Spin (The Indigo Lounge Series)

by Zara Cox

  After discovering my love of ballet and that my thwarted dream of becoming a ballerina was owed to the size of my butt, Zach encouraged me to take it up again solely for my pleasure. Madame Gabor’s School Of Balletic Excellence was the result. She works her students hard, but I love it.

  “Jesus.”

  I jerk into focus and realize my hands are pressed into my breasts, caressing my heated flesh as my mind wandered.

  Unable to help myself, I flick a glance at Zach. His face is a mask of dark, incandescent hunger, his eyes pools of ravenous lust.

  “Let me in, baby,” he pleads. “I need to be inside you.”

  I bite my lip, every cell in my body yearning to do just that, but knowing I have to deny myself. “Please, Zach.”

  His jaw clenches hard before he spikes rough fingers through his hair. “You owe me big for this.” He heads for the door, but swings round abruptly and points a finger at me. “And tell Gabor to stay the hell away from your ass or I’ll end her.”

  He glares at my cheeky giggle, then slams out of the bathroom. Freed from his dominating presence, I hurry through my shower, glad I had the wherewithal to pack my work attire and ballet shoes before heading to bed last night.

  After brushing my hair and catching it in a knot atop my head, I slip on my leggings and indigo leotard. Trainers and a leather jacket complete my dressing, and I locate my purse before leaving the bedroom.

  I head down the hallway and hear Zach in the kitchen. I walk in as he’s pulling items from the fridge. The bowl of fresh fruit he normally has after he swims is sitting on the breakfast island, which means he’s postponed his session in the pool till later.

  “Sit. Eat something,” he rasps.

  I take in the muesli and fresh orange juice, and I hide a grimace. “I can’t, Zach. I need to go.”

  “Dammit!” He shuts the fridge with a little more force than necessary. “First I don’t get to fuck you in the shower, and now I can’t have breakfast with you?”

  I know that pointing out how many times he’s fucked me in the last twenty-four hours will only make things worse. He’s spoiling for a fight, his aggression spilling over from his unhappiness with the state of my noncommittal to a wedding date.

  Right now, a hasty retreat is my only option. But I drop my purse and the case holding my work clothes and walk to where he’s leaning against the counter. I slide my arms around his neck and spike my fingers through his hair. “Tonight, you can feed me, then have me as many times as you want.”

  His nostrils flare. “We haven’t been in the Toy Room this week.”

  Excitement liquefies my insides. “Then take me there tonight.”

  Rough hands slide over my waist and grip my ass. “Count on it, Peaches.”

  He slants his mouth over mine, taking and delivering heart-stopping pleasure. Then he sets me away from him in a jerky motion. “Go kick ass. Philip will drive you. And call me when you get to work.”

  I step back from him, my heart overflowing with love. “I love you hard, baby.”

  Grey eyes snap fire at me. “You better. It’s the only thing in this fucked up situation that’s saving your ass from a spanking.”

  Smiling, I turn away, pick up my stuff and head for the door, only to find he’s prowling behind me. We exchange another hot kiss at the penthouse’s private elevator. I press the button for the ground floor and watch the tower of breathtaking masculinity walk away.

  Before the doors shut, I see him heading towards the stairs that lead to the lower level. The swimming pool is going to get a thorough work out after all.

  I arrive at the Lower East Side studio with five minutes to spare, but still earn myself a hard stare from Madame Gabor. The hour-long lesson is excruciating and repetitive. I’ve never divulged it to anyone, but being fucked so regularly has made me more limber than I ever dreamed I’d be. Despite that, my feet are screaming stop by the time the lesson ends, but I leave with a huge smile on my face.

  The high sets me up for the morning. I breeze through my meeting and sign up the latest client for Neon Events, Inc. After landing Zach’s Indigo Lounge account, I recently made junior partner at the events organizing company.

  Being partner means I can be flexible with my hours, which is a good thing, because Zach’s demands on my time are atrociously ruthless. But being his fiancée also means the big names want to deal with me, so along with getting the cream of the clientele, I need to bring my A-game to each event.

