Longing: Club Inferno

by Jamie K. Schmidt

  “Anya, is that you?”

  She’d have recognized the Italian accent anywhere. It used to cause shivers up and down her spine. But it barely registered over her body’s resonating against Clint. Reluctantly, she broke off the kiss, but didn’t let go of Clint. Instead, she lowered her hands to his waist and looked over her shoulder at Cesare.

  “Where’s your wife?” she asked with a sweet smile at Rita.

  “Magdalena and I…” Cesare coughed. He was tall and striking and had eyes like a soulful puppy’s. He dressed in expensive suits, and he paid more for shoes than she did. Anya took a sneak peek at them—Louis Vuittons. If he’d paid less than $1,500 for them, she’d eat them. “We’re at a crossroads.”

  It sounded so lovely and poetic when what he really meant was he had a mistress and his wife wasn’t too happy about it. The mistress cleared her throat loudly and Cesare reluctantly looked at her.

  “Anya, this is Rita.”

  “We’ve met,” Anya said. “This is Clint. My boyfriend.” She turned back to Clint and pleaded with her eyes. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

  “He’s a stripper.” Rita took great pleasure in telling this to Cesare, whose eyes widened. His lip slowly curled into a sneer disguising itself as a smile.

  Anya felt Clint tense. “Come on, baby,” he drawled. “Let’s get going. I can’t wait for your mouth on my cock. Have a nice night,” he said to Cesare, and “accidentally” bumped him with his shoulder when he brushed by.

  Holding it together until they got outside, Anya hugged his arm tight. “You are brilliant,” she said, letting the laugh go when they were safely out of earshot in the parking lot. “Did you see the look on both their faces? I thought Rita was going to breathe smoke out of her nose. And Cesare—he turned red as his mama’s marinara sauce. Oh, thank you so much for going along with that. I can’t tell you what that means to me.”

  “Who was that tool?” Clint said, opening the car door for her.

  Anya waited until he was settled inside the car. “That was my ex. The one I told you about. He’s an Italian count. And Rita is the mistress.”

  “Ooh la la,” Clint snorted, putting the car into drive.

  “Yeah, well, he dumped me for an arranged marriage but couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to continue our relationship.”

  Shaking his head, Clint pulled onto the highway. “He sounds like a first-class douche bag.”

  “And then some. His mother used to make fat jokes all the time around me. She either conveniently forgot I spoke Italian or else she didn’t care.”

  “I recognize the chick he was with from Couture,” Clint said. “She’s got hands like an octopus.”

  “And teeth like a barracuda. Stay away from her. She’s trouble.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Clint said. “I kinda like trouble.”

  Anya shuddered. “Not this type. She’s like the Wicked Witch of the West, only meaner.”

  “About the pole-dance class,” he began.

  “Don’t worry about it. You literally saved me back there. There couldn’t be any better revenge than to have Cesare think I’ve moved on and up. Way up.” Anya grinned. “I really appreciate that you played along.”

  “I wasn’t playing,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance.

  The silence stretched in the car as Anya dared to hope. “You want me to blow you in the car?”

  “Are you offering?”

  Anya considered it. She’d like to, but she didn’t want it to be over so soon. She wanted to enjoy herself. “I’m a little old to be screwing around in cars. Why don’t you come up to my room when we get back to Couture?”

  “For an after-dinner blow job?” he asked.

  “If you’re lucky,” she said.

  He flashed a grin at her. “I can’t tonight. I’m working. I’ve got to go back to the dungeon for a photo shoot.”

  “Oh,” Anya said. Not. That. Into. You. Get it through your head.

  “But that doesn’t mean we can’t play around a bit while I drive.” He reached his hand over and tugged her dress over her knees.

  “Is that safe?” She shivered at his touch.

  “I’m a very good driver,” he said, doing a Dustin Hoffman–in–Rain Man impression.

  “I’m listening,” she said.

  “I’ve got a few ground rules.”

