Boston Avant-Garde 4: Encore

by Kaitlin Maitland

  “He did.”

  Jericho had known Dante for more than a decade. In all that time, he’d never said a word about the hidden heritage that gave Dante his exotic good looks. He’d always known his friend hid behind an identity that didn’t belong to him. For most of his life, Jericho had essentially done the same thing. One thing he knew for certain—Dante was no more Latino than the Welsh-born-and-bred Jericho.

  Regardless of his ethnic background, Asylum’s boss was a good-looking man. His dark hair and complexion set off his intense brown eyes. He and Jericho were nearly the same height, his friend carrying a little more muscle in his shoulders and arms. Jericho had never found himself attracted to another man before, but he’d always been drawn to Dante. A condition that had been driving him to distraction since waking up with his arms wrapped around Dante, and Suri nowhere to be found. Jericho had instantly missed Suri’s soft, feminine curves, but there’d been something satisfying about being that close to his friend.

  Chapter Five

  Jericho stepped out of Dante’s office and back onto the club floor with a sigh of relief. The executive offices were located on Level Three, the entrance tucked away in an alcove near the stairs. He moved toward the balustrade, looking below. The sound of slot machines and dance music drifted up from the main floor. He had always liked Dante’s club design. The open-floor atrium set up with tiered balconies made security much easier. Jericho could stand on the Level Four mezzanine and keep an eye on all of the main areas.

  Heading toward the back stairs, he nearly slammed into a slender dancer in a harem costume made from sheer pink material.

  “I am so sorry! I…” Her voice trailed off when she looked up and met his eyes.

  Suri.

  How had it taken him almost two years to do more than utter a one- or two-word sentence to her? And why had Dante been the one to force him to acknowledge the attraction he felt? Jericho’s feelings were tangled into a knot of shame and regret. They should have never taken advantage of her when she was depressed and drinking. She deserved so much better.

  A pretty blush stained her cheekbones. Her features were delicate, her blue eyes intense beneath her thick makeup. He hated her hair. It had been sprayed up until it was stiff as a board. Jericho wanted it the way it had been last night, soft and silky on his fingers.

  “I didn’t mean to run you down.” Her gaze shifted away. “Have you seen Terrence? He’s supposed to be taking me to a party up on Level Four.”

  Aggravation swept Jericho like a storm. He’d excluded her from that list on purpose. Why the hell was she going to Flaherty’s party? He took a deep breath to get control. “You weren’t on that list.”

  She looked stung. Why? He wasn’t trying to be rude. “I guess I wasn’t, but Shelby didn’t want to go, and I was the only blonde standing around. Apparently the guy has a thing for blondes. As long as he’s got cash, that’s fine by me.”

  He didn’t believe her. Something in her words rang hollow. He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her. What was she doing working as a stripper anyway? The more he’d watched her, the more he’d known she didn’t belong. Beautiful as she was on stage, she wasn’t stripper material.

  “There you are, baby girl.” Terrence trotted down the last few steps and headed their way. “I got up to Four and realized you weren’t behind us.”

  Terrence was a hulking black man at least four inches taller than Jericho who’d started working at Asylum not long after they’d opened. The man looked meaner than hell, but he was really a giant teddy bear.

  Suri shifted toward Terrence, refusing to meet Jericho’s gaze. “It was nice seeing you. I’d better go.”

  Jericho should have walked away. But he couldn’t seem to do it. “Doesn’t your sister have a school play tonight, Terrence?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you take off and go? You can come in early tomorrow to make it up, if you want.” He’d intended to let the guy go anyway. Doing it now gave him an excuse to keep an eye on Suri. “I’ll work Flaherty’s party.”

  Terrence’s face split into a wide grin. “Thanks, man. I owe you big-time.”

  The big guy bounded away on his long legs, and Jericho felt a moment’s guilt that he hadn’t remembered to let Terrence go earlier. This self-absorbed distraction had to stop. Maybe now was the time to clear things up.

