat. Anything I can eat on my way to class.”
He seemed more angry than astonished by my answer. “What? How do you run on lunch meat for fuel? You’re an athlete and you need to feed your body,” he scolded.
My cheeks heated under his scrutiny. Shrugging, I replied, “It’s what fits in my budget. Plus, it’s not like I perform or anything.” My nutritional demand wasn’t as high as that of a performer. Company ballerinas, especially ones that made principal and headlined shows, trained for hours each day, and were expected to dance continuously for nearly two hours with only breaks for costume changes.
“Do you want to perform?” His eyes were trained on me.
The question made me long for the dreams I had as a little girl envisioning my life in ballet. Of course, I wanted to perform. It was all I had ever wanted since I was four years old, twirling around on my tiptoes along to the tinkling melody from my jewelry box. I would spend nights in bed choreographing movements in my head, until my eyelids would droop with drowsiness. But it would never happen for me. It was just that…a dream. “I did, but it’s not an option anymore.”
“Why not?” he inquired, unhappy with my brief answer.
“The money that I make from teaching is better than what I’d make as a performer. I have more time to pick up extra classes. But if I were on the stage, I’d have to commit my entire day to training without the extra income.”
He was quiet for moment, his thoughts showing in the creases of his forehead. I wasn’t shy about discussing my financial situation and I had nothing to be ashamed off. Though I no longer had much to my name, I worked hard for everything. It was either work my ass off to pay for my rent or be out on the street. I preferred the security of a roof over my head, which was ideal for hiding. It was better to live a private life of teaching than to bring attention to myself as a performer, since the recognition would be fatal.
Jai stayed quiet for a long time, his fingers rubbing the scruff on his jaw. “Don’t give up,” he finally said, addressing me.
My eyes rolled at his audacity. “That’s easy for you to say. You look like money.”
He glanced down at his attire, a blazer, concert tee, and jeans. I was sure they were all designer, but I hadn’t meant his outfit.
“It’s not your clothes that give you away. It’s how you carry yourself—with your shoulders back and your chin always slightly higher than the person that you’re addressing.”
His expression hardened, as if he were offended by my assessment.
“I’m not judging you,” I continued. “My family had money but now I’m just more responsible about it since I no longer have them to depend on.”
That piqued his curiosity. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I had known that question was coming. The conversation had taken a turn into terr
itory that I didn’t want to visit, all because of my big mouth.
He must have sensed my hesitation. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.”
Amelia’s words rang in my head. I should take a chance and open myself up. Living like a closed box kept me safe but left me alone. So alone.
“My father passed away when I was younger. After his death, my mother and I moved to small flat in Paris. She used all of the money she had left to put me through dance school.”
“What did your father do for a living?”
I scratched my elbow awkwardly. “He was an accountant.” Lie.
“How did he die?”
Guilt consumed me for lying to him, especially when his voice was so soft with concern. I decided to share some of the truth to ease my conscience. “Car accident.”
His lips pressed together in response. “I’m sorry.”
My reaction to uttering those words should have been more like his. Instead, I felt nothing. Not like when I spoke about my mother’s death.
“It’s okay. We weren’t close.” Papa and I could never connect on the same level as Maman and I. He had never tried to foster a nurturing relationship; thus, the relationship never grew flourished. When he died, I wasn’t so much heartbroken as scared that I would be next.
“How soon after did your mother pass away?”
“A few years later…” Tears welled in my eyes before I could even complete my answer. I diverted my gaze to the red-and-white checkered tablecloth before me, tracing patterns in the little squares to distract myself. “She was murdered.”
I heard him suck in a quiet breath, which drew my eyes back to him. “A burglar broke into our house. I found her lying in her blood after coming home late from practice. The coroner said that her body was cold which indicated she had been dead for a while before I found her.” The images came rushing back to me like a bad slideshow on an old projector. I felt my eyes burn from the tears that threatened to fall. “The police report said the intruder must have thought the house was empty and shot her when they realized they weren’t alone.”
“Did they ever find the person who did it?” He leaned in closer, so he didn’t have to talk loudly and rouse attention from the other patrons, who were nearly at arm’s length.
Control: Power Series #3 Page 8
