Taking Turns (Turning #1)(50)

“Aside from you?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.

“But that’s the thing. You don’t really get me. You get to share me. Why would you want to share me when you can each have whomever you want all to yourselves?”

“Maybe we want that with each other?”

“So you’re all gay?”

“No.” I laugh. “No, we’re not gay.”

“Do you f*ck them?”

“Chella—”

“I’m serious. I need to know. I just need to understand and I need to put a label on this.”

“No, I don’t f*ck them.”

“Have you ever kissed Quin or Smith? Or touched them erotically during one of these… ménage episodes?”

“Ménage episodes,” I say. “Well, I’ve heard it all now.”

“I’m serious, Bric. It’s an honest question.”

And just looking at her, I realize it is an honest question. She is calm, and serious, and curious. “I’m sure I have. But it’s not a memory I hold on to and think about later.”

“So let’s say you’re having sex with one of your… toys in the game of Taking Turns.”

“OK,” I say.

“And everyone is turned on. Things are hot and carnal.” I smile just thinking about the images in her head right now. “Where do you draw the line? With them, I mean. Do you suck their cocks?”

“Fuck, Chella—”

“Just answer me. Why won’t you answer me?”

“I have no issue talking about this at all. Or telling you anything you want to know. But just so we’re clear, you’re turning me on.” I take her hand off my shoulder and drag it down my chest until I can feel the warmth of her palm pressing against the thick, hard outline of my cock through my pants. “We go as far as we want.”

“So, if Smith was f*cking me and your cock was right there, like you wanted to put it in my mouth, he could suck it instead? And you wouldn’t mind? Because it’s all in the moment and the moment is all about peeking into the forbidden?”

“Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

“Would you let him?”

“If he wanted to.” I shrug. “If I was in the mood to let him. Why not? Does that bother you? Would that be a line you wouldn’t cross?”

“I would probably suck it with him,” she says. Dead. Serious.

We just stare at each other. So many silent seconds tick off and I have so many questions for her right now, I don’t even know where to start.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice says off to my left. “Do you mind if I cut in and dance with your date, Elias?”

Chella smiles. Maybe at the conversation we were just saved from. Maybe because this guy called me Elias instead of Bric, and that implies a different world than the one we inhabit together. Or maybe because she’s the one playing with me, and not the other way around.

I step back and greet Bernard Millington with a handshake, a clap on the back, and hand Chella over to the old geezer who probably just wants to piss his wife off by dancing with a younger woman.

Bernard dances with her only briefly and then whisks her off to make introductions to other members of the board we sit on together.

She finds me with her eyes when she can. And I never stop staring at her at all. Not even when I pull out my phone, dial Smith’s number. He answers with, “Yes, Mr. Bricman? How can I help you?” in that smug I-told-you-so voice.

“Set it up,” I say. “I think we’re a go for tonight.”

The party goes late. And Chella is busy avoiding me the entire time as I suck down several drinks and try to assure board members that there will be similar, and possibly more generous, donations next year.

It’s after two in the morning when we finally make our way back inside the car and head North towards downtown. “Did you have a nice time?” I ask.

“Did it look like I was?” she asks.

It’s easy to forget who she really is when we have her in a vulnerable state. But right now—all night, in fact—she’s been reminding me.

Marcella Walcott is the only child of a US senator who spent most of his adult life in DC. She grew up in it. She grew up with people like the ones we were with tonight. She knows how to dance to the music of a string quartet. She knows how to make polite conversation. She knows how to talk to people about politics, and societal concerns, and money.

“I think you did,” I say.

“I did.” She laughs, wrapping her hands around my upper arm and leaning into me just enough to let me know she’s receptive to whatever I have planned when we get home.

“Good,” I say. “Because we have two more weeks of parties.”

“And then what, Elias Bricman?”

I look out my window and smile, sure she is watching my reflection in the dark glass very closely.

“What will you do with me when we run out of parties to keep us busy?”

I look back at her. I admit, I was not convinced of Smith’s characterization of her all week long. He’s got theories upon theories about why she’s here. Why she’s playing along. I didn’t see it, I guess. Couldn’t imagine it, maybe. But when she said she’d suck my cock with Smith, I have to admit, he might be right.