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Still not sold. “You may have to try a little harder at convincing me.” I look around, trying to find all exit routes.
“I won’t harm you in any way you don’t want. I’m not here to threaten your wellbeing. When I touch you, it will be with your consent.”
“On the dance floor?” I say. I wasn’t sure I gave him consent to do what he did.
“Did you want me to touch you?”
Yes. “No.”
“Why did your body tell me otherwise?”
Dammit! What is this? “You can’t answer a question with a question.”
“So, you’re denying you melted around my finger?”
Jesus. “I’m not even sure what you’re talking about anymore, it was so long ago.” It’s been probably like seven minutes. I look around. Where’s that whiskey? An unfamiliar sound echoes throughout the loft. Someone just laughed. I look around, trying to locate the third person in the room. No way could it have been… My eyes land on Damien. Wait, is he?
“You know how to laugh?”
He sits forward, and I try to sit farther back, but can’t since the back of the couch is in my way. “Yes, Jensen, I know how to laugh. It doesn’t happen often, but you’ve managed to bring it out in me. Now…” He stands, startling me. Oh dammit. This is where I die. I shouldn’t have mentioned the mugs!
He doesn’t have time to grab for me as his phone rings, distracting him. This gives me the chance to stand and put some space between us. His smile disappears, his eyes back to dark at my retreat, but he puts his phone to his ear. “Yes… When? I’ll take care of it.” He ends his call without a goodbye.
“Our night’s come to an end. I’ll put you in a cab.” He makes another quick call, asking Fredrick to have a cab waiting, and places his phone back in the inside pocket of his suit coat.
“What? Why? I was kidding, I don’t really think you’re going to murder me or anything.”
“Excuse me?”
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. But I’m confused. I thought I was his all night, but I’ve been here less than an hour. “Is it something I did?” I ask.
Another small chuckle. “No, Jensen. I have to handle a club matter.” He walks to the door, and I follow.
“What kind? Anything I can help with?” Seriously, Jensen? What are you going to help with in a sex club? Help spank the customers?
Damien stops in front of me and lifts his hand. With a slow caress of his thumb, he slides it along my lower lip. “No, but your willingness to offer pleases me,” he says, and a small shiver runs down my spine. He opens the door and allows me to exit first, which is good because he won’t see the heat in my eyes, along with a bit of disappointment. We head back down the long hallway that leads to the private elevator. We’re silent as we walk through the club and outside. The cab, just as requested, is waiting. Damien opens the door, and I climb in. He leans down. “Have a good night, Ms. Stone.”
“Yeah, you too, Spawn,” I reply, and with a small smirk, he shuts the door.
I DON’T SLEEP A WINK. I try and try, but my brain just won’t shut off. I might as well have consumed a gallon of coffee, that’s how rapid my mind is working right now. Plus, every time I close my eyes, I see the eyes of that woman, and I don’t know whether to be freaked out or turned on. Every time I think about watching her get fondled, I get heated in a way that makes my thighs rub together. The last seventy-two hours of my life have been so crazy, yet so confusing. Hello! I am not a sexual person. I barely use my vibrator the right way, but in the last few days, I’ve experienced things that have never even crossed my mind. Whips? Swings? Public indecency? Jesus, what would my mother say if she saw me now? Here I am talking trash about college girls in their short skirts and sex addictions, yet I’m the one like an escort—an expensive one at least—being fingered on a dance floor.
“I’m such a hypocrite.” I flip over onto my back for the billionth time. The sun is already coming up and my alarm is set to go off for my Biology class. Biology…
“Shit!” I jump out of bed, slamming my head on the top bunk. “SHIT!” Both hands go up as I stand dizzy on my feet. Shit. I never did my biology homework. I was too obsessed with playing “Say yes to the dress,” I completely forgot.
I scramble, grabbing my book bag. While I throw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, I remember Christine never came home…again. A part of me is thankful because it means less explaining. I’m not sure why I’m hiding this from her. I just don’t want her to pass judgment on what I’m doing. Even if it is for her. There’s also that part that bums me out. This college experience was supposed to be us doing it together. We’ve been here just over a month, and she’s already found cooler, more sparkly friends to hang out with.
