Chapter Eight
When Mastema returned to his room, Kayla was sound asleep. He was also too tired to wake her, although the reason for that had nothing to do with him not wanting to fuck her again. He’d spent the rest of the evening in the club mulling over everything she’d told him earlier, and swallowing the shit Mark and Rahab gave him for taking her out of the private room.
He wasn’t about to betray her confidence, so he finally told them both to shove their goddamn dicks up their asses, sideways, and leave him the fuck alone. By the time Gorgon caught up with him, he didn’t even realize that Mastema had been upstairs for over an hour, fucking Kayla. And since no one told Gorgon about it, at least Mastema hadn’t been forced to deal with that shit, on top of everything else.
After watching Kayla sleep for a few moments, Mastema crawled into bed next to her and lay on his back. He closed his eyes, going over her first couple of weeks in the club when she’d barely glanced at him. The impression she’d left him and others with was one of a distant, entitled diva.
But now, after hearing what she went through, her aloofness made sense. She’d been protecting herself, sizing up the club and its members, and making sure she chose any sexual partners on her own terms.
The guilt at dragging her into the private room and almost fucking her in full view of over one dozen members was bad enough. Reminding himself that there was no way he could have known what a trigger that was for her didn’t help. And the reason for all this angst finally hit him in the gut, full force.
He had feelings for this girl. Strong ones. Something about her called to his protective nature. The part of him he kept from his Brothers, and had only shown to one other woman in his entire life.
Next to him, Kayla stirred, and Mastema held his breath. But she didn’t wake up. He eased out of bed and went downstairs, flipping on lights as he made his way into the club. No one was down there, which was fine with him. The smell of honey mixed with detergent assaulted his senses.
He walked around the bar and climbed the stairs to the stage. Whoever had washed the stage tonight after Honey’s act hadn’t done a very good job. It was still sticky in spots. If the customers didn’t love it when she danced, smeared in honey, they’d tell her stop doing it as part of her act. It made a fucking mess, and she had to be the last act of the night because it was also a fucking nightmare to clean up.
Rather than bother cleaning it up now, he’d leave a note, directing two of the prospects to do it in the morning. Some of the dancers would want to rehearse tomorrow, and Mastema didn’t anyone getting injured up there.
He walked along the stage, noting the worst areas. How the girls moved around up here, even with a shiny, clean floor, was beyond him. He was barefoot and the surface felt slippery to him. He could only imagine what it was like with those heels on they all wore.
The stage curved around, following the bar. When a dancer was up here, she was visible from nearly every spot in the club. Gorgon and Tannin had designed it that way on purpose. The only blind spot was the entrance to the sound booth, near the back of the club. There were no tables behind it, though, so it was only a blind spot if you happened to be standing back there.
Mastema eyed the gleaming mahogany that formed a curved edge around the entire bar. They kept it from becoming marred with scratches by coating it with some shit that Rahab said would protect the wood. And for the most part, it still looked brand new.
Standing up there, gazing out over the club, he realized how high up the dancers were. The stage was elevated above the shelves behind the bar. Not only were the girls able to look down over everyone tending bar, but they had an unobstructed view of every table and every barstool in the place. And the customers, in turn, had full view of the dancers, no matter where they sat.
What must it be like for Kayla to be up here, with all those eyes on her as she danced, basically naked, three nights a week? She never appeared afraid on stage. Quite the opposite. She was quickly becoming one of their better dancers.
Did Kayla feel safe up here, so far away from everyone, with members guarding the stairs? Was that why she was able to do this, even though they had a full crowd every night they were open? Because she sure as hell didn’t want an audience for sex.
If only he’d known that.
Stop beating yourself up!
Not that dancing and sex were the same thing, but she was down to nothing except a G-string by the end of most sets, and if Mastema had to guess, most of their guests were hard as rocks watching the live entertainment each night.
