Page 96 of Taking Turns

“Just relax.” I laugh. “Smith and I aren’t going to fuck you at the ballet.”

“Smith is going to be there?”

I don’t want to hear the excitement in her voice when she asks that question, but it’s there. “No, I told you, he’s not part of our date.”

“So… Club members are going to be there?”

“Yes, it’s all for Club members. But don’t worry. Same rules apply. No one will ever find out what happens tonight.”

“There’s no public sex, is there?”

“Chella.” I shoot her a look. “We share you between us, not the public. And not the Club, either. You won’t be naked, I promise.”

“OK,” she says, breathing out some relief. “Will I be embarrassed? I mean, will there will cocks flying?”

“You kill me, woman. I can’t promise there won’t be. I haven’t seen the show yet.”

“OK,” she says again. “I’m just preparing myself. And it’s only fair. If there’s tits, there should be plenty of penises to balance it out.”

I can only shake my head at her.

A few minutes later we pull into the valet of the Mountain Ballet, hand off the car, and walk up to the entrance. The doorman checks our names off his list and then opens it for us.

Inside there’s about a hundred people—all club members and theatre staff. After we check our coats, Chella’s eyes are all over the place. Mostly on the dozen or so naked men walking around greeting guests.

“See why I brought you at the last minute?” I lean down to whisper in her ear.

“You’re no fun, Bric. We should’ve been fashionably early for this.”

There are an equal number of naked women, and I watch Chella appreciate them as well, wondering if she’s ever been with one sexually.

The lights dim on the lobby, signaling that it’s time to take our seats, so I lead Chella up a flight of stairs and let her into my box in the front balconies.

The show is notable for its erotic theme, which was choreographed specifically for Turning Point Club members, and not for its classical beauty. But it is provocative. And it is the perfect way to get her ready for what’s coming.

It’s a short show, only about an hour with no intermission. And once it’s over, I lead her out to the lobby for a few minutes of polite chatting about donations and upcoming schedules, as we wait on the valet to get my car.

Several couples come up to be introduced, but I glare at them until they back away, leaving us alone.

I don’t want to introduce Chella to Club members. She’s not a member. She’s ours.

And I only take my eyes off her for a second to glance down at my buzzing phone—a text from Smith, asking for an update—when Jordan Wells suddenly appears in front of Chella, holding his hand out and introducing himself.

I sigh loud enough to get Jordan’s attention, but he ignores me as he takes Chella’s hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss.

“What are you doing?” I growl.

“Miss Walcott and I are old acquaintances,” Jordan says.

“No.” Chella laughs, looking at me uncomfortably.

“Yes, you don’t remember me? Our parents were friends when we were little. Back before you went away. You came to my eighth birthday party and then—”

“Oh, shit,” Chella says. She looks at me—deer in the headlights.

“Sorry, Jordan,” I say, pushing him away with a palm to the chest. He is forced to take one step back because my push means business. But he’s a big guy too. Just as tall as I am. Just as cut too. So it’s only a single step back. “We’ve got to be going.”

I don’t wait for his answer, just grab Chella’s hand as I lead her over to the coat check.