Chapter Thirteen - Bric
“Hey,” I say when Jordan calls. “What’s up?”
“What the fuck did you do?”
I gather the papers on my desk that I’m working on and shove them in a folder, attempting to straighten up my desk before I take two days off for New Year’s. “What are you talking about?”
“Nadia,” he seethes, like this explains everything.
“What about her?” I ask.
“She’s changed her fucking phone number.”
“Huh. Why’d she do that?”
“You tell me. What the fuck did you say to her yesterday?”
“I didn’t say shit.” That’s not entirely true. I said a lot. But I was only trying to protect him. And she gave it right back. “She ate, we talked, I took her home. We were barely there thirty minutes after you left.”
“What do you mean after I left? That was Thursday night. It’s Saturday, you dumbass. I left you a message Thursday night and told you to show up for lunch on Friday. Play with her a little. She was expecting one of us to show up, for fuck’s sake.”
“Oh, yeah.” I laugh. “Ooops.”
“Ooops?” Jordan is pissed. “I told you I liked her. I told you not to fuck with her. I told you—”
“You know what you didn’t really tell me?” I say, interrupting his rant. “Why the fuck I’m even involved.”
Jordan lets off an incredulous huff that is not a laugh. “I thought we had something good going here, Bric. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe you don’t want to play. Maybe you’d like to find some other guy to share with? Maybe this is over now?”
I take a few moments to think about this. Am I done playing?
No. No, I’m not. And I definitely don’t want to find a new player to share with. Jordan is good enough. He’s really great at some things. We fuck together pretty well. I like the way he holds their legs open for me sometimes. Like he’s offering them to me. It’s hot.
“No,” I say. “It’s not over. I just spaced it, OK? Just… tell her I’m sorry, it wasn’t on purpose—”
“I can’t, Bric. I don’t have time this weekend. I have a client in a lot of trouble. I just got him released from county this morning. The charges are serious, OK? I have to take care of this shit because we’ve got an eight AM hearing on Tuesday. You need to take care of Nadia. Call her up—no, just go over there and—”
“It’s Saturday night, Jordan. She probably has plans. And they’re definitely not with me.”
“Just go over there and be nice to her. You don’t have to fuck her or anything. Take her some flowers.”
“Flowers?” I say. “That’s lame.” There’s mumbling on his side of the phone. Like he’s got his hand over it so I can’t hear some other conversation he’s having.
“I gotta go,” he says. “Go over there. And get her new goddamned number while you’re at it. I’ll call you later.”
I get hang-up beeps.
“Dammit,” I hiss. I was gonna go down to the basement tonight. Fuck, some women who actually like it when I take control. And if Jordan thinks I’m baby-sitting this bitch all weekend… fuck that. Tomorrow night is New Year’s Eve. I will not be missing that party.
I fume about my new responsibility as I grab the phone on my desk and press the button for the lobby.
“Yes, Mr. Bricman?” Margaret says when she answers.
“Get my car ready, please. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“On it,” she says, and hangs up.
I look out the window as I wonder what this night will bring. Maybe I can make Nadia slap me?
That makes me chuckle.
It’s not busy outside. Everyone is ready for tomorrow night. Parties and drinking and celebrations in the street. I have never understood people who want to stand outside in the cold waiting for midnight. Just… no.
Then I turn and go downstairs. Margaret smiles at me as I descend into the lobby. The coat check woman has my coat and Margaret helps me into it. “What are you doing this weekend?” I ask her. She never comes to the New Year’s parties. It’s straight-up fucking on every floor, including this one.
“Hanging out with the grandkids.”
“Stop lying, Margaret. You’re not old enough for grandkids.”
She gives me a smirk. “My daughter and worthless son-in-law are off to the Bahamas tonight. So I’m leaving in about an hour and I won’t be back until all your festivities are over.”
Margaret was the very first employee I ever hired here at Turning Point. She was younger then. Just one grandkid. Now they are big and she is older. We’re all older.
She had just divorced her worthless husband and was looking for meaning in her life. I was looking for… well, not a mother. I have that already. But someone like a mother. Someone who cared and always told the truth.
