Taking Turns (Turning #1)(32)

She clears her throat. “Understood.” Her gaze lands on me. “But what if I don’t make you happy? What if I fail?”

Bric puts an arm around her shoulder and smiles. He leans in and kisses her while his other hand reaches for her breast, pinches her nipple. Her mouth opens for his. Their tongues intertwine. I don’t see it, but I know her hand is on his cock already. No encouragement necessary.

When I look over at Smith, he’s transfixed. Unable to stop staring. His hand on his cock too. God, they really want her. I don’t recall ever seeing them so… interested. The meeting we had with Rochelle didn’t go anything like this.

Bric pulls out of the kiss and smiles at Marcella. “You’re already making us happy. It’s going to be easy.”

But again, her wary gaze lands on me. “I don’t think I’ll make Quin happy.”

I get a sharp look from Bric. And even though I don’t turn to see if Smith is giving me that same snarl, I know he is. “She’s overreacting,” I say with a sigh. “I’m fine. It will be fine.”

“You said yes,” Bric replies. “So it better be fine, Quin. The rest of it is just messy details, Chella. Are you on birth control? I, for one, do not like children. So I’m not interested in that. At all.”

“I am,” she says softly. “And I’ve just had a check-up last week and I’m clean.”

She’s clean? I have so much to say about that little remark. Like… she got herself tested last week?

Smith shifts the papers on the table, revealing our own health records. “This is all you need to know about us.” He ignores her remark, as does Bric.

How badly they must want her to just gloss over all these warning bells. “Are we done now?” I ask.

“Is that it?” Marcella asks, leaning in to get a better look at the contract.

“Except for the payout,” Bric says. “But that’s all about the dream. When you get an idea of what you’d like, you come tell me, Marcella. We’ll make it happen.” And then he holds her chin as he kisses her on the lips one more time, whispering, “Sign the contract,” into her mouth.

Smith pushes a pen in her direction, but she ignores him until Bric is done owning her lips.

Her hands are shaking when she picks up the pen. And I don’t know what her signature normally looks like, but when she signs and pushes the contract across the table at me so I can sign next, it’s almost illegible from her unsteady hand.

I sign and pass it to Smith. He signs and pushes it across the table to Bric. Bric looks at us both like he just hit the bullseye and won the biggest prize at the carnival.

He signs his name as a big, dramatic swoosh and then folds the contract up, tucks it back into the envelope, and slides it into his suit coat pocket.

“Great,” Smith says, pushing back from the table, his chair making a loud scraping sound. “Then let’s get started, Marcella. It’s Friday, so looks like I get to break you in first.”

Marcella Walcott goes completely pale. The reality of what’s happening hits her and she puts both hands up, like she needs to ward off Smith. “Tonight?” She’s breathing hard. “Not tonight. I’m not staying here tonight. I don’t have any of my things. There’s nothing of mine in that apartment. I need time to adjust. Next weekend. Can we start—”

“No,” Bric says. He’s not loud, but he’s got a way of commanding people into shutting up.

Marcella shuts up.

“You’re going with Smith, Chella. He’s right. It’s Friday and your part in this game is to make him happy.”

“I don’t—”

“Hey,” Smith says, his word coming out light and easy, interrupting her. “I’ll take you home tonight if you want. I’m OK with that. No big deal, right? Relax, Chella. Like Bric said, we’re not out to hurt you or make you miserable.”

He walks around behind Bric and then pulls Marcella’s chair out. She gets up on instinct. Like she knows just what to do when a man pulls out a chair. Smith latches on to her arm and leads her away, leaning into her ear to say, “I’ll take you home. Just calm down.”

Marcella looks over her shoulder as she stumbles towards the stairs. The look is really a plea for help from Bric.

But Bric knows he’s got no power tonight. His power comes later next week.

So he shuns her. Lets her go.

Tonight, she belongs to Smith.

I hold my glass up to her as she’s led down the stairs. “Cheers, Marcella Walcott. Welcome to Turning Point Club.”

Let’s just see how long you last.





Chapter Eleven - Smith





Marcella’s reluctant, but I don’t care. I have one goal, one focus, one way to end this night. And all of that revolves around her. She gets in the car when I open the door and then I say, “Scoot over,” before sliding in and placing my hand on her leg.

She draws in a deep breath that I almost miss due to the soft clunk of the driver closing the door.

“Are you afraid yet?”

“No,” she says, not looking at me. Looking at everything else but me. The backseat, which she already knows, because this is the same car I sent her home in last weekend. Out the window, where the capitol building dominates the skyline. Her feet. Her hands. My face.