Marbella Nights

by Camille Oster

  I’ll have the best place, Trish thought, you’ll probably never be there. But it didn’t matter now; she’d committed to it, even if a two bedroom place would cost a bit more than a large house divided over more people. Her budget just had to stretch. Maybe it was time to grow up a bit anyway.

  Chapter 42

  Cairo Rose was busy tonight, with people sitting on cushions around low tables lit by candles and scented rose water. They had tree tables together, a red, sheer material above their heads in an otherwise open air restaurant down the coast. This place was designer Middle Eastern chic, expensive enough to ensure the clientele matched the décor.

  Felix was sitting with his bowtie undone, hanging down his white shirt. Quentin hadn’t gotten the story for why Felix had turned up dressed so formally, but he didn’t care enough to ask, watching as Felix rolled a cigarette between his fingers. He looked thin and Quentin wondered whether he was using. Felix had the tendency to go off the rails every now and then.

  Adelaide sat beside Quentin in the new Gucci dress he’d insisted on getting her. She felt uncomfortable with him taking her shopping, but she needed a better wardrobe. The dress was magnificent and her body did it justice like few could. True, most of the high-end designer stuff was made for rail thin women, but curves still looked better.

  Her hair was up and a couple of escaped tendrils lay against her neck. He ached to kiss her there. Her body was his heaven, a gift of endless pleasure, even just thinking about her. At some point over the last week, he had to concede that his feelings for her were a little more than just admiration for her body. There was also her complete lack of guile and the constant pull and tug of the status game. There was no competition with her. With others, like with Aggie, it had always been there, who was the most important in the relationship. He hadn’t realised until just now what it was. Not just wealth, but also importance within the group. Perhaps that was just part of life in a group. Adelaide was a complete outsider, with no history and probably no future here. There was no competition with her; she was just there for him, and he liked that.

  Maybe that was what had fucked up his relationship with Aggie. Aggie was a powerhouse. Her network and influence extended everywhere, and even if it was never explicit, the power struggle was always present, making everything complicated, and their breakup had just about broken the group apart. Luckily, he and Aggie had settled their differences and were now back on a stable footing.

  It wasn’t that Adelaide was stupid—far from it, but she was new to this world and he was the one who got to introduce her to everything, and her eyes weren’t glowing with greed at the prospect.

  “And what do you do, Adelaide?” Felix asked, leaning back on his cushion, looking GQ dishevelled.

  “I’m a dancer at Shine.”

  Felix’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes shifted momentarily to Quentin. That slight, unconscious look communicated Felix’s surprise that Quentin had essentially brought a stripper into their midst. Tension clenched up Quentin’s insides.

  “So you’re a cage dancer,” Felix said. Okay, Felix knew the Shine girls weren’t strippers, but the allusion was that they were roughly in the same category.

  “There’s no cage,” Adelaide said, running her hand up her bare arm. “We just dance, set the pace for the floor.”

  “A marketing gimmick, then?”

  “Kind of. We really do lead the floor. If we slow down, they follow, if we pump the energy, they follow.”

  Felix smiled looking down at his drink and Quentin felt like decking him. Instead, he stroked his palm over his mouth. Adelaide’s new job wasn’t something he’d rejoiced when she’d told him about it. Cage dancing, cage absent or not, was just so lowbrow. She wasn’t a stripper, or anywhere near that, he knew, but guys like Felix saw the distinction as quite fussy, as would probably everyone else. This new development was a bit of a setback.

  Aggie was sitting further down the table, laughing at something Dess was saying. She would never say anything, but she’d be thinking the same things. There was no doubt that Aggie had his back. She wouldn’t judge, at least not openly. But likely most of the people here saw Adelaide as some version of slumming it and it was grossly unfair. Adelaide was the coolest girl, and this job would block people from seeing that.

