Taking Turns (Turning #1)(59)

“Good for you, motherf*cker,” I say, raising my glass of Scotch to no one.

He can have that f*cking club. He’s always been more interested in what goes on down there than I have. Quin as well. Hell, maybe Quin will join in. Lucinda can get the gang-bang of her dreams.

I stew in my thoughts like this for hours. Until it’s after eleven o’clock and I’m about ready to call it a night.

And then Chella walks in the front door, wearing a white dress that shows more cleavage than I need right now. For a second I’m enraged, thinking she’s going to join Quin and Bric downstairs. But she leans in to talk to the hostess, who smiles and nods at the sentry standing guard in front of the black velvet rope in front of the main staircase, and she is given permission to go upstairs.

What the f*ck is she doing?

I watch her with interest as she ascends, and then our eyes meet. I repeat my thought out loud. “What the f*ck are you doing?”

She turns her head and keeps climbing until she gets to the landing and presses the button for the elevator.

“Chella,” I say again, a little louder this time as I get up and walk to the opening of my private bar and look down at her. “What are you doing?”

The elevator doors open and she steps inside without answering me.

I jump down the six steps that lead to the second-story landing and follow her, just in time before the elevator doors close.

“Did you hear me?”

“Do I appear deaf? Of course I heard you.”

“Why are you here?”

“I live here. Top-floor apartment. Brand new furniture. Ringing any bells?”

“No,” I say. “You do not live here. You live down on Little Raven Street and that’s where you need to go. Right now.”

“No,” Chella says, her back straight, her chin tipped up. Defiant. “No. I’m not going back there. I’m bored. And you already told me you wouldn’t be around this evening. So why should I stay there? I’d rather be here.”

“It’s Saturday night, Chella. You don’t need to be here, trust me.”

“Rochelle stayed here on Saturday nights.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was Number Two with Rochelle.”

“And?”

And I wasn’t playing games with her like I am with you. But I don’t say that. I say, “It was a lot simpler.”

The elevator doors open and she steps out, the keycard to her apartment already in her hand. She unlocks the door and swings it open, then blocks my entrance so I can’t come in. “I’m tired, so you don’t need to babysit me.”

“Move,” I say. “I want in.”

“I thought you don’t want to spend time with me?” she says.

“I thought you wanted to stay at your own home as much as possible,” I counter.

“I changed my mind.”

“Well, so did I.” She steps aside and I walk past her, go into the kitchen, and immediately take down a bottle of Scotch I stashed in the cupboard while she was at work this week.

Chella closes the door and walks down the hall to her bedroom.

I pour myself a drink, take a long gulp, refill, and then follow her. She’s undressing. I can see her through the open door of the massive closet. I see Quin has been busy, because she’s got a lot more clothes in there than she did the last time I was in here.

“You know,” she says, “if you want me to go home, you might consider lifting the order on that sex tape you’ve had running on my bedroom TV for three days.”

I almost laugh. “You didn’t turn it off?” And then I do laugh.

She glares at me as the dress slips down her body and pools into a puddle at her feet. “You told me not to. Am I the only one following the rules anymore? I mean I figured things would go off the rails, but I didn’t think it would only take a week.”

“Hmm,” I say. “Is this about Bric coming to see you yesterday? Because I never told him to.”

“Of course you didn’t. He was there asking me to deny you access to our bedroom and cut you out of the relationship completely by making you watch remotely.”

I just blink at her. “Are you f*cking serious right now?”

“Why would I lie about that?”

I can think of about two dozen reasons why one of our toys might lie about that. But none of them ring true about Marcella Walcott. She stands there naked, waiting to see if I’ll answer. But I suddenly have the urge to shut the f*ck up.

Bric is getting bold.

Chella shrugs at my silence and then turns to her underwear drawer and takes out a cream-colored lace nightie that has Quin’s handiwork all over it.

I mostly like them to sleep naked. Quin likes to dress them up like dolls every chance he gets.

I lean against the closet door, trying my best to look nonchalant as I watch her pull the lace over her tits and then jiggle them around to get them situated.

Chella ignores me, pushing past with a hand on my chest to give herself room to get by. And then she walks out of the bedroom and down the hall, back to the living room.

I did not miss the fact that she has no panties on. Or that she touched me.

Is she trying to f*ck with me tonight? Is she baiting me to break the rules? Is she really considering Bric’s advice?