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What’s with me?
A faint smile teases his lips. “For the record, I like Dirty Jules,” he says, as if he could read my thoughts.
“You bring her out to play,” I coo. Fuelled by a burst of confidence, I rub his thick cock over his suit pants.
God, the man is packing.
I still can’t believe I was able to walk after multiple hard poundings, which resulted in multiple heart-stopping orgasms.
“Fuck, Jules,” he groans. I can’t tell if it’s a warning or a plea. He grabs hold of my wrist, moving my hand away. “Let’s get out of here before Carmela calls the cops on my ass for lewd behavior,” he answers my unspoken question. “I’d much prefer spending the night inside your inviting pussy than inside a jail cell.”
To underline his point, he clasps the back of my head and pulls my face to his for a fiery kiss so passionate I can feel his desire all the way to my toes.
Chapter 12
Levi
Half past seven usually marks the tail end of the afternoon romps at Dark Compulsion. Single parents prefer to frequent the club earlier. Since the majority of members don’t show up before ten, there’s a nice window in between that’s perfect for impromptu hookups. I was able to reserve one of the last two available suites. The Quintus Hotel is fully booked tonight. I guess members who didn’t attend last Saturday’s theme party decided to make up for lost time. Since this wasn’t planned, I don’t have my member’s ring or card with me. Luckily, Larkin made sure to give the green light to the bouncers and greeting committee. Since Jules is already in the system, security was a non-issue. With a keycard in one hand, I guide her by the hand to the elevators. It’s a short ride, and it’s just the two of us.
“Have you been a member long?” she asks, as we step out of the elevator when we arrive to the sixth floor, our fingers still intertwined.
“Four years,” I tell her.
“Oh, wow. That’s a long time.”
“The three guys you saw me with on Saturday are members. I blame them,” I chuckle.
“It seems members are part of the top echelon,” she says.
“Yes. A lot of Hollywood heavy hitters are members. It’s a drama-free zone for a hookup. Everyone is on the same wavelength. Outside of the club, no strings attached can quickly be misconstrued as, no strings attached for tonight, but ask me tomorrow and I’ll probably have changed my mind.”
“I see.”
“The Continental Rule, which prevents members from mixing business with pleasure, ensures your partner is here to play and not use sex as a gateway to pitch the next blockbuster or to launch into a falsetto worthy of a Broadway production, just before showcasing their dancing abilities.”
Her step falters and she doubles over, clenching her stomach before losing it. “Oh, my God. That was hilarious.”
“Made you laugh.” And God, if the sound isn’t infectious.
“You did,” she says between bouts of laughter. “It’s a sound I barely recognize,” she admits.
“Keep hanging out with me, kid.”
“I’d like that.”
“So would I,” I wink.
“Something tells me the Continental Rule came to be for a reason,” she says, circling back to our conversation.
“A member fell asleep, and when he woke up, his wrists and ankles were roped to the bed. He was forced to listen to a talentless wannabe actress audition for a movie he was casting. Luckily, she didn’t know there was a panic button on the wall, right behind the bed. Security barged in to save the poor guy and drag her ass to the street. Obviously, she was banned from the club forever.”
“Excommunicado,” she says.
I grin wide.
“I’m a huge fan,” she explains.
“Same here,” I say. “I know the actor and the director.”
