by Lea Bronsen
Her core clenched at both his words and the erotic scene unfolding before her. The man on the stage was on his knees, one of the woman’s legs over his shoulder, his face buried between her thighs. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, out of breath.
“Sometimes people need to be pushed into something that’s best for them. And if you want an answer to your question, you need to understand this.”
The woman on stage arched her back and cried out her release. Johanna gripped Brady’s thigh behind her. Someone next to them groaned low. A shadow stepped up to the right of them and whispered something in Brady’s ear. She couldn’t tear her gaze away. Her body held on the precipice of something, as if she would orgasm watching. One touch and she’d go over the ledge.
“And this,” she said with a nod toward the stage, her own back arching, her hips pressing back into Brady’s, “this is what you think I need? To watch couples fuck each other in front of a crowd?”
“No,” he said and brushed his lips over the shell of her ear. An extreme contrast to his fingers biting into her hips. “There’s something deeper I think you need. And more, understand. This is the only way I could think of to make you understand.”
Her heart slammed against her chest. He was going to say yes. The attraction, the teasing, the liberties she’d taken with him had all be in good fun. Okay, she wasn’t being truthful. She’d always been attracted to Brady, but hadn’t ever acted on it. First, for obvious reasons. Then, it’d seemed like something that could never be. That was until the past few months when this urgency had built, almost as if time was ticking away until any shot they had for a friendship or more would slip through their fingers. She didn’t know where this feeling came from, but she didn’t like it, and needed to act before it was too late.
Then again, she was curious to see what would happen between them and used her inexperience as an excuse to open a line of communication on the topic. Having him confirm he’d known what she’d been doing, and having him put the go-ahead in words sent a thrill of excitement up her spine. But it made her nervous as ever, too. Butterflies took flight in her stomach, and a buzz encompassed her head, almost as if electricity sparked across the surface.
“This?” she asked, and her breath caught. He tightened his arm around her waist. A band of steel entrapping her.
He nipped her ear, and she somehow knew it was a disciplinary action. “Don’t play coy. We’re past that. You want to jump off this cliff, I’m willing to take you up on what you’ve been offering.”
Her spine stiffened, and she wanted to turn, but he still held her in place.
“I’m through hiding,” he strangely stated. “We do this, you know it all. This”—he motioned toward the stage—“is just one part of me. If you understand after watching, and explain to me how you understand, then I think you’ll be ready for my answer.”
An uncomfortable feeling settled in her stomach. The back of her neck prickled. “This? That you like to watch?”
“And be watched. I like control. I like for others to see that control.”
That uncomfortable feeling turned sour. She stared at the stage, at what a moment prior she had thought was beautiful. Now she pictured Brady up there and felt despair. How often had he done this? How often did he take women up there?
The shadow at their right shifted, reminding Johanna they weren’t alone. Brady bent toward the figure, the shadow turning out to be who had grabbed them from the front. They had a conversation too low to hear, but both nodded and shook their heads in answers to some questions she wished she knew.
The woman said something. Her gaze darted to Johanna quickly and Brady tilted toward her. He straightened. “How much longer?” he asked the woman.
“Ten minutes, at most fifteen.”
He nodded. “That should work. I shouldn’t need any more. I’ll take the penthouse. One female. Samantha if she’s around. Melissa if she isn’t.”
The woman stared at Johanna. “And her?”
Brady kept his gaze ahead, not sparing her a glance, and that ugly feeling was back, dirtier than before. What was going on? “She’ll sit to the side at a private table. Have Henry watch over. And no one, absolutely no one is to go near her. Matter of fact, bring Henry to me and I’ll explain myself.”
Her stomach turned. Was he thinking of… And what did he mean, someone watch over her? She could watch over herself, thank you very much. But first… “What’s going on?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed just a bit. Not as if she were mad or annoyed, but merely curious. “Mr. McBride does a scene here every other week. One of the more popular shows we have. We’re discussing the preparations for that scene.” She paused. “You didn’t know?”
Johanna swallowed the remaining fluid in her mouth and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her stomached roiled in protest. Rather than open her mouth and risk throwing up, she shook her head.
“No?” the woman asked, her brows flying high. She waved her hand around to encompass the room. “Look around. Look at how the crowd grows even now. As if they are waiting for him.”
Johanna did. The crowd grew thicker, feet shuffling closer to the stage as if they slid through syrup.
“There’s no other scene more popular.” The woman tilted her head. “And yet, here you two looked so close. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
“Enough, Francesca,” Brady said in a low warning.
“Why else did you come tonight if not to watch him?” Francesca asked.
“I didn’t…know.”
“You didn’t know? What did you—”
“Francesca,” Brady barked.
“I didn’t realize this was a sex club, okay?” Johanna snapped, trying to pull herself out from below the sinking water of humiliation. The water filled higher and higher, her head a chaotic mess. Pretty soon she’d be submerged.
Francesca tapped a long red nail atop the same shade of plump lips. “But you’re King, am I right? You know everything that goes on in the city? Or at least, if the rumors are true, you should.”