  Which hasn’t been a problem so far. Being with Zach, I’ve learned to adopt the work hard, play hard ethic, not that I was a slouch before. But where I felt slightly adrift and a little lackluster before, I absolutely adore my job now.

  Hell, I don’t even mind the clients who sign up with Neon with the notion that they can get a first hand glimpse into the life of the woman who snagged the elusive Zachary Savage. When we met, Zach warned me my life would become a source of great interest to a great many people. He wasn’t wrong.

  Despite being together nearly a year, the interest hasn’t waned. Each public outing is papped, tweeted and Instagrammed. I’ve accumulated more sunglasses and caps in the last ten months than I owned in all the years before I met Zach. And when I leave the penthouse alone, Philip, Zach’s mountain of a bodyguard becomes my shadow.

  But I’ve taken all that in my stride. The only thing I’ve craved from Zach, he’s given me—emotional honesty. I opened my heart to him and he eventually let me see beneath his steel-plated armor.

  So I’m good.

  We’re good.

  My phone pings on my desk. I grab it and read the text.

  We’re not good.

  Did I miss the fucking memo stating today is Torture Zach Day, Bethany? You were supposed to call me when you got to the goddamn office. Correct?

  Shit.

  I unlock my phone and dial his number.

  “You have a clock in your office. Tell me what time it is, Peaches.” The cool command arrives the moment he picks up.

  I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. I don’t need to look. “It’s 11:38. I’m sorry.”

  Tense silence greets my response. Outside my office, the hum of my colleagues going about their day provides background noise. It’s a sound that normally soothes me. I’m far from soothed now.

  “Something’s wrong,” Zach states with calm certainty.

  My eyes snap open. “No. The morning just got away from me. You know how it is. I’ve been away for six days. Things got a little crazy. I promise that’s all it is.”

  “You’re distant,” he replies, just as calmly. “And evasive.”

  I jerk upright in my seat. “What? No!”

  “You forget I know you, inside and out. You belong to me. I know when you’re happy. I know when you’re sad. I know when your soul is settled. Your soul isn’t settled. That makes me scared for us. Something’s wrong. You need to tell me what it is so I can fix it.”

  My knuckles scream as my grip tightens on the phone. “Stop this, Zach. You’re blowing things out of proportion.”

  “Fine. I’m six blocks away. Come to lunch with me.”

  So he can probe me further? “I can’t. I’m having lunch with Keely.”

  It isn’t exactly a lie. I promised to get together with my best friend when I got back from Bora Bora. I just hadn’t gotten round to hammering down the date and time yet.

  “Bethany—”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I’m good. We’re good.” I reaffirm the words. “So I’ll see you when I get home tonight?”

  “Change of plan. I’ll pick you up from work. I’ll be very much obliged if you can finish your work day by five. And Peaches?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t make me come upstairs. Remember what happened the last I had to come and fetch you?”

  My pulse fires up in recollection.

  He strolled coolly into my office after exchanging pleasantries with my bosses, locked the door behind him, bent me over my des
k and commanded me not to move. I climaxed a frantic ten minutes later, my cheek cool from the desk surface, my pussy hot from the ruthless pounding, and my mouth stuffed with his handkerchief.

  “I...yes. I remember.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll be downstairs at five.”

  “Good.”

  “I love you.”

  He sighs. “I’m talking to you, but I’m still missing you.”

  For some reason those words frighten me. Is he right? Is my anxiety greater than a storm in a teacup? And if it is, how the hell am I going to deal with it? Once I figure it out myself I’ll talk to Zach about it. Our promise not to keep things from each other is one I hold very dear. But he’s in bulldoze mode and I need to proceed with caution.

  I need Keely.

  “I have to go, Zach.”

  “Enjoy the rest of your day, baby.”

  “You too.”

  “Bethany?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you too. And you will marry me.”

  “I will. But technically speaking, you haven’t actually asked me yet, have you, Zach?”

  I hang up in the charged silence that follows.

