by Grant, KT
“Follow me!” Mitch beckoned.
Chris draped an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll be by your side the entire time.” He leaned closer. “We’ll talk more later, okay?”
When his lips brushed the side of her throat, she swallowed a moan of excitement.
***
Instead of departing the restaurant, Max decided to have a cappuccino at the bar. While looking over the dessert menu, he caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral. As a rule, he didn’t believe in coincidences but considered changing his mind upon spotting Erika Walsh exiting the women’s bathroom. Stopping, she lifted a short, white plastic tube to her mouth.
Ah, an inhaler, of course. He remembered reading about her affliction. He kept an eye on the woman in black slacks and a short-sleeved button-down pink top. The bright color suited her, giving her an air of innocence, a girlish quality he found alluring. But from the way her shirt tightened across her considerable chest and how well her ample hips filled out her pants, she was all woman.
She took out her cell phone, staring at it while she walked. Standing, he held out an arm to stop her.
She jerked back, awareness filling her gaze. “You!”
He smiled, clasping his hands behind his back. “How are you, Erika?”
“F-fine. How are you?” Her tongue slipped along her bottom lip.
“I’m very well, now that I’ve seen you again.”
Her cheeks grew red. Another innocent quality of hers he found endearing.
“It’s quite the coincidence we’ve seen one another again in a city so large. What are the odds?”
“It’s a small world. Are you sitting down to dinner?”
“I’ve just finished a business meeting, but before I headed out, I wanted dessert. Would you like to join me for a few minutes, or am I keeping you from your date?” Grinding his teeth, he hoped she didn’t say a date. If she did, he might have to leave before he reacted in a way that would embarrass them both.
“I’m here with a friend. Or rather, work friends. We’re celebrating a co-worker’s recent promotion.” Laughter erupted from across the room, and she peered over her shoulder. “I don’t think he…I mean they will miss me.” She snapped her fingers. “I owe you a glass of wine.”
“I would like that. You can help me pick a dessert. We can share.” He cursed the beseeching tone in his voice. He needed to remain in control. Before they left each other’s company tonight, they would exchange phone numbers, and he would make plans for their date.
She settled on a stool. “I heard the chocolate cheesecake here is to die for.”
He sat next to her, hanging his arm over the back of her chair, effectively boxing her in.
She set her small purse on top of the bar. “Do we stick to a Merlot or try something different?”
“Ladies choice.”
She raised her hand for the bartender’s attention and gave him their order. Max curled his fingers into his palm to stop from caressing her back or brushing her hair from the shoulders he longed to kiss.
“It’s been awhile since I ate something rich like cheesecake.” She rubbed her palms together.
He chuckled, amused by her girlish excitement. “Same for me. It will be a treat for us both.”
Within minutes, the bartender set the decadent dessert in front of them with two spoons. Erika was the first to take a bite. She closed her eyes on a moan. “Mmm, this is incredible.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He made no move to join the tasting, preferring to watch her in the throes of rapture for the delectable confection.
His unruly cock twitched every time she slipped the chocolate covered spoon in her mouth. He shifted in his seat, scraping his nails along the back of the chair to stop from grabbing her by nape and devouring her mouth. In all his years of sexual practice, he’d never licked chocolate sauce off a woman’s naked body. That needed to change as soon as possible and with her as his willing victim.
“Mmm, I love chocolate.” Setting the spoon down, she patted her mouth with a napkin. She dipped her fingertip in the frosting coating the plate then licked it off.
He bit down on his thumb nail to stop from leaning over and sucking her finger into his mouth. “You enjoyed that,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“What? Oh, I guess I did. You must think I’m a pig for eating it all.” She rolled her lips in between her teeth.
Fuck it. Grasping her chin in his hand, he brushed his thumb over the corner of her mouth. A smudge of chocolate came away, and he licked it off. “You missed a spot.”
A blush rose up from under her shirt, spreading along her throat and cheeks. He moved his arm over the chair, trailing his fingers down her back.
She didn’t react. Instead, she raised her glass into the air. “Cheers.”
He did the same. “What are we toasting to?”
“Good wine, good food, and new friends.”
“Friends? Is that what we are?”
“You don’t want to be?” She focused on her lap. “I guess I spoke too—”
“Shh.” He rested his finger on her mouth.
Her breath came out in little pants, making him want to feel her breath on other key parts of his body, his dick in particular. He would need to leave soon to take care of his erection.
Grasping her hand, he threaded their fingers together on top of the bar. “I’m not friends with many women. Most have been romantic interludes. Also, we’re enemies if you think about it.”
“Because you’re my father’s competitor?”
“Yes. I don’t think Roger or his second in command, Christopher, would like you being here with me or us talking about being friends.”
She took a sip of her wine. “He warned me to stay away from you. But I make my own decisions about the people I want to interact with.”
He chuckled. Such vibrant energy! Or it could have been the second glass of wine she drank. Whichever, he wanted to tap into the woman who was Erika Walsh, learning all her secrets, uncovering her desires.
“Ah yes, Milton and I have issues. But I’d rather talk about more interesting things like you.”
“Me? I’m boring.”
