Promiscuous (11 page)

Reaching down, I fiddled with the button of his pants, finally freeing his hard cock. Squeezing it, I pressed my lips against his, while slowly dragging my hand up the length of his shaft.

“You’ve got a strong grip there,” he chuckled softly. He moved onto his knees, my hold on him releasing as he pushed me down until I lay flat against the car. I sighed as his hand ran over the top of my scrunched up dress, resting on my right breast.

“Fuck…” I trembled as he rolled my nipple between his fingers.

"Part your thighs for me," he said, his other hand trailing up my inner leg. Shivers raced down my spine as I spread my legs. He kissed the inside of my thighs, leading up to the crease of my legs. I touched his hair, my fingernails exploring his scalp as he moved closer to my lips.

"
Ohh
." My body jolted as his tongue moved swiftly along my opening. With a single finger, he held aside my thong as his tongue continued to tease me. My hands gripped his hair as he thrust his tongue deep inside me, his finger massaging my sweet spot.

His talent was magical. My hold on his hair tightened, desperate to get that tongue as deep inside me as possible. At that point I didn't care if he suffocated; the only thing on my mind was the climax that was rising inside me.

"Oh yes, yes, yes!" I whispered, swinging my legs around his neck. He thrust a finger inside me while his tongue slowly licked me up and down. The combination of the two was driving me insane. "Please, oh please," I whimpered, my back arching. I reached up and fumbled with my nipples, rolling them between the tips of my fingers, the sensation pushing me over the edge.

Pleasure rippled through me. I bucked my hips into his face, needing more of him. All of him. I groaned as he danced along the fine line of ecstasy and pain, pushing him away when it all became too much.

“That was . . . wow.” It was all I could manage as I straightened my dress.

He smiled at me, still leaning against the car.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked. He nodded, and followed me over to the open gate.

We walked up the path together wordlessly. What was he thinking? Because all I could think about was how amazing he had felt inside me. We reached the door. I unlocked it and let it swing open. He walked inside, with me right behind him.

“Do you, uh, want a drink?”

God, I was nervous. Why did this guy make me feel so damn nervous? Most people I could look at their expressions and get some idea of what they were thinking. Roman? No fucking idea. He gave nothing away, and when I asked, he told me as little as possible.

Yet that hadn’t stopped me from fucking a girl in front of him, or letting him take me on the hood of his car. These were things that I’d never normally do, but for some reason, around him I wanted to act out. I wanted him to want me.

He followed me into the kitchen, where I found a half-empty bottle of single malt whiskey in the back of the cupboard. I hated the stuff. It tasted like ass. I opened the bottle and poised it, ready to pour into the glass when I felt his hands run up the outside of my bare thighs. I gasped, the bottle slipping from my grasp and smashing to the floor. I didn’t move. I couldn’t, because his hands were now exploring between my thighs, over my damp panties, a finger occasionally slipping inside the fabric and stroking my bare pussy.

Oh, God. My hands clenched on the countertop as my legs began to buckle.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered in my ear. “Are you wet for me, Beth? Do you want to feel me inside you again?” I nodded, not capable of speaking anything resembling English. All I knew was that I had an incredibly hot, mysterious, older man with his finger inside me, and I did not want him to stop.

“Oh yes,” I rasped, my hips bucking toward him as he teased me.

He grabbed me by the thighs and lifted me onto the sink. I gasped, the cold metal freezing against warmth of my skin. His hands worked under my top, the feel of his fingers against me making me tingle. I closed my eyes and lifted my arms as he slid the top over my head. Pulling me toward him,
his lips met the curve of my neck as his tongue slowly drew circles along my collarbone.

He was amazing. More than any other man I'd been with, Roman knew how to make a woman feel wanted. He pressed up against me, his lips determined to explore every inch of my body. We kissed, his tongue circling mine as his hands crept behind my back and unclipped my bra.

