by JA Low
“I assumed people would be… you know…” Emma whispers into my ear as I take her hand and head toward the bar.
“That’s up there.” I point to the next level.
Emma’s head tilts and looks above. She turns back, giving me a cheeky grin. “Two tequila shots, please,” she asks the bartender. He nods and heads back across the bar. “Just something small to get the night started.” Emma’s head turns almost three-sixty degrees, trying to take it all in.
“What do you think?” I’m wondering what’s going on inside that head of hers.
“I’m not sure yet,” she answers honestly.
The bartender is back and places two crystal tumblers on the marble bar top. We both take the glass and throw the contents back.
Shaking my head as the tequila warms my throat, I ask, “Shall we head upstairs?” I want to check to see if she’s ready for the next step.
“Yes,” she answers almost breathlessly.
Taking her hand, linking our fingers together, we head toward the grand staircase that leads upstairs. Nodding at the security guard as we pass him, one by one, we make our way up the curved stairway until we reach the darkened first level.
“There are another three levels above this,” I fill Emma in. “Each level increases in kink. The higher you go depends on your confidence level.”
“Have you been higher?” Emma turns to me.
“No. It might surprise you, but I’m not into that lifestyle.” Her brow raises. “I mean, I’m into having fun during sex, but I don’t need my balls clamped to come.”
She giggles and says, “You might like it.” Reaching between us, she cups my balls.
“Maybe for you, I might.” I give her a grin, which makes her smile wider.
Damn, she is beautiful.
Leaning forward, I cup her face and kiss her at that moment. She lets me as her arm wraps around my neck, and she pulls me closer to her, then we part.
The room is dark, but there are enough dimly lit lights around the place for you to see people’s faces when they move between the shadows. Against the charcoal-colored walls are smaller versions of the red velvet booths below where people can sit and watch the action in front of them, or maybe have a little fun themselves.
Emma’s fingers are entwined with mine again as I pull her further into the upper level. She gasps when she stops and sees what I wanted to show her—the cube. All of The Paradise Clubs have this on the upper level. There’s a glass cube room for the exhibitionists to have fun and the voyeurs to enjoy. Anyone can join in as long as the occupant’s bracelets allow them to.
“Oh, my God.” Emma’s hand squeezes my own. Her attention is pulled to a woman who’s currently spread out horizontally against a cross. She is blindfolded as the two males have their way with her.
Turning my head, I’m curious to see what Emma is making of all this. Her entire body is still, her face is aglow with the light from the cube. Her teeth have sunk into her bottom lip. She is mesmerized.
Moving behind her, I whisper into her ear, “Are you jealous?” My breath touches her skin.
“Yes,” she murmurs.
I run my fingers down her arm and watch the goosebumps appear over her skin. “Do you wish that man’s mouth was on your pussy? Sucking and teasing you. Frustrating you as you’re unable to move your legs.” Emma’s breath hitches as she watches what’s happening right in front of her. “Or would you rather be sucking on the other man’s cock. Choking on him while he fucks your perfect little mouth.”
“Fuck, Andy. Fuck!” she groans, fidgeting on the spot.
“Do you like watching them?”
“Oh, God, yes,” she hums. Her eyes widen as the man moves his mouth from her pussy and replaces his tongue with his cock. Emma bites down on her lip again.
Let’s see if she really is okay with this.
My hand slips beneath the tiny hem of her dress, where I find her ready and needy. My fingers slip between her wet folds as Emma falls back against me on a sigh.
“Just watch and enjoy the show, sweetheart,” I whisper into her ear. My lips fall against her neck, kissing her heated skin making her shiver, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the show in front of us. Movement around us catches her attention as the show continues, the audience becoming aroused and are in various stages of undress.
“Imagine my fingers are his cock, fucking you for everyone to see,” I state as my fingers move between her folds in time with the man in the glass cube. My other hand holds her hip in place, so she doesn’t fall over. Emma’s head falls back against my shoulder as if she’s unable to hold it up anymore while immense pleasure takes over.
“He’s all most there.”
The woman in the cube is wriggling around, her moans begin to echo through the room as the surround-sound speakers kick in.
Emma’s cry drowns out everything around us, and I can hear every hitch, hiss, and gasp that falls from her lips. My dick is practically splitting my pants. He’s so hard and ready. A couple more thrusts, and the people’s sounds in the cube coming pushes Emma over the edge. My hand stills as her orgasm shakes all over her body, then my hand slips from her. I discreetly wipe my hand against my pants.
Emma turns around in my arms and kisses me hungrily, making me chuckle. “Guessing you like it?”
“Yes. Now I need to fuck you.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice, but moments before I grab her hand and drag her to a corner so her pussy can sink down over my aching dick, she’s already doing it. Holding my hand, she pulls me over to one of the booths, then she pushes my chest hard, and I land with a thud against the velvet material with some sort of superhuman strength. Next thing I know, she is straddling me, her hand is unbuckling the buttons to my pants, then she is pulling me out of my briefs and sinking down onto me.
“Fuck,” I groan as her wetness engulfs me. “Fuck, Ems,” I mumble into her neck as my arms wrap around her.
