Suite 269 (16 page)

“Yes. Is this…Excuse me, but whom am I speaking to? Why are you answering Lexa’s phone.”

“Asshole. You know damn well it’s Holt. What do you want?”

“I want to speak to Lexa,” he demanded.

I shouldn’t have said what I said next. I knew it was horribly juvenile, but I couldn’t
not
say it. “She’s too busy to talk. My dick is in her mouth and she doesn’t want to stop sucking it long enough to talk to you.”

There was a small gasp on the other end of the phone that made my ego about five sizes too big, but I continued shamelessly. “If you hold on for a few minutes you’ll get to hear her moaning as she rides my cock and comes harder than she ever came before. She calls out my name when she does it too. It’s fucking perfect.”

That’s when he hung up on me.

Shit.

H
e left
and slept in another room again last night. Right after we crossed two things off my list, he held me for a few minutes, softly rubbed his thumb along my chin and across the bottom of my lips, and then just
left
.

I knew it shouldn’t affect me the way it did. I knew it was just three weeks—but I ended up hugging my knees, sitting up in bed for the rest of the night, trying desperately not to cry. I ended up calling Mandy around midnight.

“Bahdfaufh,” was how she said hello.

“Mandy? Are you okay?” I asked, squeezing my cell in my fist to stop the sniffles from making an appearance.

“Hmmmmf. Ummm? Lexa?”

“Yeah, Mandy, are you okay? What’s going on?”

There was giggling and movement.

“Umm. Can I call you back in a bit? I can’t talk because I have Evan’s huge dick in my mouth.”

“Ew. SHUT UP!”

“Hmmmmf,” she answered back, and that was accompanied by a whole lot of gross slurping noises that made me instantly end the phone conversation.

Ten minutes later she called back, still giggling but more relaxed and nothing blocking her vocal chords from being heard.

“The visual of Evan’s dick in your mouth just made my ovaries shrivel up and die,” I growled into the phone. “Why in the world would you answer your phone when you’re
that
busy?”

“Answering phones with a whole lot of dick in your mouth seems to be all the rage now,” she whisper-yelled back.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” she sighed heavily, “Forget it. It’s just…what’s going on? You’re on the fantasy honeymoon of your life and you still have a prude stick stuck up your ass? What? Does Holt have a small willie?”

“Shut up, no. He’s abnormally huge, and beautiful, and is crossing fantasies off my list at an alarming pace,” I whispered back.

“Ooookay. But you sound really unhappy,” she said. I could hear her cover the phone and tell someone, most likely Evan, she’d be back in a few minutes. “Okay, I locked myself in his bathroom so we could talk. What’s going on?”

“I really love having sex with Jameson.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I really love spending time with him.”

“Oh, no,” she said.

“Yeah. I think I like it a little too much. Like I wouldn’t mind if we both quit our jobs and stayed here for the rest of our lives so we could further investigate every single fantasy everyone who was ever born has ever had so he could try it out on me.”

“Oh. No,” she gasped.

“Oh. Yes,” I said.

“No.”

“Yesssss.”

“Nope.”

“Yeah.”

“No, no, no.”

“Okay. This isn’t helping me at all,” I snapped.

“What have you done so far?” she giggled and gave me a half moan. Son of a bitch, was Evan in the bathroom with her? “Can he give you like five minutes to speak to me?”

She shooed him out of the bathroom, promising things I would never have thought to put on my list. “Okay,” she cleared her throat. “What’s been crossed off so far?”

“I’ve had a sexual revelation in the back of a cab—in broad daylight—just by his fingers. I’ve been completely dominated and ravished and had anal. Then had some strange guy watch us.”

“Sounds like my first date with Evan,” she laughed.

“This isn’t funny. I need advice.”

“For what? You sound like you are having a helluva time,” she laughed.

“Yes. I am. That’s the problem. I don’t want it to end. Every night so far after we finish the most amazing sex I ever had he leaves me to sleep in a separate room,” I groaned. “It ruins the entire thing, because I feel like he’s just doing this as a charity case. I’ve turned into a pity fuck.”

“Lexa, really? Come on. Holt seemed really into you. He wouldn’t do this if he didn’t like you.”

“Then why does he leave me alone every night like he needs to get away from me?”