“You are not boring. You intrigue me in ways no other woman has.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “Now you’re feeding me a line. You’ve dated some of the most beautiful, fascinating women in Manhattan. I can’t compete with them. That’s why it’s better if we’re just friends.”
It would be a cold day in hell before they were just friends. He gnawed his thumb nail, flinching when he bit the skin.
“You bite your nails,” she remarked.
“My left thumb.” He wiggled the digit. “It’s a habit I can’t seem to break and do when—”
“You’re nervous?” She tugged a chestnut strand. “I twirl my hair when I’m nervous. My mother used to do the same.”
“My mother had short blonde hair.” He couldn’t think of many things he and his mother shared together. As for his father, they had more in common than he cared to admit.
“I like the color purple.” She circled her finger near his chest, indicating his shirt. “First red, now purple. What’s next, yellow or orange?” With a giggle, she finished her wine, flagging down the bartender for another.
He grabbed her hand. “Why don’t you slow down? I’d hate for you to end up in the bathroom, praying to the porcelain god.”
“I’ve never done that. I don’t drink all that much. Have you?”
“Drink until I’m smashed? Not recently.”
“No, I mean when you were in college. Did you go to college?”
“I graduated with a bachelors in Business and a minor in English. I also have a Masters in Finance. At one time, I wanted to be a teacher. I would have liked to have taught Shakespeare or other great classic writers like Chaucer or Alighieri. I can recite The Divine Comedy by memory.”
“I can see you as a professor, molding young minds.”
“One of my f
avorites is T.H. White’s The Once and Future King. My brother Cameron and I would act out the book. I’d play Merlin, and he would be Arthur as we fought dragons and evil knights trying to take over the realm.”
“I wish I had a brother or sister. Is he younger or older?”
His erection deflated. The only person he’d talked to about his brother was Catherine. Once a year, right around the anniversary of his death—which was next week.
His phone pinged. Taking his cell out, he glanced at the screen. Speak of the devil. She’d sent a text asking when he was coming to The Gate.
“I’ve loved talking with you again, but I have to go.” He threw a few bills on the bar.
“Was it something I said? I didn’t mean to—”
Cupping the back of her head, he stared down into her eyes. He hated leaving, but if he stayed any longer, he would ask her to come back to his place, destroying the innocence he found so alluring. He needed to take things slowly, or he would scare her away.
He pressed his lips to her forehead, keeping his mouth there. He flicked his tongue over her skin, tasting the sweet saltiness. She flinched. Releasing her, he stepped back. Questions still lurked in her eyes but also sympathy and…longing.
His erection roared to life again. He tensed his groin muscles to keep his reaction in check. Taking out a pen, he wrote his private number on a cocktail napkin. “You should go back to your party before they miss you. I assume Milton is with them. I’d hate to have an altercation with him after the pleasant time we shared.”
“How did you know—?”
“Here.” He held out the napkin. She accepted without reading it. “I want to see you again, but you have to be the one to call me. I know it sounds odd, but trust me. If you call, I’ll answer.”
“O-okay, I think.” She blinked at him in confusion.
Brushing her hair over her shoulder, he grazed his knuckles over her collarbone. “The things I would love to do to you, to show you,” he whispered more to himself than to her. With a kiss to her cheek, he walked toward the front of the restaurant to catch a cab. At the door, he looked back.
Erika stood, holding the napkin.
“Call me.” He waved then strode out of the restaurant.
He waited outside, gazing through the window as she sat back down, staring at the napkin. When the corners of her mouth tilted up, he smiled but then Milton came out from one of the rooms. He said something, and she laughed. Leaning over, he hugged her, his hand slipping down to caress her ass.
Max trembled with the urge to march back inside to steal Erika away, but he needed to bide his time. Trust had been established. The next step was seduction. He would tease and tantalize until she was under his spell, willing to do whatever he wanted—even getting her on her knees and begging him to use her as he saw fit.
Chapter Five
As requested, the taxi dropped Max off in front of the parking garage. From the outside, the structure looked like any other parking garage—the difference being it was in Brooklyn, not in Manhattan, on a less traveled street, and attached to a non-descript building. After paying the fare, he entered the garage, waving at the two attendants. They would be there until the wee hours, keeping watch over the cars of the guests who came to his club—his playground better known as The Gate.
He climbed the five flights instead of taking the elevator, his breath coming out frosty. A familiar sign over the past week, the temperatures having dropped. Graffiti, gum, and old stickers decorated the walls. He gave them no mind, continuing onward, his anticipation building as he approached his home away from home.
Taking out a key, he unlocked the rusted door, striding down a dim hallway to another door he unlocked. Entering, he switched on the light, his eyes adjusting to the brightness. Relocking the door, he bypassed the clothes and other gear hanging on the racks in the walk-in closet, heading down the stairs into a sitting area complete with a small kitchen. He turned on two small lamps, giving his suite enough light for when he came back to shower.
After freshening up, he left, heading for his club. Instead of taking the elevator, he went to the door, unlocked it, and walked down the steps to the second floor. The music was already loud, vibrating off the walls. He encountered another door—one unlocked—and exited.