  The food was finished and only the drinks were left on the table. Gerald was engaging Adelaide, talking about sailing around the Greek Islands. Everyone liked Adelaide. She was easy to talk to and had enough confidence to hold her own. But the job had ruined people’s perception of her.

  Adelaide crossed her legs as he drove them home, the engine of his car responding as he shifted gears.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Fine.”

  “You’re just quiet. Something’s on your mind.”

  Quentin sighed. She did pick up on his moods, and in truth, he’d finished the evening in a foul one, feeling introspect and cornered. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have, but it kind of needed to be said. Honesty was important and this thing was bigger than she realised. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was actually a deal breaker. “Your job is a bit of an issue.”

  “My job?” she said, tensing. He could feel her tensing.

  “It just gets taken the wrong way, is what I’m trying to say.”

  “And being a stewardess on a yacht is better?”

  “Not really,” he admitted.

  “Look, I realise that most the people you hang out with don’t work, but I’m not one of those people. I don’t have rich parents to support me. I have to work.”

  “I know, and it’s not a reflection on your background. There is nothing wrong with your background, but dancing is just a little too … you know, servicey.”

  “Well, it’s what I do and how I pay the bills.”

  “There are other jobs. It’s not like you can’t work, but some jobs are better than others. You know what I’m saying.”

  “I’m not a doctor or lawyer, or some finance guru. This is what I do, service jobs.”

  “But there are service jobs and then there are service jobs. Some are better than others.”

  “And what I do is what?”

  “Like the bottom of the barrel, shady character type jobs.” If they were going to have a conversation on this, they might as well get it out.

  “I have to pay my bills.”

  “Then do something else.”

  “Like what? I’m not qualified to do socially acceptable jobs,” she said, making quotation marks with her fingers. “Sometimes, with work, you have to take what you get.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, flourishing his hand. “Assistant to an interior designer or something. A junior copywriter for a magazine. Something like that.”

  “Jobs rich girls do to entertain themselves,” Adelaide said. He could hear the disbelief in her voice.

  “I’m just saying that dancer is perceived more towards the unsavoury part of the scale. If I introduce you like, here’s my girlfriend the dancer, they’re immediately thinking stripper.”

  “I’m not a stripper.”

  “I know you’re not,” he said, taking her hand, but she pulled it out of his grip.

  “It’s just a tough sell. It’s something that people aren’t going to see past and it’s unfair. You’re awesome and people aren’t seeing that because of this job.” He hoped he was explaining his perspective sufficiently well. It was unfair, but that was just how things were. The job was lowbrow, not that stewarding was much better. “You could easily find another job. Just use the contacts you have. Aggie would introduce you to some of the interior designers in Marbella; there are tons of them.”

  Adelaide had gone quiet, looking down into her lap when he glanced over at her.

  “Hey,” he said. “I just want people to see how awesome my girl is.”

  She smiled weakly.

  “How about we go for a drive down the coast tomorrow, just hang out?”

  A barely audible sn
ort came from her direction. “Sorry, Quentin. I’ve got to work.”

  “Just don’t go.”

  “I have to go. I have to pay rent. Me and Trish are getting a place.”

  “Just stay with me.” It had come out before he knew what he was saying. In theory it wasn’t a bad idea. If she stayed with him, she could dump that awful job, even if moving in together was maybe a drastic step considering they hadn’t know each other that long. He wouldn’t be offering if she wasn’t so tight for money, but she was.

  “Trish has already told the girls we’re moving out. I can’t leave her in the lurch like that.”

  Quentin admired how loyal she was to her friends. It really was a good quality. “Shame you can’t go. It would be a nice day. Think about it.”

  She didn’t say anything more, just looked out the window. He felt like an arsehole, but this was a discussion that was needed. They couldn’t go on like this and it was an easy fix. Adelaide could get another job by clicking her fingers. Maybe he’d call Aggie in the morning and they could set up some interviews for her.

