CHAPTER SIX
Roman
The hostess escorted me to the pleasure rooms with a few of the other men, each following their own elegantly dressed guide. Duk had already left for the rooms to be with his choice for the evening.
I hated that nerves made me clench my hands and created uneasy feelings in my stomach. I’d closed billion-dollar business deals with some of the world’s most successful businessmen, and yet my palms were slick with sweat and my heart raced as I tried to think of five appropriate questions to ask a muse.
As I entered the pleasure room that was to be mine and the Butterfly’s, the hostess offered me another scented towel, this time smelling of black licorice with a hint of lavender.
I patted the warm scent over my face, not realizing until now that I’d begun to perspire from nearly every pore. The soft, wet cloth soothed my skin and immediately put me at ease. Again, Jewel’s fine machinery at work. Most men must’ve felt like I did entering the room, either so hyper-charged with arousal they were a possible liability to the woman, or so inordinately stressed they were in need of relaxation. The aphrodisiac-scented cloth kept a man both sexually alert and calm.
The room had to have been prepared especially for us because it was set with two chairs at a conversational distance from one another. Each had a side table with a slate coaster and a vase of night-blooming jasmine. In the corner of the room sat a tray of caviar, fruits, and cheeses.
The hostess prepared me a chilled glass of water spiked with cucumber and another containing Grey Goose on the rocks, my usual drink. I turned to study a hand-painted Japanese partition that separated a bedroom area with a king-sized bed from the sitting area. Even from a distance, I knew the Egyptian cotton coverlet was of the highest thread count. The Jewel was ready for anything.
I tried my best to train my thoughts away from the intoxications provided and focus on getting to know their elusive headliner.
“Is there anything else I can get you before your appointment arrives?” the hostess asked, still wearing a facade of perfect servitude.
“I’m quite comfortable, thank you.” I watched her face relax into a soft smile.
She reached into her pocket and produced the latest model iPhone, its slim black case shimmering in the low lighting.
“Should you need anything else, Mr. Wellington,” she placed the phone on the side table, “just tap ‘call’ on this phone and I will be here to provide you with whatever you might require. Any and all transactions can be made through me or the Jewel app on this phone, as long as both parties are in agreement. No transaction will be final without both parties signing. However, anything can and will be arranged as requested.”
I nodded, and she bowed before leaving the room.
So, I could fuck the ethereal diva if she signed her consent. When my mind leapt on the idea, I turned it by focusing on the business part of it. Interesting bit of information the hostess had tossed out. Not that I planned on making use of it, but the level of discretion a private phone in a private room offered had to be inviting to patrons.
I stayed standing and took a sip of cold water to stabilize my raging nerves and dilute the bourbon of earlier. I couldn’t remember being so intensely affected by anyone in my life.
The door opened again, and the room emptied of air as she entered, still wearing a dark mask that spread across the planes of her face like butterfly wings. I’d expected to see her face in this room. Curiosity created a tension in my chest, making me want to act totally out of character, urging me to stride to her and rip it from her head.
But she seemed so fragile. Her long, dark hair danced about her face, and she wore a shear black blouse with a camisole underneath. In the dim candlelight-like light, with strands of red shimmering, she was more beautiful than I remembered.
As she breezed into the room, I noticed she still had a slight limp, but her leg was effectively concealed by a pair of wide, wool pants. She was dressed surprisingly modest for Jewel, which intrigued me more.
Unable to trust my voice, I motioned for her to take a seat. She drew a quick breath in as if expelling nerves and took the seat across from mine.
“Good evening, Mr. Wellington.” Her voice slid over the words like silk, practically buckling my knees.
Her presence was magnetic, and my pants tightened as my cock swelled, my brain suddenly focused on only two things: her and the bed just a few feet from us.
I inhaled. Exhaled. Wondered why I felt like I’d been hypnotized by her.
All she’d done was enter the room and say my name, and all the oxygen was sputtering out of my lungs, my dick taking over. I was one of the most successful men in the world and was letting a performer at a brothel unravel me. I had to get command of my senses.
But she had an unmistakable air about her. She electrified the space with her incredible presence.
