At first, she’d sat next to him at the bar, hoping to witness the level of his suffering. His emotional struggle had been clear to see. But it wasn’t enough. She yearned for something else. Something she had no clue of. That’s when she’d asked for a tour.
A part of her wanted to be rejected. She already knew her way around. The request was a test. An indicator. She’d held her breath, waiting for him to shoo her away, to show no interest in the appeal of a woman that he didn’t know was his wife.
Then he’d caved, too easily, and a part of her heart had shattered. At the same time, the pounding in her chest had intensified, yearning for more of the ferocity in his eyes. She’d became seduced by his proximity. After the months apart, she would kill to have his hands on her. To feel his passion and adoration.
He was hooked.
To her.
He turned in her embrace, his jaw set in a stubborn line. “Let me go.”
No. Not now, not ever. She did loosen her grip, though. “Don’t newbies get special treatment?” Still, she had no clue where her words were coming from. This wasn’t her.
She dug her teeth into her lower lip and batted her fake lashes. “You don’t have to touch. You don’t even have to speak. Just watch. Your eyes will tell me everything I need to know.”
His discomfort gave her confidence. Too much. Because now she was backtracking to the empty single bed, hiding the grief of losing his body heat as she scooted onto the mattress. A feast, not only for his eyes, but for the numerous other patrons in the room.
He was interested in her for one reason—she was his wife. His soul mate. Nobody else here tonight could’ve evoked interest from him. His attraction was subconscious. She knew it was and wouldn’t allow herself to believe otherwise.
She crooked a finger at him and slid farther back. This was crazy. The actions of a love-starved woman. But he was also her husband. She could do insane things for him. Anything for him.
She nestled onto the cushions, parting her thighs while she licked her lower lip in a coy taunt. Her stomach was filled with butterflies. Her heart was pounding in her throat. And despite the nerves, her nipples hardened to painful peaks and the sweet spot between her thighs began to tingle.
T.J. lifted his chin and clenched his hands at his sides once…twice. The internal struggle was etched across his tight features. He was fighting the attraction, denying he wanted another woman. When all along it was his wife he still desired.
Slowly, she raised a hand, trailing it over the material of her slip, along her sternum, her neck, to her lips. T.J. watched the progression, his focus riveted, his hands still clenched. She sucked the finger into her mouth, all the way to the knuckle, and then released it with a pop.
She’d never been so blatant. That had always been his job. He’d taught her everything she knew about sex. His desires had shaped her own. She’d been the young, inexperienced woman about to reach her twenties when T.J. had strode into her life and ruined her for all other men.
He’d taken his time, getting to know her leisurely. Intimately. More thoroughly than she’d known herself. The sex between them had gone from casual to exploratory. By the time they’d married, she’d been willing and eager to try anything and everything.
In the past, the awe in his eyes had given her the confidence to find herself sexually. Right now, that same look gave her the ability to be on a foreign bed, observed by strangers as her finger lowered to the hem of her tiny dress and underneath to the waistband of her panties. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Like a hawk, she scrutinized his expression, gaining evidence of his arousal from the flaring of his nostrils and the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
“Do you want a taste?” It was a bittersweet question. Dismissal would bathe her in rejection. Acquiescence would mean he was ready to move on from their marriage. So she was thankful he didn’t answer.
Still unsure what she was doing, or why, she continued the charade. She slid her hand under the lace of her underwear, the tingles of awareness igniting all over the newly skimmed flesh. She grazed the rough patch of curls at the apex of her thighs and held her breath as she drowned in the darkness of his eyes. She was on display, alone, confused, yet her body was burning with the need to be sated.
By him. Only him.
Her husband inched forward, his large frame a menacing force at the end of the bed. He was riveted with her, his jaw tight, his hands still clenched, yet those deep irises were enthralled with her alluring display. Hypnotized.