Her son-in-law isn’t worthless—he’s the vice-president of a bank here in Denver. And her ex-husband isn’t worthless either. He’s the president of said bank.
She’s got more money than she knows what to do with and when she came to me all those years ago, it was with the intention of giving it all away. She’d heard about Smith and was interested in partaking in his little social experiment. She’s contributed millions of dollars to our little help-the-world fund over the years.
For a long time, I thought she came to work for me just to piss the ex-husband off after the divorce. And maybe she did. He might not be worthless, but he is an asshole. We circulate in the same world of big money, so I see him often. But he never says a word to me.
She’s my friend, I realize. Someone who has stood by me from the beginning. And she appreciated the fact that I didn’t try to talk her out of giving that money away. I recall long nights of the two of us talking. What I wanted from this place. What she wanted from the job.
And I guess we got those things because we’re still here.
“Happy New Year, Margaret,” I say, looking down at her with a smile. Her hair isn’t gray. She’s not the going-gray type. And her clothes are well-tailored and impeccable. She’s the epitome of class.
“Happy New Year, Elias,” she says, straightening out the collar of my suit and tucking it under my coat. “Stay out of trouble.”
“I always do,” I say, turning to walk out.
“I know,” she calls after me. But then I enter the revolving door that leads outside and she doesn’t have a chance to say anything else. It’s cold out, but not snowing. My car is only steps away and the valet has the door open on the driver’s side. I slip him a hundred-dollar bill as I get in the car, then close the door and enjoy the heat blasting from the dash.
I always do.
Maybe that’s the problem with me these days?
I pull away from the curb and into the street, weaving my way through the light traffic towards Nadia’s apartment building a few blocks away.
I’m not exactly bored. Not really. But I feel boring making its way into my life. Like a snake slipping in under a door, unseen until it’s upon you.
What are Smith and Quin doing this weekend? “Command,” I say to the car. “Call—”
What the fuck am I doing?
“I’m sorry,” my car says in an unassuming female voice. “I didn’t understand your command.”
No, I think to myself. I don’t understand my command either. I’m pretty sure Quin is hanging out with Rochelle and Adley this weekend. Probably Smith and Chella too. They are having dinner right now. Going to see a play. Or maybe they’re just kicking back at their respective homes, content to be with themselves.
“Why?” I ask the cold night. “Why did you leave me?”
But I know why.
Nadia’s building comes into view too quick. I have an urge to keep driving, but I have nowhere else to go. Just the Club. Just the basement. Just the meaningless sex-filled rooms that might’ve stolen my youth.
And even though it’s a powerful pull… I don’t want to be there tonight. Not without them.
Of course, I’ll go back later. I always do.
I pull into the valet and they rush to my car. “Keep it here for me,” I say. “I’ll only be a minute.”
“Yes, sir,” the young man replies.
But I barely hear him. I’m already on my way inside. I walk across the lobby towards the elevator, press the button, then step back in surprise as the doors open and Nadia and I almost collide.
“What are you doing here?” she asks me.
She’s dressed up. A long, black coat covers her clothes, but I can see the fuck-me shoes on her feet, the make-up on her face, and the careful attention she gave to her hair.
She’s going out. To have fun, I suppose.
“I…” I sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t call yesterday. Apparently, I was supposed to. Jordan is busy this weekend with a client. He says you changed your number so…”
“So he sent you to rein me in?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, apology accepted. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”
“Where?” I ask her.
“None of your business.”
“Nadia, don’t play with me, OK?”
She places one hand firmly against my chest to push me back, and then skirts around my body acting like a blockade.
I follow her. Not because I’m intrigued. “Nadia,” I say, catching up to her and grabbing hold of her arm.
She spins, fake smile in place. “Let go of me,” she hisses under her breath.
“I’ll drive you.”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m driving you,” I say, leading her towards the lobby door.
She acquiesces, allowing me to take her outside. And even though I can feel the rage boiling up inside her, she stays quiet when I open the passenger door to my car and motion with my head for her to get in.
I close the door, hand the valet a ten, and get in my side.
“What do you want?” she asks, looking through her small purse for something.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“A party?” I ask, pulling away from the curb.
“Does it matter?” she asks.
