“This is just dinner,” Caleb said, flashing an innocent smile.
Before I had a chance to protest, the waiter intruded to take our order. I hadn’t even opened my menu yet, but Caleb ordered for us both, and my mind was racing with so many flustered, conflicting thoughts that I barely listened as he did.
“I’m surprised that you picked this place.”
“Why?” Even with one word, one syllable, his voice had a way of challenging me. Issuing an unspoken dare. He had made his point loud and clear. We were on his territory now, and he was the one in charge.
“It’s a hotel,” I said, taking a sip of champagne and making a mental note to pace myself. My body already feels drunk on Caleb’s presence. I did not need my head to go, too.
“Isn’t a hotel the perfect place for a d-” he paused, for dramatic effect, eyeing me coyly before finishing: “Dinner?”
I don’t bother pointing out that my usual dinner selections are limited to microwave meals and PB&J sandwiches. I certainly did not frequent five-star hotels and restaurants.
“Maybe it’s because I grew up in hotels,” he speculated, his eyes wandering around the moody little restaurant now. “But I’ve always found something so sensual and exciting about them.”
“Really?”
“People aren’t themselves in hotels. They’re strangers exploring a foreign land, and that somehow inspires them to become someone better, a more exciting version of themselves. They dress up, they order room service, they upgrade to the junior suite, they pay extra for a bottle of champagne instead of prosecco. And the best part is, that if two of these fascinating strangers meet and the mood strikes, pure bliss is just a room key away.”
“I thought only junkies rented hotel rooms by the hour,” I said defiantly.
I know what you’re trying to do, Caleb Preston. But I was not falling for it.
“Besides,” I added, pausing for a sip of champagne, “What you’re describing isn’t sensual. It’s just so empty.”
“How so?” he frowned.
“Fake people having fake conversations with other fake people in a hotel bar, until they’ve mustered enough fake intimacy to have some fake sex in a fake hotel room?” I scoffed. “It sounds completely contrived and meaningless.”
“Life is contrived and meaningless,” Caleb said deeply. “And you want to talk about fake? Relationships are fake. Intimacy is a lie. Love dies, marriages break apart, people cheat, people hurt each other, people abandon their families. But connecting with another human, even if it’s a stranger, even if it’s only for a few fleeting moments of passion in a hotel room, that’s real.”
My heart was pounding through the veins of my neck and I was not sure if it’s Caleb or the champagne, but my head was spinning.
“I disagree.”
“Why?”
“Intimacy means different things to men and women.” My own cynicism was the only thing keeping me grounded now, and I took a deep breath before continuing. “Sex isn’t fulfilling to everyone. I think women need more than that, to feel true intimacy. I think women need love.”
“Sounds like you haven’t been having sex with the right kind of people,” Caleb eyed me intently.
...or at all, I wanted to add, but I bit my tongue, determined to keep a level head through dinner. I sat back in my chair, and tried to clear my head. I tried to remember why I thought this was a good idea.
“Aren’t hotels like this technically your competition?” I asked, trying to change the conversation.
“All the more reason to come,” Caleb shrugged. “There’s plenty of room in the sea for different kinds of fish.”
“I’m not sure that’s how the analogy goes.”
“No?” his eyes twinkled up at me, challenging me again. “Remind me, then, how does it go?”
I felt my stomach twist and my heart hammered against my ribs, and I could feel the effect of his intense gaze all the way down to the slick heat growing between my thighs. It was becoming all too easy to soothe my nerves with champagne, and I know that I should stop.
“The saying is that ‘there are plenty of fish in the sea.’”
“But surely not all the fish are the same,” he added, raising an eyebrow like it’s a question that I’m supposed to answer.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, there are little fish: minnows, guppies…” his eyes flickered meaningfully, but he not smiling anymore. His words weren’t just a challenge anymore. They were a warning. “And then there are big fish. Sharks.”
It was obvious what he wanted me to ask next, and I could not stop myself from indulging him.
