OK. So she’s a ballerina. I admit, that’s pretty cool. And she’s beautiful with her pale skin, long legs, and sweet face. But all the players are pretty. I think Jordan likes her because she’s aloof. Distant. And she tries to dominate him. It gets him off. He likes her public displays of anger.
And if I’m being honest, that whole slapping gig she pulls on him—it’s fucking hot. It might be the only reason I’m here.
I wonder if I could get her to slap me in this restaurant?
I look around at the country-club types, all buttoned up and proper, sitting at their impeccably laid out tables covered in expensive food and drink, and almost laugh.
I should show her who’s in charge here.
“Write whatever you want in that contract, Nadia. I’ll sign it.”
“You will?” she asks. I can tell she doesn’t want to look up at me. She’s trying very hard to not look up at me.
But when she fails, I get a thrill of victory as I meet her eyes. They are brown. Just plain old brown. But not plain, either. They are lit up with fire. With determination. With strength.
Maybe that’s what Jordan likes about her? The fierce look in her eyes?
“Of course,” I say. “I’m gonna get what I want out of it no matter what you do to that contract.”
“And what’s that?” she asks.
“You.”
She looks back down at the contract, quickly averting her gaze. Maybe she even blushes a little, but the light in here is too dim to really make that determination for sure.
I’m so going to win this game.
“I wrote what I want out of it. Since you’re so easy to please, Elias.” She puts her pen down and pushes the contract over to me with one finger. “Sign then, if you’re so agreeable.”
I pick it up and read her hand-written words.
Payment to Nadia Wolfe to include something dear from Elias Bricman and Jordan Wells.
I shrug and hand it over to Jordan’s outstretched hand. “What’s that mean?” he asks. “Something dear? Like… my car? Or something from my apartment?”
“Think bigger, Jordan,” Nadia says, feeling confident. “Any questions?” This one is directed at me.
“None,” I reply. “I’m well versed in the rules of the game.”
“Good,” she says, chuckling as she leans back in her chair. She takes a long sip of wine and smiles to herself. Like the cat with the grin. The one in the tree that’s always putting something over on the other characters in the story.
Jordan reaches across the table, grabs her pen, and signs his name. He passes the contract back to me. I sign, then tuck it back inside the envelope and hide it away in my coat pocket. “I’ll email you a copy.”
“I really don’t need a copy. I don’t need a contract, either. I’m not interested in this game business. I’m playing because it’s fun.” She looks at Jordan. “Like you said, right? It’s just fun.”
“We usually supply an apartment,” I say. “But not this time, Nadia.”
“I don’t need an apartment,” she says.
“I know. And I don’t want you there anyway. You can live wherever you want, but we’re going to play at my house.”
“Which house?” Jordan asks.
“My Club apartment.”
He raises both eyebrows at me. Surprised.
I don’t like to bring girls to my apartment. Last night with Nadia was a daring move on Jordan’s part. Bringing her to me like that. I don’t want to share my space. But I’ve decided to move out of the Club, so who the fuck cares. It’s not my space anymore. “I have some things in there we might find useful,” I say to Jordan. “A little bit of this and a little bit of that.”
Jordan grins, catching my meaning.
Nadia’s hand on my cock under the table jerks my attention back to her. She rubs me through the fabric of my pants and I grow hard and thick at her touch. “If we were there,” she purrs, “and not here, I’d be under this table sucking you off right now.”
“Fuck, yeah,” Jordan whispers back.
“And if I could reach you, Jordan, I’d be playing with your cock right now too.”
Dirty. Little. Whore.
“If we were at my apartment and you touched me without permission, Miss Wolfe,” I growl at her in a deep, low voice, “I’d slap your face and make you choke on my dick for not knowing your place.”
She withdraws her hand. But her retreat comes with a devious smile.
I’m just about to set her straight with another warning when the waiter comes up to the table to take our order.
I order for all of us, just wanting to get rid of the company so I can resume my threats. “You better know what you’re getting into, Miss Wolfe. Because this game is not what you think.”
I wait for Jordan to run interference like he usually does when I get in a mood like this. But he keeps quiet. It’s Nadia who speaks.
“No,” she says softly. “It’s not what you think either.”
I think about her after that. I can’t stop thinking about her. She will be very interesting at least. Not anything like Chella. So far away from Rochelle, there’s no comparison. And I have no feelings for her other than pure carnal desire.
It’s just a peek, I tell myself. I know how to control it. I know how to navigate my way through the puzzle of an erotic maze.
I will win this one.
There is no fucking way in hell this stupid girl will come out on top.
The rest of dinner is pleasant enough. I drink. Jordan and Nadia talk like they are old friends. They already know each other. She is his, after all.
I ponder that as they talk about her job. His job. Last weekend—apparently, he took her to a play—and what they are doing for New Year’s.
“We have a party on New Year’s,” I say absently. They look at me. Almost startled. Like they forgot I was here. It doesn’t bother me at all. That’s the funny part of all this. None of this bothers me. He can have her. I’m passing time, that’s all. “The Club has a party, remember?” I say again, looking at Jordan this time.
“Does that mean I’m invited?” Nadia asks.
Usually this is a great big no. None of the girls we keep in that apartment are allowed to participate in Club business.
But fuck it. She doesn’t even count. And she won’t be living in the apartment.
“Sure,” I say. “As long as you’re prepared for what will happen when you get there.”
She waits to see if I’ll explain. But I don’t. I just pour myself another drink from the bottle the waiter left after we finished dinner, and enjoy leaving her hanging.
“Well, is it a secret? Or are you going to tell me?”
“It’s…” Jordan begins, but stops. “It’s Club stuff, Nadia. You don’t want to participate in that.”
“Sure she does, Jordan,” I say. “She’s a dirty fucking whore.”
“Nice,” Nadia says. “Is that how you refer to all your female members?”
“We don’t have female members. But yes. The men in my Club join because their wives are addicted to dirty sex and want to be fucked by more than one man at a time. You get us. Do you need more than two, Nadia?”
She glares at me.
“I can arrange another player. In fact, most of the games I play involve three men.”
“This isn’t your game, Elias,” she says.