I sat there, dressed in only my white silk thong, with him still fully dressed, and standing between my legs. My head was hazy, but not so much that I was incapacitated. I knew what I was doing, and I wanted to be with him—the only thing was, the alcohol made that possible. Had I not been drinking, I would not be sitting on my kitchen counter naked right then, no matter who was in front of me . . . even if it were Coop.

I gasped as Roman’s mouth traveled down to my breasts. His tongue circled my nipple, sucking and licking me into a state of ecstasy. I curled my legs around him as my hands ran through his hair. I kissed his forehead, breathing in the coconut-almond scent of his shampoo.

I groaned, my grip on him tightening as his fingers made their way down south. I jumped suddenly as they moved inside the edge of my panties. My thighs clenched with him still between them, my body aching at his touch.

“Where is your bedroom?” he said, as he gently slid a finger inside me.

“Down the hall and to the left,” I whispered breathlessly. He lifted me into his arms, his kisses not slowing as he carried me toward the bedroom. I held on tightly, as if I were scared to let him go. My heart pounded. This was moving too fast. The anxiety I was beginning to feel made me worry that the effect of the alcohol was starting to wear off. When doubts started creeping into my head, I got nervous.

I couldn't do this alone. Could I?

I wanted him. God, I wanted him so badly. But in my messed up head, all I could think about right then was Ivan, and the way I had felt so useless that night.

The panic in me continued to feed on my worries. We reached the bedroom, and Roman gently lay me down on my rose embroidered bedspread, his fingers roaming all over my body.

Edging my hand inside his boxers, I gripped hold of his stiff cock, gently moving my hand back and forth. He groaned and closed his eyes, his mouth tensing as I worked my fingers up and down his shaft.

“I can't stop thinking about you,” he whispered, leaning forward, his lips meeting mine. I returned the kiss with passion as his fingers continued to rub me, making me even more wet than I already was.

Still, as turned on as I was, and as much as I wanted this, I couldn't escape the past. Not today.

“Tell me how much you want me, Bethy,” he whispered in my ear.

I froze. My eyes widened, and all I could feel was the pressure of him on top of me.
Bethy. Bethy.
The name shot through me like a knife.

No, no, no, no!

Frantically I pushed him away. He was too close. I felt like the room was closing in on me, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out. I struggled to breathe. This was my first panic attack, and it was my first in the middle of sex.

I was embarrassed. I felt like a fucking fool. What the hell was wrong with me?

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I sat up, wrapping the sheet around me. Roman appeared in front of me, kneeling on the floor, staring up at me with concern.

“Beth, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?” I shook my head, the words refusing to come. I couldn't explain this to him. What would I say? I just needed him to go. If he left, I could pull myself together and move past this, but I couldn't do it with him here, watching me.

“Please, Roman, I need you to go. I know you want answers, but right now I need to be alone.”

“Are you serious? You're a mess. The hell I'm leaving you alone while you’re like this. No fucking way, Beth. You don't want to talk to me? That's fine, I won't make you, but I'm not leaving until I know you're okay.”

“Roman, please.”

“Don't argue with me, Beth. I’ll go down to the living room. Take all the time you need, and if you need to talk, I'm here for you. Don't push me away.” He leaned toward me, placing a delicate kiss on my forehead. I curled up on the bed and watched as he walked out the door.

***

I sat upright in the bed, breathing hard. I must've fallen asleep. The last thing I remember was Roman—oh my God, I didn't want to think about that right now. How could I show my face to him again? He probably thought I was a nutcase, which wouldn't be too far from the truth, but hearing that name…
Bethy.
 

I reached over, grabbed two Tylenol off my bedside table, and took them with some water.

Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me?

***

Was he still there? I glanced at my phone. I'd been asleep for nearly five hours. Surely he would've left by now. Standing up, I pulled on my robe, tying it around my waist. I tiptoed down the hallway and kicked around the corner into the living room.

