Body Talk: An Ex-Navy SEAL Billionaire Romance

by Ashlee Price

  He stared at me, and I could see his disappointment that I was clothed, which was apparently shared by several of the other men who had come in. I was glad that Dagger had protected me from that display, although I would have done it willingly for him. My leotard, nevertheless, left little to the imagination. I wore no bra or panties, and the flesh-colored fabric was skintight. My pussy was waxed clean and my nipples stood out hard. Just like everyone else, I was excited by the pheromones in the room.

  Dagger took my hand and led me to the spot at the front of the performance area. His body was magnificent, and he outshone every other man there. He knew I was nervous. “I’ve got you sweetheart,” he whispered, and that went a long way toward making up for his moody silence over the previous days.

  “I’m going to pretend it’s only you and I here,” I whispered back, and he nodded.

  Dagger waved his arms to bring order to the room. “Everyone, I’d like to welcome you to Coupling Night. As you know, clothing is optional, and I see you have all opted to let your bodies be natural. I commend you for that openness. You’ve been training separately for several weeks, and tonight is intended to bring you together, to let you experience one another’s bodies in a unique, sensual manner. The exercises you’ve been learning were designed to give you maximum control and stamina during the more pleasurable moments of intercourse, not to mention to make you more creative. You must, during this evening, remain with your partner, although what you do outside this studio is naturally your personal life.

  “I urge you now, gentlemen, to position your lady on her back, her knees bent. You’re to cradle her feet in your lap. You’ll massage her soles using oil from the container in the gift boxes you’ll find throughout the room. Please continue this for ten minutes and then switch positions, so ladies, you will massage his feet. While you may be tempted to vary from the program, I urge you to go through the beginning moves as recommended. A period at the end of our performance will be set aside for those who wish to be creative and go beyond. Without further delay, please begin.”

  Dagger sat down, his legs crossed, and took my feet into his lap. My toes touched his penis, which was already growing erect. He dispensed oil onto his palms and began massaging the bottoms of my feet, using his thumbs to press hard so it didn’t tickle. He pressed into the muscle, rubbing it deeper and deeper, until it felt like my feet were supple enough to climb a tree with no effort at all. A tiny bell signaled the end of that session and the woman took over, holding their men’s heavier feet against their breasts with the heels pressing into their pussies. A few of the women bent and kissed toes. From around the room you could hear the moans as the men relaxed and relished the sensual attention.

  The bell dinged again, and Dagger called out in a gentle voice, “Please proceed to the hand massage.” Again, the woman lay down and the men rubbed oil into the palms of their hands, massaging their fingers with deep pressure, relieving anxiety and soreness. The women returned the moves, and I could see some of the men reaching out to touch the pillows of their partners’ breasts. There was soft giggling as couples began to deviate from the ordered moves, and the additional touching heightened the erotic mood in the room.

  The bell was heard once more, and Dagger instructed, “Ladies, lie on the floor with your head in your partner’s lap. Gentlemen, use your hands to deeply massage your partner’s shoulders downward, chest and then breasts, and finally move down over the hips and into the inner thigh area as far as you are able to reach.”

  I heard a current of excitement flitter about the room as each of them anticipated the hands coming closer to their erogenous zones. The men were no longer taking peeks at other women; now their attention was completely on their partner and the competition of making one another receive enjoyment was underway.

  Each woman’s head was nestled against her partner’s penis, and his hips bucked slightly as he reached forward and fondled breasts and thighs, pushing these open to press an occasional oiled finger into her moist and swelling vagina. Then came the moment of reversal.

  With full breasts hanging before them like ripe fruit, the men were lifting them and sucking on their nipples. This caused the women to moan and to bend forward lower so that they could reach their partner’s balls and penis, draping their breasts over his chest in a teasing but sensual manner.

