As soon as I saw him waiting, hands tucked into the pockets of a sleek black slim-fit suit, face illuminated in the glow of a street lamp, I realized that it was, indeed, a date.
And I was screwed.
Caleb reserved a table for us in a dimly-lit corner of the NoMad Hotel’s restaurant. The restaurant was full of the chatter of fellow diners, but our little corner felt blissfully private. I was the sole object of Caleb’s attention.
And sitting there, under the intense scrutiny of his gaze, the memory that I had tried so hard to suppress all week -- the memory of our kiss -- was suddenly on the forefront of my mind.
“Are you nervous?” he asked me after the waiter pours our champagne and scurries away.
“Not at all, Mr. Preston,” I fibbed, hoping he doesn’t see the way my heart was pounding furiously against my rib cage.
“I insist you call me Caleb,” he said, almost sternly.
“Mr. Preston,” I repeated stubbornly, intent on holding my own in this conversation. “I prefer to keep things professional with the parents of my students.”
“Miss Wright,” Caleb said, trying out my name and smiling, like he was savoring the taste of it on his tongue. “Let’s drop this charade. We wouldn’t be sitting here if we hadn’t already crossed that line.”
“That was a mistake,” my cheeks turned hot pink. “A lapse of judgement.”
“Was it?” Caleb asked, raising a doubtful eyebrow. “The way your heart’s about to burst through your blouse suggests otherwise.”
I flicked my eyes down to the low neckline of my black silk blouse, an item I borrowed from Raven’s closet when my own wardrobe failed to provide anything suitable for my not-a-date with Caleb.
He took a coy sip of champagne, reveling in watching my nerves simmer.
“Why did you agree to meet me tonight?”
“I was under the impression that we could clear the air, Mr. Preston, share a professional meal and discuss how this transition is going to impact Emmy’s performance at Bellamy.”
I hated the sound of those words as they came out of my mouth. It was the same kind of canned, generic phrasing that the administration at Bellamy just loved to use when discussing a “problem child.” I hated that kind of talk, and it was obvious from the disdain on Caleb’s face that he hated it too.
“Drop the act, Daisy,” Caleb said sharply. “If I wanted a parent-teacher conference, I would have barged into the headmaster’s office already. We both know that I’m not here to play the role of whiney Upper East Side parent, alongside the fact that you’re not here to play the mousy little teacher.”
I gulped on my champagne, forcing myself to swallow and breathe. If anyone else spoke to me that way, I’d be furious. Growing up in Brooklyn, I learned early on to stand my ground. But I did not feel an ounce of anger then, simmering in the heat of Caleb’s stare. I felt wildly turned on, like my entire body was engulfed in the energy between us. And while every instinct I had told me to resist, my brain could not stop my panties from growing wetter or my heart from hammering harder.
Caleb Preston was different tonight. This was not the same Caleb that sat in my office a few days ago, or the one that served Ramen noodles and watched a Disney movie with his niece. He was in his element. Powerful.
“So why are we here?” I asked, forcing myself to match the intensity of his tone.
“You already know the answer to that, too.” He moistened his lips with a quick flick of his tongue, and I remembered how he tasted that night.
“You should know that I don’t date,” I said firmly.
“Good,” he smiled. “Neither do I.”
“And I don’t do,” I paused, struggling to find the right word, before finally settling on, “whatever this is.”
“This is just dinner,” Caleb said, flashing an innocent smile.
Before I had a chance to protest, the waiter intruded to take our order. I hadn’t even opened my menu yet, but Caleb ordered for us both, and my mind was racing with so many flustered, conflicting thoughts that I barely listened as he did.
“I’m surprised that you picked this place.”
“Why?” Even with one word, one syllable, his voice had a way of challenging me. Issuing an unspoken dare. He had made his point loud and clear. We were on his territory now, and he was the one in charge.
“It’s a hotel,” I said, taking a sip of champagne and making a mental note to pace myself. My body already feels drunk on Caleb’s presence. I did not need my head to go, too.
“Isn’t a hotel the perfect place for a d-” he paused, for dramatic effect, eyeing me coyly before finishing: “Dinner?”
I don’t bother pointing out that my usual dinner selections are limited to microwave meals and PB&J sandwiches. I certainly did not frequent five-star hotels and restaurants.
“Maybe it’s because I grew up in hotels,” he speculated, his eyes wandering around the moody little restaurant now. “But I’ve always found something so sensual and exciting about them.”
“Really?”
“People aren’t themselves in hotels. They’re strangers exploring a foreign land, and that somehow inspires them to become someone better, a more exciting version of themselves. They dress up, they order room service, they upgrade to the junior suite, they pay extra for a bottle of champagne instead of prosecco. And the best part is, that if two of these fascinating strangers meet and the mood strikes, pure bliss is just a room key away.”
“I thought only junkies rented hotel rooms by the hour,” I said defiantly.
I know what you’re trying to do, Caleb Preston. But I was not falling for it.
“Besides,” I added, pausing for a sip of champagne, “What you’re describing isn’t sensual. It’s just so empty.”
“How so?” he frowned.