  Yes, I’m a little bitch for playing that card. But all I know is that something is stopping me from giving him an answer. And I’m terrified.

  I fully expect him to call back and slay me, but surprisingly my phone remains silent.

  After ten minutes, I dial my best friend’s number.

  “Hey sexy bitch. What’s up?” Keely Benson answers and I immediately smile at the sound of her voice.

  “I need girl time. Stat.”

  She doesn’t hesitate. “I got you covered. Wanna meet over drinks tonight or lunch at Manzano’s?”

  “I have a thing with Zach tonight, so lunch please.”

  “I’m guessing by thing you mean marathon sex, followed by more marathon sex? Fuck, don’t answer me. I’ll meet you at Manzano’s at one.”

  “You’re a life saver,” I reply with palpable relief.

  She hears it. “Hey, is everything okay? Nah, scratch that. Whatever it is, Aunty Keely will fix it.”

  My throat clogs a little. “Thank you, Keel.”

  THREE

  Unhappily Engaged

  Zach

  This situation cannot go on for much longer.

  I’ve known it for weeks. Hell, months. I’ve just put off doing anything about it. Because, like Bethany said, things are perfect between us.

  So why rock the boat?

  For the first time in my life, I understand what true happiness is. I wake up next to it every day. I breakfast with it. I shower with it. I fuck it hard and cradle it to sleep in my arms. I should be happy enough with that.

  But fuck it.

  I’m the greedy bastard who was prepared to lose everything to have her. All of her. The idea that there’s even the tiniest bit of her unavailable to me is unthinkable.

  Besides, if I lived my life under the if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it banner, I wouldn’t be where I am today. The cutting edge is where I thrive business wise. I don’t ever stop until a deal is in the bag.

  Bethany Green is an unfinished deal. She should be Bethany Savage by now.

  Although I was happy to leave it up to her, I arrogantly believed it would’ve happened by now. Every single woman I dated before Bethany would’ve had a wedding planner on speed dial the moment I offered a ring.

  Not Bethany.

  I don’t even know when this soul-deep yearning first took root. Perhaps it happened the first time she blushed and accepted congratulations when we were out at one event or another, then blasted that heart-stopping smile, and said, we’re not in a hurry, when asked about the wedding date.

  Or when I realized two weeks after our return from our very first trip to Bora Bora that she skipped telling her parents. I asked Todd Green’s permission to marry his daughter the day we departed from Tahiti, and he gave me his consent—not that I’d have taken no for an answer. The first I knew that Bethany didn’t tell them was when Todd called to find out whether congratulations were in order.

  Bethany told them eventually... when they Skype’d from their Upstate New York home to congratulate us. Felicity, her mother, gushed over her ring, and asked whether the date was set. Bethany blasted that smile and said, we’re not in a hurry.

  She repeated that phrase to her best friend.

  And somewhere along the line those five little words grew from mild irritation to a huge fucking problem.

  In the grand scheme of things, I know Bethany loves me.

  For the sake of her peace of mind, I haven’t let her glimpse the full extent of my obsession with her. For instance, she doesn’t know the steps I’ve taken to make sure I have a piece of her with me at all times. I gave in to my insanity a long time ago, and now I ensure I can either see her or hear her voice when we’re apart.

  Fuck if that makes me a borderline psycho. I surrendered to my obsession with her almost from the moment I met her. The first time we fucked, I knew I’d never let her go. What we have transcends sex, sublime as that is between us.

  Being away from her is a physical ache. I breathe and keep going when we’re apart, but it’s mere existence on the basest level. I play with billions, I open and close deals with just as much ruthless focus as I did before I met her. But when we’re apart, my every heartbeat is a blessed countdown to the moment I’ll have her in my arms again. Melodramatic bullshit or not, I know my heart will stop beating the moment hers does.

  But technically speaking, you haven’t actually asked me yet, have you, Zach?