She was not wrong. This club should be something she knew. But she hadn’t. Sure, her mind had wondered time and time again, but she’d never had any reason to come inside, nor had she ever been allowed past the front door.
Until tonight.
She shrugged. “Well, you got me. Apparently, I don’t know everything going on.”
Francesca curved her lips slightly. “So now that you know, what are you going to do about it?”
Brady’s spine snapped. “Stop.”
“What? You mean you didn’t invite her? Tell her?”
“Tell me what?” Johanna asked.
Francesca turned wide eyes and a wide smile toward her. “You could join him.” Johanna's heart slipped up her throat. “Either taking Samantha’s spot or joining them both.”
“Goddammit, stop it!” Brady roared.
The crowd around silenced and turned toward them. Johanna felt every one of their gazes on her skin. Calling her a fraud. Unworthy. A coward. Heat blistered across her face and chest. She wanted to hide or leave, but she couldn’t get her feet to move. Not knowing what was coming on that stage in ten to fifteen. Okay, okay, bad choice in words, but still…
“She won’t be joining me on stage,” Brady stated firmly to Francesca. “You can only push me so far tonight, Frankie. I’ll advise you to stop now.”
Frankie? Just how did he know this woman so well to have a nickname for her? Did he frequent the club that much? She spread her free hand across her stomach, trying to will it to calm down and not upchuck the chicken enchiladas they’d had for dinner. Her joining Brady on stage wasn’t an option she’d normally consider, especially with how much she and her body didn’t get along at present. Had she been anyone else, in any other city, she might consider it. Especially with the option of doing something so daring and wicked with him.
“Why not?” Francesca asked. “Why not let her up on the stage with you? Isn’t that the real re
ason you brought her?”
“No,” he answered immediately. Yeah, okay, that was starting to bug her. His quick and adamant refusals to let her participate.
Participate?
What was this, some kind of recreational town sporting event now?
Jeez.
“What…why don’t you let her answer for herself, McBride? Perhaps she’ll shock you,” Francesca antagonized.
“No.”
“Why not?” Johanna asked.
Both pairs of eyes turned to her and both sets of brows raised.
“See,” Francesca said at the same time Brady asked, “What?”
“Why can’t I…” She would not say participate. She would not say participate. “Why can’t I be in the scene? With you?”
He jerked back and eyed her with speculation. She was not some damn bug under a microscope, yet that look, the “you have got to be kidding me” plastered all over his face made her feel about one-foot-tall, and as appetizing as a liver and onions. “How many reasons do you want?”
She flinched. Ouch. That hurt. She tried to tug her hand from his, but he held tight.
“I didn’t mean it like that, dammit. Shit.” He scrubbed a hand over his scalp and scowled as if he’d forgotten something.
“Yeah, pal, you look like Mr. Clean the past few weeks.” Teach him to get friendly with clippers.
His scowl increased and he shook his head. “Brat.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “I simply meant that doing a scene isn’t something for everyone, Joey. I didn’t bring you here for this. I brought you here for you, and for you to understand.”
She couldn’t help but look over. The stage had rotated again. Now, a sheet of dark glass stood between her and the stage. Through the glass, a masculine living room decorated the area. A long and simple black leather couch, a glass coffee table, and a china buffet with various bottles inside. How many scenes did this stage hold?
“Three,” Brady answered. “With additional props they can use to switch out. The larger furniture stays, though.”
Had she spoken out loud? “But what if I want to try?” she asked, voice soft.
“What if I don’t want you to?” he retorted, just as soft. She looked at him then. Turbulent feelings finally flittered across his face, and a world of worry sat in his eyes. Fine time for him to show her something. He’d gone back and forth with her tonight, one minute his hands all over her, sexy talk coming out of his mouth. The next, as cold as a glacier in Alaska. She didn’t know what was real. There was one way to find out. And that was to push.
“Then I’d ask you to try, too,” she answered.
He sighed and bit his lip. She honed in on the move. Blunt teeth that even looked strong. The pearly whites scraped over a plump lip and left behind a trail of moisture. Way too sexy a move for a man.
He growled her name and her eyes shot up to his. “That look did it.” He didn’t seem happy. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
* * * *
This is a bad idea, McBride. And he wasn’t talking about just bringing her on stage. Bringing Johanna here tonight had been the stupidest thing he could have done. But again, things hadn’t been quite right between them, something that over the past few months had gotten worse and worse. And then she talked about never going out anymore. His dumb ass just had to tell her about a club he knew. One that in the deep recess of his mind he’d fantasied about bringing her to many times before, but that’s what those thoughts should have remained. A fantasy. He should have never followed through.
He’d really stepped in it this time.
Now here he was, minutes from having full control over Johanna, the ability to touch her, to pleasure her, and to take his pleasure as he saw fit from her lithe little curvy body. A body he’d jacked off to more times than he could remember while lying in bed during the darkest hours. Curves he’d imagined tasting. On a woman who was cleaner than he’d ever be.
