-11-
Tara
After Grant paid for our drinks, he asked to see me home, and we shared a cab to my apartment. He left the meter running with the taxi driver and carried the loaner cello while he walked me to the main door.
I slipped my key in the top lock and let him follow me into the entryway. With the sun down, and my dance costume, it was cold outside in the wind, and I had the strong suspicion he was going to want to kiss me goodnight.
When it came to sex, I didn’t mind an audience, but a first kiss was different, far more intimate, and I didn’t want the skeevy cab driver watching. He’d been eyeballing me in the mirror most of the ride here.
“Thank you for the drink,” I said, ambling my way toward my front door. The apartment building was like a condo. It had two floors with two units on each side, and a large set of stairs running up one wall. I was on the ground floor and gestured to my door, tucked at the end in the shadow beneath the stairs. “That’s me.”
Grant walked beside me, matching my hesitant pace, like he was as unsure as I was about what happened next.
I hadn’t truly dated in three years, which meant I hadn’t had a real kiss in that amount of time. Yes, men kissed me sometimes at the blindfold club, but that didn’t count because those were empty, meaningless things. Silas and Regan’s kisses didn’t count either. Those were about pleasure, not emotion or connection.
I’d gone three long years without romance, and as I stood on my front doormat, I was suddenly painfully and achingly aware. It made my voice falter. “And thank you for saying yes to—”
“Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
The submissive in me responded with all she had, eager. “Yes, sir.”
A confused, slightly embarrassed smile flicked across lips as he propped the cello against the wall. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound like an order.” He raked his fingers through his dark hair, and when he finished, he leaned in, setting his palm flat against my door, right beside my head. Even though his thick arm trapped me in place, his dominating body language wasn’t threatening.
It was fucking inviting.
His tone softened until it was buttery smooth. “Can I take you out after the performance tomorrow?”
Would that be leading him on? I’d love for this thing between us to go somewhere, but what were the chances he’d allow that when he found out what I did every Friday and Saturday night?
What I wanted and what I knew I was supposed to do were in conflict, tearing me up.
“I need to tell you something,” I said, hesitating. “I’m seeing someone else, but we’re not exclusive.”
“What does that mean?” It was like someone pressed pause on him. “You date other people?”
“I can, if I want to.”
He considered it for an agonizingly long moment, before his expression firmed up. “Then, have dinner with me.”
Breath halted in my lungs. His response was unexpected and exciting. “I already said yes,” I whispered.
He licked his lips as his eyes went heavy, and he moved in for the kill.
I’d expected the soft, tame kiss of the musician, but got the power and intensity of the rugby player instead. His mouth crushed onto mine, and the force pressed me back into the door, where my bare skin kissed the cold wood. The palm from his other hand was warm on my hip, and he brushed his thumb across the line of skin above the top edge of my shorts.
The sensation sizzled. It forced me to swallow a breath.
Grant’s lips moved against mine, his tongue asking for access, and I gave it willingly to him. My heart was beating just as fast as it had been the last time he’d had his hands on me, only now it wasn’t from adrenaline.
It was from desire.
He shifted his stance, dragging his hand down the door with a quiet squeal, and put his weight into me, letting me feel the powerful length of his body against mine. I sighed into his open mouth, slipping further down into my submission. The more he took, the more I was eager to give.
His tongue caressed mine with a slow, lush slide. It was sensual and passionate, and heated the marrow of my bones. I fucking wanted him. I wanted him so badly, the ache flared from head to toe, strongest between my thighs.
We were secluded under the stairs, and the hallway was silent, so it must have made him bold. Or maybe he was like me and didn’t mind if someone came in and became an audience. As his kiss grew more consuming, his palm eased up the length of my stomach until he settled on my chest.
I had on a sports bra, flattening my breasts to my body, but still—I felt every stroke of his fingers as he kneaded and sought out the hard tip of my nipple beneath the layers of fabric. I moaned when he found it and teased with a gentle pinch.
His kiss went off center, brushing against my cheek as he whispered, “Should I send the taxi away?”
Yes.
But, wait, no.
