Revolving Door

by Dani Matthews

  "Channing..." I’m dying for him to touch me where I crave him the most.

  "I bet you're wet already, aren't you?"

  "Why don't you find out," I tease.

  He chuckles, and his hand slides from my breast down to my panties. He slips his hand beneath the fabric, and I willingly part my legs. I am indeed wet, and I feel his fingers brush against my damp folds. Channing groans. "You're always so ready."

  "Only for you," I whisper.

  His finger brushes against the sensitive bundle of nerves, and I inhale sharply. He begins to massage my clit, and I gasp and arch my hips. "Yeah, just like that," he says with approval.

  I grab his head and bring his lips to mine, kissing him deeply as he brings my body the kind of pleasure that I've only experienced with him. He groans into my mouth, and I nip at his tongue as his talented fingers move faster. I thrust my hips against his hand, and as my lower body tenses, I arch my back. Then, intense pleasure engulfs me, and I moan into his mouth. Slowly, our kiss ends as my body calms.

  "Your body is perfect," Channing whispers in the darkness after he pulls his lips from mine.

  I respond by running my hand across his chest. He’s still wearing his shirt and pants, and I would love nothing more than to remove them from his body.

  "We should stop," he says softly.

  "What if I don't want to?" I ask.

  Channing’s silent a moment. "Then I'm going to want to bury myself deep inside you," he says bluntly.

  I laugh softly. "Would that be so bad?"

  "Sounds like heaven, if I had a condom," he says with a sigh.

  "So go get one."

  "If I leave your bed, reality will kick in," he says, his tone light so that it softens the rejection.

  Right. Neither of us are certain where this thing is going, and there are issues that still need resolving—like my job. I lie there as he shifts onto his back, putting distance between our bodies.

  “Do you ever kiss them?” he asks quietly in the darkness.

  “Never,” I say immediately. “They’re not allowed to touch me, Channing.”

  “It’s still too close.”

  My chest tightens. “Does it help to know that I think of you when I dance for them?” I dare to ask.

  He’s silent a long moment. “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  He groans. “I know it’s a job, but it drives me crazy that you share yourself like that with other men.”

  “It means nothing,” I vow, wishing I could see his face.

  “I don’t know if I can wrap my head around it, Ash,” he tells me softly.

  “Will you try?” I ask, fearing his answer.

  He reaches for me, drawing me back into his arms so he can hold me tightly. “I’m already trying or I wouldn’t be here.”

  Stripping was never supposed to complicate my life, but it's done exactly that.

  Twenty-two

  Channing

  The sound of my watch alarm drags me out of my sleep. With a groan, I try to lift my right arm, but something’s preventing me from lifting it. The familiar scent of Ash’s shampoo lingers in the air, and my eyes slowly open.

  That’s right, I’d spent the night in her room. My watch alarm is still beeping, and I peer at Ash—who seems dead to the world. She’d moved in her sleep and is currently on her stomach, her head using my forearm as a pillow—which can’t be all that comfortable. Her face is tilted towards me, and her features are peaceful and serene.

  Very carefully, I ease my arm out from her beneath her cheek, and she doesn’t stir. After I turn off my watch, I sit up, frowning. I have no doubt that not even an earthquake would wake her from her sleep. It’s just a reminder of what she’s doing at night and how exhausted she is when she gets home.

  I stare down at her with confusion. What the fuck am I doing? Her job bothers me, and I don’t see it getting any easier. How the hell could any of this possibly work?

  It’s not as if the answers are going to appear out of thin air, so I climb out of the bed. I need a shower, and then I’ll have a little time to kill before I leave for class.