My heart swelled at the sight of Roman curled up on the sofa with his head resting on a cushion, fast asleep. Very quietly, I walked over to him and sat in one of the armchairs opposite. I could sit there and watch him sleep all day. As creepy as that was, that's what I felt like doing. There was no denying how protected he made me feel. Exactly what that meant, I hadn't figured out yet.

Chapter Thirteen

Roman

I was still confused by her sudden change in mood when I arrived at the club. I hadn’t been planning on going there that night, but I was getting frustrated. I needed familiarity. I needed to be able to relax, and this place was the only place that would allow me to do that.

I entered through the back and made my way down to my office, smiling at a couple of the girls on my way.

“Hello, ladies.”

They smiled back, their eyes meeting before they burst into giggles. I got that reaction a lot around here. To most of these girls, I was a man with a lot of mystery about him. I kept largely to myself.

It seemed the less people knew about you, the more attractive you became. That was a big part of the allure of this club: the anonymity. People didn't come here to make friends. They weren't looking for love, or looking for a new tennis partner. They came here to play a role, to fulfill a fantasy. No questions, no expectations, and no shame.

Inside my office, I let the door shut and buzzed through to reception.

“Alli speaking.”

“Hello, Alli, can you bring me a coffee please?”

“Certainly, Mr. Hale.”

I hung up and then flicked on the security monitors and studied them closely. I recognized a few people—some as regulars, and some who had high profiles within the community. I knew the overweight man with the graying hair was grand jury judge Terrence Manfeld. And the slight Asian woman on the sofa with her husband was a national TV newscaster.

I watched as one of my girls engaged with them, laughing and talking, before leading them into a room down at the end of the premises. Judge Manfeld followed, taking a seat in one of the two armchairs outside the room.

In essence, Protégé was an exclusive swingers club with a BDSM focus. Most people associated swinging with bad seventies hairstyles and out-of-control parties thrown by middle-aged parents involving a bowl full of keys. That couldn’t be further from the reality I offered.

Protégé was pure class. I made sure of that.

It was a place where people could live their fantasies of anonymous BDSM without the fear of judgment. Every member of the club signed a non-disclosure form prior to entry. The rules in place were there for every member’s protection, and they were non-negotiable.

I’d learned before that people who were insistent on breaking the rules were unlikely to adhere to threats. Any member caught breaking the rules would be immediately removed, without warning or a second chance. Break the rules, and you were out—permanently.

Every one of Protégé’s members had something to lose by coming here. My job was to keep the place invisible. Where most places thrived on exposure and exclusivity, mine relied on staying out of the public eye. Whether you were ‘happily’ married, trying new experiences with a partner, or just into experimental sex, Protégé could accommodate you.

A membership did not guarantee you entry whenever the mood hit. Bookings were still required for all non-VIP members. As of the month before, our membership was up around two thousand, five percent of whom were VIP. Some members came once a year, some once a month. Everybody was different, and there were no attendance obligations. We had people who had been members for months and had yet to experience what the club could offer them.

The club offered regular theme nights, and tonight was the perfect example: public humiliation.

It sounded much more hardcore than it actually was. Or maybe I was just desensitized to it. In approximately fifteen minutes, a pretty young thing was going to be suspended in midair wearing nothing but the ropes that would bind her ankles.

It actually surprised me how popular the public humiliation nights were. Usually theme nights would take place once every few months; this one had turned into somewhat of a monthly thing, though. The waiting list to participate exceeded six months. We had all types of people wanting to watch and wanting to be humiliated. It was all voluntary, and participants could stop at any moment—though they rarely did. I'll admit it: standing anonymously with a crowd of bystanders watching a woman bound and gagged get fucked senseless from every angle was incredibly arousing.

Had I participated? No. Would I? Probably not.

For me, the turn-on was purely a visual thing. Some would say it was disgusting. That it was degrading to both the men and women who were being humiliated. But the thing you needed to remember was, the whole thing was voluntary.

We had so many systems in place to ensure the safety of everyone. It wasn't for everyone, but for those into rough sex and voyeurism, it didn't get any better than this.