by M. S. Parker
When we reached the restaurant, I was unable to keep myself from gawking at the view. Everything I'd heard had been true. The skyline was breathtaking, lit up against the deep blue sky. It was early June, so the sun was just starting to go down and the colors popped against the lights from the buildings. Up here, you couldn't see any peeling paint or drunken guests. The sleaziest strip clubs looked as clean and bright as the newest casinos.
Reed led me to our table where I was finally forced to look away from the city. He ordered wine in fluent French, of course, but didn't have a smug smile when the waiter walked away. At least his lack of pretentiousness had been real, even if nothing else had been.
I looked down at the menu, frowning when I saw it was in French.
“Oh, sorry, I forgot,” Reed said. “The menu's written in French, but there's–”
“Je crois que je vais poulet,” I interrupted.
He stared at me and I couldn't help but laugh at his expression.
“I went to the same high school you did,” I reminded him. “Four years of Ms Boudreaux.” I couldn't resist adding, “And it comes in handy when I pretend the reason I don't answer some of those assholes at the club is because I don't speak English. You'd be surprised at what idiots say when they think the stripper is foreign.”
The tips of Reed's ears reddened.
“Ask it,” I said.
“Ask what?” He looked down at his water glass.
“What you've been wanting to ask since you recognized me last night.” I'd seen the question in his eyes from that first moment and now I just wanted to get it out of the way. I didn't want it hanging over me all night.
“I-I don't know what you mean.”
“You want to know how I got into this, or why I do it. The wording may be different, but it comes down to the same thing.” I kept my words clipped and even, unemotional.
The waiter returned with the wine, and I fell silent while he poured. Being matter-of-fact about what I did was one thing. Having someone overhear the conversation was something else. No matter how polite and professional the waiter would be, I knew he'd only see me as a whore. It didn't matter that I didn't have sex with the men at the club. I sold the idea of sex, and for a lot of people, that was enough.
After the waiter promised to return in a few minutes for our orders, I waited until he was out of earshot and then gave him the short version of the story.
“When you move to Vegas at twenty-one with a high school diploma and waitressing as your only skill-set, there aren't a lot of opportunities for employment,” I said. “I want to be a dancer – a real dancer – and I thought this would be a good place to try to get my start.” I took a sip of the wine, and then added, “It pays better than waiting tables back in Philly.”
“There are dance schools back in Philadelphia,” Reed said. “And anyone who still remembers their high school French and had such a well-formed opinion on literature as a freshman should've been able to get an academic scholarship. You had options. Why'd you leave?”
I frowned. “That seems a bit too personal for an apology dinner.”
“So we can talk about you getting naked for money, but not about why you didn't go to college?” Reed seemed almost amused.
I scowled at him. “Yes, and if you're going to be a jerk, I'll just go home.”
“I'm sorry.” He immediately backpedaled. “I didn't mean to pry.”
I was saved from having to respond when the waiter returned. Once our meals were ordered, Reed started on some small talk that led us safely away from areas that were too personal. He asked about which classes I'd liked at St. George's and we reminisced about teachers we'd shared. We talked about favorite things like food and movies, but we stayed away from ballet and our families.
I found myself enjoying the mundane conversation and relaxing as we talked and ate. As the dinner started to near the end, however, Reed began to appear more anxious. He started tapping his fingers on the table and leaning forward in his chair. Either he was waiting for something to happen or he had something he'd been wanting to say. He was running out of time in which to say it.
“Look, I know we've been keeping things light, but I need to tell you something.” The words came out in a rush.
I tensed. What was he going to say now?
“After I saw you at the airport, I couldn't stop thinking about you, and then you came outside at the reunion. I've never been able to talk to someone as easily as I can talk to you,” he confessed. “And that night... I can't stop thinking about it.” He reached out as if he was going to take my hand. “I want to be with you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
He froze, his eyes wide. Clearly, that hadn't been the response he'd been expecting.
All of the anger I'd been feeling since I saw him in that hotel room came bubbling up and out. “You want to be with me?” My laugh was brittle. “You're engaged, you asshole! Isn't it enough that you've already used me once to cheat on your fiancée?” I fought to keep my voice low. There were too many people around who'd love to see a good show. “Maybe you think that because of what I do, or because we slept together before, I'm easy, but I'm not. I had sex with you because I genuinely liked you. I thought you were a nice guy–”
He finally found his voice. “I don't think you're easy.”
I glared at him and made a gesture for him to continue. I needed to hear his explanation so when I stormed off, I'd feel justified.
“And I wasn't using you, Piper. I really liked you. I do like you.”
He touched my hand and I pulled back. I didn't want him touching me, especially when just that little bit had sent a jolt through my entire body.
“Dammit!” He ran his hand through his hair and leaned back in his seat. “This isn't going how I thought it would.”
“How you thought it would?” I shook my head. “What, you thought you'd take me out to eat, tell me you want to be with me and I'd just forget you were getting married and fall into bed with you?” I crossed my arms. “And before you say I did it once before, let me remind you that I didn't know you were engaged then.”