  Suri watched Terrence disappear down the stairs toward the employee exit. “So I guess you’re stuck with me now.”

  Stuck with her? Was that really how she viewed him? Jericho turned and walked back the way he’d come to avoid saying something else that would make things worse. He knew she was following, because every sense he had was attuned to her. Her light, feminine scent, the graceful way she walked—he was lucky he didn’t trip over his own two feet trying to navigate his way to the door.

  She followed him into the hallway that led to the access corridors surrounding Dante’s office. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re taking the back route.”

  His track took him right and then left through the dim hallways. Finally, they reached a set of narrow wrought-iron stairs that would lead up to Level Four. The West Suite and Congressman Flaherty’s cursed party waited. He didn’t like the idea of Suri anywhere near the privileged prick of a politician. He didn’t want to imagine the congressman’s gaze lingering on Suri’s curves or his hands caressing her skin.

  Blood rushed in Jericho’s veins, roaring in his ears. He clenched his fists at his sides. He had to get a grip, or he’d walk into the West Suite and start beating the politician to a bloody pulp for transgressions the man hadn’t even committed yet.

  But he will. You can’t see Suri and not want to touch her, taste her, feel her next to you.

  “If I’m so inferior that you can’t even be seen walking through the club with me, why did we go through all that bullshit last night? Why not just fire me and get it over with?”

  Embroiled in his internal drama, Jericho made it up three stairs before her words penetrated his haze. He stopped so quickly she ran right into his back. Hastily backing down to the floor, she stared at him as though she expected him to turn on her.

  Jericho held out his hands, palms up. “No one could call you inferior in my presence without me ramming a fist down their throat.”

  “But I thought…”

  He realized he’d been an idiot since the moment he’d nearly run her down after his meeting with Dante. “I knew you weren’t on the list because I purposely excluded you. Flaherty has a penchant for groping and a taste for blondes.”

  She nibbled her lower lip, taking a step closer to him. “But that’s my job, Jericho.”

  He knew it was, but a man had his limits. “I know. Usually I can take it. In fact, I love to watch you dance. But I can’t allow a man like that to touch you.”

  She brushed her fingers against his arm, as if she wasn’t sure what was allowed and what was taboo. He didn’t want her to feel that distance. As far as Jericho was concerned, there was nothing forbidden between the two of them. He caught her hand and tugged her close.

  “About last night, Jericho. I wasn’t too drunk to know what I was doing.” Her breasts brushed his chest when she sucked in a deep breath. “I wanted every bit of that.”

  “And now?”

  “I want it again.”

  Jericho groaned as their mouths met. She nipped his lower lip when he kissed her. The sensation sent a shock of awareness over his skin. Anticipation made his heart race. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, demanding her response. Their teeth clicked together as they strained to get closer.

  He splayed his fingers against the warm skin of her bare midriff. She undulated against him, teasing the erection that was already swelling behind his zipper.

  “I never got to feel your cock inside me last night.”

  Her words nearly unraveled him. “You will now.”

  He undid her top, her breasts spilling into his hands. Suc
king her sweet skin, he set his teeth to her nipples, and they puckered into tight points. She moaned, her voice echoing in the stairwell.

  It took nothing to part the skirt of her costume and gain access to her damp slit. He picked her up and set her down a few steps higher than his position, making it easier to pleasure her pussy.

  She grabbed the railing as he teased her slick cunt with his fingers. Her scent enveloped him in memories of the night before. He plucked at her sensitive clit, and she made a high-pitched noise. Straddling the nub with two fingers, he began working it in quick circles until her hips were gyrating in rhythm.

  His cock was so hard it was strangling to death in his slacks. He was dying to push into her body, but he also wanted to share another experience like the one they’d had the night before. Jericho wanted Dante to join them, but he felt as though he couldn’t wait any longer. Unfastening his pants, he freed his cock.

  “Shit. Do you have protection?” She gripped his shoulders, her eyes hazy with passion. “Please tell me you have something?”