However, it was time to let it go. He couldn’t have known what she’d been through, and dancing wasn’t the same thing as having a dick inside you. Now that he was aware, it wouldn’t be repeated.
He’d asked her to be exclusive with him and she had agreed, but was it too soon? They barely knew each other. Well, they did know each other, but she didn’t know about his past. He had to tell her. It was only right, especially now.
In a moment of weakness, he’d taken a chance on asking her, and discovered that was what she wanted, too. He certainly couldn’t back out of it. Didn’t want to back out of it. But she had to know about Tina. It was time to tell her.
You sure about that?
“Fuck!” His shouted comment echoed loudly in the empty space. He sat down on the stage and eyed the bar below him, recalling the first time he’d spotted Tina, serving drinks behind that bar.
Nine years ago. That’s how much time had passed since he’d first met her. Only nine years. It was both a long time and nothing more than the blink of an eye. No one had affected him that way until now. Until Kayla.
“What should I do, Tina?” he whispered.
He could almost hear her voice, smoky and soft, telling him to stop acting like such a jackass and let this woman into his heart. She would say that, too. He knew it. She’d never been the kind of woman who became jealous or bitchy about others.
Not that Mastema had ever cheated on her. He wouldn’t have. But she’d once told him that if he wanted to fuck one of the sweetbutts or a dancer just for the hell of it, he should. As long as he didn’t flaunt it in her face, and as long as she remained his old lady afterward, she told him that she’d rather him get it out of his system than brood about it. She’d been that confident. Enough to understand that he loved her and would do anything for her.
Would Kayla ever feel that secure? Probably not. And, he could hardly expect her to, given the way she’d been raised, and the experiences she’d endured all these years. But he could protect her. He could help her learn to trust and accept the security this place and he could offer her.
Shit. Was he actually sitting here, contemplating asking this girl to be his property? It was one thing to ask her to exclusively fuck him, and quite another to ask her to be his old lady.
Oh yeah, genius? Really? There’s a difference?
A technical one, yes. But in his mind, they were one and the same. After all these years, that frozen icicle he called a heart had finally begun to thaw. Short, dark hair and big blue eyes had been all it needed.
But was this real? Or did he feel this way simply because she’d shared her past with him? Was he reacting to the fact that he was the only man in this building she’d chosen to fuck? And how in the hell was he supposed to differentiate any of that shit to begin with?
Staring down at the bottles lined up on the shelves, he recalled sitting in this club with Gorgon, not too long ago, making fun of Tannin and the thunderbolt. It had hit Tannin hard the day he met Rai. But now here Mastema was, stricken by the same thing over Kayla. Talk about karma coming around to bite someone in the ass.
But he wasn’t upset by it. On the contrary. It was a peaceful sensation, as if all his problems had finally been solved by one simple solution. Only it wasn’t simple to let go of the past and allow yourself to trust again. To love again.
Or, was it?
“Fuck this.” Mastema stood and crossed the stage, giving the sticky spots another glance so he’d remember where they were. He turned off the lights, and went into the kitchen where they kept paper, a pen hanging on a chain, and a corkboard with push pins for tacking up notes.
He wrote a quick one, directing two of the prospects who weren’t on guard duty the next day to clean the stage again. And this time, to get all the honey off it. Chloe and Rai had a schedule printed out that hung in one corner of the board, so everyone knew who was assigned to which duties. Each week, they hung up a new one.
That was a new addition to the club, courtesy of Rai, and everyone liked it a lot. Even Gorgon had admitted it made things a lot easier than hunting down Rahab to find out who was supposed to be doing what that day, or finding one of the women to ask who was on which household duty.
Mastema chuckled as he turned off the lights downstairs and made his way toward his room. If a diehard badass like Gorgon could accept a change, even one that made his job easier, maybe it was time to open his heart and let Kayla inside all the way? That included telling her about Tina. It was only right that he did. She’d trusted him with her past, after all.
If they were going to give an exclusive relationship a serious chance, they needed to know such things about each other.