Promiscuous (12 page)

One of the most common misconceptions was that we provided sex. This was not a brothel; we did not supply women—or men—for sex. We had several hostesses working at any given time who were strictly non-contact.

We simply provided a place for people to meet other like-minded individuals who were after a little bit of fun. Did I participate? Sometimes, as did other staff members, but we were not paid for our involvement.

Generally, there were three types of members: those who liked to participate, those who liked to watch, and those who liked to be watched.

Which did I fit into? All of the above
.

I was very complex when it came to my sexual needs. I knew what I liked, and I was confident in getting that. I thought about Beth, and how she would react to this place. When I first met her, I would have thought she’d like it, but her behavior lately had me doubting that assessment. I laughed at how ridiculous I was being; her reaction to Protégé was the last thing I should have been worrying about.

A rap on the door brought me back to the present.

“Come in.”

Alli came in, coffee in hand. She smiled at me, then darted her eyes downward as though she were intimidated by me. I smiled, my eyes following her as she walked over and set the cup down in front of me.

“Thanks, Alli. How are you today?”

“Great thank you, Mr. Hale. You are looking very sexy tonight,” she added. Her face colored, and I chuckled. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay, Alli. Tell Scarlett I’ll be out shortly.”

She nodded, and ducked her head before retreating out the door, closing it softly behind her. I took the coffee and sank into my chair, spinning around to face the monitors again. My eyes fell on the judge, who was furiously fisting his erection as he watched the couple fuck through the floor-to-ceiling window.

All “private” rooms at Protégé had window-paned walls, so it was like fucking in a fish bowl. Which was great if you were into voyeurism—and let’s face it, who doesn’t get turned on at the sight of another couple exploring each other?

After I finished my coffee, I removed my jacket and rolled up the cuffs of my sleeves, showing off my tanned forearms. I walked out the front and scanned the club for Scarlett, spotting her over near the bar, chatting to a couple. Leaning against the wall behind me, I watched her. She was so engaging. Her smile lit up the room. She had the couple hanging off her every word, and more than once the man's eyes drifted down over her short silk dress.

I chuckled to myself. This was exactly why Scarlett was my right-hand man. As shy as she sometimes acted around me, in this place she came to life. It was like she was born to do her job, and she did it fucking well.

"Roman?"

I turned and saw Dahlia, her blue eyes sparkling as she smiled at me. I smiled back and accepted the hug she was offering me.

“Dahlia, so good to see you. How have you been?" I asked. Dahlia had been frequenting the club since its early days, sometimes with her husband, sometimes alone.

"Really good. Andrew’s over there." She pointed to one of the corner sofas, where I could see Andrew in a deep conversation with a pretty brunette.

"He looks like he's having fun."

"Well, we both will be in a few minutes when we take her into one of the rooms." She laughed, reached out, and touched my arm. "You could always stop by," she added coyly, a little smile playing on her lips. "I know how much you like to watch."

Maybe I will," I muttered, watching as she walked away. She walked up to Andrew and the brunette, who stood up, linking her arm around Dahlia’s back. Andrew was obviously in for a hot night. Maybe I would stop by later . . .

"Sorry, I didn't see you come in." Scarlett smiled at me, her cheeks flushed from running.

"It's okay. You looked to be in pretty deep conversation over there." I raised my eyebrow.

"Yes, they’re new. I was just explaining the ins and outs of everything to them."

"Good work. Are you under control here?"

"Yes. Why?"

I smirked. "Don't ask questions, Scarlett."

She blushed.

I shook my head and walked toward the room Dahlia and Andrew were in. The blood began to rush through me as I tried to rationalize what I was about to do. Why was I feeling guilty? This was so fucked up. Beth and I weren’t anything. I wasn't good enough for her, and she'd find that out eventually. Besides that, I didn't want to give this up. The last thing I wanted was to be in a relationship where I felt guilty for doing what felt right for me.