  Jericho laughed bitterly. Carrying around protection for potential quickies was Dante’s style. Not his. “Not on me, love. Sorry.”

  She let out a string of expletives that would’ve done a sailor proud. “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill. What about you?”

  He nuzzled her neck. “I’m clean, though I’m definitely not on the pill.”

  “Oh God, Jericho, no jokes. Please fuck me. I’m dying here.”

  Her words set him on fire. He propped her leg on the railing in the corner of the stairwell. The position left her open and vulnerable. Fitting the head of his cock to the entrance of her pussy, he began to push inside.

  “Shit, you’re huge.” Her nails scored his arms, and she wiggled her hips, causing him to slide farther in. “It feels so good. Don’t stop!”

  It did feel good. Like heaven, as far as he was concerned. She was hot, tight, and wet with cream that soaked his balls when he bottomed out inside her body.

  “Harder,” she demanded. “Fuck me harder.”

  Backing out, he slammed home and felt the head of his cock press against the sweet spot at the end of her channel. She moaned, and he did it again and again, until their bodies were slapping together in perfect cadence, and he was poised on the edge of climax.

  Everything inside her clenched tight around his cock. “So close.”

  “Let go, Suri.” He brushed a kiss against her ear. “Come for me.”

  She melted around his cock, her body convulsing as she rocked against him with each wave of her climax. Jericho groaned, the naked sensation of being inside her without a barrier making him unable to hold on any longer. He came in pulsating spurts of thick semen that marked her as his.

  Their harsh breathing filled the stairwell. Jericho savored the sensation of holding her close, of being inside her. He slid his cock from her pussy and helped her gain her feet. She kept her eyes averted as she rearranged her costume.

  She glanced up, still refusing to meet his gaze. “I should probably get to that party.”

  The more volatile parts of his personality demanded to know why, but that wasn’t the right way to handle this. “You don’t have to go, Suri.”

  Something in her demeanor shifted. It was obvious she was uncomfortable but firm on her decision. “It’s money I can’t turn down right now.”

  Everything clicked into place, and Jericho fought the urge to tell her he’d rather give her what she needed than see her do something that put her in close proximity to Flaherty. The offer wouldn’t win him any points. She wanted to make her own way. How could he not respect her for it? “Then I’ll take you up when you’re ready.”

  She grabbed his arm, and he saw a tinge of apprehension in her blue eyes. It bothered him deeply. “I know it’s too much to ask, but will you stay with me?”

  “Always.” His response tumbled out before he could weigh the ramifications of it. Her eyes widened, lips pursed as she considered the meaning of that one little word. Jericho realized it didn’t matter. For better or worse, he’d meant it.

  Chapter Six

  Dante felt like a stalker. He’d been digging through his employee database for the last hour, trying to find out as much as he could about Suri O’Callaghan. Unfortunately, there was next to no personal information in his files. She didn’t take cash draws against her paychecks. She reported her tips, probably more accurately than anyone else. And she’d never been in trouble. He had her home address and a phone number for a sister who shared the apartment.

  He sat back in his chair and braced his foot against the desk. The chair swung slowly back and forth while he tried to think clearly. He’d been more than a little buzzed when he’d found Suri in his personal quarters. He’d been here, in his office, working his way through a bottle of Arak one glass at a time. The bottle of aniseed liquor still sat on the corner of his desk where he’d abandoned it in favor of finding out why there was a champagne-drinking intruder in his private quarters.

  Dante quit spinning his chair long enough to reach for the bottle. The scrolling Arabic on the label was as familiar to him as the English on his desktop correspondence. He rubbed his hands against his face, wondering how he could have ever thought it possible to reinvent himself.

  Had everything that happened between him, Jericho, and Suri been real, or was it as fabricated as his American identity? Even if it was real, was it worth the possibility of knocking over the house of cards he’d spent years carefully building? Being open to having his heart trounced was one thing. Risking full exposure was something else entirely.