  After my shower, I grab a bowl of cereal from the kitchen and go back up to my room. I settle in at my desk and turn on the laptop. I’ve been reading up on dyslexia. Ash seems sensitive about it, and the last thing I want is to ask her about it and have her mistake my curiosity with the assumption that her dyslexia matters. It certainly doesn’t make me think any less of her, but I do think it’s wise to learn about it so I can avoid making her uncomfortable. It’s the main reason that I don’t text her. She hasn’t offered her number to me, and her number on the whiteboard had been written in Quinn’s handwriting. If Ash wanted me to contact her by phone or text, she would have mentioned it to me.

  While I eat, I continue my research. Some of it helps, and some of it doesn’t. Dyslexia is very complex, and not everyone has the same symptoms. I’m not sure what all she has to deal with, but I’m open to learning about it.

  When it’s time to leave, I power off the computer and shove it in my backpack before heading for my door. I come up short when I find Quinn standing in the hall.

  She stands there, her hand raised and ready to knock. Triumph flickers across her features. “Finally!”

  “Finally?” I echo.

  She puts a hand on my chest and presses hard, motioning that she wants me to back into my room. My eyebrows lift as I willingly take three steps back. “Back in you go. We need to talk,” she says before closing the door behind us.

  “I have class,” I remind her.

  “This won’t take long.”

  “Then start talking.” I don’t know what this is about, but I have issues with punctuality. At least when it concerns my classes, tutoring, and my job. Social functions, I could care less.

  Quinn folds her arms across her chest and gives me the stare down. “What are you doing with Ash?”

  I hadn’t expected this to be about Ash, so I’m completely taken by surprise. “She’s talked with you?”

  “No. Harper saw you leaving her room one morning last week,” she explains.

  Ash seems very secretive about her job and dyslexia, so there’s a chance that Quinn may not know about them. They aren’t my secrets to reveal, so I’d better tread carefully. Minimal responses are probably best. “I see,” I tell her.

  She lifts an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to tell me what’s going on between you two.”

  “I don’t have the answer to that, Quinn. I’m not sure myself,” I say truthfully.

  “Channing, she’s not like the others. She’s vulnerable and genuine—”

  “I’m not taking advantage of her,” I cut in, irritated that she would imply that I was.

  She gives me a look. “You’re going to hurt her.”

  “I would never hurt her,” I say levelly. “And you’re right, she’s not like the others. She’s different.”

  “You may not do it intentionally, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t. I really like her, and I’m worried you’re going to run her off.”

  I don’t appreciate being treated like a villain. “You do know this isn’t any of your business, right?”

  Her expression hardens as she refuses to back down. “I care about her.”

  “So do I.”

  She shakes her head. “Then prove it and leave her alone.”

  Twenty-three

  Ashton

  It’s been two weeks since Channing and I had begun whatever this thing is that we’ve started. We’ve settled into a routine, and on days that we don’t see each other, I find him in my room when I get back from the club. We’re still navigating our feelings, and Channing’s wanting to take things slow. We fool around—the attraction is too strong to not mess around somewhat—but we haven’t had sex.

  Tonight, I’m not working at the club because Channing’s taking me dancing. He wants to take me out to do
something that I enjoy, so we’re headed to the same bar we’d been to with the group a while back. In turn, next weekend, I’ll be learning how to play basketball.

  We’re currently on our way to the bar, and Channing slows for a red light. “I’m having second thoughts.”

  I peer at him questioningly. “About?”

  His head turns so he can look at me. “Taking you to the bar.”

  “We don’t have to go,” I tell him as I hide my disappointment. “I know you don’t care much for dancing.”

  “Oh, I plan on dancing with you,” he vows with a grin. In the red light, his eyes drift down my body. “That dress makes me hard. This is going to be torture, a good kind of torture,” he adds.

  My lips curve into smile. “I see.”

  The light changes, and he shakes his head as the car accelerates. “No, I don’t think you do.”

  I laugh softly to myself. Even with our fooling around, the sexual tension between us has been tense. I’m quite certain that Channing’s going to cave and give into sex soon, preferably tonight. I’ve never considered myself a seducer, but knowing Channing is attracted to me is a high like nothing else. I don’t have to wonder what he’s feeling or if I’m doing anything wrong. We both respond so easily to one another.

