by M. Never
“I don’t need to be spoiled,” I argue.
“Every woman needs to be spoiled,” he contests. “And I have never wanted to spoil anyone until you.”
I freeze. Actually, we both do, together realizing the depth of his statement.
“Please,” he implores, pulling me closer. “Let’s not get caught up in rights and wrongs and propers and impropers. Let’s just let it be what it is.”
“A fantasy,” I answer him.
CJ nods.
I can do that. Because that’s really all this weekend is. A fantasy.
Two people pretending.
Pretending they can be together.
Pretending they aren’t ages apart or have oceans between them. I lean forward and kiss him, letting go of all of my reservations. He wants this and so do I.
I continue on to the second box; again, a sea of tissue paper conceals the contents. I pull out a cream sweater dress very similar to the one I wore last night, except this one is way nicer and much softer.
“Is this cashmere?” I almost rub the material all over my face, but I refrain only because I don’t want to get makeup on it.
“I believe so.” CJ rubs a piece of the sleeve between his fingers.
“I could come.” I moan, reveling in the softness.
“I would advise against it. You may ruin the material,” he jokes. “Besides, that is reserved solely for me.” He stands behind me and pulls the last box directly in front of me. It’s rectangular and much larger than the other two. I pull off the top to reveal a pair of cognac leather boots with a red sole. Holy shit, they’re Christian Louboutin’s.
“These are my favorite.” CJ removes one, and I run my hand over the buttery leather.
“I guess my outfit made an impression.” I turn my head and look at him through the corner of my eye.
“It sure as hell did.” He leans in closer and lowers his voice to an indulgent rumble. “And I plan to fuck you in these the same way I fucked you in the other ones.”
I actually clench my thighs as the lust in his tone vibrates straight to my core.
“Anytime, anywhere, any way,” I reiterate.
“I would say right fucking now,” he growls, “but I really want to take you out.” I can feel his struggle pressing into my backside. “So I’m going to walk out of here before I bend you over and ruin all our plans.”
“Would that be so bad?” I tempt him.
He groans. “Yes. Get changed.” With a swat on my butt, he leaves the bedroom. As soon as he’s gone, I jog in place like a giddy teenager. I just got spoiled big time, and even though I won’t admit it out loud, I love it.
I change quickly, slipping into the dress, and then touch up my makeup, making it a bit more dramatic for an evening look. When I emerge from the bathroom, I find CJ has changed into a dark red dress shirt and black blazer. It’s such a stark difference to his wardrobe in Hawaii, which consisted mostly of Hawaiian shirts and khaki shorts. I can’t decide which version I like better.
He doesn’t waste a second putting his hands all over me, caressing the soft material hugging my curves. “Fuck, you look hot.”
“I’m glad you approve. You outfitted me.”
“I do approve. And I only sort of outfitted you.” He winces cutely. “I don’t know anything about women’s fashion except what I like.”
“So where did the clothes come from?”
“I called Jett.”
“Is that who you were talking to in the bathroom?”
“Guilty. I sort of felt bad soaking your clothes in the shower this morning. I knew if anyone could help me out with fashion, he could.”
“He did a great job on such short notice. If I didn’t know he was married, I’d swear he was gay.”
“He’s definitely not gay. Jett loves pussy just as much as the next guy,” CJ says bluntly.
“You have a very naughty mouth.” I press my body against his.
“I know.” He slides one hand down to my ass and squeezes. “I also know you love it, especially when I’m whispering sweet naughty nothings in your ear while I fuck you.” He doesn’t allow me a response as he plunges his tongue between my lips. The kiss is so hot I’m surprised it doesn’t set off the fire alarm. By the time we separate, I’m panting and wet.
“Let’s go.” CJ adjusts himself before he grabs my new coat off the bed. “Before we never make it out of the bedroom.”
“You’re very disciplined.” I giggle.
“I am.” CJ leers back at me. “And by the end of the night, you will be, too.”