And she was waiting for me to speak.
“Good evening, Miss…” I paused, unsure of what name to use. Butterfly seemed too contrived. I wasn’t a sex-starved businessman looking for a fling. I didn’t need a “butterfly” to make me hot, and I wasn’t looking for a gimmick. I could have women lined up if I wanted, and all I’d have to buy was a drink. I cleared my throat as I sat straighter in the chair. “How should I address you?” I intentionally set my focus on her eyes, hoping to bore out the truth with the intensity of my gaze.
“Please call me Mona. Mona Arc.” Her dark blue-green eyes met mine, blinking twice, then lowered to the floor.
So, not her real name. Mona Arc. Monarch. Butterfly. Of course. The businessman in me wanted to be insulted by the obvious play on words, which was so unsubtle as if to suggest stupidity.
Play the game, Roman.
“I’ve never done this before. I’m not the kind of man who needs to purchase a woman.” I didn’t know why exactly, but I needed to put that out there. “No insult intended.”
“You haven’t purchased me, Mr. Wellington. You’ve paid for my time and five questions.” She sank more deeply into her chair and took a sip of water, her eyes remaining on mine through the slits of the mask.
Suddenly, I had the bizarre feeling one got in a shrink’s office — like she already knew everything I would say and was just waiting for me to say it.
“Shall we get started?” she asked casually, crossing her good leg over the one she favored.
She was a confident woman, undaunted by the strangeness of this affair. I mirrored her actions and relaxed further into my chair. She took another drink of water, and her eyes lingered on mine for a bit longer than politeness tolerated.
“Shall I begin with the first question?” I asked, my mouth feeling dry and useless. I took a healthy drink of the vodka.
“My question first, then you’ll have a chance to respond and ask your own.” Her voice lilted as she spoke with a soft inflection.
I nodded. She would set the tone with the first question. She was beautiful and smart. I reminded myself of the power I knew I brought to the table. I couldn’t let her see that her mysterious poise caused an involuntary reflex in me, making my cock stab forward, growing larger every second those dream deep eyes watched me. I cradled the Grey Goose as I shifted to find a more comfortable position.
“If you’re so unaccustomed to purchasing time with women, why did you contract me this evening, Mr. Wellington?” Her eyes both invited and accused. “Question one,” she added like a seductive game show host.
“When you fell in the rain, I felt a strange magnetism between us. I wanted to explore that.” The words had just come out of me. From the look on her face, they surprised her as much as they did me.
“I see.” She took a sip of water and bit her lower lip, her lip gloss shining in the dim light. “The next question is yours, Mr. Wellington.”
My heart sped up as I navigated my thoughts away from her mouth and cleared my throat again. I shifted slightly to make room for my dick, which was now painfully hard and uncomfortable as it pressed against the zipper of my pants.
Images flashed through my head of myself sweeping her out of the chair and onto the bed behind us. I wouldn’t even bother to strip away her mask before I removed her trousers and sank deep inside her sweet body.
I ripped myself out of the fantasy, the tension in the room mounting as I composed myself enough to ask the first question. There was no denying the sexual energy building between us.
“Why do you work at a place like Jewel? A woman of your talent could find employment elsewhere.” I knew the question had an element of insult, but I had to regain my footing, as her mere presence had me feeling off-center.
“Not a very creative question, Mr. Wellington. Why does anyone work anywhere?” Her answer was short and obscure, very much like the woman herself.
I frowned, dissatisfied with her audacious attitude. This might’ve been her game, saying absolutely nothing of any consequence as her non-name suggested, but she wouldn’t play it with me. Surely, I could disapprove of her opaque answer after paying such an exorbitant price for five questions.
“Not a very insightful answer. I might remind you, I’m paying a good deal of money to talk with you. I’m not paying for you to pretend you’re not in there.” My eyes roamed her body intentionally, as if to insinuate a more pressing motive for our time together.
Her mouth, rounded like a rosebud, turned downward into an almost imperceptible pout. She had a sculpted chin and elegant neckline. Her eyes sparkled, showing her intelligence, while the mask did an excellent job of concealing the rest of her features. Because she didn’t bare much of herself, what was revealed titillated.
