-12-
Tara
My frustration with Mr. Gold was reaching critical mass. He used to rush through negotiations, eager to get his pants around his ankles and shove his cock in my face. His wife didn’t give blow jobs, he’d told me on numerous occasions.
But tonight, it had seemed as if negotiating with the sales assistant was his favorite part. Like it was some fun game for him to haggle with Nina, and I was simply a product he could take or leave. He’d forgotten I was the one with final say on the purchase price, so when his offer came in too low, I reminded him with a firm, “No.”
He scoffed, downright offended. I couldn’t see beneath the blindfold, but I pictured his sour face and his hands on his hips, pouting like a spoiled brat, even though he was sixty. That was, assuming he was the man I believed him to be.
Henry Katzenberg. The second richest man Chicago. He’d inherited his father’s enormous wealth, terrible looks, and even worse personality. He needed constant validation on the way he fucked me, the size of his mediocre dick, and how often he got me off. It demanded all my performance skills to sell those fake orgasms.
He talked constantly during sex. I endured stories about his private jet, his dozens of vacation homes spread across the globe, and the celebrities he had dinner parties with. He cared so damn much about what other people thought of him, fuck, it had to be exhausting. And it was ironic. He cared what I thought, but that didn’t mean I mattered to him.
Sure, he wanted me to see him exclusively, but it wasn’t because he enjoyed my company. He thought I was the best-looking girl at the club, and I was owed to him. And he didn’t want to share his toy with any of the other boys.
I listened to his footsteps as he stomp-paced the room and I tried not to smile when he tossed out a new, higher offer. He was probably going to make me pay for forcing up the price, but he was an idiot. All those nights of him throwing his wealth in my face meant I knew what he could afford. Plus, I wasn’t going to put up with his shit for the same price I could get from some other guy on the waitlist, who probably was less of an asshole.
“I accept,” I said.
Nina hadn’t made it out of the room before I heard his belt buckle jingling.
As expected, Mr. Gold was pissed and took it out on me, using his favorite weapon of all—his words. Humiliating me made this small man feel big. It was the ultimate power trip, but the joke was on him. He could call me every dirty, foul thing he dreamed up, and I still wouldn’t care. He meant nothing to me, and neither did his words.
My skin was so thick, it was damn-near bulletproof.
He settled in on bitching about the condom he was forced to wear. “Why do I pay all this money and still not get to fuck you how I want, huh? It’s bullshit.”
It wasn’t bullshit. Lord only knew where else he’d stuck his dick, and I didn’t want whatever venereal disease he might have. Rather than tell him that, my tone was flat and firm. “Club rules.”
He got himself so worked up, he came a lot faster than he meant to.
As he threw out the condom and did up his pants, I lay on the table, staring into the black satin of my blindfold, ready for him to be gone. In fact, I was ready for him to be gone for good. No amount of money made my time with him acceptable anymore.
“We’re done here,” I said.
He sounded annoyed. “I’ll leave when I’m ready.”
“Don’t schedule any more appointments with me.”
All noise stopped. “What?”
I choked the lie out in a syrupy-sweet voice. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, but I think it’d be better if you found someone new.”
“I don’t want someone new.” His footsteps brought him closer, and I instinctively moved away from the sound, as much as my restrained hands would let me. Gone was his smug, arrogant tone, replaced by an apologetic one. “I was a little mean tonight, and perhaps I went too far, but you know I didn’t mean it. I’m not even thinking when half the stuff comes out of my mouth.”
He was a goddamn liar, but he was too big of a client to say anything. Besides, maybe one of the other girls would want his money. I didn’t believe for one second he hadn’t meant what he’d said. The way a man talked to you on the table, when he knew there’d be no consequences, when he thought he owned you . . . it was his truest, most unfiltered self.
“I understand,” I said. “But, I’m sorry, I’m not interested in doing this again.” I left off closing it with ‘sir’ because that was a level of respect he couldn’t earn, no matter how much money he had.
“I can tone it down.” There was an edge of desperation.
“Thank you for the evening.” I opened and closed my hands rapidly, sending out the club distress signal. Upstairs in his office, Julius and the sales assistants monitored each room on closed-circuit cameras, and now that I’d sounded the alarm, it would only take ten seconds before someone came to my rescue. “Goodbye, Mr. Gold.”
I stood under the awning outside Regan’s apartment door, staring at the panel of buttons on the side of the building, and tried not to feel nervous. After Mr. Gold had been escorted to the payment room, I cleaned up, got dressed, and discovered a text message on my phone.
Silas: She’s awake. Come over when you’re done.