“I thought you'd at least believe my feelings were sincere,” he said. The expression on his face was almost sad and if I hadn't been so pissed, I might've felt sorry for him. “I thought we had a connection. I thought you'd felt it too.”
I had felt it, but that didn't mean it wasn't just physical attraction, a need to get laid, the psychological response to all those memories coming home had brought back. None of those were reasons to break up a relationship headed towards marriage.
“Connection or not, you have a fiancée.” It didn't seem fair that I had to keep reminding him of that fact.
He nodded. “I know, but it's not... I mean.” He blew out air in a frustrated sigh. “I don't have this with Britni.” He gestured between the two of us.
“Dinner?” I said dryly.
Not even a hint of a smile. “I don't have anything in common with her. I can't talk to her like I can talk to you, and I've known her since we were kids.”
“I'm not sure why that's my problem.” My voice was tight and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
“I'm going about this all wrong.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Considering you neglected to mention Britni before you fucked me, I'd say you definitely went about whatever this is the wrong way.” I knew I should just get up and go, head back to my apartment and forget all about Reed Stirling. I didn't know what his game was, but I knew that's all it was. I should've known better than to think he was different.
“I don't love Britni.”
Yeah, hadn't heard that one before. Still, I raised my eyebrows and waited for him to go on.
“Our fathers went to Brown together. Our families took vacations together. Her parents are my sister's and I's godparents and my parents are godparents to her and Brock.” He leaned forward. “She's five years younger than me, but as soon as she turned eighteen, our parents
started pushing us together, having us sit next to each other during meals, encouraging us to spend time together, that kind of thing. Then, two years ago, my parents told me that they and the Michaels had basically decided that they wanted our families to join together.”
“Like a merger?” I thought I knew where he was going with this, but I wasn't going to assume. Fool me once...
“Exactly like a merger. Except there wasn't a buy-out or a contract. Just wedding vows.” His voice was flat, as if he felt nothing about what his parents wanted him to do.
“Why didn't you just tell them you don't love her?” Maybe I was overstepping my bounds, but if he was going to make me into the other woman who ruined his engagement, I thought I had the right to push a bit.
“They already know.” He ran his fingers through his hair again and I found myself remembering how it felt to do it too.
“And they don't care?”
“When they first told me what they wanted, I didn't care.” He met my eyes and I couldn't look away. “I'd gotten burned, bad, in college and I didn't think I'd ever fall in love.”
His eyes were blazing and my chest tightened until I could barely breathe. I refused to let myself think about what he was going to say next.
“But I think I could fall in love with you.”
Chapter 9
I couldn't look into his eyes and not believe what he'd said. Or at least believe that he believed, at least in this moment. This time, when he reached for me, I let him take my hand. He was right about the connection. I could feel it, and I didn't want to ignore it. The need to touch him was too strong. He paid the check and laced his fingers through mine as we headed out of the restaurant. Neither of us said anything and I wondered if his brain was as busy as mine.
I had so many questions I wanted to ask him as he flagged a cab. What did it mean that he wanted to be with me? Here in Vegas? Back in Philadelphia? Did he expect me to move back? I'd be able to stay with Anastascia if I needed to, and I could probably find a waitressing job without too much trouble, but what about dancing? Then again, was I actually more likely to make it in Vegas, where I was a stripper, than if I tried in Philly? What would his family say, especially when they found out where I worked? I didn't doubt for a minute that Brock would tell his sister about me being a stripper when he found out that Reed called off the wedding for me. And what if it didn't work out? Would I be stuck back in Philadelphia?
“We have a choice to make.” Reed's statement drew my attention back to him. He looked at the cab. “Is he making two stops, or just one?” He pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I want you, Piper, but I'm not going to ask you to do anything you don't want to do.”
I looked up at him. I was doing what I always did. I was over-thinking things, making plans for things that hadn't happened and might never happen.
“Come back to my hotel with me.” He brushed my hair back from my face, letting his fingers linger on my cheeks. “Let me show you how much I want to be with you.”
It might've been stupid of me, but I couldn't stop the way I felt. I nodded and he lowered his head to kiss me. Our first kiss had been gentle, searching, testing. The second had been full of desire. This was something else entirely. Reed felt like he was possessing my mouth, staking a claim. He thrust his tongue between my lips, devouring with teeth and lips. By the time he released me, my heart was racing and I was gasping for air.
Even though we behaved ourselves on the ride back to Reed's hotel, the cabbie couldn't stop smirking at us. The only part of us touching were our hands, but as his thumb made small circles on the side of my hand, I couldn't help but remember what it had felt like to have his hands on more intimate places and my stomach fluttered in anticipation.
The elevator ride was torture. There we were, this enclosed space, so close that I could smell his aftershave. I'd heard people talking about craving someone's touch, but I'd never truly understood it until that moment. It was like there was this deep, inexplicable hunger inside me and he was the only thing that could satisfy it. I knew I was getting in deep, but I'd been lost from the moment I'd let him take my hand.
