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“There’s another bathroom across the hall. Go clean yourself.” Cat flicked her eyes to my cock, straining desperately against my suit trousers. She lifted a brow. “No touching until you get home, understood? I told you no hands.”
She sighed and clicked her tongue, but I could see a hint of a smile ghosting her lips.
“You’re really throwing me out after that?” I watched her in disbelief.
When was I going to see her again? Was there a next time? It could be weeks or months before I caught passion in her eyes again. I might have to carry this memory like a torch, praying it would light the way back to her when she finally decided I was worthy of her full attention.
“What were you expecting?” Her hands curled around the edge of the cabinet again, taking up the same position she had when I first entered the room.
“Something more than this.” The confusion was clear in my voice.
I assumed this meant something, that we were creating something together.
“Then that’s your mistake.” she challenged me with a hard stare. “What are you waiting for? Go.”
I threw her one last look before I left the room, disappointment crowding all my other senses. She didn’t return it, too focused on adjusting herself. The door shut behind me, and I was left standing rock hard and alone in the corridor, a hole forming in my heart.
I’d wanted to hold her and love her. This wasn’t about me and my need to be inside her anymore. She’d opened a door, and I was going through it. One way or another, she’d be mine again.
Cat
“Come on! Let’s go!” Jazz whooped as she threw her coat at the cloakroom attendant and dragged me into the club.
She’d spent all day convincing me to join her, using the fact she was flying off to Vancouver tomorrow to start her next shoot as an excuse to get me to come to the Clutch/Angel tour party. It would be three months before we saw her again.
I let her pull me onto the dancefloor, laughing at her enthusiasm. I resolutely tried to avoid these kinds of parties. Not only did we have to pose for photographers on a red velvet carpet before we entered, but the paps circled like sharks inside the club as well, waiting for drama. It wasn’t like the Gatsby Gala. There was more at stake here than some of Mum’s friends having a gossip over the way Max and I danced together two weeks ago.
Jazz had forced me to go with her to the gym a day after the Gatsby Gala and started bitching about how Bunny had never told her about Max, or the marriage, or ‘anything else that had been going on in her bloody life even though we’ve been friends for fucking years!’ She then twisted the conversation to questions about Max and me, and managed to drag the whole story out of me over drinks.
It was dark inside the club, the thudding bass blasted out from the speakers, pounding through my body. People gyrated on the packed dance floor. The sofas and tables pushed up against the walls were all busy. I liked the atmosphere. Everything was black apart from the neon-lit tables and the bars, as well as the DJ booth, which was flashing with rainbow neon lights. It created an air of mystery, like you never quite knew who you were dancing with.
According to Jazz, Storm Records rented out the entire bar and half of the Park Plaza Hotel, including the swimming pool and spa.
Jazz burst out laughing as soon as we were through the door. At what, I didn’t know.
“Oh my God!” she screeched over the music. “There’s Bun Bun!” She released my hand and shot forward. “I’ll be back, I promise!”
She vanished into the crowd before I could get a word in.
It was a total lie. My sister had a one-track mind. As soon as she got to the middle of the dancefloor, that would be her for the rest of the night.
I caught sight of Bunny as Jazz approached her. She had her back pressed up against who I could only assume to be her next victim: Damien Priestly.
Damien was an old family friend and had been coming to Mum’s brunches and parties longer than Bunny had. We all politely ignored the fact that the main reason he was close to our family was because Mum had an affair with his dad over thirty years ago. Damien was famous for his casual style, never without white-washed jeans and a loose T-shirt, with his sandy blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and thick stubble, making him look like an aged surfer. He was missing the classic cigarette that usually hung from his lips. Though, from the looks he was shooting Bunny as they danced, I had a feeling something else would be filling his mouth soon.
After Jazz had convinced me to tell her the whole sordid tale of our relationship, Max had moved to the top of her shit list. She swore she would lay into Bunny as soon as she saw her. But from the way she was laughing and throwing herself into Bun’s arms, that plan had been easily forgotten. They’d spent every day out on the town together since Jazz had come back, so I didn’t expect her to stay true to her word.
I left them to it and pushed my way towards the bar, knowing I at least needed a drink if I was going to fend for myself tonight. They’d plastered the walls with giant hangings of each member of Clutch and The Angels, remixed versions of their rock songs beating out over the writhing crowd. I caught sight of Max lounging on one of the semi-circular sofas on the other side of the room, surrounded by three ravenous women, all fawning over him. I was trying to pretend my possessive need to storm over there and rip them off him was normal.
Since the mind-blowing orgasm, I’d barely been able to sit still. I was livid, dying to see him again while simultaneously dreading it, furious with myself for leading him to the bathroom, and filled with the urgent need to relive it. I hated the fact I hadn’t had a single panic attack since he’d made me come. I let him seduce me in the most delicious way, gave in to his charm, and let him ravish me. I could claim I’d been in control because I was the one giving orders, but it was his tongue that had caressed me into oblivion. I resented that I wanted him and tried to punish him for it by taking control. It only made it more exciting.
My heart thudded as I saw him smile at one woman, the image of his face clasped between my hands floating through my head. It was the way he softened into my touch, those little gasps, his moans as I pushed him deeper into me. And the rings.
Those bloody rings. They’d been driving me crazy since I first stroked them. I tried looking for them, but his hair was down, covering his shoulders, and it was too dark to see properly.
I wanted to touch them again, run my fingers along where they connected to his flesh, pieces of me anchored into him. It was so sexy. I wanted them in my mouth so I could bite and pull on them, and hear him gasp at the tension.
I dragged my eyes away from him and headed towards the bar. I wasn’t here for him. I’d come here for Jazz, even though she’d promptly abandoned me and was now dancing with Bun and Damien.