  Flinging himself to his feet, Dante stalked out of his office. According to his computer, Suri was clocked in. The best solution would be to find her. Seeing her again when they were both sober and reasonably in control of their emotional issues would help him decide what was real and what was not.

  * * * *

  Suri had never worked a private party before. The West Suite was on Asylum’s Level Four, tucked predictably into the western portion of the building. She’d spent the duration of her employment down on Level One, stripping on the stages, jumping at the opportunity to give private lap dances for extra cash. She liked her regular spot. There was something empowering, beautiful, about dancing on a lighted stage with the world watching.

  This was a whole new game. There were stacks of fifty-dollar bills on a table. They seemed to wind up in whatever cleavage the congressman could reach. As uncomfortable as it was, a few of these parties would pay for her mother’s nursing home bills and prescription meds for months.

  The suite itself reminded her a little of the posh room where she’d stumbled into her illicit romance with Dante and Jericho. It had that same Persian flavor. Tooled screens, leafy green plants and trees, even a playful water fountain in one corner, but it lacked the opulent hand-painted scenes and coffered ceiling.

  And there’s no bed.

  She had dreamed about that bed. Mostly about what she’d done with her two men, but also about how good it felt to drift off to sleep ensconced in a cocoon of warm male acceptance. She’d never felt more safe and secure in her life. As if nothing could touch her while they watched over her.

  Ridiculous and fanciful? Most definitely.

  A giggle drew Suri’s attention from her internal musings and back to the party. The man bankrolling this soiree was in the middle of running for a senate seat. She’d gleaned that much, which was probably the reason she felt so decidedly uncomfortable. The sexual habits of politicians had never done her any favors. Watching him pant and slaver over his mistress for the last half hour had decided Suri against voting for the guy.

  He was handsome enough, with dark hair and eyes and a big, bright smile. But she would’ve been hard-pressed to like a guy who was obviously married and even more obviously cheating. She wasn’t stupid. She knew men habitually cheated, especially when they were married to wives who’d been handpicked for their pedigrees, not their personalities. In fact, Sur
i knew more about politicians and their love lives than she’d ever care to ruminate on. But there was something about Congressman Flaherty that disgusted her in ways she couldn’t put a finger on.

  The political hopeful was wearing a blue-and-gold smoking jacket that looked as if it had come straight from Hugh Hefner’s closet. His hairy white legs stuck out beneath the hem. He’d taken a short break from stuffing money into Suri’s top and had returned to fucking his date. He was knee-down on the thick rug, pumping in and out of the barely legal girl with platinum hair, while Suri and her coworkers took turns grinding against each other for his viewing pleasure. Fortunately, her turn to rub her body all over Candy’s was over for the moment.

  There were three security guards in the room. Suri wondered if they were Secret Service or private contractors, and if they were as sick and tired of watching the congressman fuck his mistress as she was. The guy had gone through this routine three times already. Screw until he was spent, let the dancers get him revved up and ready to go, and then fuck again. Suri had one word to explain this kind of behavior—Viagra.

  Jericho was tucked into an alcove in the far corner of the room. His silent presence watched over her as he’d promised he would. She was utterly aware of his gaze on her at all times. Moving slowly, she edged away from the congressman’s private orgy toward the fountain. She ruffled the layers of sheer material covering her lower half, baring an enticing portion of her leg.

  It was difficult to hear beneath the congressman’s grunts and moans, but there was music in the room. Suri closed her eyes and focused. Down on Level One, they danced to hard rock. This was different. It matched the setting—sitar and reed pipes, something that sounded Middle Eastern and beautiful in its own way.

  The reality of the party slid into the background. The only thing that remained was the sensation of Jericho’s gaze stroking every inch of her body. She glanced over her shoulder to see that he was watching. Reaching into the fountain, she cupped water in her palms and lifted her hands, letting the liquid stream down her arms and her chest. With her breasts barely covered by her low-cut choli, the cool water made her nipples bead into hard little points. Suri kept her hands aloft and let the music carry her away from the party.