  “Are these your hard limits?” Anya teased, turning to face him in her seat.

  “You’d be surprised how hard. First, the seat belt stays on at all times.” He reached over and tugged on it. The back of his knuckles rubbed over the top of her breasts. Anya’s breath caught.

  “Second. As much as I’d love your head in my lap, I’d crash the car. But I think I could handle you touching me. If you want.”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Third. This is the start of something between us. I’m not your booty call. I’m not your shield against your ex. I’m your damned boyfriend for real. You and me. No others. Hard limit.” He took his eyes off the road and pierced her with his gaze.

  “Are you serious?” she said.

  “I’m not good enough to date?” he snapped.

  She slugged him in the arm. “Don’t be stupid. You look like a Greek god and I’m…” Anya swallowed hard. “I’m not going to get a part in a play unless I drop fifty pounds fast.”

  “You are a goddess and your body makes me rock hard.”

  Anya shot a glance to his lap, but in the dark of the car she couldn’t tell. “When I was in Vegas, a few dancers took me out to a party. It didn’t take long before I realized it was one of those hazing things where the hot guy takes the ugliest—”

  “You are not ugly,” he bit out.

  “Or in my case”—she let out a nervous giggle—“fattest chick to the party.”

  “Assholes.” Clint gripped the wheel like he was wringing someone’s neck.

  “They’re called pig parties.” Anya looked at her hands. “I didn’t win, but it taught me that men that look like you don’t want relationships with women who look like me.”

  Clint pulled the car over to the side of the road and skidded to a stop. “Now, you listen to me,” he said, wheeling on her. “I’m sick of you deciding that I’m morally bankrupt. I know we don’t know each other well, but stop thinking the worst of me. There are no pig parties at Couture—unless you count the barbecue parties. And if there were, I wouldn’t be a part of it.”

  Closing her eyes against his intense stare, Anya sighed. “Why do you want to be with me? I don’t like to do the things you like.”

  “We haven’t tried them all yet.”

  It was his teasing voice that had her eyes flying open. He unsnapped her seat belt, then his.

  “What about rule number one?” she asked as he hauled her into his arms.

  “That was a soft limit.”

  Yanking down the corset top, his hand covered her breast even as his mouth claimed her lips. Anya wriggled closer, wishing the gearshift wasn’t digging into her ass. But who cared? His tongue was dancing with hers, and his fingers were groping her with an expertise that made her forget she didn’t want to fool around in the car. Kissing was so much fun. She unbuckled his pants with one hand while her other made sure his head stayed where it was. He arched into her hand when she cupped him through his underwear. Just as he promised, he was hard and ready for her.

  “Mmmm,” he said encouragingly when she rubbed him. “Oh yeah.” He took his mouth off hers for a moment. “Your touch destroys me.”

  He went back to her mouth when she slipped inside his underwear and gripped him. Easing his seat back, Clint moved over so they were closer. She stroked him fast. He left her lips swollen and puffy to lick over her nipples. Biting gently, he tugged on one and Anya grunted as the pleasure hit her low.

  “You like rough nipple play,” he said. “I want to put some clips on them.”

  She leaned over him, her hair a curtain against his cheek. She fisted his cock in bold ha
rd strokes. Writhing, he groaned. “You’re going to make me come.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to suck you off?” she whispered in his ear.

  “Too fucking late,” he grunted, and coated her hand with thick wetness. “God,” he panted. “That…wow.”

  Opening up the glove compartment, Anya found some tissues and cleaned them up.

  “Sorry about the mess.” She smiled and kissed him.

  He brought her closer. “I hope you don’t think we’re done.”

  “We can’t just sit by the road. Someone will call the cops,” she said.

  “Then you’re going to have to come as fast as I did.”

  He lifted up the dress and placed a hand over her ass. “I know you said no spanking, but consider working up to it?” He probed inside her panties while his mouth found her breast again.

  “I don’t think it’s…oh…for me.”