I had an appointment with Mr. Gold tonight, and if I missed it, there would be consequences. He was the wealthiest client at the club and could always take up with a new girl, though I doubted it. He’d been my regular for more than a year and was rather attached. He’d made several offers to both Julius and me to buy my exclusivity, but I’d had to remind the billionaire not everything was for sale. Definitely not my will.
Also, variety was the spice of life, and all that shit.
The consequences I feared were the ones that came from the hard side of a paddle, the sharp bite of a cane. I’d had to cancel on him once when I’d gotten sick, and he’d made me regret it. It was the only time I’d ever reached the limit of what I could take. That night, I’d questioned if his money was worth it.
Every night I got on the table, it was my choice. The moment it stopped being enjoyable, I knew I was done. I honestly hadn’t expected to last as long as I had.
I wasn’t ready to risk everything for one night of fun with Grant, no matter how good he looked, or felt pressed against me, or how his kiss tasted. Tomorrow I’d tell him everything and see where we stood.
“I can’t,” I said softly.
“Okay.” He dropped a final kiss on my lips, lingering there. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” I echoed back. It all depended on how he handled the situation.
I arrived early to the club, hoping to talk to Regan, but when I entered the lounge, she wasn’t there.
Julius must have noticed I was looking for her. “Regan called in. She’s got a migraine.”
“Oh, no,” I said. She’d been doing so well and hadn’t had one in months.
“Yeah,” he said. “But I got Nina to cover for her tonight.”
I kept my face plain, disguising my jealousy. It wasn’t that I disliked Nina. She was nice, and beautiful, and everyone loved her. It was just that I was a girl, and it was simply impossible for a group of women not to have some bullshit drama. At least having Julius in charge kept the cattiness in check.
Nina and I were the unelected queens of this place, battling for the crown. We never talked about it outright, but the competition between us simmered below the surface. Who was better looking. Who brought in more money. Who had the most repeat customers. I was beating her in at least two categories—I had Mr. Gold. But she was beating me in the category of life, because Nina had a boyfriend. A legit one, who didn’t mind what she did for living. Of course, he probably didn’t take issue with it because Scott Westwood was a porn star and fucked other people for money too.
Nina had found an attractive guy, who loved and supported her, and had been blessed with an eight-inch cock. Man, sometimes life was totally unfair.
I nodded hello to Nina as I strode across the girls’ lounge and set my purse on a makeup table, digging out my phone. The rest of the women were chatting with each other, some of them already in their robes, ready to see clients.
If Regan had a migraine, it meant Silas would be around, taking care of her. I fired off a text message.
Tara: Julius said she has a migraine. How is she?
Silas: Better now. I shot her full of Imitrex two hours ago and she’s sleeping it off.
Tara: Oh, good.
As their submissive, I was supposed to communicate everything. I didn’t need their permission, but I didn’t keep secrets.
Tara: I have a date tomorrow. Just letting you guys know.
Silas: With who?
Tara: Someone I just met.
Silas: Girl or guy?
Tara: Guy.
He didn’t respond immediately, so I set the phone down and surveyed the room. I always liked this place. The lounge was elegant, reminding me of an upscale hotel lobby. The furniture was nice, and the lighting subdued. It was comfortable, but also a little sexy.
It had been designed by Joseph, the creator and original owner of the club, and when he’d sold it, Julius didn’t make many changes. Nothing was broken, so why try to fix it?
Taylor sashayed into the room on a pair of four-inch stilettos and a dress that probably restricted her breathing, but I had to give it to her. The girl was a knockout, with or without clothes.
My phone buzzed on the counter.
Silas: Are you working tonight?
Tara: Yes.
Silas: Text me when you’re done. Regan might be up and we’d like to talk.
I pressed my lips together. What did that mean? If they told me they had a problem with me dating, then our whole arrangement was going to change. It’d probably come to an end. That was something I didn’t want. I loved what we had.
I glanced at the clock on my screen. I’d have to get going because Mr. Gold was probably already in the building, drinking scotch in his private room, and my ass didn’t want to keep him waiting.
Tara: OK, will do.