  The past few weeks have gone by without much discussion about my job, and I’m immensely relieved. I know that doesn’t mean it’s no longer a source of tension, but hopefully Channing is managing to accept it, or at least tolerate it.

  “You’re going to dance with me, huh?” I tease, wanting to keep the mood light.

  “That’s the plan, but you’ll likely do most of the work while I try to look like I know what I’m doing.”

  “I’ll make you look good,” I promise.

  A few minutes later, we arrive at the bar, and Colt’s friend lets us inside without asking for our ID’s. Channing immediately tugs me to the bar. “I need a drink first. Want one?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Once Channing has a beer in hand, we find an empty table and sit down. The bar is somewhat busy, but not too bad since it’s a weeknight.

  “I almost mistook Gabe for you the other day,” I confess to him over the music.

  Channing’s face scrunches comically. “Please tell me you didn’t do anything.”

  I laugh, relieved that I hadn’t, or I wouldn’t be quite so amused. “I saw him from the back while he was in the kitchen. I just barely stopped myself from hugging him from behind. He turned around and found me standing right there. I pretended I was reaching for Quinn’s Pop-tarts in the cupboard.” I shake my head. “Just don’t ever cut your hair like his.”

  “You don’t think you could tell us apart?” he asks curiously.

  “From behind, no. But face to face is easy. He doesn’t look like he loosens up much.”

  Channing takes a drink of his beer. “He didn’t used to be that way, but lately he’s grown more serious.”

  “Because of his job?”

  He sets the beer down. “Maybe.”

  “Does he ever go out and have fun?” I ask with interest.

  “Not much these days.” He looks at me closely. “Why so curious?”

  I shrug a shoulder. “He’s your brother—your twin—isn’t that reason enough?”

  “When you put it like that, yeah,” he agrees.

  “Why would you think it was more?”

  He shakes his head. “Past experiences, and I know you’re not like that. I was just curious.”

  “Past experiences?” I echo with confusion.

  “It’s the twin thing,” he explains. “Some women find it a challenge.”

  My brow wrinkles. “That’s terrible.”

  “Definitely not a turn on,” he agrees.

  I focus my attention on the dance floor, and there’s about a dozen or more people out there. I love this place. It’s not crowded, and the atmosphere is nice. It’s a place to enjoy music and have fun.

  “I can tell how much you like to dance,” Channing comments.

  My attention turns back to him. “Dancing is freeing, if that makes sense. It doesn’t have to be routine, and it can be whatever you want it to be. There doesn’t have to be rules or expectations. It just is.”

  Channing simply gazes at me, saying nothing.

  I feel my face flush. After being sheltered all my life and molded into someone that I’m not, I’ve found that dancing is my one source of enjoyment. I’d revealed too much during what’s supposed to be a fun evening, and I wish I hadn’t elaborated with my comment.

  Channing pushes aside his beer and rises to his feet, holding out a hand. “Let’s go tear the floor up.”

  I readily slip my hand in his, and he pulls me out onto the dance floor. He’s just so damn sexy, and his hands immediately settle on my hips as I seductively move my body against his. One song turns into two, and then three. His eyes meet mine, and I can see how badly he wants me. Sleeping in the same bed has been torture for us both. He’d seduced me that night by the pool, and tonight, I want to turn the tables and seduce him. I don’t want him holding back anymore.

  I give him a naughty smile and turn in his arms, giving him my back as I move my hips, deliberately brushing against his front. Channing moves in behind me, his hands on my hips and his breath on my cheek. I love the feel of his hands on my body.

  His lips brush my neck, and I smile.

  That’s when I notice them, and my smile fades.

  Two guys around Channing’s age are standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching me with hungry eyes and leering grins. The expressions on their faces remind me of the way the men at the club look at me when I’m dancing or giving a lap dance. Suddenly, I want to get out of here so I can be alone with Channing, and the rest of the world can cease to exist.