She crept her hand lower, closing her eyes briefly when her fingertips found her clit. The tiny bundle of nerves was throbbing. Begging. Pleading with every rush of blood and pound of her heart to be sated beyond her wildest imagination. Here. In front of all these people.
Pleasure took over, her fingers moved of their own accord as they rubbed back and forth, tearing a gasp from her throat.
“You should stop.” His words barely penetrated the pounding heartbeat echoing in her ears. “I need to get back to work.”
She quirked a brow when he didn’t leave. Rejection would soon be upon her. It was inevitable. But her mask would hide the humiliation. It was already shielding her from the intensity of numerous people who had stopped their own play sessions to see if she would succeed in seducing this glorious man.
With a dramatic sigh, she slid her hand from her panties and crawled toward him. He backtracked, cautiously leaving space between them as if she were a predator ready to pounce. The contrasting dynamic was unnerving. T.J. had always been the dominant force. He never backed away. He always inspired the need to please him. The desire to succumb. She thrived on the way her heart, mind and body submitted wholeheartedly to his instructions. Now she was in the lead and wasn’t sure what to do with the power.
She stood, allowing a few brief seconds for her jelly legs to strengthen before she sauntered toward him on her heels. Her gaze held his as she approached. The room fell silent, and the pressure of anticipation pressed hard against her skin. There was a breath of space between them when she planted her feet and peered up at him with a coy smile.
“Touch me.” Her heart hammered behind her ribs. It was becoming harder to disguise her voice. Everything inside her urged her to stop pretending. To quit hiding.
“I can’t.” His fierce tone was almost inaudible. “I’ve gotta go.” Again, he didn’t move. He held his chin high. His shoulders were broad and eyes intense as he frowned. “I just don’t understand.”
“Understand what, T.J.?” She raised a hand, her touch almost reaching his cheek when he lifted his arm in a flash and a heavy force gripped her wrist.
“Understand your familiarity,” he growled. His gaze narrowed, the softness she’d always seen in the brown depths now harsh and unforgiving. “How do you know my name?”
Oh, heck. Her lips worked as she struggled to figure out her answer, his grip unyielding. “You work here.” She managed a fake grin. “The man at the door told me your name.”
He jerked back, his eyes clouding with confusion as he released his hold. “I’m…sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She bridged the distance between them again and rested her palms on his hard chest. She missed this expanse of skin. The hard muscle that used to keep her protected at night. “Sometimes attraction can be confusing.” She glided her hands higher, over his shoulders, around his neck. “Sometimes it can be clarifying, too, like the world is sending you a sign.”
She was going to tell him. As soon as her heart stopped pounding, she was going to remove her wig and prove he would always be attracted to her. “You want me,” she whispered.
He sucked in a breath, the rampant beat of his chest echoing into hers as she leaned into him.
“You want me just as bad as I want you.” Her stomach was overcome with excitement. With passion. In her mind, she wasn’t wearing a mask, or a wig, or fake nails. She was the normal Cassie, whispering words of endearment to a husband who had lost faith. It was just the two of th
em. No sex club. No witnesses.
She pushed up on the tips of her toes and pressed her mouth against his, kissing love back between them. He stiffened, dropping his hands to her hips. She wasn’t sure if he was poised to pull her closer or ready to push her away, but she didn’t care. She gripped him tighter as she parted his lips with her tongue, unable to deny herself even a second of his confused acquiescence.
Don’t let me go.
She clung to him, kissing him harder, pressing her breasts into him as she reveled in the only physical affection he’d given her in over twelve months. This was her home—in his arms. This was her life—striving for more of his love.
She stepped closer, moving one thigh between his, brushing her pelvis against the thickness of his erection. The comforting feel of his arousal rekindled hope. Their bodies were meant to be like this. Brushing. Touching. Always connected. She tilted her pelvis, rubbing her pubic bone against the hardness of his leg. Her pussy was begging for him. Soaking her panties. Every inch of her wanted to be consumed. She was merely waiting for him to take over. For her husband to find his usual dominance and use it against her.
