Taking Turns (Turning #1)(73)

It takes a few more minutes of convincing, but by the time the car arrives, she’s more relaxed. Or maybe just more nervous about Smith and me than she is about that Jordan guy.

As she should be.

We drive back to the Club and drop the car off. “Are you hungry?” I ask when I lead her inside. “We can eat first if you’d like?” She looks at the White Room, which is filled with diners. Wednesdays are open to the public, but I see a flash of fear on her face. “We can get room service later, if you’d like.”

“Yes,” she says, allowing me to lead her through the lobby to the stairs. We walk up to the elevator—Chella’s nervous glance over at Smith’s bar tells me she’s looking for him. “Room service later is perfect.”

“Good,” I say, punching the call button. When the doors open, I urge her forward. And when they close I press the button for five, not six.

“Aren’t we going to my apartment?”

I just smile. “Now why would we do that, Miss Walcott? That’s not where I keep my secrets.”





Chapter Twenty-Five - Chella




I know there’s nothing to be afraid of. This is Bric. But my stomach is doing all kinds of twists and turns as I watch the elevator count the floors as we ascend.

The doors open with a beep and Bric places his hand on the small of my back, pressing me forward.

I’m surprised to find that the elevator leads directly into the apartment. The ceilings are high. Much higher than mine, one floor above. And the windows on the far side of the expansive living room stretch from floor to ceiling, framing the golden dome of the Capitol building right in the middle pane.

The floors are a checkered pattern of black and white marble and the furniture is sleek, modern, and minimalist. I take a deep breath when I notice Smith off to the left, standing at the bar. He’s wearing a tuxedo, like Bric’s, and he’s holding a glass of champagne out for me.

“You made it,” Smith says, striding over as Bric takes off my coat and drapes it over a chair in the foyer.

“I made it,” I say, exhaling out the nervousness once I hear Smith’s voice. I know him. I know Bric. I know these men. The rules really do have a purpose. If we had tried this even last week, I don’t think I could’ve gone through it. Not because I didn’t want to. No. I really want to. But because I’d feel very ashamed letting myself be watched by one man as another one f*cked me.

I take the glass and sip, then sip again to make sure my newfound courage doesn’t have a chance to fly away.

“You,” Smith says, “look stunning in that dress. Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Naked men dancing?” I laugh, looking at Bric. “How could I not?”

Smith and I don’t have the witty banter thing down yet, but I feel more comfortable with him now. And even though I did sleep with him last weekend down in the club, that’s not why I’m feeling more at ease.

I think I just… like him.

“Are you nervous?” Smith asks, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. Clearly he is not.

“I’m not sure.” I look at Bric, who is just as handsome as Smith in that tux. “I’m not sure what to expect.”

“Well,” Smith says, walking me as he looks me up and down. I turn my head to watch him gaze at the low dip of the dress. My bare back. My ass. And then I have to turn my whole body to keep up with his circle. “Bric and I have come up with something.”

“Something?” I ask, looking at Bric, who has been silent. Just watching Smith and I work this out on our own.

Smith waves a hand to the dining room table off to the right. The main rooms, so far, are open concept. So even though the spaces are large, they are open. And the dining room isn’t close enough for me to see what he’s motioning to.

I walk over, both men follow, and peer down at what’s waiting for me.

“You get to choose,” Bric says.

There’s a whip, a ball gag, a blindfold, and some rope. Just the way Bric likes it. And I begin to breathe a sigh of relief—that this will be somewhat familiar.

“Normally,” Smith amends Bric’s statement. “Normally he lets you choose, right, Chella?”

I nod slowly.

“But not tonight.”

My eyes shift up to his.

“I get to choose,” Smith says, reaching for… the blindfold. “And I choose this.” He steps around me and hands the blindfold to Bric. “You can do the honors.”

Bric is directly behind me. He places both hands on my shoulders as Smith backs off, his eyes never leaving mine, until he’s next to the kitchen counter, where he picks up a pair of wireless headphones.

Bric strokes my bare arms, rubbing them as he leans in to kiss my neck. I take another sip of champagne, but Smith is suddenly there, taking the fluted glass away.

“No, no, no,” he says. “A sip or two is fine. But we don’t want you drunk, Chella.”

Bric’s hands slip inside the obscenely low-cut front of my gown and then he rips it open, my skin stinging from the tape as it comes off my skin. Before I can react, he’s squeezing and twisting my nipples. “We just needed to get that taken care of.” He laughs into my ear. “Quickly.”

His chest presses into my back and I let the painful sting fade as I relax against him. His hands feel good and Smith’s eyes, as he watches us so… so very carefully, so closely, feel even better.