I smile back, unable to stop myself. He leans down, and even though Bric just fucked my mouth, he kisses me on the lips.
“You’re a good girl,” Jordan says, whispering the words. “A very good girl.”
He sighs heavily, then swings his legs over the side of the table and I’m released.
“We’re having dinner now,” Bric says, once again sipping his drink. “Go take a shower and then come back out here.”
My body is pliant and limber when I try to sit up. Jordan has to help me. Has to hold me and keep me steady as I make my way to the huge spa-like bathroom.
There’s a tub, which I am desperate to use right now. I don’t want to function. I just want to soak.
But Jordan starts the shower instead as I lean against the vanity, barely able to prop myself up.
He tests the temperature of the falling water, then comes towards me, picks me up in his arms like one would a small child, and carries me into the marble-tiled shower and sits down on the seat. I adjust my body so I’m straddling him, my arms around his neck, my face pressed against the hard muscle of his shoulder.
“Did you get enough?” he asks. “Or would you like to fuck again?”
I smile, but don’t move. “I’m not sure.” And then I laugh.
“Well,” he says, moving my hair aside to kiss my neck. “Then we’ll just leave it at this.” He smacks my ass hard, the sound of it echoing through the bathroom. “Come on. Stand up and I’ll wash you since you’re so damn tired. Bric won’t want to wait too long.”
I do as I’m told, feeling slightly embarrassed that I’m so willing to obey them tonight. But my body is pulsing with a wonderful tingling. I push that thought away.
Jordan washes me carefully. He soaps me up from head to toe, washing away the oil, and the sweat, and the come. He lathers my hair, rinses it under the rain shower, and then conditions it and rinses it again.
I try my best to do him the same favor back, but I’m wiped out. The massage has made me relaxed and complacent.
When we’re done he dries me off and wraps me up in a thick, white robe, then does the same for himself, but only wraps a towel around his waist.
I study him. We study each other. He’s fucking hot. His shoulders are what I like best. Both sides, back and front. I didn’t get a good look at Bric’s shoulders yet. But I know it will be my favorite part of him.
“There’s people waiting for you out there,” Jordan says, nodding his head at the closed door.
“Who?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat.
“They’ll do your make-up and hair. And we’ve left you clothes. So don’t take too long. We’ll meet you in the second-floor bar for dinner when you’re done.”
I study his back at he walks out, closing the door behind him. Yes, I definitely like his shoulders.
There’s a little seat tucked under the vanity. I pull it out and sit. I cannot believe how wiped out I am. Tired, but not really tired. Relaxed, I realize. This is what it feels like to be relaxed.
I wonder if they’ve got something planned at dinner. Something that will make me uncomfortable and unhappy?
Can this night really just be about making me happy?
I find it hard to believe. I pissed Bric off last night. He definitely has something else planned.
“Well, Nadia,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. “He won this round no matter what.” There was no arguing. No battle of the wills. I did nothing but obey him tonight. So yes. “I lost,” I tell the girl in the mirror.
Elias Bricman made me submit to him.
And I loved every second of it.
Chapter Eleven -Bric
“Why are you so nervous?” I ask Jordan. We’re sitting in Smith’s bar. The table is elaborately set for a nice dinner, our glasses are full of expensive alcohol, and our cocks are happy. Why does he look like shit is about to hit the fan? “She had a good time,” I say, sipping my brandy.
“Yeah,” Jordan says. His eyes are glued to the elevator doors, just waiting for her to come downstairs. “But it was sneaky, ya know?”
“What was sneaky about it?”
He shoots me a look that says, Come on.
“She gave in, Jordan. We didn’t make her do anything.”
“Right.” He sighs. “But you’re what, just pretending we didn’t have that conversation this morning? You know, the one where you said, ‘I’m gonna fuck with her head so bad, she’ll spin like The Exorcist?’”
“It was a joke.” I laugh. “All we did was make her feel good tonight. She loved every fucking minute of it. Even when I choked her with my cock. She couldn’t get enough.”
“That’s because she was drunk on your dick at the time, Bric. But that feeling is gonna wear off and she’s gonna run the entire night through her head, and then—”
“Then she’s gonna realize we know what the fuck we’re doing. That’s all.”
“No,” he says. “She’s gonna realize you’re just playing with her emotions. Like you do with every fucking woman you’ve ever been with.”
“So?”
“So then she’s gonna up her game, Bric. And this is gonna turn into a mind-fuck shit-fest. I like her,” he says. “Maybe more than like her, OK? I don’t want her thinking I’m like you.”
“You are like me,” I say, getting pissed off. Why the fuck is he sharing her with me if he likes her so much?
But I don’t ask that question.
Because I like her too. Just not in the same way.
“See,” Jordan says.
“See what?” I ask
“That fucking evil grin you’ve got on your face. I know you well enough, Bricman. Well enough to see the Machiavellian wheels turning inside your head. Do not play with her emotions.”
“Why?” I ask, my temper rising. “Is she some kind of fragile flower?”
But then I realize this intrigues me.
“Stop it,” Jordan says. “She’s not a puzzle, OK?”
“Then why are we even playing?”
He huffs out some air. Runs his fingers through his still-wet hair. “Because she’s not…” He trails off.
“She’s not what?” I ask. What the fuck is wrong with him tonight?
“She’s not my type.”
“OK,” I say, not really understanding.
“I mean I’m not really her type.”
“Hmm,” I say. “Do you love her?”
“No,” he says. “Definitely not. But I like her. I could see myself playing with her for a long time. And if you fuck it up, that won’t happen. You, of all people, understand how fucking hard it is to get a girl you can trust in this game. One who just gets you, ya know? We get each other, Bric. I realize it’s only been a few weeks, but we know each other. I just like her. And we have an understanding. I get to boss her around and be a dick, but she knows I’m not a dick, right? She knows I’ll show up the next day and treat her nice and give her a gift. She knows I’m just playing. We’re playing.”
“It’s a game. Same as this,” I say.
“Dude, come on,” he says, almost fully exasperated now. “You are a sick motherfucker, OK? You know this, right?”
“Then why am I even here?”
“Because we’re good together, ya know. Not great. Yet,” he adds. “Not what you had with Smith and Quin, obviously. But we understand each other. We work well as a team. She liked that up there.”