Taking Turns (Turning #1)(54)

I spend the next hour repeating Smith’s words in my head as I have mindless conversation with Bric and the many, many people who come up to the table to try—and fail—to get an introduction.

If you want to go dark, go dark.

Don’t take a light.

You’re mine every night, Chella. You just don’t realize it yet.

When we’re done eating, Bric takes me outside where a car is waiting, but not the long, black kind we usually take.

His own personal car.

He opens the door and there’s a present on the seat.

“What’s this?” I ask, smiling up at him as I pick up the bag.

“Open it and see.”

It’s a video camera. A little handheld one that almost no one uses anymore because everyone just uses a phone.

“He was pretty happy with last night, Chella.”

“This is from… Smith?”

“Yes.” Bric nods. And then he leans in to kiss me. “We’re going to do dirty, dirty things for that camera tonight. Starting the moment you get in the car.”

And even though I do not want to feel that creeping hot wetness between my legs, it’s there. It’s ready.

When Bric gets in the driver’s side, after closing my door and telling me to fasten my seatbelt, he says, “Turn it on,” as he unbuttons and unzips his pants and pulls out his cock. “He’s not gonna want to miss this.”

My head is in his lap, the camera mounted on the dash, and I suck his cock the entire twenty-minute drive over to an estate in Cherry Creek.

I swallow his come and lick my lips as he holds the camera, while we’re parked on the street. And then I reapply my lipstick and we go inside.

The party is boring. The people are old. And those ninety minutes can’t go by fast enough.

I film Bric fingering me on the way back to Turning Point Club. And when we get upstairs and I don’t have to worry about documenting our depravity anymore, I choose the whip when he lays out his four toys on the bed.

My thighs are red and raw by the time eleven thirty rolls around. My * is sore, but still wants more when he takes me to my house and walks me up to the door.

We kiss. Passionately. His fingers inside me again, his dick harder than ever. And then he turns away without a word and leaves me in the hands of his friend.

I open the door, close it behind me, and then lean back with a sigh.

If you want to go dark, go dark.

Don’t take a light.

And then a phone rings in the kitchen. I walk through the dark house, wondering if I smell paint, but put that out of my mind as I reach for the lit-up cell phone on the kitchen island.

“Hello?” I ask the phone.

“I have something you might like to see upstairs,” Smith says on the other end of the call. “Walk up to your room and don’t hang up.”

I flick on the lights and see the reason my house smells like paint. “You painted my orange wall?”

“You hated it. You need to be walking, Chella. I need you upstairs right now.”

Not only did he paint my orange wall—which I did hate, but… it’s my wall. My house—but there’s new furniture as well. New art on the walls. New rugs.

A small bedside lamp is glowing in the guest room on the second floor and I stop to look at what’s going on in there.

“Keep walking, Chella,” Smith says.

I look up at the ceiling, wondering where the cameras are. Because he obviously has cameras in here now too.

“You’re sleeping in there?” I ask, bewildered. He’s been at my house all week from the looks of it. He really has moved in.

“Bedroom, Chella. Now,” Smith growls.

I climb the final flight of stairs up to the third floor. There’s a light on up here too. Not one I had before Smith came into my life. The whole room has been redecorated.

“You refurnished my bedroom?” I ask.

“I can’t f*ck you on a bed I didn’t buy new. But that’s not what I wanted you to see. Turn on the TV.”

The remote has been placed at the end of the bed, along with the two napkins he used to send me messages.

I click the remote on, ignoring the napkins, and the moaning starts up immediately.

It’s Bric f*cking me tonight.

Then scenes from last night flick through in a tightly edited sequence of my moaning and sucking his cock.

“Do not turn that TV off, Chella. Do you understand me? Only I’m allowed to turn it off.”

“Are you here?” My eyes dart around as my heart begins to race at the thought of him being inside the house, watching me like a sick freak.

“No.” Smith laughs. “No. I can’t trust myself to be there with you this weekend. So let’s get this out of the way right the f*ck now. Next week when Bric calls you at midnight to have his little how-are-you-doing conversation, you’re going to tell him you want me in the room from now on. Do you understand?”

“What?”

“You heard me. In the room, Chella. Fuck these cameras. I want front-row seats with an all-access pass from this day forward.”

“No,” I say. “That’s not your decision. I’m the one in charge—”

“Is that so?” Smith laughs. “You wanted to suck Bric’s cock in the car and film it for me to watch later? That was your idea? Or was it his idea and you just went along?”