“Sweetheart. Cut the bullshit, okay. This was supposed to be an exercise for you to ask for the things you want. Sexually and otherwise. Come straight out and ask him. This isn’t high school and he certainly isn’t Trager.”

“And if he doesn’t have the same feelings?”

“Then you move on, just like the rest of the world does when things are over.” There was a brief hesitation then she huffed loudly into the phone, “But why would you think he wasn’t into you? He’s been showing you a good time, right?”

“Yeah…It’s just…I’m starting to really like being with him. And I have to keep reminding myself to hold back, you know?” I sighed into the phone. “He’s my boss and keeps telling me how emotionally unavailable he is. We can’t possibly have anything more than what it is right now.” I stood up and rubbed my hands down my face. “I just don’t want to be one of those women. I know I can’t change anyone. I know there’s no such thing as the one—forget it—this is stupid. We’re having fun. I’m forgetting about Kevin. It’s all good. It’s just sex.
Good
sex.
Really good
sex.”

“That’s a girl! On another note… A bunch of other people got their walking papers at the magazine. This rag is going down.”

“I sent an entire years worth of articles to Remington Holt. He doesn’t want to see what’s right in front of his face. I could do this. I could save that magazine, but he just won’t let me.”

“I know.
So
maybe you
should
talk to Jameson.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” There’s no truth behind my words, because I am still too damn scared to.

P
leasures
.

That was the name of the strip club we stood in front of.

There was a line of men just inside the door, laughing and knocking fists with each other. The only other girl stood opposite me behind a plate of thick glass, wearing a sheer ballroom gown that looked more invisible than anything else. “Welcome to Pleasures, I hope you enjoy your time here,” she purred over my head toward Jameson. She gave me a nonchalant smile and rolled her eyes to the next group of men in line. I wondered how she came about working in a place like this.

Jameson threaded his fingers through mine and tugged me along the dark lobby; through a group of bouncers who practically stripped us down and dressed us right back up. “This was your fantasy, sweetheart. Just remember that.”

Why the hell would this be a thought in my mind I had no clue. I guess it was something I always wondered about.

We walked into an enormously crowded room that centered around a cluster of stages with poles and half-dressed women of all sizes. Smoke billowed white and thick through the air and a slow, erotic song thumped lazily through the speakers.

Jameson nodded to a petite cocktail waitress that wore a shiny leather cat suit and flicked a few dollar-bills into her hand. He leaned down and spoke with her, but I heard nothing of what he said. The music was too loud, but the heat in her eyes as she watched his lips as he spoke to her captivated me. Was it her job to make him feel wanted? Or did she honestly want him? His eyes flittered down to her lips and back up to her eyes as she spoke back and my chest burst into heat. I darted my eyes away quickly, wanting to get rid of the unwanted ache beneath my ribs. I had no right to Jameson. No right. Just three weeks. Three weeks in paradise and we never spoke about them being exclusive. Yet the thought of him touching someone else the way he touched me was agonizing.

Around us, men watched the dancers, eyes half cast, lips against their drinks—hands squeezing the knee of their pants. The dancer closest to me was slithering along a narrow catwalk on her hands and knees, completely naked. She eyed me and leaned back on her heels, facing me. Her breasts were tiny, capped with miniscule brown nipples that she fingered and rubbed for my viewing pleasure. Her eyes looked bright, young. I wondered if her parents knew she was here. I wondered if someone slept next to her at night and blocked out the leers of the men that surrounded her. I suddenly felt dizzy and my stomach rolled angrily. This place wasn’t sexy at all. It was full of sadness. Desperation.

Jameson pulled me through a group of tables following the pretty cocktail waitress and led me to a small round table with two seats. A small sign bent over the surface read
Reserved
. My eyes scanned the room another time before I sat down in the chair Jameson pulled out for me. I wanted to examine the entire room—take stock of every little thing around me. Yet all I saw—all I felt was a deep emptiness. Two tables from us a dancer, waitress—whatever, had her legs straddled over the lap of an older man. He was almost bald except for a dozen or so bright white strands of hair that seemed to spring from his ears, and dressed in a stained wife beater shirt and a pair of thin, worn out jeans. The woman looked adoringly at the man with a sort of wild desire, pressed her breasts against his face, and whispered things close to his ear. She leaned her head back and darted her tongue out over her bottom lip. The old man laughed wide with a completely toothless grin—a gold wedding ring glinted blindingly off his left hand.