  Chapter 43

  Vennhagen grunted as he fucked her, his less than firm belly touching her every time he thrust into her. Closing her eyes, she tried to ignore the pasty body grunting above of her.

  “I’m so close,” Cheyenne lied, drawing her knees up. She knew how to make a show of it. Baron Vennhagen was a recent arrival to Marbella, having just relieved himself of his university sweetheart wife. Cheyenne had nabbed him before the vultures circled, and it had been ridiculously easy. He was a loyal man and hadn’t seen a hot body in decades, if ever.

  “That’s it,” he said, his English a tad British, but a hint of continental underneath. “Take it.”

  With her eyes closed, he couldn’t see her rolling them. As far as sex went this was the most vanilla sex she’d had in … she couldn’t remember how long. Maybe someday, she would show him what it meant to take it. The re-education of Baron Vennhagen sent a perverse thrill through her. He probably didn’t know it yet, but she would bet anything there was a closet pervert in there somewhere.

  He wouldn’t be so bad if she could work all those home-cooked meals off his sides. Welcome to the new world, she wanted to say. First up, membership at the Athletic Club. Not even the rich could look chubby in Marbella, and Vennhagen had oodles of money.

  Straining unsightly, he looked like he was coming. He wasn’t a bad catch, all round a nice man, and overly protected in his marriage and family. But now he’d broken free, looking for adventure and risk. That’s why men broke out of the situation—grown children and a stale marriage—men suddenly realised there was more to life.

  Problem was, this missionary style, home-cooked sex wasn’t going to get her off. They had to work on that. If adventure was what he sought, he would get it. Her job was to make sure he didn’t get scared off. Men like Vennhagen, who’d taken years to grow some balls, tended to turn tail and run back to their mousy wives when things got challenging.

  At least her apartment was being paid for, and Vennhagen delighted in watching her try on clothes in the strips most expensive boutiques.

  Once they had his hairline fixed and he’d done the work pounding the treadmill at the club, he wouldn’t be that bad. There was definitely potential in the baron, and the idea of being called baronessa didn’t hurt one bit. Baronessa Cheyenne Vennhagen; it had a certain ring to it.

  All in all, Cheyenne was pleased with this development.

  “Oh, baby,” she yelled. “So good.” Arching her back, she knew Vennhagen was mesmerised by her breasts. A breast man, apparently. That always had useful tactics. She flopped her head on his chest when he rolled over, breathing hard. “That was good.” It had potential; it had stirred a twinge in her—an itch that wasn’t going to get scratched anytime soon. Maybe it was just that it had been a while since she’d had a good fuck.

  Vennhagen still couldn’t breathe. “I think, mein herr, that we need to work on your cardio a bit,” she smiled. “I’m going to need you to be strong.” The tip of her tongue caressed her teeth as she said it. She would finish the evening off with a blow job, but she was pretty sure he couldn’t take it the shape he was in. Don’t worry, she said silently, I’ll whip you into the machine you want to be. “Now, I must go.”

  “Must you?” he said.

  “Yes, I’m afraid, but I’ll let you take me to dinner Friday.”

  “I have to be in Amsterdam Friday.”

  “Shame that, isn’t it?” Rolling out of bed, she rose and made a show of getting dressed. “It would be awful to not see you then.” She turned away and fixed the lay of the Dolce and Gabbana dress she wore. She didn’t bother with the underwear, tucking the Agent Provocateur garment into her clutch.

  “Can’t we do it Thursday?”

  “No,” she said, walking out.

  She heard him rise up to sitting, but she didn’t look back as she let herself out of his rental apartment without another word. Smiling, she walked down the steps, knowing full well he would cancel his plans and take her to dinner on Friday. Poor guy would be beside himself all week trying to think of what to do.

  The air was warm and Cheyenne felt energy running through her body at the pathetic excuse for sex she had just been subjected to. He could do more; she knew it, but it would take a bit of coaxing. In the meantime, her body was aching for something more exciting.