  “Now turn face down and repeat this move with one another,” called out Dagger. He flipped me over and his hands massaged my shoulders and buttocks. His fingers separated the cheeks of my ass and a finger pressed rhythmically but surely into the opening between them. I craved his touch on my bare skin and my pussy ached with wanting him. “Later, in private, sweetheart,” he promised, and I tried to stay professional when all I wanted was to strip off the leotard and go at it like the other couples in the studio.

  Next came a series of positions in which each person, in turn, lifted their legs vertically, supporting their lower back with their hands. Once the stance had been achieved, the person on the bottom opened their legs and the partner gently rubbed and kissed the exposed genitals. There were sounds of moisture and sucking, and some couples began to scissor their legs to build a touching rhythm. One thing for sure: no one was interested in anyone but their own partner from that point on.

  The next and final formal position was that the female would assume the vertical position and the man would straddle her, using a 90-degree angle to meet her apex with his own. At this point, insertion was suggested, and this was when concentration and broke down and the room simply became a mass of screwing bodies, roving hands and oral intrusions.

  As I was fully clothed, Dagger merely pressed himself against my body. Again, I wished desperately to be naked.

  Then came the free period, and Dagger rose to his feet, drawing me with him and pulling me into his apartment, where he repeated all the moves the others had done, but to my naked skin. It was an unbelievably sensual experience, and he not only displayed amazing strength and control, but tenderness. I was so freaking in love with this man.

  When we rejoined the others, I saw Tiffany with her face buried in Malchevsky’s lap and his penis deep down her throat. He was watching me, however, and slowly extended his middle finger toward me, pumping it up and down to suggest he would fuck me. Tiffany didn’t see it, but Dagger did.

  I realized then that Malchevsky was not simply trying to push Dagger into a fight; he was out to hurt me and likely Tiff in the interim. I couldn’t stand to witness any more of it. “End it,” I mumbled to Dagger, and he understood.

  “That ends our formal class for the evening. Please continue until you feel fulfilled, and I hope you’ve enjoyed your evening.”

  I swiftly crossed over to Tiffany and pulled her arm until she was separated from Malchevsky. “What the hell?” she demanded to know.

  “Come with me, now!” I ordered her, and the tone of my voice was enough to convince her to do as I asked.

  I pulled her into the hallway and up to my room. I threw a robe at her. “Sit down and listen to me. There’s something going on, and I’m not sure how bad it is, but it could be lethal. Malchevsky intends to hurt you, Tiff, and me. I mean real, physical hurt. I can’t let you go back with him, no matter what you say or how much of a fight you put up.”

  “Oh, don’t pull that goody-goody shit on me again, Whit.”

  “I swear to you, Tiff. Something really, really bad is going down here. I’ve felt it for several days, and tonight I saw the look in Malchevsky’s eyes. He’s a hunter and he leaves no tracks.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Don’t pull that big sister crap on me again, Tiff. I’ve backed down all my life, and I’m done doing that. You’re going to listen to me, and I don’t care if you tell Mom and Dad about what I’m doing. It’s not worth it to me to see you killed.”

  “You don’t even know, do you?” She smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. It was a sneer of superiority.

  “Know what? What a
re you talking about.”

  “You’re not my goddamned sister!”

  “What?”

  She laughed cruelly. “I told them they should have told you years ago. I was adopted, Whitney. My mother was some crack whore they found dead on the street. Your parents took me in to keep me out of foster care. They didn’t think they could have children and they were desperate enough to take me instead. Then you came along, a big surprise with rosy cheeks, a brain and all the holier-than-thou sweetness they wanted. So, they set me aside and put you on Santa’s lap. It’s you, Whit. It’s always been you!”

  I sat there, stunned. It explained so much, and yet I didn’t want to believe it. “Tiff, if you’re lying…”

  “I’m not lying, you stupid bitch. Family holidays at the mansion, eh? Fat chance. I’m going to leave with my man tonight and you’ll never see me again.”

  “Tiff, no!” I cried out, reaching for her, but she leapt from the chair, threw open my door and disappeared.

  I sat there stunned for a minute, and then followed.

  Tiffany, Malchevsky and Dagger were all gone.