“Are you meeting a date there?” I ask, stopping at a light on Speer Boulevard.
“Several, actually.”
I look at her from the corner of my eye. “You’re not allowed to date.”
She simply shrugs. “Drop me off here.”
“Where?” I ask, pulling forward for the green light.
“Here, on the corner.”
“Please,” I huff. And then I turn right, up Speer, towards the freeway, because I have the feeling if I stop at another light she might get out.
“Where the fuck are you going?” she asks.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
She shuffles in her seat, looking back over her shoulder at downtown as I ease into the light traffic on I-25 south. “Take me back downtown.”
“Give the car an address,” I say, motioning to the on-screen display on the dash. “And I will.”
“Fuck you. I’m late already.”
“Well, you’re going to be a whole lot later if you don’t tell me where to go. Give me,” I say, my voice solid, commanding, “a fucking address.”
“So you can come ruin my night?” she huffs. But I’ve made her angry. Perhaps I’ll get that slap after all.
“Maybe I’ll make your night better?”
She shakes her head. But a few seconds later she says, “The old tire company warehouse.”
“Why?” I ask. The building is kind of iconic. Old-school, cool logo painted on the fading brown brick. And not far from downtown. It’s been empty for a long time. They’re tearing it down next week to build condos.
“Why do you think?”
“Hmmm,” I say, getting off the freeway to turn left onto Colfax. “Sex club?” I laugh, because I’m kidding.
But Nadia says, “Ding. Ding. Ding.”
“You’re going to a fucking sex club tonight? Nadia, what the fuck? And a transient one, at that? Just what the fuck?”
“I like to play in the dark just as much as you, Elias. I like the transient ones. Keeps it all mysterious and anonymous.”
I reach for her coat and pull it open. She’s wearing fucking lingerie underneath. “Who runs this club?” I ask.
“Someone you know,” she says. Coyly.
“Who?” I ask. OK, I’m there. I’m intrigued. “Not Smith.”
“Baldwin? That boring jerk? Hardly.”
“Not Quin.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
So I shrug. “Doesn’t matter then. Are you meeting men there? Even after our deal? I thought you had fun the other night?”
“You’re playing a game with me. I know what you did.”
“You liked it.”
“I know what you did.”
There’s a little hint of double meaning in her voice. Something dark and ominous in her tone.
“Are you meeting men there?” I ask again, enunciating each word.
“Mr. Bricman,” she says, turning in her seat. “I don’t waste my breath with lies. I said yes. Several.”
“Several.” I say the word. Process it. “Is this the whole hoods, and chains, and sucking cocks you were talking about the other day?”
“Yes,” she says, then smiles so big as she gazes out the window. Fucking Cheshire cat is back.
“Can I come?” I ask. I realize it’s not a command. I could’ve said, I’m coming with you. But I asked instead. A question she has to answer is so much better. And I know it will make her think.
After a few moments of nothing but the sound of heat blaring at us from the dash, she says, “If you don’t interfere.”
“You’re going to fuck them?” I ask. “I won’t let you fuck them.”
“I told you I don’t fuck them.”
“I won’t let you suck them off, either.”
“You don’t get to decide, Elias.”
So… we’re back to Elias. “I do, Nadia.” I say it honestly. Meaning it. And she knows this just from my tone. “I’m with you tonight whether you like it or not. So I do get to decide. I’ll take you there. I’ll take you in. I’ll stay with you every moment. But you touch no one but me. You leave there with me.”
“And what if I say no?” she asks.
“You won’t say no because if you do then the game we’re playing is over. You like the game. You like Jordan. You might not like me, but you like what I’m offering or else you’d never have given it a chance. You’d never have wasted your time playing with me on the phone the other night. You’d never have wasted your time with Jordan if submitting wasn’t turning you on. You like to slap him, but you also like what comes after. When he gets you alone.”
She glances at me, but catches herself a second later and stares back through the window.
“No,” I say, answering her unasked question. “He hasn’t told me what you two do. But I’m not a beginner at this, Nadia. I’m a professional. I know what comes next.”
Ball in her court.
“I don’t…” But she stops.
“You don’t what?” My question is harsh.
“You can watch, then.” she says. “But that’s it. If I follow your rules, you follow mine.”