“What kind of fish are you, Mr. Preston?”
His eyes flashed darkly and he smiled, then he takes a long sip of champagne.
“The kind you should stay away from.”
9
CALEB
Broadway was a nightmare at night, but the thought of seeing Daisy lit up under the glittering lights as we strolled uptown was enough to make me stomach the trek after dinner.
I offered her my arm when we left the restaurant, and she didn’t protest. She tucked her hand into the crease of my elbow, and I felt a throb of hot excitement when she pressed her body against mine.
A few years ago, when I was still impatient and impulsive, I wouldn’t have made it through dinner with a girl like Daisy Wright. Especially not with her tits tempting me through that silk blouse. Especially not with her legs crossing and uncrossing eagerly under the table, shifting around in her soaking wet panties. Especially not the way she defied me, practically begging to be punished.
The old Caleb Preston would have thrown her over his shoulder, right there in the hotel dining room, and carried her all the way to the concierge desk to demand a room. The old Caleb Preston would have brought her upstairs, thrown her onto the bed, and teased and tantalized every inch of her body, until she cried out in defeat, admitting that I was right about sex and intimacy.
But not the new Caleb Preston. The new Caleb Preston took his time. The new Caleb Preston loved the challenge rather than the easy lay.
Daisy had made a fair point at dinner. Men and women do treat intimacy different. But it was not for the reason she thought.
The problem wasn’t that people have casual sex, it was that people have sex too casually. People settle for unfulfilling sex. Men have gotten lazy about pleasing women. And women have grown complacent in accepting mediocrity.
I could tell that Daisy was like me. She was a cynic. She had been burned enough times to put up her walls, and to convince herself that every man she met was the Big Bad Wolf. She had made up these rules for sex and love to try to rationalize something that could not be rationalized. Passion wasn’t a currency. It was not a regulated exchange.
The only thing preventing Daisy from having the kind of passionate, fulfilling, mind-melting sex that she considered impossible, was her own stubborn reluctance to demand it.
And that was why I was taking her to The Rose Club.
“Where are we?” Daisy asked, glancing up at the nondescript exterior of the club as we cross onto Fifth Avenue.
“I told you, it’s a surprise.”
“This better not be some sort of creepy sex club,” she said dryly, and I flicked my eyes down at her.
“Come on, Miss Wright,” I whispered, leaning down so my lips brushed her neck. I already knew that she liked that. I was about to find out what else she liked. “Let your hair down, live a little. We all need a little kink in our lives.”
“Kink?” she gulped, and I gave her an encouraging nip on her neck.
“Relax. This isn’t about doing anything you’re not comfortable doing. It’s about opening your mind to new things.”
She looked up at me reluctantly, and I knew she was trying to find the last shred of willpower to resist. I snuck my arm around her waist, pulling her closer to me.
“Just for tonight,” I suggested, “Why don’t you be the student instead of the te
acher?”
We finally reached the doors to the club, and Jimmy eyed us both, then offered me a familiar nod.
“Evening, Mr. Preston,” he said, then he turned to inspect Daisy. “Hello, Beautiful.”
Daisy blushed, pressing up closer to me. Jimmy meant well, but he could be intimidating, especially when he was decked from head to toe in a leather biker’s jacket and riding chaps. This wasn’t boding well for Daisy’s perception of The Rose Club, and the last thing she needed right now is to feel even more on edge.
Luckily Jimmy could take a hint, and he lifted the black velvet rope and ushered us inside.
We were immediately met by the thumping of music playing from the main floor, but I directed Daisy towards the elevators.
“Is this the right way?” she asked, confused, pointing in the direction of the dance floor.
“Unless you want to writhe around on the dance floor,” I said flatly, knowing neither of us are the type to enjoy that sort of thing.
“No,” she confirmed. “But… what’s upstairs?”
“Something better,” I hinted vaguely. “Do you trust me?”