  The pool area had turned into an orgy, and I turned away in disgust and sought refuge in Dagger’s apartment. I fell asleep on his bed, waiting for him, but in the morning he still hadn’t returned. Everyone was gone, except Kat, who was sitting at her station reading a book.

  I walked up front. “Have you heard from Dagger?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Nope.” She went back to her reading. I headed upstairs for a shower and to dress, keeping an ear out for his car or the sound of the front door opening. Nothing.

  Three days passed and I still hadn’t heard from him. Kat and I were both concerned, although Kat was less so after her paycheck appeared in her account as scheduled.

  There was no answer from Tiffany. I told Kat to lock the door and go home. There was nothing to do but wait.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Dagger

  Coupling Night had been the last straw. I’d hoped to keep Malchevsky near enough that I could easily spring the trap when I was ready, but far enough away that he wouldn’t get close to Whitney. There was even some concern for Tiffany in my plans, although she had been routinely dragging him in and defying our wishes. She was hell-bent on being rebellious. She’d exposed her own sister to danger, whether it was knowingly or not, and now it was my turn to take things in hand.

  It had been eating at me ever since we’d bought the house. I’d had a glimpse of what life could be for us, and that’s when I realized that Malchevsky had to be out of circulation for us to move in and live in peace. I had to carry out my promise to Tim and take care of Whitney at the same time.

  When Malchevsky had gestured so lewdly to Whitney at the Coupling Night, the bell had rung. There was nothing holding me back. I wished I could have told Whitney before I left, but I knew she’d try to stop me. The only way to handle this was to disappear and explain it when I came back.

  Malchevsky left without waiting for Tiffany. He knew his cover had expired and that I’d be on his tail. I’d had my security people tap his phone, put tracking devices on his shoes and belt, his car, and finally plant bugs throughout his apartment. The man was more trackable than a hurricane on radar—and I held the keys.

  I’d rented a shoddy apartment directly across the street from his. I could watch him through the window. Over the past few days I’d surreptitiously stocked the apartment with food supplies, a cot, a camera with a telephoto lens, and the Dear Santa envelope Tom had sent me. Inside was the evidence I needed.

  I’d been planning to keep an eye on Malchevsky for a few days, getting to know his habits so I could decide on a good time to confront him and take him in. There was no way I could have been prepared for the activity in his apartment. Roughly twenty people could be seen entering and leaving his apartment in any one day. I knew he was most likely dealing drugs there on behalf of his Russian Mafia friends.

  There was one person, though, who concerned me. Tiffany was a regular, but she generally appeared just after dark and left first thing in the morning. That was predictable.

  ***

  The day when I’d decided to take down Malchevsky had come. Common sense told me to hand him over to the police and get out of the way, but it was important to me that it was done by my own hand. My plan was to catch up to him outside his apartment and invite him for a beer, suggesting that there was a better deal on the table if he promised to leave Whitney and Tiffany alone. That made it strictly a man-to-man proposition, and I knew he could appreciate that. He’d know that I’d found where he lived, and if he refused, I’d shut down his apparently lucrative business.

  I watched for a long time to make sure no one had gone up. I tapped his cell number and when he answered, I said simply, “It’s Dagger. Meet me downstairs.”

  He said nothing, his mind likely whirling as he considered his possible options. I disconnected before he could propose an alternative. I didn’t want to discuss alternatives—he needed to feel trapped.

  I went down to the street and hung back in the early evening shadows next to a nearby building. My trained senses were on high alert. I could smell the sun-heated asphalt of the street and heard two crows arguing in a tree nearby. I noticed the faded spatter on the sidewalk where some drunk had puked. I heard his building door close and he came out, his stance defensive and his head cocked to listen for whatever might be approaching.

  “Hello, Malchevsky,” I said, coming up behind him. He swung around, his shoulders hunched forward into a fighting stance.

  Keeping one hand in my pocket, I held the other up, palm facing him. “Don’t worry, I’m alone. I have another proposition for you. The last one fell apart. Let me buy you a beer down at the corner and we can talk about it. All out in the open.”