“What does that mean?” I ask as he helps me into my coat and leads me out of the room.
“You’ll see.” He grabs his jacket off the arm of the couch before ushering me to the door. Do I even want to know what he means by that? As soon as the door slams behind us, he curses.
“Hang on.” Back inside he goes. I think I know what he forgot. My suspicions are confirmed when he returns holding his silver pocket watch. I take a closer look as he turns it over in his hand as if he’s playing with a coin. It looks antique, like a piece straight out of the roaring twenties.
“Maybe you should try keeping it in the same place so you don’t forget it.”
“Maybe.” He sighs, placing it in his inside pocket. “Maybe I’m just doomed to always forget it.” He rolls his eyes and starts for the elevator. Just like before, we are whisked downstairs and then outside to a waiting car.
Once out of the cold and inside the warm backseat, I snuggle up next to him.
“What show are we going to see?”
“It’s a surprise.” The car pulls out without CJ telling him an address.
“I’ve seen a lot of plays,” I inform him.
“I’m pretty sure not this one.”
“You know, you are very secretive.”
CJ shoots me a knowing smile. “It’s in my nature.” He draws small circles on my inner thigh as we drive, slowly moving higher and higher.
“Are you teasing me on purpose?”
“Yes. By the time this date is over, you’re going to be begging me to make you come.”
Oh, really? I place my hand on his cock and squeeze. CJ groans. Two can play at this game. “I may not be the only one begging.”
Before things get too heated, the car stops.
“Arrived, sir,” the driver announces. Up until a second ago, I’d completely forgotten about him and am now wondering if he heard our whole exchange.
Whoops.
We step out of the car, and for the second time today, I’m left confused on the sidewalk.
“Is it an off-Broadway play?” I ask since we are definitely nowhere near Times Square.
“Sort of.” CJ assumes his customary position with his fingers laced through mine and leads me down the sidewalk to an unnoticeable black steel door. He opens it to a stairwell lit with red lights. “Is there going to be a crushed velvet couch and one-way mirror during this show?”
CJ laughs animatedly. Glad he finds my inquiry so amusing.
“Not this time, shortcake, but close,” he enlightens me as we climb the stairs. At the top of the landing, a pretty, young blonde is sitting behind a hostess stand.
“Tickets?” she asks sweetly.
“Carmichael. I’m on the list.”
She checks a sheet of paper in front of her in the dim light.
“Christopher John?” she asks.
CJ sighs annoyed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I asked them to make the reservations under CJ though. Only my mother calls me that.”
Is it bad I had no idea what CJ stood for until now? I have been with this man twenty-seven different ways from Sunday, but if you’d asked me his real name, I wouldn’t have had a clue.
My gut tells me the less I know about CJ, the better. It’s safer for my heart that way. But my curiosity and desire are outweighing my good sense, and I find myself more invested in him than I should be. I have no business getting emotionally involved. This is a temporary thin
g. A fantasy weekend that will end when the clock strikes twelve and turns me back into the pumpkin I am.
I resign to worry about that when the time comes. I’ve walked away from CJ once; I’ll just have to be strong enough to do it again. I don’t have a choice in the matter, really. My life is more complicated than I let on. But that’s my cross to bear, and a worry for another day. Right now, I’m just going to dance at the ball with my naughty prince.
“Coats?” The hostess offers sweetly, and both CJ and I shrug ours off and hand them to her. When she returns, she hands CJ a ticket and shows us to our seat. It’s a small round table only big enough for two. The entire room is set with various sized tables draped with white tablecloths and decorated with tealight candles. Both the walls and ceiling are a deep crimson with crystal chandeliers hanging directly overhead. The whole place has a vintage 1920’s feel. Directly in front of us sits a stage with a blood-red curtain pulled closed. By the looks of it, we have the best seats in the house. A waitress in a skimpy, black rhinestone two-piece takes our drink orders as the rest of the tables fill up. By the time she’s back with my Manhattan and CJ’s scotch, every seat is taken. When the lights dim, CJ pulls me close. So close I can feel the warmth of his body through his clothes and smell the sweetness of the alcohol on his breath.