She’s in control tonight as she rocks against me. Emma’s setting the pace, and I don’t care. I’ll happily stay on this ride for as long as she wants me.
24
Emma
Wow!
The Paradise Club was crazy but in a good way, not a great way. Being surrounded by people who were so sexually confident was an aphrodisiac. Anderson and I kind of stuck together last night, not that there weren’t several people who I would have normally hooked up with. It felt like it needed to be just the two of us exploring the club together.
Later in the evening, after experiencing one of the themed rooms together with all its toys and apparatus, we laid on the bed with Anderson stroking my hair, both of us exhausted, as he explained that coming to The Paradise Club with me was different to all the other times he had come. He seemed somewhat perplexed by this thought. I told him it was because we knew each other and that we had messed around multiple times, so that would feel different. He nodded his head, happy with my comment. I didn’t want to tell him that it felt different for me, too, because I didn’t want to freak him out. His freak-out was bubbling ever so closely to the surface, anyway, and the tiniest thing might have set him off, and if I’m honest, I didn’t want to ruin the moment. But we both agreed that we would go to The Paradise Club separately in the future. That way, we don’t have to arrive together and then separate, which might make it feel weird.
“Morning.” Anderson rolls me over, pulling me into his hard side. My hand reaches out and runs my fingers down the ridges of his stomach. “How are you feeling this morning?” He places his hand behind his head.
“Sore. You wore me out,” I say with a chuckle.
“You wore me out, too, and I never thought I would ever say that.” His face has a broad smile, and it lights his eyes. “Did you have fun?” he questions.
“Yeah. It was amazing. I never knew anything like that existed.”
“They have them all around the world. There’s even a resort now in the Caribbean.”
“Sun, sea, cockta
ils, and sex, that’s my kind of vacation.” As my fingers continue to run up and down his stomach, I smile.
“Maybe we should check it out?” he asks. Looking up, his blond hair is all messy, his five o’clock shadow now much more pronounced, and his luscious pouty lips—who wouldn’t want to go with him to a tropical sex island.
“Sounds like fun. Count me in.”
“What’s your plans for today?” he asks, changing the subject.
“I am going to check out the farmer’s market, do some washing, and catch up on some work. Maybe even catch up on some retail therapy.”
A slight frown falls across Anderson’s face as he takes in my answer. “How about this…” he sits up onto one elbow, “… leave your laundry in the laundry room, and Maria will do it tomorrow when she comes.”
Wait, what? I don’t have to go to the laundromat and do my washing?
Anderson notices my face. “Just one of the perks of being married to me.” He leans over and gives me a chaste kiss. “We can head to the farmer’s market together.” He scrunches up his nose at saying the words. “Then I’ll take you shopping. I have some events coming up, and you’ll need some nice dresses to wear.”
My forehead crinkles a little while I listen intently to him.
“What?” He looks at me with concern.
“Most men don’t want to go shopping,” I add.
“Well, they are stupid. Who wouldn’t want to fuck their woman in the dressing room?” There are so many innuendos in that statement that have my heart beating to a different beat all of a sudden. This cannot be happening. It’s only our first weekend together, I am not sure how I will last an entire year with this man.
“Fine. But I’ll be holding you to that promise of fucking me in the dressing room.”
“Deal.” He reaches out and pulls me closer to him.
A while later, we arrive at the farmer’s market, and Andy is more than a little overwhelmed.
“Do people seriously like doing this on a Sunday?” Anderson asks as we walk around the local crowded farmer’s market with his hand firmly in mine.
“You insisted on coming, I was going to do this by myself,” I remind him. “Not all of us can afford a chef to cook for us.” Elbowing him in the side, I chuckle.
“Um… you’re one of those people, too, now.” He gives me a pointed look.
Am I? Anderson’s wealth is going to take a bit of getting used to. It’s not like I haven’t been around uber-wealthy people before in my modeling days, but I guess I’ve never married one.
“I like cooking.” As I pick up some fruit, admiring it, I pout.
“Do you?” he asks, seeming surprised. “I didn’t think models ate?”
“You’re a dick.” I roll my eyes at him. “I look after myself, and that includes what I put into my body.” Anderson raises his brow at my statement, and I can see he’s really trying not to laugh at my innuendo. “Ugh, you’re like a fifteen-year-old boy.” Giving him a gentle shove, which cracks him up, he lets out a deep-seated belly laugh.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that, Chef Mel will cook you anything you want.” Placing his arm around my shoulders, I know he means well, and hell, it would be nice not to worry about what to cook at night, so I give in.
“Fine. Let me buy some of these doughnuts, then,” I grumble.
After spending an hour or two wandering the farmer’s market stalls and devouring an absurd number of delicious doughnuts, we head back uptown to do some shopping. Anderson wants to call his driver to take us, but that seems crazy when the subway’s right here. Anderson’s not impressed when I drag him down the stairs into the dark. His nose crinkles at the smell of urine, his eyes almost bursting out from his head at the buskers. It’s as if he has walked into another dimension.
Grabbing his hand, I pull him into one of the carriages, it’s busy, so there’s standing room only. He grabs hold of one of the steel poles and wraps his other hand around my waist, pulling me tight against him as if protecting me from some unknown source. It’s not long until we make it to our stop and head on up to the city’s semi-fresh air.
