“Wow. Just wow.” I pant for breath. The sheets below me are wet from a mix of perspiration and all of the things we've done. It feels like I just ran a marathon, fell down a flight of stairs and landed pussy first on the business end of a sledgehammer. I hurt in all of the best ways.
Croix had never looked sexier on top of me. His gaze was cold, his hands rough, his cock unrelenting. I can still feel him on every inch of me. Feel every inch of him inside of me. It's like he imprinted on me, sex on a level so deep that I'll never forget the memory of it.
“That's ten thousand dollars worth of sex.” He puts his clothes back on while I lie in bed recovering. It looks like he's taking this roleplay very seriously. One would think he's about to leave me basking in the afterglow of sex without a second thought. This distance was fun when we were fucking. Now, it just makes me feel a bit uncomfortable. I want my Croix back, not The Billionaires Club version of him.
I roll over to face him. “I would pay that every single day if I could afford it.”
“Ten grand doesn't get you sex every single day,” he informs me. “Only when I feel like it.”
That's the thing about The Billionaires Club. It's not all up to the clients. The billionaires have just as much control, if not more. They choose if they want to fuck the woman once or ten times. Of course, the client can always ask for a billionaire who is more active, but they're not guaranteed to get one.
I read the handbook for the volunteers. I know the rules. At a minimum, the billionaire has to have sex with their client at least once during their stay. They have to go on a minimum of four in-house dates with them. Beyond that, they have no other obligations.
Staff typically steps in to fill the sexual gaps. While they aren't required to have sex with the clients, it's highly encouraged. The whole point of The Billionaires Club is to have a smorgasbord of men to please you. With that in mind, screening men for high sex drives is important. Finding men who don't discriminate against physical appearance and age is even more so.
“You look like you're getting ready to leave.” I trace a circle on the bed with my fingertip.
Croix tilts his head to look back at me, but his eyes never reach my face. “Would you like to go out tonight?”
“That was random.” I chuckle, grabbing the pillow from his side of the bed and pulling it to my chest since he doesn't appear to be in a cuddling mood.
“I figured we could both stand to blow off some steam.”
“I thought that's what we just did.” I hold the pillow tightly against me.
“That was blowing off sexual tension.” He grins. “I need a drink. To let loose a bit.”
“We could call downstairs and have them bring up some champagne,” I suggest.
“No.” He shoots down the idea. “I want to go out.”
“Aren't you worried about having a hangover tomorrow?” My stomach turns at the thought that he won't be convinced to stay in.
“Not particularly. We have nothing to do besides get on a plane.” He begins undressing again.
“What are you doing?” I prop myself up on my elbow, furrowing my brow in confusion.
“Going to take a shower. You should join me.” He stands to disrobe the rest of the way.
“I can get on board with that.” I crawl to the edge of the bed and throw my legs over the side.
“So where do you want to go?” Croix asks as he pulls down his black boxer briefs.
“I don't really feel like going out tonight,” I confess.
It was difficult enough coming back to California, but I knew we had to. We had business to attend to. I didn't expect to have to go anywhere other than The Billionaires Club and maybe a hotel if Bruno didn't have a room for us.
“You said anything tonight.” He shoots me a unyielding glance before opening the top drawer of the chest of drawers to take out a fresh pair of underwear.
If I knew that anything extended beyond sex, I might not have agreed. Going out probably won't kill me. While the odds of me running into someone I know are average for having come from the area, the odds of running into someone I don't want to run into are slim.
“I don't care where we go.” I surrender with a sigh. “Where do you want to go?”
“I was thinking The Silver Spoon.” He closes the drawer and heads towards the bathroom.
My heart spikes at the name. “Not there.”
“Why not? You just said you don't care where we go.” He pauses, noticing the panic in my voice.
“I just...don't want to go there.” I wrap my arms around myself protectively.
“Worried you're going to run into someone you've fucked before?” His tone is uncharacteristically harsh.
My mouth falls agape from the accusation in his words. “No.”
“Then why wouldn't you want to go?”
“I just don't want to go there. Why do I have to explain myself?” I shake my head in frustration, brushing past him.
He shifts his weight, dropping his head to the side as if he's annoyed with my attitude. “If you've fucked someone there, you can tell me.”
“I don't even get where this is coming from. You make it sound like I'm a slut.” I pivot to face him, standing in the doorway of the bathroom.
“A lot of rich guys go there. Judging by your reaction, I assume you've been there a lot.” His expression is unabashed.
My shock doubles at what he's insinuating. “Are you calling me a gold digger?”
“No.” Finally, there's a break in his stance. I see the tiniest hint of apology, but it's too late.