Music suddenly kicks up and the curtains fly open. I gasp as strobe lights flash and several scantily clad women flaunt it across the stage.
“Burlesque!” I announce excitedly, immediately noticing the name of the show glowing in purple over the dancing women’s heads. FANTASY
“Something different,” CJ admits, speaking in my ear. “The name caught my eye while I was searching online.”
“It’s perfect,” I beam as I try to catch every movement on stage. The performers are amazing. So vibrant and sexy and alive.
“Have you ever seen a burlesque show before?”
“Does the movie count?” I ask glancing over at him.
“I don’t think it compares to the real thing.”
“Definitely not,” I respond, mesmerized by the flashy display unfolding directly in front of me.
CJ keeps his arm around my shoulders during the whole show as one beautiful woman after another graces the stage. Some are group performances, others are solo acts. The solo dancers performing tasteful strip teases on beds or chairs. I love every erotic, enticing second of it. CJ does too; he’s begun to grope me under the table and tickle my neck with kisses.
“Quit that.” I giggle.
“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re mine.” He slides his hand up the inside of my thigh and tickles my piercing.
“CJ!” I jump, the sensation setting off sparks.
“Easy.” He tightens his arm around me and lays off my clit, sinking a finger into me instead.
“CJ,” I murmur, tormented as he begins to tease me.
“Quiet, Tara. Watch the show.” He chastises while lazily moving his finger in and out. He said he was going to have me begging by the time this night was over. Right now, I’m close. I try to concentrate on the dancers, but CJ’s measured strokes have my vision going blurry. I breathe steadily trying not to draw attention, but there’s too much stimulation clouding around me. The man I can’t get enough of touching me while watching the most provocative performance of the night in front of me. A couple on stage, the man putting his hands all over a woman who’s chained to a pole. He pulls her clothing off a piece at a time. She pretends to hate it at first, then reluctantly embraces it as if he’s stripping away her reservations little by little to reveal her true self. Her true need. The barer she becomes, the more aggressive he becomes. My heart pounds harder and harder as the heat elevates on stage and between my legs.
“CJ,” I heave, as he continues to deliberately assault me, leading me blindly to the edge.
“Shhhh, shortcake.” He hums seductively in my ear.
I grab his wrist, but that doesn’t dissuade him.
“Watch,” he orders.
I fight to turn my full attention back to the stage, where the woman is nearly naked now. Only a black thong and nipple tassels left on her body. She’s beautiful—blonde and curvy with an air of innocence.
A virgin sacrifice? Possibly.
Maybe she’s just a woman with dark desires that she’s afraid to set loose. Or afraid to embrace because, to some, they’d be deemed wrong. She’d be judged. I really can’t decipher. The only thing I do know is the man is stripping away her inhibitions the same way CJ is stripping away mine. My whole body starts to tighten and my pussy twinges with a delicious pain.
Oh, fuck.
I watch the theatrics on stage as the scene comes to a crescendo. The male performer drops to his knees and buries his face right between the tethered woman’s thighs, draping one leg over his shoulder. The lights flash as bright as daylight and the music hits a high note as she seemingly screams with pleasure. I almost come right along with her but crash and burn instead as CJ removes his finger.
I suck in air to avoid passing out.
As stealthy as a cat, he takes the finger that was just submerged inside me, dips it into his glass left only with a tiny bit of scotch, and then sucks it into his mouth.
“Mmm …” He savors as the lights go up. “My two favorite flavors. Macallan and you.”
I just sit there frozen in my chair, a wet achy mess.
“Are you ready to beg yet, shortcake?” He taunts me.
Yes, relentlessly. But I won’t tell him that. Instead, I grin and lean into him. “Not even close. Is that all you got?”