  Her thoughts turned to Jesus, but she flatly refused to go there. He’d gotten a bit too close. It had almost felt like he’d played her a bit, and that she couldn’t have. Control had ever so slightly slipped out of her hands and that had gotten her all hot and bothered, and into a lot of trouble. Jesus was just a little too good at what he did, and more than a little full of himself. Snapping his fingers did get her running.

  Unfortunately, now her clit was aching painfully for more attention, and rubbing her legs together sent delicious shivers running up her body.

  The pumping music of one of the lesser nightclubs came closer as she walked down the street. A queue of eager holiday makers stood in line, hoping the bouncer would pick them.

  Walking around the queue, Cheyenne stood with her legs apart in front of the bouncer, who spent no more than a nanosecond to whip the corded robe aside for her. A quick look at the disappointed faced behind her made her smile, while the guys looked even hungrier to get in.

  Lights flashed as she walked onto the dance floor, surveying the talent. A buff specimen with shoulder length brown hair danced. He obviously admired his body and other did to. He’d do. In the dark club, there was a hint of Jesus to him as well. Not the magnitude of dripping sex, but enough.

  “You,” she said. “With me.” She walked out the back to the men’s bathroom, straight through the door into a cubicle. As expected, the buff guy, Irish by the look of him, followed without hesitation. “Make it good and hard.” Pulling up her skirt, she placed her lower arms on the wall and stepped wide, arching her arse out. The fumbling with pants annoyed her as cool air flowed around her heated skin.

  “This is … ” the kid started.

  “Shut up,” she cut him off. “I’m not interested in what you have to say.”

  The tip of his cock fumbled along the inside of her thigh until it found her entrance. Finally, she thought as he pushed in. Delicious heat flared up her body. At least his cock was a decent size. “Harder,” she demanded and the kid worked to comply, pounding into her until her orgasm finally took her, making her cry out with pent up tension. Alexi could make her come; she missed that about him.

  Chapter 44

  Aggie sat with her finger twirling around a curl of hair and her leg bouncing as it crossed the other one. Cory could tell by the tight draw of her lips that she had heard about the car, or about something. Water was running off the outside of her coke, creating a little puddle around the glass.

  It was early so the pool was relatively empty, but he knew when Aggie walked out that she wanted to talk, probably to dump him.
It would be a shame, but he wasn’t going to be devastated.

  “So what have you’ve been up to?” she started, her lips a tight line.

  What was a reasonable way to start this conversation? He shrugged, not knowing what to say, feeling a bit chicken for it. Maybe he should just bite the bullet. She obviously knew. “I take it you heard about the car.”

  She looked down and nodded, which turned out of be more of a circular gesture. “Have you been sleeping with her?”

  Cory sat back in the chair, resting his arms on the supports. “Yeah,” he admitted. “She was just in an awful state and I think she needed a distraction.”

  “A distraction?” Aggie said pointedly.

  “I was just trying to make her feel better.”

  “By sleeping with her?”

  “Maybe someone finding her attractive was just what she needed.”

  “And you were happy to oblige.”

  “I felt bad for her.”

  “A pity fuck then.”

  “I don’t see it that way. She’s a lovely lady, and maybe she needed to know she still had it. Look, I didn’t go around trying to make a fool of anyone, but she was in a bad way and just needed someone to pay her some attention. I certainly never planned on her giving me anything, but she felt she needed to do something for me. Probably more to piss off that shit of a husband.”

  Aggie sighed and blew her breath through her nose. “I get it,” she said. “I understand, but are you a couple now?”

  “God no. I hope she doesn’t think so, because no,” he said, feeling the uncertainty that had sat in his shoulders from the point he’d seen that damned car. “It wasn’t my intention. I don’t know. She was hurting and I reacted. Surely she can’t think it’s anything. That would be insane.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first toy boy around these parts.”

  “I’m not a toy boy.”

  “Have you slept with any of the other women here?”