  His fingers hit the right spot and he was ruthless. Rubbing her breasts against his face, she loved the hard rasp of his five o’clock shadow hitting the sensitive tips. Her arousal was loud in the close confines of the car. The wetness was apparent when his fingers swished inside her.

  “Your touch is pretty magic too,” she breathed.

  “I’m going to put those clips on your nipples while I fuck you from behind,” he told her. “It’ll feel like I’m sucking hard on them while I’m pounding in you.”

  Anya stretched, widening her legs so he could play deeper. She held on to his shoulders and let the pleasure come to her. “Clint,” she moaned.

  “Come for me,” he crooned. “Give me your orgasm. I command it.”

  And damn if that wasn’t hot.

  “Take it,” she said, challenging him.

  His nostrils flared and he kissed her hard. Grinding against his hand, she growled into his mouth when she came.

  “Oh, the things I’m going to do to you,” he vowed as they caught their breath.

  “We pretty much set rule number one on fire.”

  “Rule three is still a hard limit.”

  “I like your hardness,” she said as he helped her get her dress back in order.

  “So are we doing this?”

  “What about the dungeon?” Anya said, stroking his face. “If you’ve got a Rita the Octopus wanting to do a blow job scene with you, what are you going to do?”

  “Call another Dom for the scene and then film them.” He kissed her fingers. “What are you going to do if one of your dirty talkers wants to bend you over the desk?”

  “Tell him I’ve got a boyfriend and he teaches karate.”

  “Good answer.” He brushed his lips over hers.

  “If you change your mind…,” she said.

  “Don’t talk about us ending before we begin.”

  “You can break worse than my heart. You can break my spirit.” Anya gripped his hand in both of hers.

  “Never,” he promised.

  Anya smiled. “I don’t know where my career is going, but if you want me—and only me—you’ve got it.”

  “Excellent,” he said. He fixed himself and put his seat back.

  “Are you going to be late?” she asked.

  “It was worth it.” He sighed. “Now buckle up.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning Anya texted Trey at five thirty a.m.: I’m down another five lbs.

  She was lying, of course. But she figured Trey wouldn’t know that until he saw her for the audition. Anya planned to be wearing two pairs of Spanx, a girdle, and a corset on that day. Maybe all the director would see was boobs and then she could wow him with her acting.

  She hoped.

  She then promptly rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. It was bliss not having to deal with Trey this early in the morning. However, her quick snooze made her miss Clint’s swimming time. Having overslept the pool, Anya was eager to find Clint and spend some time with him—preferably in private. But she had forgotten that today was the big concert and everyone was running around like crazy people.

  She caught up with Nefertiti, who was snarking at someone on her headset. Tapping a pen on a ginormous clipboard, Tee exploded into the microphone. “That’s bullshit! You promised us the equipment here at ten a.m. Now you’re telling me it’s not coming until three?”

  Tee glared over at Anya before realizing who it was. She held up a finger for her to wait a minute. After a peek into Colleen’s empty office, Anya sat down on one of the chairs and was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of the ass-chewing.

  “What am I going to do if it’s not here by three? I have a band coming in for sound check. Where the hell is the truck? Don’t you people have GPS? Oh, I’ll hold all right.” Nefertiti pressed the mute button and looked up at Anya. “They’re going to give me ten percent off my order. They just don’t know it yet.”

  “Should you be getting this excited in your condition?” Anya said.

  “You better mean fabulous and not pregnant.”

  “You can be both,” Anya said soothingly.

  “You got that right. How the hell are you anyway? I heard you took a header into the floor last night.”

  “It was that stupid diet.”

  “Sure it wasn’t that tight dress?” Nefertiti arched an eyebrow at her and fished a truffle out of the box on her desk. “Want one?”

  “I’m trying to be good,” Anya said.

  “It’s not like we’re going to need them anymore. Istvahn knows.” Nefertiti popped the candy in her mouth.