  He cocked his head, trying to find the angle in what I was offering. “What kind of deal?”

  “Don’t want to talk about it out here. It’s better than the last one. You forced me to raise the stakes.” I could see the glimmer of pride in his eyes. I was verbally allowing him to dominate, and men like Malchevsky couldn’t resist that power.

  “Okay… we’ll walk,” he agreed, and I gave him the go ahead sweep of my arm.

  The sidewalk was wide, intended to allow bikes to ride side by side. We kept to our individual edges, but even so the tension between us was palpable. The bar was only five houses down the street. There’d been no logical reason for him to drive. It was how I had it planned.

  “So, what’s the deal?” he asked again.

  I shook my head. “Not here, at the bar.”

  “I don’t trust you. You may have friends in the bar,” he muttered, and as I opened my mouth to deny that, he struck.

  Malchevsky’s hand came out of his pocket, a blade in his balled fist. He raised his hand and came down at me in an arm’s-length arc. My instincts had been on alert and I jumped clear, but he caught my left arm, slashing through my coat and into my flesh down its entire length. I flinched from the pain, and blood began spurting, shooting over my clothes and down my leg. I couldn’t risk the time to look downward, but I suspected he’d hit an artery.

  I had my own dagger in my pocket, and it flashed out, catching him in the jugular. I’d never been a cut-and-thrust kind of guy—with a knife I aimed to kill. He went down, his eyes jittery and rolling around as he realized his fate. His hand came up to staunch the blood draining from his neck, but in a matter of moments, his eyes went still and cold. My job was done.

  That was also when my world went black.

  ***

  I could smell coffee, and I heard a river of murmuring voices flowing around me. My head and arm hurt, and I kept my eyes closed, sorting out where I was and what was going on. Eventually, I realized it was a hospital and the coffee was close by—someone was in the room with me.

  I cracked my eyes slightly, letting them acclimate to the light. I was drawing blanks on how I’d come to be there. All I knew was there w
as pain. I let sleep take me back to where it was quiet and safe.

  The next time I awakened, the room was dark, save for the glow of a television screen suspended from the ceiling. There were women screaming at one another in the show, and their shrieks hurt my head. I lifted my hand to rub my temple, but it was restrained by several wires and leads, apparently connected to medical monitors.

  A shape moved in the corner. It grew larger as it came toward me. I watched, my sense of alarm growing. It was a woman, about thirty, with splotchy bleached hair and a nice figure. She slumped as she walked, and I knew she’d been around. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her. “How ya doing, Dagger? Are you in a lot of pain? Let me get the doctors,” she said, her eyes filled with an odd concern.

  “Who are you?” I heard my voice rasp. “Do I know you?” She certainly wasn’t dressed like a nurse.

  My question surprised her because she straightened up, that odd look still in her eyes. “You don’t know? You don’t remember me?”

  I shook my head, but it made the pain intensify, so I whispered, “No.”

  A sly grin crossed her face just before it returned to pseudo-concern. “I’m Tiffany, your fiancée. Don’t you remember me?”

  My fiancée? Why didn’t I remember her? Surely to God I would remember someone I was going to marry? Apparently not. “What happened to me?”

  She leaned closer. “Do you remember Malchevsky?”

  I shook my head and waited.

  She was thinking, I could tell by the delay of her response. “He was some jerk who had it in for you. I saw the whole thing. I was in your apartment when you went down to your car and he jumped you, sliced you with a knife. That’s why your arm hurts. You lost a lot of blood and passed out, and I saw your head bounce off the sidewalk when you fell. That’s why your head hurts. The doctor said you might have a small concussion, but nothing that won’t resolve itself. But before that you stabbed Malchevsky back, in the neck—killed him. The police came, but I vouched for you that it was self-defense. There might be some charges, but I don’t think so. The cops seemed to know him, and they acted like he was no loss and they were glad to be rid of him. So I wouldn’t worry about it.”