“I’m aware of the amount you’ve paid. I assure you, you’ll get your money’s worth.” Her eyes caught mine, thwarting their next journey down her body. “It’s my turn. Who was the first woman you ever loved? Question two.” A smiled crossed her face, a surprising expression that didn’t quite match the sorrow in her eyes.
The truth would take us down an awkward path, so my answer was brief. “My mother. To date, no other woman has captured my heart.” It was my turn to play at elusive.
“A man then?” Her smile turned to a smirk, thinking she’d caught me in a confession.
“No man either.” I took another sip of my drink. “And that’s too many questions.”
She leaned forward just a fraction. “Perhaps a seminary is where you should be divesting your interest,” she suggested, taunting me.
I mirrored her actions, bringing us marginally closer. “I have no intention of wasting away, suppressing my sexual desires. I haven’t given a woman my heart. I didn’t say women haven’t given me theirs.” My voice sliced through the air, more caustic than I intended. “I didn’t pay to fuck you because I don’t have to. When and if I ever find a woman worthy of my love, she won’t be a purchase on my Amex.”
While we’d been ignoring the evidence of my physical arousal, I made my condition perfectly clear as I unfolded my legs, my cock jutting forward, straining the fabric of my pants. To let her know I was much more a man than she’d insinuated.
“I believe it’s your turn.” Her response was wry as her gaze unwittingly drifted to the evidence of my manhood. She swallowed hard, her interest in my swollen member obvious.
I smiled and allowed a short laugh to escape my lips, letting her know I was enjoying myself immensely.
She returned the laughter, and our exchange defused some of the sexual intensity between us.
“Has any man or woman ever captured your heart?” I crossed one leg over the other, partially hiding my bulge, showing the restraint I was capable of. Silence so deep filled the room that I could hear my own heart pounding in my chest.
Was it the lighting or was there a thin sheen of sweat on what showed of her forehead? “There was a man at one time who consumed my every heartbeat. But he no longer exists. I, like you, haven’t, nor probably ever will, find that kind of love again. No man has proven himself worthy.” Her eyes drifted downward again, resting on my tented erection, making her point obvious.
“I’ll remind you that this conversation is costing me as much as a moderately priced vehicle. Why? Why would he no longer exist, and why would you deem any other so unworthy?” I felt a spike of anger rise from my stomach to my heart.
I had to hold myself back from giving her my full deal-closing approach to steal answers out of her. How dare she cast me off before she knew anything about me.
The feeling of being probed by a subtle psychiatrist returned. That was exactly what I’d been doing all these years, casting off women at the first sign of greed or avarice.
I refused to be intimidated by the strangeness of our interaction. With effort, I held a relaxed and pleasant expression on my face and smiled graciously, daring her with my gaze to shut me down again.
“He died and took with him the grace of a man who knew exactly how to love a woman. I doubt any other man is his equal.” I could see she too was waging an internal war, fighting to stay unaffected and distant or else unravel and shatter.
My intrigue spiked, and I felt something in me give as I came to realize she and I fought similar demons. Why antagonize a woman who might have the capacity to understand me? Why not reward her honesty with some of my own?
I shifted gears. “I’ve been with many women, but when I was in my twenties, I nearly married one. She was beautiful, refined, educated. After a lot of thought and consideration, I let her into my world. As soon as she understood the expanse of my wealth, she changed her interest from engaging in a loving relationship with me to securing as much of my worth as she could get. Now, I’m much more careful.” I leaned back, feeling more comfortable.
The ball was in her court. Would she volley?
“Thank you for sharing, Mr. Wellington. I’m sure those memories are painful. Are you ready for our third question?” Her mask of perfection hadn’t altered. Her face, body, and countenance remained exquisitely fabricated.
She hadn’t taken the bait, and our night was in jeopardy of becoming a show bigger than the opening act she’d already performed.
“I am.” I hadn’t intended for the disappointment to resonate in my voice.
Her faced softened some, as if she sympathized. “If you had a choice to lose a part of your body, an important part, which would you choose? Question three.”
