Taking Turns (Turning #1)(35)

I know why.

Rochelle came to me. She slipped inside my life. Became my friend. She saw through me immediately, didn’t she? Just like Smith.

That book…

“Chella,” Smith repeats. He pulls out of the kiss and backs away one step. Two.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my words coming out in ragged gasps.

Smith smiles down at me. Places both hands flat against both my cheeks. “The toast is over, love.”

I look at the two glasses of champagne. Still full and sitting on the counter. “What?”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Smith says, stroking my cheek. He’s got the other hand on his cock, a thick outline beneath his trousers. I place my hand over his and then we switch places, his strong hand on mine, urging me once again to stroke him. “But I have a lot of rules.”

I’m watching our hands. The way he guides me to move the way he likes it. I memorize that movement so I can do it again later without his help.

“Look at me,” he says.

I do. I look up.

“Unzip my pants and take out my cock and my balls.”

I nod at him. Say, “Yes, OK.” And do just as he asks.

“Make me come.”

I keep eye contact as I cup his balls with one hand and stroke him with the other. Long strokes. Slow, then faster. I want to get down on my knees and put him in my mouth. But he’s got a hold on my hair. A hold so tight, it’s pulling on my scalp.

So I just open my mouth and lock my eyes with his as I keep going.

The smile he gives me might be worth all his bullshit. He has a dimple in one cheek that I’ve never seen before. Maybe because I’ve never seen a real smile from him.

“Do you want to know my rules, Chella?”

“Yes,” I say in a throaty whisper. “Tell me the rules. I can follow them, I promise.”

He lets go of my hair and pets my head. “I’m happy to hear that. Now open your legs wide and give me full access.” I comply. Willingly. Immediately. And then his hand slides back up under my dress and his fingers begin to play.

I close my eyes and drop my head back a little. Allowing myself to enjoy it.

“Does it feel good?”

“Mmmmm,” I manage.

He flattens his hand and begins to rub his fingertips across my clit in short, quick bursts. I’m on edge. I’m so close. I stroke him harder, wanting him to come with me when I can’t stand it any longer.

He’s moaning. I’m moaning. And then…

He steps away. His fingers pull out of my throbbing, wet *. My hand slips off his huge, fat cock.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “We’re so close.”

He pets my head again while his other hand tucks his cock away and zips up his pants. “I know, Chella. But the rules, love. I’m sorry, but the rules of Taking Turns say I’m… not allowed to f*ck you. I’m not allowed to make you come. You’re not allowed to make me come.”

“What?” I ask. “What the f*ck are you talking about?”

He laughs. “I’ll excuse that slip in language because I kinda set you up here.”

“Smith.” I breathe in short, quick pants. “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t talk about the other rules. I can only tell you mine. And rule number one of our relationship is no f*cking and that also includes no touching.”

“That makes no sense,” I blurt.

“It does, love.” He pets my hair again, like I am a lost, sad dog. A very sick, lost and sad dog. “You’ll see that it does. Now be a good girl and go get ready for bed. It’s late now. We’re having an early breakfast with Quin and Bric so I can give them a report on how tonight went. And you have work after that. So go on. Go upstairs and take a shower.”

I.

Am.

Speechless.

“Chella,” Smith says, raising his voice. “I just told you to do something. When I give an order you will acknowledge me and then carry it out.”

I just stare at him. “Where are these rules?” I demand. “Were they in the contract?”

“The contract stated your role was to make us happy. And these rules make us happy. End of discussion. Go upstairs and get in the shower.”

I let out a long, disgusted sigh. Stand up. And walk away before I slap his f*cking face.

It’s a game. It’s a game. It’s a game.

I run his words back in my head as I climb the stairs. The rules of Taking Turns say I’m not allowed to f*ck you.

Or touch me. He said that too. What’s that mean? He can’t make me come? I can’t make him come? Which means… we masturbate a lot and then we leave each other hanging?

“That rule is f*cking stupid,” I yell.

“Last time, Chella,” he yells back from below. “Last time I’ll let you get away with talking back. So be ready if you choose to do it again.”

“Fuck you,” I say. But I say it quietly.

When I get to the bedroom there’s lingerie laid out on my bed. Just a soft pink chemise. The bust is made of lace and it has a flirty skirt that drapes down to just above my hips. There’s also matching panties, same color.

I hold it up and look at it. Kinda sweet. Not what I expected from this freak, that’s for sure.