“That was an experience.” Anderson looks down at me.
“You should get down from that ivory tower every now and then and see how the real people live.”
Anderson’s hand pulls me to a stop, and he looks down at me as people walk around us. “Do you really think I’m some kind of rich prick?”
A smile starts to form on my face, thinking Anderson is joking, but I soon realize he is deadly serious. “Andy.” Reaching up and caressing his face, I look at the concern on his as someone runs into me, breaking the moment. Anderson shuffles us away from the middle of the sidewalk, so we are out of the way.
“I didn’t think I was one of those Upper West Side dicks, but I have a feeling I am.” He rubs his neck subconsciously.
“Hey…” I gain his attention. “You are not like those dicks, believe me. I’ve met many of them. You don’t think people owe you because of who you are. You don’t make fun of people less fortunate than yourself. You especially don’t stay married to someone to help them out if you were a dick.” Those turquoise eyes look down at me as they swirl with uncertainty. “You are a good guy, Andy. I’m sure you can be a dick when you want to be. I’m sure you can be ruthless in business as well…” he looks away, “… but hey, that’s not a bad thing.” My finger pulls his face back in my direction. “Most rich pricks wouldn’t be caught dead on the subway or at a farmer’s market.” He smiles. “I’m sorry if I made you think you were anything like that.”
Anderson reaches out, pulling me close. “You didn’t.” He shakes his head. “I just don’t want to be one of them for you.”
Urgh, this man.
Reaching up on tiptoes, I press a kiss to his pouty lips. He doesn’t push the kiss any further than that.
“You are changing my life, Anderson, and I feel like no amount of blow jobs will be enough to repay you.”
He smirks. “Maybe you’re right. I think you might need to up your blowjob quota.” We both laugh, breaking whatever melancholy had hit him.
“Come on, I’ll let you spend an obscene amount of money on me if that makes you feel better.” I start dragging him toward Fifth Avenue.
“As long as there are blowjobs.”
“I promise there will be blowjobs.”
Anderson starts laughing hard as he rushes us along the street to our destination.
25
Anderson
Who knew shopping could be so much fun, or maybe it’s just fun with Emma? We had ourselves a private dressing room in the department store, and the sales assistants turned out all the stops for us, plying us with champagne while we browsed. I explained to them that I needed evening dresses, both long and short, for events. And like the model she is, Emma looked amazing in everything she tried on. I approved everything.
Maybe it was that my dick was hard, or that I might have had a little too much champagne, or perhaps it was the fact that watching your ‘wife’ walk out and model for you was an aphrodisiac that I didn’t know I needed.
Once we made our selections and the sales assistants scurried away to tally up the obscene amount I’ve just spent and organized for the bags to be sent to our home, Emma pulled me into her dressing room and dropped to her knees and gave me one of the best blowjobs I have ever received.
There were definitely worst ways to spend your Sunday.
After shopping, Emma convinced me to take a walk through Central Park to sober up after drinking a bottle of champagne. We grabbed some coffee and meandered along the paths.
I don’t remember the last time I did nothing. If I come to Central Park, it is usually for a run. Sundays, I’m either recovering from a crazy Saturday, working, or traveling.
Emma opened up a little more about her childhood. She told me about her sister, Amelia, who lives in France with her sons, who are thirteen. Apparently, Amelia was discovered at seventeen by modeling
scouts, and she saw the opportunity to move away from their shitty life. She wanted Emma to finish her education and go to college before becoming a model, then once Amelia started earning good money, she moved Emma out of the trailer she shared with her mom into a one-bedroom so she could finish school in peace.
Apparently, her mom used to offer her older sister up if she couldn’t pay for things. That was hard to hear, especially as Emma broke down when she confided it to me. We stopped in one of the meadows as Emma cried into my chest.
She told me her older sister protected her and made her safe, but they took the opportunity and ran when the opportunity arose. Emma explained that Amelia met and fell in love with one of the older photographers, and that she had never felt love like that before. He swept Amelia off her feet, they got married months after meeting when she was eighteen, and by nineteen, she had twin boys.
Emma explained that her sister’s husband is a famous French photographer. He travels the world photographing models, but he’s never been faithful. She told me Amelia knows this, and she doesn’t mind, because she’s safe. She had her babies, and she’s lived an amazing life, compared to where they came from.
Emma told me they have stayed married for ten years, living separate lives, but they’re both happy even though they are no longer in love with each other. She said their love evolved into something more than lust, but their relationship works, though unconventional.
We continued walking hand in hand through Central Park as I learned more about who Emma Banks really is, and the more I learned, the more I liked. She regaled me with tales of her modeling days, even some of the crazy antics she got up to with my sister over the years, and I have to say today has been one of the best days I’ve had in a while.
We eventually made our way back home, walking the million and one blocks, but I didn’t care. I had formed a new appreciation of the city. As Emma and I strode along the blocks, stopping every now and again to look at something, we ordered takeout and laid on the sofa watching some stupid reality television show Emma likes to watch before both of us fell asleep, exhausted.