Dammit, why couldn’t he have offered a nice night out to dinner and maybe some quiet music? There were things they needed to talk about. Things they should have discussed way sooner than minutes before baring themselves to about a hundred strangers on the other side of the wall. Fuck.
He roughly massaged the area between his brows, trying to quiet the throbbing pain. Sharp, almost like a gremlin sat inside his head and chipped at his skull from the inside out using an icepick.
He blew out a heavy breath. Shit, maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could still grab her, take her somewhere else, and tell her everything she needed to know. Maybe then she wouldn’t hate him as much as she would if they went through with this.
Yeah, he had to tell her. There was no denying the need to get it all off his chest. To just have her know how much he liked to give pain and receive it during sex. Not in the masochistic sense, but more to heighten the peak of pleasure. That he had to have the pain in order to orgasm because he was a fucked up man.
Decision made, he crossed the room, scanning through the few people standing around. A hint of red popped up in his peripheral, and he cursed under his breath as Johanna slipped around the corner leading to the stage. There was still time to catch her before the lights lowered in the crowd.
He picked up his steps, and rounded the corner, then stopped in his tracks as if he ran into an invisible wall.
Frankie was good at staging a scene. And with the sight that greeted him, she had definitely staged. Johanna had her back to him, facing what was supposed to be a window that would generate a picture of the skyline at night from their side. On the other side of the glass, the audience would just see them.
Her legs were shoulder length apart, her hips tilted back. All of that was great in any normal circumstance. Her dress made it even better. But what made it out of this world was that Frankie—or Johanna, he wasn’t sure—had positioned her to pull the dress up until just a hint of cheek peeked out. Combined with her world class legs and her long hair trailing down her back, she looked very much the wanton vixen waiting for her lover.
And that’s all it took.
He wanted her. He’d have her.
He was a selfish son of a bitch.
The lights in the crowd lowered and the murmurs evaporated until only the sound of his heavy breaths echoed through his ears.
Fuck. Go to her. Give her one more chance, asshole. Call off the scene.
But he couldn’t get his feet to move. Instead, he was captivated, caught in the spell of sexual hunger and long denied cravings.
The lights came on in front of Johanna, and while it was all fake, it still looked good. The membership fees at the club were nothing to baulk at, and Morgan didn’t make any qualms about showing everyone what he put the money to use for. This skyline shot was done from an angle at midtown, high in the sky. Beautiful. And despite all the darkness, he loved his city.
Even knowing it was fake, that all of this wasn’t actually placed in a penthouse somewhere secret, the crowd around faded away. All he could concentrate on was her. The soft rise and fall of her shoulders. The slight movement of her hair tickling her lower back with a teasing caress. The fingers of her hands clenching the silky material of her dress.
She shook slightly, and had he been in any other frame of mind, that might have made him pause. Instead, he decided to draw out the anticipation a bit more. To make her wait for his touch, his voice, his command.
Him.
Soft gray notes of light caressed her hair. Even the light wanted in on their affair. A private rendezvous with two lovers looking forward to a night of raw and dirty fucking.
She couldn’t possibly know the affect she had on him. If she did, she’d run.
She’d run fast.
* * * *
Johanna swore she was going to throw up. Her stomach heaved and twisted, as if it was scraped over an old washboard in an elaborate attempt to cleanse every dirty little thought she’d ever had in reference to Brady.
Standing on a stage with unknown how many eyes on h
er, practically begging to be used, to be fucked by a man she’d once considered the closest friend she'd ever had, was like baring her soul to Dracula. And why she was thinking of references such as the Prince of Darkness was beyond her. Perhaps it was because she was prey to a big, bad demon who would end up sucking her dry in the most delicious way before the night was over.
Why had she agreed to this? Her throat burned with the need to either cry or puke, she couldn’t decide which, but neither would be very attractive. And therein lay the root of her problem.
She’d never seen herself as attractive. Sure, she had the confidence to do her own version of vigilante justice, but that was the extent of where her confidence went. Otherwise, her thighs were too thick, her stomach too round, her breasts burdensome, and her face too dull. She’d never been one to stand out on the street, or get the construction workers worked up in a frenzy of cat calls. No. She’d never been that girl. And so baring herself to this scene with Brady, knowing that others were counting on her to turn them on, had her seriously questioning whether she could go through with this.
If she walked off now, maybe everyone would give her a pass. After all, nothing had really begun yet…
“Don’t move,” Brady whispered next to her ear. She gasped and clenched her hands on her dress. How had he approached without her knowing?
“What?” she asked, even though she'd heard him.
“I said,” he replied, trailing a finger down her cheek. Goosebumps popped up across her body, and she shivered. “Don’t move.” This time, he spoke in a low voice, but somehow his words carried across the space. She looked around, careful to not move her body, seeking any microphones. Nothing was visible. But she knew what she’d heard.
“Brady, I don’t know if—”
He tsked her. “You had your chance, Johanna.” Her full name on his lips was a shock to her senses and told her she was definitely out of her element. This man only had to utter a few words and she both heard the command and knew who was in charge.
Him.