I march right up to him and jam my finger against his chest. “I'll have you know that I'm not a gold digger or a slut. Unlike you, I haven't fucked half of California. I just don't feel like going out to a club with a bunch of rich, stuck-up snobs, and right now that includes you.”
Before he has a chance to respond, I retreat to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me to absorb the weight of our conversation. If that's what Croix really thinks of me, then maybe it's not such a good thing that Bruno decided to open the Florida location after all.
***
Things go from bad to worse. Once I finish my shower, Croix takes his. No words are said as we pass each other. To prove that I'm still angry, I make sure to be lying down when he comes out of the bathroom. He matches my avoidance by leaving the second he's dressed. He doesn't even tell me where he's going or goodbye. I know where he's going, but that's not the point.
I'm left alone slowly crumbling on the inside. I hold my tears in just in case he returns. I don't want him to see me cry—don't want him to know that his actions have affected me so badly. All I can think is that his words from earlier about wanting us to be together were a lie. If he truly cared, he would have seen that he was in the wrong and apologized.
I stay up mulling things over until Croix returns at nearly 3 AM. Then I pretend like I'm asleep. He undresses in silence before crawling into bed beside me. At least, he didn't opt to sleep on the sofa. That would have killed me even more.
When he puts his arm around me, I feel only the slightest hint of comfort. The smell of alcohol wafts over my shoulder. I wonder how much he drank tonight. Part of me wishes I would have gone with him.
In the back of my mind, I think that maybe I overreacted. He did basically accuse me of being a slut, though. Not that it would have mattered since it was before him.
The real reason I didn't want to go to the club was far more innocent. I should have just told him the truth, but I was so blindsided by his accusations that I couldn't think of anything else.
The next morning is awkward. Croix apologizes, and I accept, but things still seem tense between us. Something changed last night, and I think it happened before the fight. To be honest, I think it happened the second we stepped into The Billionaires Club. His mood has been volatile, his personality unusual. I can't wait to be out of here.
Unfortunately, returning to Florida doesn't improve things. There's definitely a fissure between us. Croix doesn't ask me to be present when the insurance adjuster comes. Instead, he gives me the rest of the week off. During that time, we barely speak. It's reminiscent of when I was dating Derrick. I text him first, and he responds at his leisure. Not once does he reach out to me if it's not business-related. For a romance that started out stronger than I had expected it would, I feel like I'm already seeing the end.
I'm never happier than when Raj texts me on Friday to see if I want to go out for drinks. When we sit down together on the patio of Bar Louie, I can tell that something is weighing heavily on him. This does not seem to be a good week for anyone. I just hope that whatever it is doesn't have anything to do with Croix and me.
“Are we here to drink ourselves into a stupor?” I ask after ordering a Dangerous Summer.
“What makes you say that?” he laughs nervously.
“I know you well enough to know when you're acting strange.” I sigh inwardly before taking a sip from my glass of water.
“I'm not acting strange.” Raj shifts his weight.
“What's up?” I ignore him, wanting to drop the bullshit.
He sulks a bit, though his words betray his actions. “I'm glad that Bruno decided to continue with opening The Billionaires Club.”
“But?” I gesture for him to continue.
“But I don't think I want to be a volunteer after all.”
I exhale a breath I didn't even know I was holding. Relief floods my chest at the realization that this conversation has nothing to do with my relationship with Croix.
“Why not?” I stir the ice in my glass with my straw.
“I am far from home.” He taps the blade of his hands on top of the table as if showing me the distance. Then he waves them, erasing it. “I mean, the US is my home now. But Indian traditions and values are still important to me.” He pauses, looking deep in thought. “I think what I'm trying to say is that there are still things expected of me. My family isn't here, but I'm close to them, and I worry that...”
I can't help but grin at how nervous he seems. “I'm totally fine with you not wanting to volunteer at The Billionaires Club. If you're worried that I'm going to be upset, you don't have to be.”
“That's not what I'm worried about.” His expression suggests that I was never even factored into the equation. “I'm worried that my parents might find out, as silly as that sounds. They're still in India. I'm here. I doubt that anyone would tell them. But still, on the small chance that they did find out, it would bring shame to my family.
“I am supposed to be looking for a wife. I mean, my mother is supposed to choose a wife for me. I've already strayed far from tradition, and they're not happy about that, but they've accepted it. I just don't want to stray too far, you know.”
I don't know. His customs are a bit foreign to me. And I don't have parents to give a shit who I end up with.
“Listen, Raj.” I unfold my silverware even though we haven't even ordered yet. “It's your life. You do what you have to do. I'm not upset. I understand.”
He seems to relax a little. “I'm glad you understand, and I hope that we can still be friends.”
“Of course, we can still be friends.” I smile at him. “I value your friendship. And if I'm being perfectly honest, I'm starting to think that The Billionaires Club isn't a good place for me either."