Taking Turns (Turning #1)(3)

Unlike Bric and Smith, I make the most of it.

By the time the doors open into the top floor hallway, I’m smiling. I forget about Bric and Lucinda. I forget about Smith and his weird shit. I forget about the stupid, boring weekend I just made myself get through.

I walk down the short hallway to her door. There is only one apartment up here and it belongs to her. It’s really the attic of the building that Bric remodeled back when we first started sharing girls more than a decade ago.

We keep them here. Like good little princesses locked up in their towers.

We don’t really lock them in, but I like the analogy.

I get hard just thinking about it.

Rochelle is the ninth girl who has lived in this apartment over the Club and the ones before her felt like practice. She feels like the real thing. Game day.

When I get to the door I insert my cardkey, letting that feeling wash over me. Relief and happiness. Something I’ve become accustomed to.

It’s late, the place is dark, so I close the door quietly, trying not to wake her up. Just head down the familiar hallway, making my steps soft in the stillness.

The bedroom door is open, like it always is. And I can just make out her bare legs on top of the white sheets. She must be freezing.

I walk past her and go into the closet. I’ll take care of that in just a minute. I take my tie off and hang it up. Then the jacket, doing my best not to make the wooden hangers clang together. I untuck my shirt from my trousers. Unbutton it, starting from the top. I hang that up too.

Then I open the velvet-lined drawer and place my watch and cufflinks in there, closing it when I’ve arranged them properly.

The pants fall down and I grab my cock, so ready to f*ck her. I slip out of my boxer briefs and walk out in to the dark bedroom.

“Hey,” I say softly. “You awake?”

She doesn’t even move. Her body is sprawled out on top of the sheets, one leg up higher than the other. Her face buried. Her long, wild hair flowing over the side of the pillow like a waterfall.

There is light filtering in from outside, but not enough to really see anything. Just a little bit of glow from the lamps lighting up the gargoyles that decorate the top of the building. Details that make Turning Point Club one of the most photographed icons in the city.

Through the floor-to-ceiling window there is a direct view of the gold-domed capitol building, one block south, and that’s lit up too.

I place a hand on her outer thigh as one knee comes down on the mattress, making it sink. Making her body shift, ever so slightly.

She is naked, her ass towards me like an invitation.

I swing my leg over, place the other knee on the other side of her hip, and straddle her. My hands all over her ass. Rubbing. Eager to slip my fingers between her legs and see what’s waiting for me.

“Rochelle,” I say, bending over her body to place my lips on her neck. “Did you miss me? God, I missed you. Two weeks is too long. We need to renegotiate.”

I let out a long breath, and she trembles for a moment.

“I don’t like the sabbaticals anymore,” I say.

She says nothing.

Fuck. Don’t ruin it, I tell myself. Don’t ruin the time you have. We’ve had this conversation too many times to count and it always ends the same way.

She likes the time off. It’s something new she started last summer. Two weeks off, one week on. I don’t like it. Not one bit.

But I take my own advice and let it go. I lower my whole body over the top of hers, enjoying the heat we create. My hands slip under her breasts to squeeze and my cock hardens, brushing against her ass. The space between her legs.

One small moan is all I get.

But it’s enough. I bite her shoulder and lift my hips, letting my dick slip into her wet folds. It finds its way inside her with so little effort, I want to f*cking die from the pleasure.

One knee comes up, dragging across the sheet to give me more access, and I let one hand leave her breasts and press its way under her belly, until I find her clit and begin to strum.

“You like that?” I whisper.

She doesn’t answer. At least not with words. Her ass bucks up a little, urging me to give her more. One hard thrust and I’m fully inside her. Her * clamping on to me, muscles tightening around my shaft.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, pushing my upper body up off her back and sitting up so I can f*ck her better. I grab both her ass cheeks and then I give one a hard smack.

Rochelle draws in a sharp breath, but still her hips are bucking up against my inner thighs. Asking for more.

“You want it hard tonight?” I ask. “You want me to f*ck you hard?” I grab her hair and pull, making her upper body lift up off the mattress. My other hand is digging into the flesh just below her hip.

I scoot back and reach under her thighs, drawing them up so she’s on her knees, and press her face into the pillow as I pound her from behind.

“Yeah,” I say, half speaking, half moaning. “You like it like this, don’t you? You let Bric f*ck you like this all the time, don’t you?”

I reach around and smack her tit, which makes her yelp. A high-pitched yelp I’m not familiar with. For a second I think I’ve hurt her, and I slow down. But she backs up into me, covering my dick again. Burying it deep inside her. Everything is already so wet. She feels so goddamned good tonight.

“You f*cking whore,” I say, letting go of her hair so she falls face-first back into the pillow. “You let Bric f*ck you like this, Rochelle? You like the way he slaps you around? Hmm?”