  I’ve quit dancing, and Channing asks in my ear, “What’s wrong?”

  I turn in his arms and force a smile on my lips. “Let’s go,” I suggest.

  He escorts me off the dance floor, but unfortunately, he leads me in the direction of the two leering men.

  One of them steps forward into our path and holds up a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ll take a turn,” he says with a grin, his eyes flickering over my body.

  Channing stiffens at my side.

  This can’t be happening. No one has ever approached me outside of the club, and for it to be in front of Channing… “I’m not for sale,” I say as calmly as I can.

  The second guy crudely licks his lips as he gazes at me. “You enjoyed rubbing your pussy on our cocks last week. We’ll pay you triple for an hour with us. Alone,” he adds.

  Before I can respond, Channing lunges forward and slams his fist into the guy’s nose, causing him to stumble backwards into an unsuspecting couple walking past. The first guy who’d spoken—quickly launches himself at Channing, and I stumble back from the fray to avoid the fists. Two bouncers are there in seconds, and as Channing and one of the guys are separated, the other lands a punch to Channing’s face before the bartender can swoop in and restrain him.

  I flinch and cover my mouth with my hand. It all happened so fast, and soon the bouncers and bartender are dragging Channing and the two guys out into the night while I quickly follow on their heels.

  “Hold up.” The bouncer gripping Channing stops us on the sidewalk while the other two employees forcibly escort the two assholes to their car. “Let them leave first so they don’t jump you on your way to your car,” he advises.

  Now that I’m closer to him, I see that he’s Colt’s friend—the one who’d let us inside. I look at Channing, and he nods at the bouncer and wipes blood from his lip. I step towards him, my hand touching his forearm, but his arm promptly tenses beneath my fingertips. His eyes meet mine, and there’s a glint in them that causes me to hesitate. It’s pure anger with a hint of resignation.

  My heart constricts as I remove my hand from his arm. Tonight had reminded him exactly why this is never going to work. He’ll never a
ccept what I do.

  Channing remains silent, and the three of us watch as a car pulls out of the parking lot, and the bouncer and bartender return to the bar.

  The bouncer who’d been standing beside Channing turns to him, his expression displeased. “Start trouble here again, and you’re out for good—I don’t care if you’re a friend of Colt’s or not,” he says flatly.

  Channing simply nods and looks at me. “Let’s go.”

  We walk across the parking lot and climb into his car. Soon, we’re leaving the bar behind. I’m desperate to say something—anything—but I’m afraid I might make things worse. I don’t want to anger him further or have him say something in the heat of the moment. It’s wise to allow him to calm first before we discuss what happened.

  The drive back to the house is tense, and upon entering, we both go upstairs. Without a word, Channing swipes at his lip once more before heading directly to the bathroom at the end of the hall. The door closes firmly behind him, letting me know that he wants to be left alone.

  With a heavy heart, I go to my room and close the door, turning the lock for the first time since I’d moved in. There’s not going to be any talking tonight, and tears sting my eyes. I am absolutely devastated that Channing had gotten into a fight with those assholes. For the first time, I’d felt ashamed of what I do.

  A thick lump has lodged in my throat as I begin to undress. I’m just climbing into bed when I hear a quiet knock on the door. I still and hold my breath. If we talk tonight, there’s a good possibility he’s going to end things. One night of avoidance isn’t going to change how he feels, but I still want to delay the conversation.

  “Ash?” I hear him ask quietly through the door, and I press my lips together and remain silent. A minute later, I can hear him walking away.

  Resignation sweeps through me, and I sink back down onto my pillow.

  Twenty-four

  Channing

  The night has completely gone to shit, and my mood is worse than it had been when we’d arrived home. As I make my way down to the basement, I scowl broodingly. I’d wanted to see Ash and make certain she was okay after what those dickheads said to her, but she hadn’t wanted to talk.