  I ruthlessly dissect the words, then cast my mind back to the moment I gave her the ring. Well...truth be told, I challenged her to find it, turned it into a game guaranteed to have her in my arms at the end of it. She opened the box and I—foolishly in hindsight—gave her leeway to view the offering as she pleased.

  I’m satisfied she loves me.

  But my Peaches isn’t fully mine. Yet.

  Something is troubling her, and with each day that passes without my name imprinted on her heart and on a marriage certificate, that uncertainly mushrooms.

  I grit my teeth and swing my chair away from the unstoppable view of New York City.

  I dial my assistant’s number and she answers on the first ring. “Have my car brought round and cancel the rest of my appointments for today. Send a case of Montepulciano to the Croatian delegation with my apologies and reschedule our meeting for tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Five minutes later, I’m in the car. Three phone calls later and I’ve made satisfactory arrangements for our evening.

  Then, because I’m a fucked up sucker, I activate the special password protected app I’ve had created that’s saved my every phone conversation with Bethany. I scroll through to Favorites, my heart already accelerating in anticipation. The partition is up, so I put the loudspeaker on, press play, and let her sultry voice flow over me.

  Hello?

  You’re late.

  I’m sorry, Zach. Midtown traffic was a bitch. I’m getting into the elevator right now.

  I’m cutting you off from girls’ night out for a month.

  Oh baby, did you miss me?

  What the fuck do you think?

  I think I’m hot and horny and sweaty and my dress feels a little too tight.

  Bethany...

  I’m taking it off, Zach. My bra and panties too.

  Peaches!

  I only have my heeled boots on now. They’re the ones you love on me. The elevator is almost here. I’ll be out in a—

  No! When it arrives, lock it in place. Make sure your hands are braced on the wall above your head, your legs are wide apart and your cunt is wet. I want to see you wet from across the foyer, understand?

  Y-yes. Can we renegotiate girls’ night out when we’re done?

  That depends.

  On what?

  On how hard you make me come, you filt
hy girl.

  I’ll do whatever you want, Zach. I need you so much.

  Not half as much I crave you.

  Thank you.

  What are you thanking me for?

  For loving me. For letting me love you.

  Christ...Bethany.

  I play it one more time, then I close the app, toss the phone away and slam my head against the headrest. Eyes clenched tight, I grip the stone-hard erection tenting my pants, even though I know damn well that nothing save for my fiancée’s mouth or pussy will ease my pain. Since Bethany, jacking off has lost all appeal. All the same, the memory of fucking her in the middle of the night in the elevator is a powerful aphrodisiac, and I’m a nanosecond from blowing my load before I forcibly release my grip.

  I’m shuddering like an addict in full-blown withdrawal, and my forehead is coated in sweat.

  Yeah, I’m fucked up over her. And I don’t intend that to change. Ever.

  I hang up and press the car’s intercom. “Philip, take me home, please. We’ll return for Bethany later.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  I’m going to pull out all the stops. It’s time to get to the bottom of this bullshit.

  ***

  One minute before five, I lean against the limo and watch the revolving doors of the glass and steel building before me. As usual, the Midtown sidewalk and street traffic is atrocious, and, not for the first time, I wish I’d refused Bethany’s plea to ensure at least twenty blocks between our work places.

  I could’ve talked Sheena Malcolm and Gary Wright, her immediate bosses, into moving Neon’s premises to my newly acquired Upper West Side office building. But my Peaches begged on her knees in the shower, citing hazardous concentration due to close proximity. I let her suck my cock down her beautiful throat. And then compromised at fifteen blocks.

  A traffic officer approaches. I ignore him and let Philip deal with him. My gaze remains on the revolving doors.

  She walks through the doors at two minutes past five and every cell in my body charges to attention. Fuck, she’s breathtaking.

  Although her attire is conservatively stylish, there are enough hints at the vivacious femininity underneath that a fuse instantly lights my libido. Other men can only guess at the hidden delights beneath that wool blend skirt suit. But I know every soft, curvy, fuckable inch of her. The primitive beast within me roars with the juicy knowledge that as long as I draw breath, no other man will see what I see, have what I have.