Her excitement grew, the pleasure inside her morphing into a need more necessary than breath. She loved this man. So much it hurt and healed, all at once. But it was his hands, the relaxation of his grip against her hips, his surrender to the affection, that washed away the desire and filled her with nauseating clarity.
She was kissing her husband. Reuniting passion. Yet he was kissing a stranger. Extinguishing the memory of their marriage and moving on.
The truth filled her with agony. Their connection becoming bittersweet.
With every brush of his tongue, he was leaving her. And she’d been the one to help him take the first step.
Chapter Eight
T.J. closed his eyes at the taste of her lips. It was like coming home, her mouth achingly familiar and yet punishingly different. This woman kissed like Cassie, with slow sweeps of her tongue and tiny whimpers of yearning.
He sank into the well-known sensation. Devouring it. Savoring her taste, her essence. Even breathing deep of the perfume he remembered she loved so much. It was his wife. He was kissing Cassie. At least that’s what he imagined he was doing.
His tongue tangled with hers, unable to get enough. No longer willing to hold back. He gave her everything he had. He showed his devotion with the trail of his hands over her back. He displayed his attraction by the grinding of his erection against her abdomen.
He was delirious with the need to have her again. Just one more night. One more kiss before the divorce was final.
“T.J.,” she whispered into his mouth.
“Cassie.”
She stiffened at the name. Hell. This wasn’t his wife—his love. This was no one. A stranger. Some stray woman who’d dissolved his commitment to his marriage with barely a blink of her fake lashes. He stumbled back, his lips burning, his chest hollow.
What the fuck had happened?
One minute he’d been at the bar drowning his sorrows, the next he was betraying everything he held dear. It didn’t make sense. This woman, although not his type, could have any man. Yet she’d come to him.
“Why did they tell you my name?” His voice was accusatory. “Why would anyone tell you who I was?”
Leo had admitted earlier they weren’t sure he was going to show up tonight. They thought he was fragile. Incapable of working. So why would they point him out to new members? Why would they try penetrating his grief bubble unless they were attempting to burst it?
She stepped into him, her palm landing on his clothed chest, scorching the skin underneath. “You intrigued me. From the moment I walked in, I wanted to get to know you.”
Liar. He’d acted like a drunken bum all night—sitting at the bar, sulking into a glass of scotch. Unless she was a glutton for rejection, she was hiding something. And he was certain he knew what it was.
They’d set him up—Leo, Brute, Shay. There was no other reason for her to know who he was. His business partners—his friends—had gone against his wishes and calculated a plan to get his mind off the divorce and his body craving the addictive release of sex.
They had no right to do this to him. He hadn’t consciously made the choice to find another lover. Moving on had turned into a mess of indecision that had been taken out of his hands. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Cassie. But he just had. Even if she never found out.
He grazed a rough hand over his lips, wiping away the woman’s taste. The guilt of betrayal weighed on his shoulders as anger built in his chest. Tonight was a mistake. He couldn’t move on. At least not now. Not until the divorce was final. Maybe longer—weeks, months. Hell, if he didn’t kiss another woman in the years to come, it’d be too soon.
“You don’t think I know what you’re up to?” he seethed. Somewhere, deep down, he knew it wasn’t her fault. He’d succumbed on his own. Had become too entangled in delusions and the need for comfort that he’d strayed. “I know exactly why you’re here. And let me tell you, honey, it ain’t gonna work. You need to leave.”
This wasn’t Cassie. She was nothing like the woman he loved with her cheap nails and tawdry red lips. Jesus. He rubbed the back of his neck and struggled for calm. He wanted to vomit. To fall to his knees and never get up. At least not until the bitterness washed away.
The woman’s cheeks paled, her eyes widening in horror. “But…T.J.”
There she went with his name again.