When he shut the door behind us, I expected him to be all over me. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd just done me up against the wall or bent me over the couch. Instead, he just pulled me after him towards the master bedroom. I remembered then that he was sharing this suite with his former wedding party. Having them walk in on us fucking wouldn't be the best way to let them know that the wedding was off.
When he didn't immediately start ravaging me when the bedroom door was closed behind me, I was thoroughly confused. I started to turn towards him, but he slid his arms around me from behind and pulled me back against his body. He pressed his lips against the side of my throat and I shivered.
“When we were back in Philadelphia, we had to rush. Tonight we don't, and I intend to take my time with you.”
He slid his hands up over my ribcage and cupped my breasts through my dress as he fastened his lips over the place where my shoulder met my neck. I closed my eyes as he sucked the skin into his mouth, losing myself in the sensations of his hands and mouth. I knew he was marking me, telling everyone that he wanted me, and a thrill went all the way to my toes.
“I'm going to do exactly what I promised, show you how much I want you,” he whispered in my ear. “And I'm going to make you come loud enough that no one else is going to doubt how much I want you.”
I started to turn but he held me tightly, keeping me facing the bed. I felt his hands in my hair, and then the waves began to fall, one by one from the up-do I'd put them into. When my hair was free, his hands moved to my zipper and slowly lowered it. I didn't move as he slid the dress off of my body. His fingers traced along my spine, stopping at the waistband of my panties, and then moved up again to the clasp of my bra.
He stayed behind me as he removed my bra, his hands running over me from behind. His fingers teased at my nipples, rolling and pinching them until I was moaning, arching my back to push them into his hands.
“I don't like the fact that other men have seen these.” There was a possessive edge to his voice that made my breathing stutter. “I don't want anyone else looking at you like this.”
I nodded even though he hadn't asked a question. This was a side of him I hadn't seen before.
“Do they touch you?” His fingers tightened until it was almost painful.
“They're not supposed to,” I managed to say. “But sometimes...” I whimpered as he twisted his grip.
When he released my breasts, my nipples throbbed and I wasn't sure if I was relieved or wanted more. One hand slid down my stomach and over my panties.
“What about this?” He cupped my sex over the green silk. “Do they touch you here?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Good.” He practically growled the word. “I hate that other men have seen you, but if they'd touched you...” His hold tightened almost convulsively. “No more.” He ran his tongue along the outer rim of my ear. “From now on, I'm the only one who gets to see you naked.”
There were logistics, practicalities, that needed to be discussed, but I wasn't about to kill the mood. That was pillow talk for after.
He released me and his fingers hooked under the elastic at my hips. He lowered my panties, but I didn't realize he was on his knees until I felt him press his lips against my right ass cheek. His hand settled on the small of my back, putting pressure on it until I realized what he wanted and bent over. We were close enough to the bed that I was able to put my hands down on it to steady me, which was good considering what happened next.
Without easing into it, Reed buried his face between my legs and I swore. His tongue twisted and probed, sliding in and out of my pussy until I was spreading my legs further apart, wordlessly begging for more. Luc had always been reluctant to go down on me, and had pretty much only done it for foreplay or because he wanted a blow-job. Reed, however, was applying himself with s
o much enthusiasm that I felt myself going from practically zero to a hundred in seconds.
As his tongue circled my clit, he slid a finger into my pussy, only giving me a couple strokes before it disappeared. Then his lips were around my clit and I was making a sound I'd never known I could make. I was so close, I could taste it. All I needed was a little more and I'd come.
I felt something pressing against my asshole and started to speak, but whatever word I was going to say turned into a wail as he did two things at once. The suction on my clit increased as his finger slid into my ass. My legs buckled, but he held me up, his mouth never ceasing as my climax crashed into me. He kept licking and sucking on my sensitive flesh even as I came, pushing one orgasm into another until I wasn't sure they were separate anymore and I was certain I was going explode.
“Stop, please,” I gasped. My body called me a traitor but I ignored it, my mind needing relief. “Too much.”
Then he was gone and my knees were giving out. Before I hit the floor, his arms were around me, lifting me and moving me to the bed. I flopped bonelessly on the bedspread, my muscles still quivering from the force of my climax. I wasn't sure I could move my limbs at the moment, but I did manage to turn my head so I could watch him undress.
Before, I'd only seen his cock as he'd been entering me. I wanted to see it now, see how turned on he was. His eyes met mine and then he slowly started to remove his shirt, revealing that cut body I'd enjoyed feeling beneath my hands. Next came his pants and he kicked them aside, pausing for a moment to let me enjoy the sight of him in just a pair of tight black boxer-briefs that clearly demonstrated just how much he'd been enjoying himself.
Then they were coming off too and I groaned as his cock appeared, thick and long and fully erect. I remember it filling me, stretching me, sinking into me so deep. I pushed myself up on my elbows. Now I wanted to see if it could fit in my mouth.