The moment he stepped out on the landing, he was hit with the stench of sweat and ripe humidity. Below, people loitered in the industrial size room, the majority of women in all states of undress as they carried wooden or plastic paddles.
He cocked an ear, listening for any muffled cries or moans. Nothing yet. He traveled down the hall toward the bar-lounge area. Two beefy men dressed in leather pants and tight mesh T-shirts nodded as he strolled past them. Instead of venturing down another hall, he surveyed the lounge. A few people sat, drinking and talking, while others around waited for their drinks or viewed the simulated sex show on the glass panels behind the bar. A bare-chested man with a dog collar around his neck knelt in his skin-tight shorts before a woman in red leather. His keeper twisted one of his nipple rings. Lowering his face to her boots, he licked them.
He could have continued watching the spectacle, but first, he needed to find Catherine. Then he would play. She wasn’t behind the counter, pouring drinks or mingling with the guests or the staff like usual.
He descended the winding staircase to the bar level. A server dressed in a French maid’s costume walked past with a tray of bottled water. He took one. She greeted him with a hello, knowing full well who he was, giving him a flirty wink. He drank his water, watching her saunter away in her six-inch heels. As she gave out the drinks to the patrons, she shot him a look over her shoulder, a promise of something naughty later on if he chose to accept. He didn’t play with the staff, preferring the freelancers who used The Gate for their workspace. Also, she was too blonde and too petite with very small tits. He wanted the total opposite.
Finishing his water, he headed down the hall, opening a door leading to another series of doors. A bouncer stood, brooding—a typical sight at The Gate, one or two men in each corridor keeping watch over the guests.
“Which rooms are taken?” he asked the guard.
“The last three at the end, Mr. Leon.” The man lifted his hand to his ear, soft buzzing came from the communication device.
Max continued on, giving the mirrored ceiling a peek. He then found a black door with the gold plated number ten on it. Opening it, he entered a tiny foyer. Two doors this time, both silver awaited him. Taking out his key chain, he unlocked the one on the right and went in.
He didn’t flip the wall switch, preferring the shadows. With the drapes open in the adjacent room, he could see well enough not to bang into the two chairs or small tables next to them. In the middle sat a white vinyl loveseat. The floor was covered with linoleum because it could be washed down whereas carpet stained.
He eased onto the loveseat in the center of the room, the underlying scent of lemon with bleach tickling his nose. Satisfied the room had been cleaned and he wasn’t sitting in someone’s former wet spot or had to worry about some guy’s jizz staining his pants, he observed the scene through the window before him.
A man in jeans and a black vest whipped his captive who wore a leather thong. The sub hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room, twisting and jerking with each strike. The one doing the punishment tipped back his cowboy hat, lust clear on his face as he lifted the whip to continue his work.
Max chuckled. Strange, but who am I to judge?
The bound man opened his mouth in a scream as the cowboy flogged his ass and lower back. But with the speaker off, the sound was muted. That was fine, although the scene grew boring after awhile. As the cowboy drew down his captive’s thong, kneeling to give him a blowjob, Max texted Catherine his location. A couple minutes later, she entered his room. After shutting the door, she snuggled next to him.
Her hair tickled his nose, and he sniffed. “Change in shampoo?”
She nodded. “Honey scented. It
’s sweet like me.”
“I like it. You smell fresh, clean, and innocent.”
Sitting up, she rolled her eyes. Tonight, she’d dressed down, wearing a belly-showing, silver sequin T-shirt, black pleated mini skirt that landed mere inches under her ass, and black knee high platform boots. Her hair was the same, accented with various shades of red and black and curled under her ears where six hoops pierced her lobes. No nose ring tonight, but a black beaded necklace plunged in between her breasts and down her stomach.
“You look very slutty tonight. I approve.” He flicked her ear.
“These two do the same thing every Friday night. How boring.” She drummed her phone on her knee as the cowboy fucked his bound subject in the ass.
Annoyed by the sound, he dropped his hand over hers. “You’re agitated. What’s wrong? Is it about next week?”
Shrugging, she crossed her legs, flashing even more thigh than was already on display. “In part, yes. But I’ll handle it like I always do. It’s something more serious.”
“I hope nothing’s wrong with your parents—”
“They’re happy as clams, living up their retirement.” She sighed. “Some days I wish I could retire.”
He took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Do you mean from here?”
“I mean from life.” She nuzzled his shoulder with the side of her head. “Raymond keeps calling and texting me. I ignored it at first, but he’s so persistent. I gave in last week and saw him. I stayed the night.”
He took a moment to digest what she’d admitted. Catherine and her master had a fragile relationship. However, this wasn’t the first time she’d left Raymond. The year before, she took an extended break from him. “That’s why you called in sick on Thursday and Friday?”
She nodded, burrowing her face under his arm. “I was wrung out. He was quite the tiger the night we renewed our acquaintance. I had trouble walking.”
“You’re reuniting finally? How long have you been separated, six months?”
“More like nine months, the longest we’ve been apart. He’s growing frustrated, expects me to stop playing games, and come back to him.” She shook her head. “I-I’m not ready yet.”