“You don’t think I worked it out?” His voice grew louder, the anger seeping through his words. “That I don’t know who you are?” He still wasn’t sure if she was a paid escort or an interested clubber with the desire for a challenge, but she was playing him nonetheless. That was enough for him. “Leave before I get security to kick you out.”
She stepped away from him, as if finally realizing she’d been caught in her little game of lies. “But…I…” Her focus flew to the door, to the crowd of people gathering.
“Tanya?” Zoe pushed through the bodies crowding the entrance to the room, followed close behind by Shay. “What’s going on?”
Tanya. He’d never forget that name, or the rage it solicited. “Get her out of here.” Their hovering presence only cemented the betrayal. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been watching, waiting for the deed to be done.
He shot the woman a glare, letting his disgust become evident before turning to Shay. “I don’t want to see her down here again.” The crowd parted as he stormed forward, coming face-to-face with Brute.
“You causing trouble?” His friend’s voice was a threat.
T.J. shouldered past him, seething as he headed for the bathroom. He was in mourning. Senseless from stupidity. If he didn’t find space to be alone, he’d lose himself.
His footsteps echoed in his ears as he bypassed the small crowd of underwear-clad patrons and made his way into the next private room. Zoe’s companions were on the bed, both their faces filled with concern as T.J. continued forward, shoving past the bathroom door and into the calm, cool silence.
He had a few seconds, barely even time to take a deep breath or utter a greeting to the two men at the sink, before Brute stormed into the small space, followed by Leo.
“Out.” Brute jerked a thumb over his shoulder, not sparing their paying customers any pleasantries in his request for privacy. “If you stand watch at the door, I’ll comp your next entrance fee.”
The men nodded, wordlessly leaving the room, the door swinging shut behind them.
The bathroom became quiet, allowing the pounding in T.J.’s head to grow louder. Deafening. His business was meant to be where his future lay. It was meant to be the distraction from the agony. The solace from the guilt.
“Care to explain?” Leo crossed his arms over his chest.
T.J. gave a derisive laugh and strode for the basin counter. He clutched the cold marble in his hands, letting his head fall. Breath after breath soaked his lungs, as he tried to wipe
the memory of the kiss from his mind and the burn still marring his lips.
“You’d want to start talking.” Brute’s tone was lethal. “You fucked up in front of paying clients. You better have a good reason.”
T.J. closed his eyes. Was this the end? Not only of his marriage, but his friendship with Leo and Brute? They’d crossed the line. He wasn’t sure if he could come back from that. There was no trust. No understanding. Fuck. He was losing his mind.
“I was already getting sick to death of your moping,” Brute continued. “But I won’t stand for outbursts in the club. And I sure as hell won’t allow you to upset patrons.”
T.J.’s vision darkened and his knuckles pulsed to the point of pain, his grip tightening against the counter. “I don’t care how sick of my moping you are—” he swung around, his chest heaving, “—you don’t pay a fucking hooker in the hopes I’ll miraculously get over my wife.”
Brute didn’t retreat, didn’t show any sign of concern. The only reaction he gave was the contortion of his features that transformed into a look of incredulity. “What the hell are you talking about?”
T.J. clenched his jaw and spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t patronize me. Did you really think I wouldn’t work it out? That I was that stupid?”
Brute gave Leo a questioning look. “Do you know what he’s rambling about?”
Leo shook his head. “I’m lost.”
“That woman,” T.J. sneered. “The one you paid to seduce me. You’ll be happy to know she did her job. Although, maybe not to the extent you wanted.”
“Paid?” Leo ran a hand through his loose hair. “Why would we pay someone to fuck you when half the women down here would happily do it for free?”
Semantics. “The woman you propositioned then.” The perplexed way they blinked back at him drove his anger to new heights. He didn’t expect Brute to understand how momentous their betrayal was. The guy had a heart for one reason, and it had nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with blood flow. But Leo was different. He understood love and the inability to control it.
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