“That’s your only rule? Watch, but don’t interfere?”
She turns her head to look at me. Opens her mouth. Pauses. “Yes.” It comes out soft. Not what I was expecting. It makes me hard, the way she just gave in like that.
“Are you lying?” I ask. “I get that this is a power play. I like it, OK? I do, or I wouldn’t be here. But I need honesty, Nadia. Or it won’t work. It won’t be fun. If you’re lying—”
“I’m not,” she says. “I like things my way. Tonight it’s my way.”
“And tomorrow?” I ask, hint of a grin on my face.
“Tomorrow we can do it your way.”
I squeeze the leather-clad steering wheel and imagine taking her to New Year’s Eve. “Tomorrow I get to play my way and you can’t interfere.”
“You can’t fuck them, either. If I can’t, you can’t.”
“Why would I need to fuck them when I have you, Nadia?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t interfere.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. “I can’t wait to see you in action.”
Her grin is twisted.
But I’m not worried. Twisted is my default setting.
The parking at the old tire factory is disorderly and comes with no instructions. In my head I’m thinking, Don’t leave your car here. When you come back it will be on blocks, tires gone, parts stripped.
But it’s either this or turn back, and I’m not turning back. I never turn back. So I park the car on the street, the thumping of music already in my ears, even though we’re two blocks away.
I look around as we start walking towards the party. Nadia’s hand is there, so I grab it. Partly to make her feel safe in this run-down, dangerous neighborhood. But mostly to make her feel owned.
She’s mine. No matter what happens tonight, she’s mine. It’s not a claim, just the facts. Cold as they are.
There are some people walking up to the impromptu club with us, but not many. A few more lingering at the massive garage door that’s acting as an entrance.
I’m curious more than anything. What is this place? What kind of people come here? What do they do? How will the night end?
I crane my neck a little as we approach. There is no one taking names or stamping the backs of hands. No bouncer, no authority.
So different than Turning Point Club where the door is always open but access is usually denied.
We pass through the door of the industrial version of my own secret sex palace and find the party.
The dance floor—though it’s not a real one, just bare concrete—is filled with half-naked bodies glistening with sweat, even though it’s a cold night. We came with coats, but I don’t see a coat check. The thought almost makes me laugh. This place is so far away from coat checks, it might as well be Mars.
Nadia’s body begins to sway with the music as she heads towards a table on the far side of the warehouse, leading me, since I’m still holding her hand. We get to a booth upholstered in green or tan crushed velvet. It’s hard to tell in the blinking multicolored strobe lights. There are a lot of booths, mostly empty, all lined up against the back wall like a restaurant, but not. How they got here, and who is paying for all this, is beyond my comprehension.
Nadia sheds her coat and drapes it over the side of the booth, the glow from a portable heater enough to keep us warm. I do the same, mostly out of habit, and then she slides into the half-moon curve of the seat, giving me room to slide in beside her, and raises her arm in the air, just as I settle.
It’s not as cold back here at all. Almost too warm. Like the bodies on the dance floor are generating heat and forming a wall of insulation against the outside world.
A server—dressed in a strategically ripped leather corset that bares her nipples to me, and nothing but garter straps and fishnet stockings down below—appears, presumably from Nadia’s waving arm, but I’m not sure about that. A bottle of Louis XIII in a limited-edition decanter and two snifters are placed in front of us.
“Who’s paying for this?” I yell over the music.
Nadia smiles at me, leans into my ear, and whispers, “You are.”
OK.
This is not my kind of place. At all. But I can’t help but take it in. Everyone is young. Young men—boys, really. And girls, not women. Even the server looks too young to be serving.
Nadia’s age, I realize, suddenly feeling old and out of place in my five-thousand-dollar suit. They are holding red Solo cups in their hands, splashing beer and whatever else onto the bare concrete floor that will quickly become sticky.
Nadia pours the drinks. About five hundred dollars’ worth of alcohol goes into each snifter. I take it from her offering hand out of habit and sip. It’s good. Good. Something I’d find waiting for me on the top shelf of Smith’s bar.
I’m not missing the dichotomy of the illusion. We are separate from the crowd. Wholly and utterly separate.