“Fake people having fake conversations with other fake people in a hotel bar, until they’ve mustered enough fake intimacy to have some fake sex in a fake hotel room?” I scoffed. “It sounds completely contrived and meaningless.”
“Life is contrived and meaningless,” Caleb said deeply. “And you want to talk about fake? Relationships are fake. Intimacy is a lie. Love dies, marriages break apart, people cheat, people hurt each other, people abandon their families. But connecting with another human, even if it’s a stranger, even if it’s only for a few fleeting moments of passion in a hotel room, that’s real.”
My heart was pounding through the veins of my neck and I was not sure if it’s Caleb or the champagne, but my head was spinning.
“I disagree.”
“Why?”
“Intimacy means different things to men and women.” My own cynicism was the only thing keeping me grounded now, and I took a deep breath before continuing. “Sex isn’t fulfilling to everyone. I think women need more than that, to feel true intimacy. I think women need love.”
“Sounds like you haven’t been having sex with the right kind of people,” Caleb eyed me intently.
...or at all, I wanted to add, but I bit my tongue, determined to keep a level head through dinner. I sat back in my chair, and tried to clear my head. I tried to remember why I thought this was a good idea.
“Aren’t hotels like this technically your competition?” I asked, trying to change the conversation.
“All the more reason to come,” Caleb shrugged. “There’s plenty of room in the sea for different kinds of fish.”
“I’m not sure that’s how the analogy goes.”
“No?” his eyes twinkled up at me, challenging me again. “Remind me, then, how does it go?”
I felt my stomach twist and my heart hammered against my ribs, and I could feel the effect of his intense gaze all the way down to the slick heat growing between my thighs. It was becoming all too easy to soothe my nerves with champagne, and I know that I should stop.
“The saying is that ‘there are plenty of fish in the sea.’”
“But surely not all the fish are the same,” he added, raising an eyebr
ow like it’s a question that I’m supposed to answer.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, there are little fish: minnows, guppies…” his eyes flickered meaningfully, but he not smiling anymore. His words weren’t just a challenge anymore. They were a warning. “And then there are big fish. Sharks.”
It was obvious what he wanted me to ask next, and I could not stop myself from indulging him.
“What kind of fish are you, Mr. Preston?”
His eyes flashed darkly and he smiled, then he takes a long sip of champagne.
“The kind you should stay away from.”
9
CALEB
Broadway was a nightmare at night, but the thought of seeing Daisy lit up under the glittering lights as we strolled uptown was enough to make me stomach the trek after dinner.
I offered her my arm when we left the restaurant, and she didn’t protest. She tucked her hand into the crease of my elbow, and I felt a throb of hot excitement when she pressed her body against mine.
A few years ago, when I was still impatient and impulsive, I wouldn’t have made it through dinner with a girl like Daisy Wright. Especially not with her tits tempting me through that silk blouse. Especially not with her legs crossing and uncrossing eagerly under the table, shifting around in her soaking wet panties. Especially not the way she defied me, practically begging to be punished.
The old Caleb Preston would have thrown her over his shoulder, right there in the hotel dining room, and carried her all the way to the concierge desk to demand a room. The old Caleb Preston would have brought her upstairs, thrown her onto the bed, and teased and tantalized every inch of her body, until she cried out in defeat, admitting that I was right about sex and intimacy.
But not the new Caleb Preston. The new Caleb Preston took his time. The new Caleb Preston loved the challenge rather than the easy lay.
Daisy had made a fair point at dinner. Men and women do treat intimacy different. But it was not for the reason she thought.
The problem wasn’t that people have casual sex, it was that people have sex too casually. People settle for unfulfilling sex. Men have gotten lazy about pleasing women. And women have grown complacent in accepting mediocrity.
I could tell that Daisy was like me. She was a cynic. She had been burned enough times to put up her walls, and to convince herself that every man she met was the Big Bad Wolf. She had made up these rules for sex and love to try to rationalize something that could not be rationalized. Passion wasn’t a currency. It was not a regulated exchange.
The only thing preventing Daisy from having the kind of passionate, fulfilling, mind-melting sex that she considered impossible, was her own stubborn reluctance to demand it.
And that was why I was taking her to The Rose Club.
“Where are we?” Daisy asked, glancing up at the nondescript exterior of the club as we cross onto Fifth Avenue.
“I told you, it’s a surprise.”
“This better not be some sort of creepy sex club,” she said dryly, and I flicked my eyes down at her.
“Come on, Miss Wright,” I whispered, leaning down so my lips brushed her neck. I already knew that she liked that. I was about to find out what else she liked. “Let your hair down, live a little. We all need a little kink in our lives.”
“Kink?” she gulped, and I gave her an encouraging nip on her neck.
“Relax. This isn’t about doing anything you’re not comfortable doing. It’s about opening your mind to new things.”
She looked up at me reluctantly, and I knew she was trying to find the last shred of willpower to resist. I snuck my arm around her waist, pulling her closer to me.
“Just for tonight,” I suggested, “Why don’t you be the student instead of the teacher?”
We finally reached the doors to the club, and Jimmy eyed us both, then offered me a familiar nod.
“Evening, Mr. Preston,” he said, then he turned to inspect Daisy. “Hello, Beautiful.”
