Taking Turns (Turning #1)
J.A. Huss
DESCRIPTION
Chella plays the game of Taking Turns with three men as she comes to terms with her sexuality.
I’ve never been afraid of the dark...but that doesn’t mean I wanted to live in it. And maybe everyone wants what they can’t have, but I should’ve thought it over before I accepted the key and unlocked the door to their forbidden world.
Number One is mostly silent. He watches me with them very carefully. His gaze never wanders. His interest never wanes.
Number Two is mostly gentle. But it’s the other side of him I like best. The wild side.
Number Three is mostly reserved. He refuses to cross the line. Even when I beg.
It was carnal, it was sensual, and it was erotic. That’s it. That’s all it was supposed to be. A trip into the dark. A peek into the forbidden.
I just didn’t expect to like them.
Chapter One - Quin
From the outside, Turning Point Club looks like any other historical downtown brownstone mansion. The only thing really worth noting about it is the extra-wide revolving door made out of frosted glass—and that’s not even original. But the moment you step inside, the surreal quality of the atmosphere, the opulent luxury, and the security standing at the door quickly adjust your perception.
“Mr. Foster.” The greeting comes from the formally attired doorman. He tips his head at me as I enter.
“Can I take your coat, Mr. Foster?” the hostess says. It’s a rhetorical question. She is already slipping it down my arms.
“Thank you,” I mumble, side-stepping a crowd of club members having a conversation in the two-story foyer. “Where’s—” But before I can get the last word out, I see Bric in the Black Room off to my right. He’s got his arm around the reason this party is happening tonight. Lucinda Chatwell is turning forty. We do business with her husband, and he’s a member, so it’s a ladies’ night.
Not something I’m interested in, but Bric, ever the host, looks like he might actually be enjoying himself. He’s joking with a group of formally dressed men and women who surround him and hang on his every word like he’s the whole world.
He catches my gaze and gives me a slight nod.
I stand there for a moment, watching him. He leans into Lucinda’s ear to whisper a secret that makes her throw her head back and laugh.
The crowd I’m in looks over and laughs with her.
“I need a drink,” I say to no one in particular.
“Mr. Baldwin is at his table,” the hostess says. “Would you like to join him?”
I look up to the second floor and see Smith staring back at me. I don’t nod at him. “Yeah, sure.”
“One moment, Mr. Foster.” The hostess whispers into the almost invisible wireless mic that wraps down her cheek and then smiles at me. “They’re expecting you now, Mr. Foster,” she says, waving me forward.
I straighten the lapels of my tux and make my way towards the back of the lobby, taking a moment to appreciate the way the crystal chandelier showers the room with dew-drop sparkles of light.
Once I get past the crowd I head towards the stairs, where two security guards stand sentry in front of a black velvet rope that lets everyone know there is no activity up there tonight. No one spends the night on Sundays. We’re closed on Sundays except for parties, like this one for Lucinda, or dinner in the five-star restaurant, the White Room, across the lobby from Black Room. The restaurant is closed now though. Private party tonight—and no one comes for the food.
One guard unhooks the black velvet rope as I approach and by the time I’m upon him, my way has been cleared.
The stairs lead straight up to a landing, which is where the main elevators are located, but I turn to the right and continue up to the second story of the lobby, where another security guard releases yet another black velvet rope and allows me to enter Smith Baldwin’s private bar.
He really wants to be left alone tonight, I guess.
Smith ignores me as I approach his table. He’s looking over the railing of the balcony, checking things out in the Black Room down below. I take a seat directly opposite him and crane my neck to see what’s so interesting. “What?” I ask, when I don’t see anything worthy of his attention.
Smith turns to me and takes a sip of his Scotch. “You’re early tonight,” he says.
“Bored as f*ck,” I say, motioning to Smith’s butler for a drink. He’s already heading towards me with a glass. I wait as he pours from the bottle sitting on the table between Smith and me, and then take a long sip. “Why the hell are you here?”
“I dated Lucinda a long time ago.”
I have to laugh at that. “You’re pining for Dr. Chatwell?”
“No,” Smith says in his unassuming monotone. “I just like to show up for her birthdays.”
“Did you come last year?”
“Every year,” Smith says, dragging his gaze away from Bric and Lucinda and refocusing on me. “I like to keep my mistakes fresh. So I don’t repeat them.”
“OK,” I say, glancing at my watch. I’ve been here one minute and I’ve had enough conversation with Smith.
“It’s only eleven thirty-seven,” Smith says, not missing my subtle rejection.