Dahlia looked up and smiled at me. I was about to sit down on one of the provided couches outside the room when she motioned for me to come in. I hesitated, but only for a second. That was all it took me to realize I was doing this.

I sat down in the corner of the room, my leg folded over my knee, just watching. Really, how different was this from watching a video? It was like a play of porn—or a musical, if they started to dance. I chuckled at the thought.

"Something funny?" Dahlia asked. She sauntered over to me, slowly unbuttoning her tight shirt. She slipped it over her shoulders, the fabric slowly sliding down her dark skin. "You sure you don't want to participate?" she teased, already knowing the answer. I never joined in. I was content with just watching.

"I'm fine here, thank you."

"Suit yourself."

She walked back over to the bed that sat in the middle of the room. Dressed in the finest Egyptian cotton sheets, the huge bed could accommodate an orgy of people. And sometimes it did.

Andrew was already naked on the bed, the brunette pressed up against him, naked, her knees apart. She moaned softly as his hands ran over her body, resting on her bare pussy. Lifting her arms, she wrapped them around his neck. She faced my direction, giving me the perfect view of her perky breasts and slender body.

I swallowed as Andrew slid a finger inside her, moving it in and out slowly. Dahlia came around the far side of the bed and began pumping his cock. I shifted in my seat, my pants restricting as arousal began to stir inside me.

Unzipping my fly, I reached inside my boxers and freed my cock. Now fully erect, I fisted the base of my shaft, my hand moving back and forth. Closing my eyes, I imagined Beth kneeling before me, taking my cock in her mouth, her sweet, soft lips working my length while her tongue ran along my shaft.

I gasped, my fist moving faster as I brought my attention back to the show before me. Dahlia lay on her back, her legs spread, while the brunette with the perky little breasts lapped at her pussy. Even from where I was sitting I could see how wet she was.

Andrew began to rub the brunette from behind, his other hand stroking his cock. He rolled on a condom and eased it inside of her ass. She didn’t flinch, her mouth not leaving Dahlia for even a second.

Fuck, yeah. There was something so erotic about watching people fuck. I pumped my throbbing cock, precum covering my fingers as I worked from base to tip.

“Fuck,” I hissed as I released, my load shooting onto the floor in front of me. Holy shit, that felt good. Standing up, I fixed my pants and walked out, thinking to myself that we didn’t pay our cleaning staff nearly enough.

***

I had only one thing on my mind when I entered the house after returning from the club, and that was to call Beth. I'd been thinking about her all night. Imagining her . . . Imagining us. I glanced at my phone. After four in the morning was probably pushing it, but then again, knowing her, she'd be up. Or out. Possibly getting drunk. Possibly picking up some random guy to take home and fuck.

A surge of anger rushed through me. A text. I would send her a text.

Are you awake?

I waited impatiently for her to reply. Five minutes . . . ten minutes . . . After half an hour, I gave up. If she didn't want to talk to me, then I wasn’t going to wait up half the night like a pussy. I didn't care how irrational I sounded, or that it was the middle of the night and there was a very good chance she was asleep; I wanted to talk to her, and she wasn't answering. That pissed me off. And I was angry that it got to me so much.

Storming into the kitchen, I opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. I flicked off the lid and walked into the living room, slumping down on the sofa. The TV was on, but there was nothing worth watching.
Fuck this.
I stood up and went to bed, tipping the untouched beer down the drain in the kitchen on the way.

Chapter Fourteen

Beth

I woke early the next morning, the left side of my bed empty. The soft creases in the sheets were my only proof that it hadn’t been a dream. I sighed and closed my eyes, imagining his hands moving all over my body.

I really liked him. A lot. But the problem was, every time we had been intimate, it had been after I’d been drinking quite heavily. The thought of being touched by him—or anyone—while I was sober terrified me.  I freaking jumped when his fingers unintentionally brushed past my arm. How could this possibly work without me, at the very least, explaining to him what had happened?

This was not good. I thought having him around might give me something else to focus on, but I was becoming more and more reliant on his company. I could feel my independence slipping away.