“What would you like to drink?” Jameson’s voice murmured against my ear, startling me back into facing him.
Bleach?
Rubbing alcohol? Antibacterial Soap?

“Something in a clean bottle,” I answered, idiotically.

Jameson leaned back and quietly spoke with the waitress again. She pressed her breasts against his arm as he spoke to her then added her inner thigh into the mix. I heard the rush of blood pound through my skull and a layer of cold sweat beaded above my eyebrows.

Once our beers were served, we drank in silence. The only constant was the steady hold of Jameson’s eyes on me. “Does this excite you?” he asked, reaching up and running his finger softly beneath my chin.

“No,” I said, swallowing hard, not wanting to look at him.

He cocked his head to the side and smirked.

I blew out a heavy breath and shook my head. “I just keep thinking about all the girls and their stories. About why they’re here. Is that weird?”

He shrugged and leaned back. “Is that what you want to really know while you’re here?”

I wasn’t sure.
Did that make me prude or frigid?

With a flick of his hand, he called our waitress back over and made her stand closely between us. She watched him in rapt attention—his eyes were still fixed on mine. “Ask her. Everything you want to.”

My eyes darted up to hers. She turned her attention to me, and suddenly, I was the center of her universe. Her eyes lit up and her smile was wide, beautiful, and just for me.

“How old are you?” I asked hesitantly.

“Twenty-two,” she answered, giggling and biting down on her lip.

“Have you always wanted to do this?” I said, darting my eyes toward the stage.

Her smile grew wider. “I’m in college. Studying to be a make-up artist. This pays the bills for now.” She leaned in further. “I don’t dance yet; I’m just a cocktail waitress. But I can’t wait until I start dancing up on the stage. I’d like to get bigger boobs before I dance though.”

What the hell do you say to that?

“Oh. Well your boobs look wonderful just the way they are…”

She edged closer to me. “I like your boobs. Lift up and let me see them.”

“Um. No. That’s not gonna happen,” I snorted, leaning away from her.

Behind her, I could see Jameson laughing. Then he slid a bunch of dollars into her hand and the next thing I knew, she was rubbing her ass and boobs all over me. It was so shocking it paralyzed me. Her skin was soft and smelled like dark vanilla and low moans rumbled from her throat. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop myself from throwing the bitch off my lap and running like hell, but the minute I opened them, all I saw was Jameson. His eyes locked on mine, lips parted and breathing getting heavy.
Was watching us turning him on?

The waitress looked back over her shoulder and crawled slowly onto his lap and my heart tore right out of my chest. Sparks of painful heat burst out along my skin as her tits bounced before his eyes and her ass pushed into his lap over and over. His jaw locked tight. I watched the muscles of his face clench and twist as his eyes flittered back and forth between us.

It hurt like hell. I didn’t want him looking at her and comparing us. I’d just come up lacking.
I just wanted him to look at me
.

My hands fisted against my legs and I wanted to scream and rip her off him.

That’s when I realized—when I finally faced the truth—I didn’t want to see him with someone else. I couldn’t. I was completely falling for him. His eyes were back on me while she grinded her ass into him. A heavy feeling spread across my chest and burned in my belly. I gave him a shaky smile, the only thing I could muster, and I stood up to leave. I needed too. Let him go home with her tonight. Or whatever it is that goes on here.

“Where are you going?” he asked in a husky voice.

“I’m not feeling so well,” I mumbled, “I need some air.”

“Okay,” he said, as the woman—the girl—continued to dry hump his crotch. Her hands were wrapped around his neck, her little bikini top was pulled around her perfectly rounded little breasts and her nipples were brushing up against his jaw. “If that’s what you want. I’ll catch up with you later.” His eyes glanced from me to her nipples and back to me.

If that’s what I want?
I wanted to throw cold water at them and stop them from doing what they were doing. She looked like a dog in heat. I wanted him to run after me. Tell me he didn’t want her. I wanted him to tell me he only wanted me. I wanted to be enough.

Damn it. This was all wrong. I shouldn’t be feeling this way.

I needed to get back into reality. He wasn’t mine. I had no right to be jealous. I had no right to anything. I walked quickly out of the club and jumped in the first cab I saw, praying like mad the driver didn’t turn out to be a serial killer, although with the way I was feeling right about then, he’d be the one found chopped up in a suitcase in the back of a stripper’s car.