AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"No." I motion to the carpet outside.
He nods, releases me, wheels our suitcases out of the elevator.
I grab the guitar. "The club. Do you want to go tonight?"
"Oh. The club." He shoots me a wicked smile. "Which one is this? The one where your ex-girlfriend is playing?"
"She was not my girlfriend, and she is not in Vegas."
His smile widens. "The Thunder From Down Under."
"Damon Webb!" We already have plans to go to The Thunder From Down Under as part of the bachelor party. This is for the after the party. For us.
"Yeah. I'm in for the club."
My heart thuds against my chest. My stomach flutters. My sex tightens. My boyfriend and I are, in fact, attending a sex club. We are going to have sex in front of other people.
Not just some light touching.
Not just sex someone could see.
Sex other people will absolutely, definitely be watching.
Fuck, I'm going to die of anticipation. I really am.
"If we leave the party in time tonight." He winks at the double entendre. "If not, tomorrow. I promise." He leads me down the hallway to our room and unlocks the door.
Click, click. The fucking thing takes forever.
Finally, he pushes the door open and sets the suitcases aside.
I leave the guitar next to them.
The room almost distracts me. It's a massive suite with a view of the pools below—they do look full. Dining table. Leather couch. Desk.
So many places to have my way with him.
Then he leads me into the bedroom and it gets even better. The four-poster bed is in perfect view of a massive, three-panel mirror. So we can watch and be on display at the same time.
Damon closes the door behind me. He pulls his phone from his pocket and he presses a few buttons. "Any requests for your show?"
"My show?" I ask.
"Yeah. Right now. You have three songs of my attention. However you want to use them. Or…" He taps the screen and Criminal by Fiona Apple fills the space. "We could use your entire bad girls playlist."
It's hours long. We'll die. But I'm willing to take that risk. I nod and toss my purse aside.
He stays where he is.
I move to the bed.
He's ten feet away. Impossibly far. But impossibly close too. Because I do have all his attention. Because we do understand each other so well here.
It didn't happen by magic. It took practice and experimentation. But it never felt difficult with him. We came in with a different attitude. The way we do when we write a song.
We didn't expect it to go perfectly right away. We knew it would take time to find just the right notes.
We're still taking it slow. We aren't full-time creative partners. We each take gigs with other people. Sometimes, I get a little jealous when Damon writes a killer song with someone else, but mostly, I'm happy for him.
We're taking our time in life too. We live in our own apartments. Well, he's still at his parents' house. Until they kick him out. Why not, right? A mansion for free. Worth it.
I spend a few nights a week at his place. He spends a few at mine. And, best of all, when I cook, he cleans.
Sometimes, I want him closer. Sometimes, I want to completely mix our lives together.
Other times, I'm terrified I'll lose myself in what he wants, the way I have before.
Mostly, I like our speed. I'm grateful we both try hard to keep our independence. We have our own lives, friends, hobbies. We're our own people.
We come together because we want to be together, not because we're two halves of a whole.
In a way, this distance is safe. And it's sexy too. I have space to miss him. To crave him.
I release my last practical concern, and I shift my hips in time with the music.
I kick off my shoes and toss my dress over my head.
I sink into my surroundings. The hard blue carpet. The gold-leaf wallpaper. The giant mirror reflecting my simple black bra and panty set, and my boyfriend, staring with wide eyes.
Right now, I have everything I want.
Right now, life is good.
I hold his gaze as I undo the hook of my bra.
His eyes follow my hands as I slip my panties off my feet.
He takes a step toward me, but I shake my head. Not yet. Right now, he's my captive audience.
He stays where he is.
I sit back on the bed and spread my legs.
His jaw drops.
His pupils dilate.
His palms press into his thighs.
He wants to touch me. He wants to join me. But he knows he has to play by the terms he suggested.
I slip my hand between my legs, and I touch myself. A soft stroke at first. Then a little firmer.
For a moment, I hold his gaze. But the desire in his blue eyes is too intense.