Nadia’s hand is on my thigh, caressing her way towards my cock. She grabs it, holds it in her hand. Squeezes as I grow from her touch. Her body is pressed to mine and I realize—she’s got power over me right now. She’s taken me out of my world and flung me into hers. This is her kingdom, not mine.
So I let her touch me. She is, after all, in charge, I guess.
“How long?” Nadia says, leaning into my ear. Purring the words. I can smell the fruity brandy on her breath. I turn my head and kiss her, unable to stop myself.
“How long what?” I ask back, my tongue reluctant to leave her mouth as I speak.
“How long since you’ve been to a party like this?”
I pull back and look into her warm brown eyes. The flickering strobe effect of the lights makes them green, then yellow, then brown again. “College, probably.”
“Hmmm,” she says, leaning in for a final kiss before turning her head to watch the crowd.
College parties with Smith and Quin. We were just beginning to play our game back then. Smith wasn’t even in college, but was, at the same time. I envied him back then—and still do now—because he never had any responsibilities he didn’t ask for.
And Quin. With his good-natured-all-American looks and upbringing. He did everything right and still came out like the rest of us. Deteriorating even as we rose in status and stature. I liked Quin more than Smith back then.
He was easier. Simpler. Honest. We almost fucked once. Back then when everything was new and exciting. Just the two of us sucking each other’s cocks one night in front of a girl. We did it to turn her on and it worked. We fucked her afterward instead of each other.
A momentary lapse, maybe. Or entirely deliberate. I never understood that night. Don’t even understand it now.
Two people are grinding on each other not far away, the boy’s hands on the girl’s ass, lifting up her skirt to reveal the fact that she has no panties on, giving everyone a peek. He looks at me, watches me watch him as their bodies sway together in the thumping music, then bends her over so I can see her pussy. His hand rests on the small of her back and then slides down between her ass cheeks, fingers reaching even before they enter her pussy, making it glisten in the lights. She’s wet from his touch.
I drag my gaze up to his and he smiles while I sip my brandy.
“Do you want to dance?” Nadia asks, pressing her body against mine. We’re already sweating. Already hot and we haven’t even started yet.
“What do you do here?” I ask her. “Just party? That’s it?”
“No,” she says, leaning in to kiss me again. “I do more than party.”
“Show me,” I say. We are reading each other’s lips mostly. The music is so loud. And it occurs to me that this is a very different kind of intimacy. Conversation that depends on watching the lips of your companion and not hearing the actual words that come out of her mouth.
“Let me out and wait here,” she says, her request mixing with the thumping beat.
I stand to let her out, her fingertips brush against my shirt, dragging along my chest. I look at them, then her face. She smiles, her hand dropping to my dick again. Squeezes it as she stands up and leans in to kiss me. “Remember our rule,” she says when she pulls away. “Don’t interfere.”
My heart beats faster as she walks away, her hips and shoulders swaying a little. Like her body can’t help but move to the beat. She is a dancer, after all. I should’ve said yes to the dance.
She stops a little way off, hands clasped behind her back. She’s in profile, so I watch—enthralled—as her back arches, pushing her breasts up and out, her peaked nipples in stark outline against the backdrop of flashing lights.
Then she points. I follow the line of her arm right up to the tip of her finger. Searching for her target.
A boy appears from the crowd. Young, handsome, shirtless. His chest rising and falling in rapid succession, like she makes him breathless.
He’s been dancing, I correct myself. He’s hot, and sweaty, and breathing hard from the dancing.
But I don’t believe it. It’s her who makes him breathless. His hands are on her body as soon as he’s close enough. Feeling their way up and down her slim waist, then reaching for her tits.
I almost walk over there, but her glance stops me. Don’t interfere.
She points again and another boy appears, then another. Same age as the first—Nadia’s age. Same hard bodies. Same handsome faces. Same undeniable attraction. They smother her for a moment. Their arms surrounding her. Hands seeking more. Knees pressing between her legs. For a moment I’m transfixed by the four of them. I see me, and Smith, and Quin with our chosen one, but with the power structure in reverse.
Is this how she plays her game? Is she me?