Daisy blushed, pressing up closer to me. Jimmy meant well, but he could be intimidating, especially when he was decked from head to toe in a leather biker’s jacket and riding chaps. This wasn’t boding well for Daisy’s perception of The Rose Club, and the last thing she needed right now is to feel even more on edge.
Luckily Jimmy could take a hint, and he lifted the black velvet rope and ushered us inside.
We were immediately met by the thumping of music playing from the main floor, but I directed Daisy towards the elevators.
“Is this the right way?” she asked, confused, pointing in the direction of the dance floor.
“Unless you want to writhe around on the dance floor,” I said flatly, knowing neither of us are the type to enjoy that sort of thing.
“No,” she confirmed. “But… what’s upstairs?”
“Something better,” I hinted vaguely. “Do you trust me?”
My hand was hovering over the ‘up’ arrow button that summoned the elevator, but I waited for her answer before pressing it.
She eyed me appraisingly.
“Yes.”
“Good,” I said. “When you’re in here, nothing else matters. You can be anybody you want, and you can do anything you want. Nobody will judge you. Tonight is all about listening to your body and learning your own desires. You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want.”
She took a deep breath, then nodded.
“Ok,” she said, then she reached out and pushes the elevator button herself.
Good girl.
The Rose Club’s third floor was one of the most exclusive destinations in New York City. So exclusive, that only the intimate list of members even know that it existed. But Daisy didn’t know any of that when the elevator doors shut and I swiped my gold card to access the third floor.
I tucked my arm back around her waist, pulling her closer to me.
“Don’t be shy,” I whispered, just as the elevator ‘dings’ at the third floor. The doors slid open, and we stepped out.
Daisy immediately fell into my arms as her eyes went wide, and I couldn’t blame her. The third floor would intimidate anyone on their first visit. The space sprawled out like a lounge, dripping in sensual blue light. There was a W-shaped stage centered in the room where women dance slowly around poles as a light mist rains down from the ceiling, blanketing their nude bodies in thousands of little dots of water that sparkle like diamonds in the blue spotlights.
There were long, winding tufted bronze sofas curving around the stage, and many of these were occupied by fellow Gold Card members. I scanned over tonight’s crowd, and tried to imagine how it looked through Daisy’s eyes. One guy was reclined on one bench between two hot blondes, and he was taking turns kissing both of them.
I turned and saw a woman dressed in leather lead her date into the room on a leash. He was stripped naked besides the bedazzled chastity cage around his waist.
On another sofa, there was a man watching, aroused, as his girlfriend straddled a bronzed bodybuilder.
I glanced at Daisy, wondering if I’d made a mistake. If this was too much. But when I saw her face, she doesn’t look disgusted or terrified. She looked fascinated; curious.
“Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private?” I suggested. “Unless… you enjoy watching?”
She shook her head. “Somewhere private.”
I traced my hand down the curve of her hip, lingering over her deliciously round ass, then I took her hand and led her towards the private cabanas that border the room.
I guided her onto the edge of the bed, then I turned to draw the curtains of the cabana shut, removing us from the rest of the club and creating our own private little bubble.
I turned back to the bed, but I didn’t step towards her. I wouldn’t until she asked me to.
“Come here,” she said on cue. She was learning quickly.
I immediately compiled, taking a step towards the bed, but I did not touch her yet.
“I need to tell you something
,” she said, looking up at me. I saw the hint of hesitation in her face, and I got down on my knees so I could look her straight in the eyes.
Even in the blue light of the room, I could see that she was blushing furiously, but I was not going to let her make excuses now.
“Tell me,” I said. “Don’t be shy.”
“I’ve never had an orgasm before.”
I waited, wondering if there was more that she wanted to reveal, but she remained quiet.
“Do you want to change that?” I asked finally. She took a deep breath, and then she nodded slowly.
“Daisy, are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes,” she said, and that time I could tell she wanted it because she was gnawing desperately at her bottom lip. She needed me to touch her. And I needed to taste her. Our lesson could wait. After all, how could Daisy learn how to play the game, if she didn’t even know what prize she was playing for?
Staying on my knees, I pressed her back onto the bed. All the blood in my body had gone straight to my cock, and the selfish side of me wanted to slam inside her and fuck her brains out. But then I would only prove that she was right about men, about sex, about fulfillment.
So instead I forced myself to use restraint, to go slow as I slid the narrow waist of her skirt over her hips and down her thighs. I was less patient when I found her tights underneath. I pressed her knees apart and ducked down, biting the soft flesh of her inner thigh through the nylon. Her entire body contracted, startling from the pleasure of my mouth, from the pain of my bite.
She was going to have to get used to that. Pleasure and pain. It was a package deal with me.
I stabbed a finger through the lining of her tights and the thin webbed material tore easily, gaping apart to reveal her soaking wet panties.
I couldn’t wait to feel my tongue explore inside of her, but I teased her first. I pressed my lips against her lace thong, and bit through the fabric.
She was panting now, and her hands were shaking from the effort of holding herself up.
Baby Makes Three: A Brother's Best Friend's Secret Baby Romance Page 20