  “Shut up!” Anya would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

  Nefertiti shook her head. “Not much gets by him. I was an idiot to think we could keep this from him.”

  “How did he react?” Anya had a vision of Istvahn hauling Nefertiti over his shoulder and carrying her off to bed, then the camera panned to the window because Anya didn’t want to think any further than that.

  “The big dummy asked me to marry him.”

  “The cad!” Anya said with fake horror.

  Nefertiti narrowed her eyes at her. “I’m not looking for his pity.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you that if he liked you enough to fuck you, he might just like you enough to marry?”

  “ ‘Like’ isn’t good enough.” Nefertiti sniffed. “Besides, he doesn’t have to marry me. I don’t need him to support me. We both live here.” She waved her hand around the room. “So he can see the baby any time he likes. There’s no need to get married, right?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Massachusetts?” Nefertiti said into her headset. “Well, you’re about three hours away then. Why are you telling me I’ve got to wait until this afternoon?”

  Anya waved good-bye and hustled out of there. She felt a little bad for the trucking company. Nefertiti was hell on wheels even when she wasn’t full of pregnancy hormones. Security was setting up and locking down locations, but she didn’t see Istvahn anywhere. Which was just as well because she was probably on his shit list for keeping the pregnancy a secret. Not that she was going to give up on getting those two together. They were just too stubborn to admit their feelings for each other.

  Making her way down to the arena, Anya dodged workers who were trying to transform the stage into a rock-and-roll setup instead of an MMA arena. She spotted Colleen in her private box above the chaos. The box was more like a glassed-in living room with its own speakers and the best view in the arena. Anya started to wave to get her attention but stopped when she saw that Colleen wasn’t alone. Chase Fairwood was with her and they were having an argument that was getting pretty heated. Chase still had his professional football player physique and wasn’t too hard on the eyes either. Looking toward the stairs, Anya couldn’t decide if she should break it up or not. On the one hand, Colleen had never gotten over finding Chase in bed with a few cheerleaders. On the other hand, she’d never gotten over loving him either.

  Anya watched as Colleen shook her finger in his face and yelled.
Colleen had married Alfie soon after the breakup with Chase. And while everyone thought Colleen was a gold digger, Anya knew she had cared about the billionaire. Alfie had been a hoot too, part dirty old man, part Santa Claus. They were each just what the other needed. But he had been a good sixty years older than Colleen, and when he passed away, he left her with a lot of money and a broken heart. Colleen deserved a little happiness. Anya just wasn’t sure Chase was the one to give it to her.

  Proving that point, Colleen hauled off and smacked Chase across the face. Anya tensed, wondering if he would belt her back. Reaching for her phone to text Istvahn, she nearly dropped it when Chase hauled Colleen into his arms and gave her a kiss that should’ve steamed up the window.

  When Colleen’s limp form came alive and her arms wrapped around her former lover, Anya decided to give the couple their privacy. Colleen could handle herself.

  Anya’s phone rang, and she was distracted enough to answer it without looking at it, a classic mistake.

  “Cara, it was great seeing you last night.” Cesare’s voice was as sweet and smooth as fine Perugina chocolate.

  “It’s been a while,” she admitted, wondering what his angle was. This was the first time since their breakup that he’d bothered to pick up the phone and call. So much for the “let’s still be friends” line.

  “I wanted to know if you’d like to have lunch with me. I found a wonderful cappuccino bar.”

  Anya sat on one of the stadium chairs, so she was out of the way of the workers. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Rita can be very possessive.” The last damn thing she needed was Rita getting all up in her Kool-Aid because she thought Anya was making a go at Cesare.

  “You leave Rita to me. Come out with me. We can catch up.”

  Anya wished she had a telephone cord she could curl around her finger or something she could fiddle with while she thought about it. It was just coffee. And she was damn curious about what was going on with his wife and Rita. It couldn’t hurt to see what he wanted. At the very least, Cesare might be willing to put in a good word with the director for her.