She turns away from them, walking back to me. They follow like dogs. When she gets back to our table she leans against it, like she needs help standing. I move aside, letting her have her space. None of the boys even bother looking at me. They only look at her.
Waiting for instructions, I realize. She kisses one. Her hands on his face. Like she needs to hold him. He kisses her back. I watch his tongue touch hers, his hands at his side, as if she gave a command, but I know she didn’t.
They know her. She has played with them before. And I don’t care what she says—she has fucked them before.
The other two wait patiently, still with eyes only for her. Her regular players waiting for her commands.
Nadia is a top, I remind myself. In her real life, she is a top.
She looks every bit her chosen role right now.
Her fingertips reach for the other two now, the first still kissing her as she plays with their chests, draws them into her. Closer and closer until they are nothing but a mass of bodies moving together. Writhing to the hard beat of the impromptu club.
Her hand presses on the shoulder of the one closest to me and he drops to his knees. The first one—the one she’s kissing—leans into her until she bends at the waist, letting her back rest on the table.
My cock is so fucking hard.
He—the first one—lifts up her top. A silky, pale chemise that belongs in the bedroom. He exposes her breasts. Squeezes them as she closes her eyes and opens her mouth. I can’t hear the moan that passes through her lips, but I feel it. I moan too.
The third boy lifts up her legs and opens them, just as the second places his face between her legs and begins to lick her.
The first is bent over the booth, still kissing her mouth. I don’t feel her moans now, he does.
Her back begins to arch as she enjoys the one between her legs. The third player caresses the back of the first and I wonder how far this will go.
People are watching. Some of the young men already jerking off. Some of them with girls on their knees, taking out their cocks.
It’s Turning Point Club. But not private. Nothing about this moment is private. And even though it should make me angry, even though I should want to take her out of here right now and whisk her away, back to the world I live in—the world I control—I don’t do any of that.
I just enjoy the show. The whole show. All of the people. All of the music. All of the club.
Nadia begins to writhe and I know she’s about to come. So quick, but it’s too erotic not to come. Too many eyes to not be ready. Too much stimulation. Too much hard music and way too fucking hot.
The third boy has his hand between her legs, his fingers playing with her clit as the second one licks.
I grab my cock again, wishing I could fuck her, right here, right now, in front of all these strangers.
She moans loud enough to be heard. Her body twists as the boys touch her, lick her, kiss her.
She comes all over the third boy’s fingers and when she calms down, breathing hard and eyes still closed, she reaches for his hand, finds it, guides it up to her lips, and puts his fingers in her mouth.
Her eyes open and she looks right at me.
She smiles, then lifts a leg and kicks the boys away. They back off, unperturbed, and slink back into the crowd, which has gone from clubbing kids enjoying an illicit party to writhing erotic orgy. All on the command of Nadia Wolfe.
She stands up and turns to me, her silky shirt falling back down to cover her tits. Her fingers reach for me, begin to unbutton my shirt, and then she pulls it open, exposing my chest. She is hot and sweaty from the thrill of other men.
And I don’t care.
I stand up and take her hand, pulling her towards me. Kiss her. My hands on her face as I hold her close. And then I push her face first onto the table, pressing her cheek into the hard wood. I lift up her skirt so I can see her pussy. Wet and glistening in the flashing lights from being licked to orgasm.
And then I look over my shoulder, find the first guy who gave me a peek at his girl, and give him a peek at mine.
He smiles big, gives me a thumbs up—all the while, his girl is sucking his dick—and then I turn back to Nadia Wolfe, take out my cock, and push it inside her as hard as I can.
I fuck her. I fuck her until I come inside her pussy and then pull back to watch the creamy evidence of my arousal leak out from between her lips.
We dance after that. Her body is a work of art. Her long hair stuck to her face from the sweat. My fingers inside her sometimes. Her hand on my cock sometimes.
We drink the brandy but get drunk on each other. We get drunk on the night, on the dancing, on the sweat, and the lights, and the music.
I fuck her again when we get to the car. Face first on the hood of the cold metal. Her moans loud, and clear, and erotic as they echo through the dark night and turn into screams of ecstasy.
People watch us.
People I don’t know. People I don’t trust.
People like me.