“Loved me, you mean. You heard what he said the other night. Doesn’t even know me.”
“Well, he knows all the things about you that I do. So you have to internalize it in a different context. He doesn’t trust you because you hurt him when you left.”
“But I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
I shake my head and lean back into the cushions. Adley leans over towards Rochelle and I hand her back. She crawls her way up her mom’s chest and rests her head on her breast, closing her eyes as Rochelle pets her hair and kisses her cheek.
“Nah,” I say. “I wasn’t hurt. I was… a little relieved. Secretly happy.”
“God.” Rochelle huffs. “Way to make a girl feel special.”
I’m not sure if that’s a real scoff or just a fake one. Probably something in between.
“I knew you liked Quin better,” I say. “And Chella… well. Chella was a whole bunch of new fun, you know?”
“Is that what Quin thought of her? A whole bunch of fun?”
“No. He was mad at first. Smith and I kinda tricked him into it just to get his mind off you.”
“And it worked?” Rochelle asks.
I nod. “Yeah. It worked. They’re like… best friends now.”
“I’m getting that.”
“Are you jealous?” I ask, giving her a sideways glance.
“Maybe a little.”
“Well, don’t be. Chella is in love with Smith. If Quin was ever invited into that little arrangement, he’d say yes in a second. But he won’t be. Ever. Smith doesn’t give two shits that they spend so much time together alone. But he knows better than to be with Chella and Quin at the same time.”
“Because Quin wants the game,” Rochelle says in a mocking voice. “I don’t know if this is going to work, Bric. He wants the game with us too, but the problem is still the same. He doesn’t want me all to himself.”
“It’s only been a few days, Rochelle. Give the guy some time.”
“He says he’s not coming over tomorrow night. Says he’s got breakfast with Smith on Monday morning. He chose Smith over me. God, I want to die of humiliation.”
“Like I said, give it time.”
Just as that last word leaves my mouth, the woman in charge walks up to us. “Excuse me, Elias. Sorry to interrupt, but we’re finished. All the linens and clothes have been laundered and put away. Everything is perfect. Would you like to inspect it?”
I stand up and shake her hand. “Not necessary, Abbey. I trust you. And thanks a bunch for coming over on a Saturday.” I lean in and kiss her cheek, then walk her and the other men to the elevator. They are lugging out trash and large cardboard boxes.
When I get back to Rochelle, she’s got her eyes closed. “Perfect, huh?”
“My command is law around these parts,” I say.
“Do I get to see it now?” she asks, not bothering to look at me.
“For sure.”
Adley is fast asleep in her arms, so Rochelle maneuvers her body carefully, holding the baby to her chest as we walk slowly down the hallway.
“Oh, Bric,” Rochelle says as we step in front of the wide doors. “It’s gorgeous.” She walks in, looking around with surprise and happiness.
And even though I really, really like the dark side down in the basement of the Club, this kind of stuff feels just as good.
“That crib.” Rochelle sighs. “It’s beautiful. How did you find something to match the decor in this loft?”
“It’s a limited-edition piece by the same artist who did the metalwork.” And she’s right. The crib perfectly matches the old reclaimed wood look of the loft ceiling beams. And the metal bars are a sleek pewter color that look a little industrial, but work with the rest of the theme.
“This color,” Rochelle says, walking up to the deep purple velvet drapes and feeling the fabric between her fingers. “God, I love it.”
“Much nicer than the thrift-store version you had hanging in your old apartment.”
“Yeah.” She laughs softly, so not to wake Adley. “I’ll admit it. They are stunning. I love the yellow accents. The bedding. Oh, my God. Who knew you had an eye for design?” She goes over to the crib, peeks in, and then places Adley inside. I walk over and watch, fascinated with the idea that she will sleep in here tonight. Now. She’s sleeping in something I gave her.
“Oh, that’s all Abbey,” I say. “She has a design studio that specializes in children’s rooms.”
“Is she a Club member?”
“Well… her husband is. Women can’t be members, you know that.”
Rochelle scowls at me, but only for a second. I wait for the inevitable next question. Did you ever fuck her? And my truthful answer would be yes, dozens of times. Just last weekend, in fact. But thankfully Rochelle never asks.
“Look, she loves it.” Adley never wakes up as Rochelle covers her with a light blanket.
“Either that or all that shopping tired her out.”
“No,” Rochelle says, turning to put her arms around me. I hug her back and enjoy the thanks. “She loves it. I can tell.”
“How long does she usually sleep?” I ask, trying not to sound like a sex-craved pig.
“Long enough to get your reward, Mr. Bricman.” Rochelle pushes off me, grabs my tie, and then crooks her finger in a come-with-me gesture as she leads me out of the room.
I close the sliding barn doors as quietly as I possibly can, and then pick Rochelle up, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her to our bedroom. This time I slide the doors closed with less care, and then I throw her down on the bed.
“I’ve missed you too, Elias,” Rochelle says, already unbuttoning her jeans.
I slide my tie over my head, fingers flying down the buttons of my shirt, and whip it off. Rochelle has her pants off and is crawling over to the edge of the mattress, her long, blonde hair dragging across the white linen duvet cover.
I stand still and let her deal with my belt. The buckle clinks as it falls aside, and her small, nimble fingertips open the button of my slacks and unzip my fly. She reaches in and presses her palm flat against my growing cock, then steps off the bed and sinks to her knees in front of me.
Those wide hazel eyes are trained on mine. She has been properly schooled in all the ways Elias Bricman loves to be sucked over the last few years, and I can’t wait.
Her mouth opens, just a little. Just enough to taunt me as I watch her lick her lips. Her hands are sliding up and down my shaft, pumping me with an experienced rhythm. She is a woman who knows me. Every sexual thing that turns me on is inside her head. All she has to do is reach in there, pluck it from her memory, and take it out.
“Fuck,” I moan. She took them out.
Her tongue swirls along my tip, tasting me. Teasing me. And then her lips open and her warm, wet mouth covers my head. I close my eyes and reach for her hair. Bunch it up in my fists, like it’s a length of rope and I need it to hold me steady.