My hand was hovering over the ‘up’ arrow button that summoned the elevator, but I waited for her answer before pressing it.
She eyed me appraisingly.
“Yes.”
“Good,” I said. “When you’re in here, nothing else matters. You can be anybody you want, and you can do anything you want. Nobody will judge you. Tonight is all about listening to your body and learning your own desires. You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want.”
She took a deep breath, then nodded.
“Ok,” she said, then she reached out and pushes the elevator button herself.
Good girl.
The Rose Club’s third floor was one of the most exclusive destinations in New York City. So exclusive, that only the intimate list of members even know that it existed. But Daisy didn’t know any of that when the elevator doors shut and I swiped my gold card to access the third floor.
I tucked my arm back around her waist, pulling her closer to me.
“Don’t be shy,” I whispered, just as the elevator ‘dings’ at the third floor. The doors slid open, and we stepped out.
Daisy immediately fell into my arms as her eyes went wide, and I couldn’t blame her. The third floor would intimidate anyone on their first visit. The space sprawled out like a lounge, dripping in sensual blue light. There was a W-shaped stage centered in the room where women dance slowly around poles as a light mist rains down from the ceiling, blanketing their nude bodies in thousands of little dots of water that sparkle like diamonds in the blue spotlights.
There were long, winding tufted bronze sofas curving around the stage, and many of these were occupied by fellow Gold Card members. I scanned over tonight’s crowd, and tried to imagine how it looked through Daisy’s eyes. One guy was reclined on one bench between two hot blondes, and he was taking turns kissing both of them.
I turned and saw a woman dressed in leather lead her date into the room on a leash. He was stripped naked besides the bedazzled chastity cage around his waist.
On another sofa, there was a man watching, aroused, as his girlfriend straddled a bronzed bodybuilder.
I glanced at Daisy, wondering if I’d made a mistake. If this was too much. But when I saw her face, she doesn’t look disgusted or terrified. She looked fascinated; curious.
“Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private?” I suggested. “Unless… you enjoy watching?”
She shook her head. “Somewhere private.”
I traced my hand down the curve of her hip, lingering over her deliciously round ass, then I took her hand and led her towards the private cabanas that border the room.
I guided her onto the edge of the bed, then I turned to draw the curtains of the cabana shut, removing us from the rest of the club and creating our own private little bubble.
I turned back to the bed, but I didn’t step towards her. I wouldn’t until she asked me to.
“Come here,” she said on cue. She was learning quickly.
I immediately compiled, taking a step towards the bed, but I did not touch her yet.
“I need to tell you something,” she said, looking up at me. I saw the hint of hesitation in her face, and I got down on my knees so I could look her straight in the eyes.
Even in the blue light of the room, I could see that she was blushing furiously, but I was not going to let her make excuses now.
“Tell me,” I said. “Don’t be shy.”
“I’ve never had an orgasm before.”
I waited, wondering if there was more that she wanted to reveal, but she remained quiet.
“Do you want to change that?” I asked finally. She took a deep breath, and then she nodded slowly.
“Daisy, are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes,” she said, and that time I could tell she wanted it because she was gnawing desperately at her bottom lip. She needed me to touch her. And I needed to taste her. Our lesson could wait. After all, how could Daisy learn how to play the game, if she didn’t even know what prize she was playing for?
Staying on my knees, I pressed her back onto the bed. All the blood in my body had gone straight to my cock, and the selfish side of me wanted to slam inside her and fuck her brains out. But then I would only prove that she was right about men, about sex, about fulfillment.
So instead I forced myself to use restraint, to go slow as I slid the narrow waist of her skirt over her hips and down her thighs. I was less patient when I found her tights underneath. I pressed her knees apart and ducked down, biting the soft flesh of her inner thigh through the nylon. Her entire body contracted, startling from the pleasure of my mouth, from the pain of my bite.
She was going to have to get used to that. Pleasure and pain. It was a package deal with me.