Finally, we were reaching depth. I could only assume she’d lost an important part of herself. The limp, her mask — tragedy must’ve robbed her of something precious.
That made sense. Why else would she work at a brothel, even the most exclusive brothel in the world? She’d lost something significant.
I appreciated the interlude into a more meaningful exchange, so I cut her some slack. “Are you threatening me?” My levity got her, and she responded with unexpected laughter.
“I wouldn’t dare.” She leaned against the arm of her chair. Damn, she had to be trained to do that, look so seductive just propped against a chair arm. Just then, her eyes moved almost unwillingly to my crotch.
“I’d definitely keep this,” I said, giving myself a light, quick stroke, playing her game without being too crude. “It’s worth saving.” I smiled and let my gaze travel over my arm, down my leg, until I felt hers join in, inspecting my body. “If I were to choose to lose any part of my important senses, I guess it would be my eyes. I don’t want to see the world sometimes. People are often cold and ugly to one another, especially in high-powered business transactions. I read people well. I know their intentions. It’s disgusting, and it would sometimes be a relief to never see their base natures, forever blinded to their greed and debauchery.” I felt sweat gathering at my brow. I’d let my emotions take over, said too much.
I took a drink of my vodka, which still had a few dwindling ice cubes, hoping to cool down. I was being impulsive. She’d engaged me to the point I’d forgotten to hold back. Damned if I didn’t care if she caught and branded me.
“At the risk of wasting a question, I’m curious. Which body part would you choose?” I took another healthy drink of the beverage then set my glass down within the wet ring of condensation left on the coaster. I ran my finger through the moisture, wondering if I’d aroused her as much as she had me. Was she turned on? Wet? Yearning?
She had no immediate response, and I couldn’t gauge her reaction, which was strangely unsettling. Had I probed too deeply? Was she even better than me at hiding her true feelings?
She took a drink of water and then smiled casually. After a long beat, she spoke in a serene and measured tone. “My heart, Mr. Wellington.”
I’d barely spent twenty minutes with her, but I was filled with words she hadn’t said in the unspoken language between our bodies and our minds. She was riddled with heartbreak, and yet she elegantly recomposed into something untouchable. Now I knew why. It was so she might never be shattered again. To keep herself safe.
I couldn’t help my sudden desire to protect her, followed by an insatiable need to take care of her.
“Are you hungry?” I needed something other than carnal desire to fill the strange emptiness opening up inside me. And I hoped the offer of food might draw her out even more and stretch out the time I had with her.
“Are you asking your next question?” she teased. It was hard to decipher whether she was being a straight-up bitch or joking.
“No, there’s food on the table, I’m being polite since I don’t know whether you’ve eaten after your performance.” I stood up from my chair. “But that was a nice try.”
As I passed her chair, I brushed my hand across her shoulder as a test. Her body stiffened rigidly at my touch.
To lighten the mood, I waved the pate knife at her, and in a scolding voice teased, “I still have two more questions allotted in the contract. I won’t be tricked out of them by a scoundrel.” My cock, while tamed some by my trousers, was still on glorious display as I wielded the knife and helped myself to the offerings.
While my back was turned, I listened to her draw in a long breath. “Of course. Thank you for your offer, but I’m not hungry.”
As I returned to my seat, she exhaled and shifted, her hands now gripping the chair arms. Her face told a different story, one of calm resolve.
“Am I making you nervous?” I asked pointedly. “Also not a formal question.”
She huffed out another breath and fanned her suddenly flushed face with a wave of her hand. “It’s hot in here.”
I sat a plate of samplings on her table before returning to my chair. “Shall I call the hostess to adjust the temperature?”
My temperature had risen too, but not because the room was warm. It was actually quite comfortable. I knew exactly what was heating her up. There was sex in the air in this place. It wasn’t just us. Who could be at Jewel for any length of time and not get overheated?
“No, thank you, let’s continue.” She took a grape, popped it in her mouth, her bottom lip quivering slightly.
I nodded, on the edge of a feeling I hadn’t experienced since I was a child — giddy. Being with her was electrifying. Like this place. Her. “You’re up.”