I rolled over and reached for my phone. Three text messages and a missed call. All from Roman. I clicked on the first message.

Are you awake?

I checked the time. He'd sent that just after four in the morning. I wondered if he'd left by then. I clicked on the second message.

I'm sorry about yesterday. If I hurt you, I didn't mean it.

That one had been sent at six this morning. Finally I clicked on the last message, not sure what to expect.

Give me a call when you can. I hope you're okay.

I smiled and lay back in the bed.

***

Around midday I got up and showered. I had a meeting at the recording studio to run over a few ideas for my latest album. That didn’t bother me, but Ivan would be there. I’d spent weeks combing over my contract, looking for a clause to get out, but he was right—if I fired him, he would sue me, and I could lose everything. I didn’t care about my possessions and money; it was the thought of everything going to
him
that made me angry. No matter which way I looked at this, he won.

I clutched my jacket tightly around my waist as I walked inside. Ivan and Sam, my producer, sat in the corner in a heated discussion over something. Just when I thought I’d made it past them unnoticed, Ivan looked up and caught my eye.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” he said mockingly. “I have no idea where all this attitude is coming from, but if you want to actually continue making a name for yourself in this business, you’d better pull yourself together.”

I wanted to slap him. First of all, I
was not
late. Secondly, he had no idea where this was coming from?

Bull-fucking-shit. You
raped
me, you piece-of-shit asshole. You forced yourself on me, and ruined my life. Every fucking day I relive what you did to me, over and over.

Shaking, I stalked into the dressing room. I shrugged off my jacket and my bag. Bending over the table with my palms flat on the surface, I closed my eyes and breathed.

In, out. In, out.

 
I refused to break down. Crying in front of him only showed him how much his words affected me. I would not give him any more pleasure than he’d already taken. And that was exactly what I did every time I took his bait.

I stood up and pulled my hair back into a ponytail, tying a black rubber band around it.
You can do this. Show him nothing.

“So, what are we starting with?” I asked, walking back into the room. I directed my question at Sam.

Ivan studied me, searching for any crack in my mask. His eyes penetrated me, almost daring me to react. On the outside I was cool, calm and collected—the complete opposite of the mess I was feeling internally. Being so close to him . . . I wanted to hide. All I could think of was him, all over me and inside me. Oh God, that smell.

I walked toward the sound booth, anticipating Sam’s response. Or at least that’s how I hoped it looked. I just needed to get away from him. He was too damn close.

“Okay, run from the top. We just want to play around with the layout of the tracks.”

One by one, I ran through the tracks on the album. Three of the songs were set for single release.

I’d written all of them. But that was before. The last two months, I hadn't written anything. It was like my creativity had just dried up.

"Can you go a bit higher with that last note?" asked Sam.

I ran for the melody again, trying to stretch my voice higher, but it cracked.

"Give it another go," he suggested.

I nodded, and then had a thought. “I think we should change the order of those last few lines. I can’t get that note, and I’m not going on stage and making a fool of myself.” I sighed, rubbing my forehead to ease the headache I felt coming on.

“That won’t work,” replied Sam, very matter of fact.

“Who wrote the damn song? If I think a few lines should be altered, then decision made.” I hadn’t meant to sound so crabby. I was in a foul mood and just wanted the session to be over.

I saw Ivan lean over and whisper something in Sam's ear. What was he saying? Probably putting me down or trying to wreck my credibility—not that I needed him to do that. I managed it quite well on my own.

"Okay, maybe we'll leave it for now. I can fix the inconsistencies later. But you might want to lay off some of the late nights, considering the live shows you have coming up." He said it nicely, but it still hurt.

I glared at Ivan, positive that he had put the excuse of my lifestyle in Sam's head.

And besides, my live shows were freaking weeks away. My face burned as I nodded stiffly. I didn't like being chastised. And that's how it felt. More than that, I didn't want Ivan interfering in my life any more than he already had.