I stabbed a finger through the lining of her tights and the thin webbed material tore easily, gaping apart to reveal her soaking wet panties.
I couldn’t wait to feel my tongue explore inside of her, but I teased her first. I pressed my lips against her lace thong, and bit through the fabric.
She was panting now, and her hands were shaking from the effort of holding herself up.
“Relax,” I told her, pushing her shoulders back onto the mattress. For a second I keep my body pressed on top of her, pressing my hard cock against her thin lace panties.
“Are you going to fuck me?” she asked, quivering with need.
“Not yet,” I said. “You’re not ready for that.”
I pressed up the hem of her blouse, and took one heaving breast into my palm and gave it a gratuitous squeeze that was just as much for my benefit as it was hers. Then I slid back down between her thighs, which spilled open easily for me.
I hooked my thumb under the thin lace strand of her thong, plunging my fingers between her drenched lips, then I yanked the fabric down and, because I couldn’t resist her any longer, I buried my face into her perfect juicy pussy.
She was so wet that my tongue slipped easily inside of her hot folds, and she tasted even sweeter than I imagined. I lap up her excitement, filling my mouth with her juices as her back arched and she let out a moan.
“Oh God,” she panted, thrashing against the bed when I found her clit with my tongue. “Caleb, I… I…”
I bit gently onto her clit, then relieved the flash of pain by suckling softly on her lips. She pressed her hips forward, needing more, and I flicked her clit again with my tongue as I slipped a finger into her slick, tight and throbbing entrance.
And then her entire body stiffened, and she let out one final gasp before going silent. Stunned and powerless as the orgasm claimed her entire body.
I kept my fingers pressed inside of her, intensifying the hot contractions of her climax by digging my fingertip into her soft insides.
More moans escaped he lips as I flicked my tongue back and forth over her clit. Her whole body began to shake
and her legs clamped around my neck.
“Oh Caleb!”
I didn’t stop until I felt the orgasm leave her, and her hips sink back onto the bed. Then I stopped and let her lick the remnants of her pleasure from my fingers.
Once she had caught her breath, she turned to me.
“Now what?”
“That’s enough for one night,” I said. She needed to pace herself.
We both did.
10
DAISY
I didn’t mean to throw open the door to the headmaster’s office, but I was so high-strung that I let my nerves get the best of me. I could not remember the last time I had such a bad case of the Mondays. In the few hours since I got to Bellamy Day that morning, I had already managed to spill coffee on my work shirt, drop an entire jar of bright blue finger paint in the supply closet, and slam my fingers into the desk drawer in my classroom, which resulted in yet another blooper for the day, teaching my entire classroom of students a new vocabulary word for the week -- “SHIT!”
I blamed Monday, but I knew that the real reason that I was flustered was because I was still caught up on Friday night. I had been replaying what happened in that private room at the club with Caleb, and I could not get the image out of my head. Every time I thought about it, my entire body flushed with heat and I felt my heart start to race. I had never felt so out of control in my life. And I have never felt so connected to someone, either.
Of course I would not admit that Caleb was right. I would not concede. And I definitely, definitely could not see him again.
My mind was already racing with thoughts, and getting called into Mr. Richmond’s office was the last thing I needed.
The door clattered when I opened it, striking into the wall, and Mr. Richmond glares up with a beady set of eyes.
“Have a seat, Miss Wright,” he instructed, pointing at an empty chair in front of his desk. The seat next to it was occupied by a plain woman in a cheap pea-green suit that told me, before I even caught a glimpse of the name badge clipped to her lapel, that she was a CPS caseworker.
I quietly took a seat and crossed my ankles, wondering what this this is about. When I worked back at that school in Brooklyn, CPS visits were an almost weekly occurrence. There were far more seldom at Bellamy. I couldn’t even remember the last time I found myself sitting in on an investigation.
Triplets Make Five: An Enemies to Lovers Secret Baby Romance Page 38