The VIP Room(156)

Blake draws circles around my nipples with his fingertips. He presses his palm into my breast to hold my body against his. His other hand works magic. His strokes are so light I can barely feel them. It seems impossible that something so subtle could send such dramatic waves of ecstasy through my body.

His teeth sink into my neck. Just enough to hurt, but that hurt feels so damn good. I consider asking for more, for harder, but the pressure building inside me is already too much to take.

A moan escapes my lips.

He strokes me. Harder. Faster. Then it's perfect. Yes. I gasp louder than I mean to. He sinks his teeth into my neck. Harder. The pain shoots all the way to my sex, mixing with the pleasure spreading through my body.

We're in a dressing room. I can't scream. I press my eyes closed and sink my teeth into my lip. He strokes me, faster, harder, more. An orgasm rises up inside me. Almost. Almost. Almost.

He pinches my nipples. Another tiny burst of pain. It pushes me over the edge. All that pressure inside me unravels, spreading all the way to my fingers and toes.

Yes. Hell yes. I blink my eyes open and my gaze fixes on the reflection in the mirror. Blake is staring at me, watching the pleasure spreading over my face.

Suddenly, I feel shy. Exposed even. I release my grip on the mirror and turn so Blake and I are face to face. There's no explaining his expression. Satisfaction is the closest thing I can pin down.

His fingertips slide over my chin. "Tonight." It's a promise.

I nod. Tonight.

Outside our stall, the main door opens. The tap, tap of high heels on the carpet.

His eyes dart to his watch. "Just in time."

Tonight can't come soon enough.



* * *



The afternoon is set aside for hair and makeup. It's starts with a painful, full-body waxing. Eyebrows and everything below my chin. I've always kept pretty trim, and Blake certainly didn't raise any objections in the dressing room, but hairless is apparently part of the plan.

Then we're on to the hair on my head. A stylist fusses over it, talking through me like I'm not here. He and Ashleigh debate specific shades and brands of dye. Honey, platinum, ash, sandy, baby, beige, beachy. It's blonde any way you can cut it.

I've never paid much attention to my hair, but I still don't like it changing. It's easy this way. It's me. It's the same color as my mother's hair.

They settle on a specific color. A lovely beige with golden highlights.

It's only hair.

It shouldn't matter.

The stylist paints dye on my hair with a brush. He concentrates like he's working on a masterpiece. It must take half an hour.

Dread filters through my brain while I wait. This is a bad idea. I can back out now, before it gets too deep, before I have to lie to many people.

Tonight. Blake said tonight. No way I'm backing out before he makes good on that promise. He's still a mystery, but as far as I can tell, he's a man of his word.

Tonight. It's such a beautiful word.

Finally, the stylist washes my hair. He cuts off inches here and bits there, blow dries and curls until it's perfect. Then it's makeup. Dark and bold with big, fake lashes. There's an outfit waiting for me, hung on a door. That pink cocktail dress and a different pair of strappy sandals.

I check my reflection in the mirror and all the air leaves my body. I don't recognize the girl looking back at me. I know it's me under the makeup, tight dress, and waves of honey-colored hair, but there's something off about it, too.

We're lying to the world, but I'm not going to lie to myself. Blake can pile on all the gloss he wants, but I'm still Kat under here. I have to remember that.



* * *



We have dinner at Lotus Blossom, the same restaurant that rejected my job application without a second glance. Blake makes a show of parading in front of the * manager who ignored me.

The place is crowded--incredibly crowded--but we are instantly given a table right by the window. Gorgeous view of Fifth Avenue. It's dark out--the entire day lost to an exhausting makeover--and the city lights are in full effect. Yellow lights bleed into the brilliant royal blue sky.

Blake slides his arm around my waist, holding me tightly. There's something protective about it. It's almost sweet. But it must be for show. That's the whole idea here. Our relationship is a ruse. Just for show.

He pulls out my chair for me and pushes it in after me. A perfect gentleman on the outside. Inside, I haven't got a clue, but there's no reason why it needs to concern me.

I slide my fingers over the menu but pay no real attention to its details. Blake is the kind of guy who likes to be in charge of dinner. He'll order for me, right down to my drinks and dessert. If we're staying for dessert.

I take a long sip of my water, avoiding his gaze. It's penetrating again. I stare at the clean, white tablecloth as long as I can. When I can't stand it any longer, I make eye contact. The same penetrating look is on his face.

"Kat."

"Yes?"

"This only works if we're honest with each other."

"Okay. I'm tired. I'm starving. I want to go home and see my sister, but according to her texts, she's going out with her best friend. God knows where they're going or if they have fake IDs."

He nods like he understands. His eyes pass over me, his expression softening.