CJ’s big brown eyes sharpen.
“The night is just beginning,” he assures me darkly. “Time to eat.” He stands up and holds out his hand. I notice the way he conceals the bulge in his pants with his sports jacket.
“You going to be able to handle that all night?” I stand as well, pressing myself against him deliberately to rub against his stiff cock.
“You have no clue what I can handle.” He nips at me inconspicuously then spins me around, walking close behind me as we retrieve our coats and leave the building.
It’s freezing outside, the wind whipping up between the buildings as we hurry to the car. If I didn’t love Christmas time in New York so much, I would consider moving to Hawaii with Ellie. I could do without winter.
Once inside the car and shielded from the elements, I decide it’s time for a little revenge. That stunt CJ pulled during the burlesque show left a lingering effect. Just as he intended. But I’m not one to let things slide—in these kinds of instances anyway. I cuddle up next to him, lightly kissing his neck and caressing his chest, subtle with the affection.
He moans softly and palms my ass with one hand.
“I enjoyed the show. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He closes his eyes and tips his head back giving me full access to his neck. I don’t apply any more pressure or move my hand from his chest, only continuing with the sweet ministrations.
“What was your favorite part?” I ask.
“The black widow,” CJ responds with a devious smile. He’s referring to an act where one of the performers stripped down to this spider web looking outfit. Black leather crisscrossed all over her body, barely covering her most private parts. It was definitely erogenous, and the woman knew how to work up a crowd. She was so raw and carnal she had me questioning my own sexuality for a moment.
“We should get you an outfit like that,” CJ muses.
“Oh, yeah?” That is exactly the opening I need. “I would definitely strip for you.” I slide my hand down into his pants, going straight for the kill.
“Tara!” CJ twitches as I jerk his cock.
“What?” I go after his mouth, pumping harder.
He expels a low feral growl as he hardens again under my touch.
“Thinking about me taking my clothes off?” I ask between starving kisses.
“I’m thinking about me ripping your clothes off.” He grabs my neck and plu
nges his tongue into my mouth.
“We still have to go to dinner,” I playfully remind him as I slow down my wrist action.
“I know.” He pants. “Dessert will be totally worth it.” He attacks me again, pressing his hand over mine as he flexes his hips. He lets out muted whimper as if restraining himself from coming. I know he wants to. I know if his pride wasn’t in the way, he would fuck me right here in the backseat, driver watching and all. And I’d totally let him.
“Sir.” The driver suddenly clears his throat. “Arrived.”
We both inhale a collective breath as we hurry to put ourselves back together.
“When we get back to the hotel.” CJ locks me against his body right before the driver opens the door. “I am going to break you.”
I widen my eyes. I think that is the most arousing threat I have ever received in my life. My clit actually cramps with need because I know without a doubt, he means it.
The restaurant is small, cozy, and dim inside. It’s all dark wood, extravagant furnishings, and candlelight. We’re seated in a semi-private booth in a corner of the room.
“Do you bring all your weekend flings here?” I toy with CJ as I look over the menu.
“Definitely not. Only my fantasy girl.”
I flick my eyes up. I didn’t miss the fact girl was not plural. I know I shouldn’t pursue it. I should just leave it alone. But I can’t help myself.
“And how many fantasy girls do you have?”
CJ smiles shrewdly, looking straight into my eyes. “Only one,” he discloses.
I try not to let the answer go to my head. But I’ll admit it just scored him a thousand bonus points.
I conceal my elation and draw my attention back to the menu. Everything looks outstanding. The waiter come and goes, taking our drink orders and providing in detail the specials tonight—risotto with prosciutto and arugula, grilled octopus, and scallops sautéed in brown butter.
We opt to share some oysters as an appetizer. I’ve never had them before, so this should be interesting. I order the salmon as my main course, and CJ gets the veal saltimbocca.
“This is a little odd,” I admit as I take a sip of the red wine CJ suggested.
“What is?”
“Being out in public.”
