Plucking the waiting bottle of champagne from its bucket of ice, I free the cork. Brielle smiles at the popping sound. I pour us each a glass in the tall flutes, and we clink glasses.
“Cheers. To Kirby,” I say coolly.
Her face falls, her eyebrows pinching together. “I thought you said no names.”
“Seems kind of pointless when I already know it, doesn’t it, Brielle?”
She chews on her lower lip and shrugs. “I guess so.”
“To Kirby,” I repeat, bringing my glass to hers again. “One lucky son of a bitch.”
This gets a smile from her, and we both sip our champagne.
“So your time with him went well today?” I ask, trying to temper my curiosity.
Her gaze wanders out the window, and she takes another drink before answering. “Of course.”
As we sip our champagne in silence, I wish I could pick up on what she’s thinking. I need to hold it together. I can sense myself slipping, and Brielle is watching me with a curious stare.
Fucking hell.
When did my life get so goddamned complicated? This whole venture was supposed to be about easy fun, exploring women’s sexual fantasies, and a release for my dominant side. Instead it’s become a game I don’t think I can win. One that’s going to leave me old and alone with nothing to show for my efforts, just like Nana fears.
I tip back my head, downing the rest of my champagne, and set down my glass. It’s game time.
• • •
When we arrive at the hotel suite I’ve booked for the night, Brielle walks from room to room, checking out the place. It’s opulent, almost too much for our uses tonight. I plan on fucking her as many times and in as many places as possible, and still, I know we won’t even make it into half the rooms.
When she returns to the living room, where I’m waiting for her beside a cart of drinks, I smile warmly at her. “Take off your coat. Stay a while.”
Her answering smile lights up her face. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sir?”
“Fuck yes, I would.”
She slowly releases the belt, letting me catch a glimpse of the dip in her smooth belly, the white lace at the top of her panties.
My erection presses awkwardly against the front of my slacks. But fuck it, she knows what she does to me by now. No need to fake a sense of control I don’t possess.
I wait for her to drop the coat from her shoulders, but she stops, her eyes lifting to mine. “Are we going out? Or what’s the plan?”
I force a breath into my lungs, trying to get myself to calm the fuck down. We have all night. No need to pounce on her like the tasty treat she is within two minutes of entering the hotel suite. “We’re staying here tonight.”
“All night?” she asks, her nose scrunching up in a way that looks damn cute on her.
We both know that’s a huge fucking step. We’ve never spent the night together. “Yes. Is that okay, Brielle?”
Her gaze slips away from mine, noting the cart of drinks with various bottles and mixers along with a bucket of ice, over to the dining table where fussy finger foods and hors d’oeuvres and desserts are artfully arranged, and then back to the hallway that leads to the master bedroom. Her smile falters, the corners of her mouth twitching.
This is too real, too intimate, and she knows it. Her questioning blue eyes see everything. All my motivations are stripped bare; I don’t need to say a word. She was expecting something crazy, but all she’s getting is me. I want to pretend she’s mine for one last night before I have to release her.
I cross the room and stand directly in front of her, pushing my hand inside her coat to place it firmly on her waist and drag her close.
“It’s just us tonight,” I whisper, fighting the urge to kiss her mouth.
“Where are the ropes? The whips? The chains?”
“You want ropes?” I ask, my tone hollow. Maybe I can’t give her what she needs after all.
“I don’t understand,” she says softly.
“BDSM isn’t always about the ropes and implements, Brielle. Sure, I like the toys in my bag, and I like them even better when I’m using them to tease and pleasure you, but at the very core of it, it’s about the connection between two people.”
She nods slightly. My words make sense, at the surface, at least. But why we’re here, sharing an encounter that will deepen our connection when she’s not even mine…yeah, that’s the million-dollar question.
I’ve never in my life spent money like this on a date with a client. One hundred dollars for the lingerie, six hundred for the coat that fits her beautifully and brings out the rose color in her cheeks, a couple hundred for the limo, and a thousand dollars for the posh hotel suite. She’s worth all this and more.
The money doesn’t matter. I simply wanted our last night together to be perfect, one that I could remember for years to come. Because something tells me that my head and my heart won’t be the same after this.
“Would you like a drink? Something to eat?” I ask, my voice low. All I want is her, but I suppose I should be polite and tend to her needs first.
She nods. “Yes, thank you.”
Slipping my hand from her waist, I belt her jacket again, realizing she’ll probably get cold wearing nothing but the tiny panties and bra.
“Come sit. I’m going to serve you tonight.”
Her eyes flash on mine while her mouth curves into a surprised smirk. “What’s gotten into you?”