The feeling of dread chased me the whole ride over to her place and worsened as I hesitated by the building intercom. If they were going to forbid me from dating, our arrangement would be over.
I stabbed the button with a finger, and a few seconds later, the main door buzzed.
Silas was waiting for me in the open doorway to her apartment, but I couldn’t read his expression. His icy blue eyes were a puzzle I couldn’t solve. He stepped back, allowing me to come inside, and shut the door behind me.
The lights were off in the room, and a few candles cast their flickering glow up onto the walls. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought this was romantic, but it was likely for Regan’s benefit. The scentless candles provided just enough light for Silas without aggravating her migraine.
She sat on the couch, wearing a sweatshirt, flannel pants, and her hair twisted back into a ponytail, in stark contrast to my silk shirt and sequined skirt. There were dark circles under her eyes and her makeup-free skin was pale, but she still looked beautiful.
I kept my voice soft. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she said.
My gaze flicked to Silas for confirmation. Regan was tough. She didn’t like being vulnerable or perceived as weak. But he nodded, wordlessly telling me it was the truth. “You want something to drink?” he said casually.
“No, thank you.” All I really wanted was to know why they’d asked me over. I’d worked tonight, and she wasn’t feeling well, so doing a scene didn’t seem to be on the menu.
“Silas said you have a date tomorrow,” she said. “Does the guy know where you were tonight?”
Fuck. She went straight for the jugular. I shifted my weight on my feet, uncomfortable in my guilt. “No, I haven’t told him yet. I was going to tomorrow.”
“What’d you tell him about our arrangement?”
I stared at the carpet. “I, uh, haven’t done that either. I told him I was seeing someone, but it wasn’t exclusive.” I frowned. “I just met him today.”
Her tone was measured. “How?”
“At rehearsal for the ChiComm thing. He plays the cello.”
I wasn’t going to give her much information, because Regan could be ruthless. She could read people in an instant and knew everything about everyone. Her accountant personality made her obsessed with data, and she dug into people’s backgrounds, including mine.
Regan gave the word ‘thorough’ a whole new meaning. It was great at the club—not so great in my personal life.
I wanted Grant to remain the man I hoped he was, just for a little while. If he had unpaid parking tickets or a kid from a previous marriage, I wanted to give him a chance to tell me.
She leaned back against the couch, and there was a crack in her façade. She looked nervous. “We like what we have with you, Tara.”
My breath caught in my throat.
She bit down on her bottom lip, her confidence crumbling faster now. “Is there something you need that we can give you?”
Her question punched the air clean from my lungs. They’d called me over tonight, not to demand my submission, but because they were worried they were losing me.
I went to her, kneeling beside the couch at her feet. “No,” I said quickly. “What we have is great.” I swallowed hard, needing to be honest. “What you guys have with each other . . . it’s just, sometimes I want that for myself.”
I probably should have said I needed it, rather than wanted.
There were four positions in the hierarchy of a dominant/submissive relationship. As the sub, my wants were at the bottom, but my needs? Those were at the top, more important than anything else.
My first dominant’s voice echoed through my mind. Joseph had drilled the phrase into me. Live the hierarchy.
“I need this.” I gave her a soft smile. “But don’t worry. I expect him to bail as soon as he knows everything.”
She considered my statement. “Let’s say you tell him, and he’s okay with it. Would you let us meet him?”
I sat up straighter. As much as I wanted Grant to accept all of me, I lived in reality. “He won’t.”
“But if he did, could—”
“Sure.” There was no way Grant was going to be fine with it.
Pleasant surprise darted through her expression. She hadn’t expected me to agree. And when I gave an inch, Regan took the whole fucking mile. Her shoulders straightened as her power swelled. “Can we make a request?” When I nodded, she added, “Can you not sleep with him until we’ve had a chance to meet him?”
My pulse quickened. “Is this . . . a rule?”
The atmosphere in the room began to shift as it filled with sexual tension. Silas’s voice was full of seduction. “If you would like it to be one, it can.”
She matched his tone. “We could give you all kinds of rules.”
I was flooded with heat. It was a new way for Regan and Silas to control my pleasure, even when they weren’t in the room. They dangled their dominance like a carrot on a stick, and I was willing to follow.
“No sex,” I rasped. “The same rule for when I’m with you too, then.” That was only fair. “How about . . . other stuff?”
She sat forward, gently placed a hand on my face, and pulled me close, her warm breath wafting over my skin. “You need us to define the rules?”
I nodded, my face moving under her grip.
She grinned and kissed me, but it was hard and controlling. And so fucking hot. “Silas can show you what you are and aren’t allowed to do.”
His tone was powerful and absolute. “Stand up. Face the wall and lift your skirt.”