His Turn - JA Huss

Contents His Turn DESCRIPTION Chapter One - Bric Chapter Two - Nadia Chapter Three - Bric Chapter Four - Nadia Chapter Five - Bric Chapter Six - Nadia Chapter Seven - Bric Chapter Eight - Nadia Chapter Nine - Bric Chapter Ten - Nadia Chapter Eleven -Bric Chapter Twelve - Nadia Chapter Thirteen - Bric Chapter Fourteen - Nadia Chapter Fifteen - Bric Chapter Sixteen - Nadia Chapter Seventeen - Bric Chapter Eighteen - Nadia Chapter Nineteen - Bric Chapter Twenty - Nadia Chapter Twenty-One - Bric Chapter Twenty-Two - Nadia Chapter Twenty-Three - Bric Chapter Twenty-Four - Nadia Chapter Twenty-Five - Bric

Chapter Twenty-Six - Nadia Chapter Twenty-Seven - Bric Chapter Twenty-Eight - Nadia Chapter Twenty-Nine - Bric Chapter Thirty - Nadia Chapter Thirty-One - Bric Chapter Thirty-Two - Nadia Chapter Thirty-Three - Bric Chapter Thirty-Four - Nadia Chapter Thirty-Five - Bric Epilogue - Jordan END OF BOOK SHIT About the Author

By J A Huss Edited by RJ Locksley Cover Photo: Sara Eirew Copyright © 2017 by J. A. Huss All rights reserved. ISBN-978-1-944475-21-5 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

DESCRIPTION

I look her body up and down as I circle her. Mine? I smile a devious, deviant, I’m gonna make you sorry you ever started playing this game with me smile. And then I take her hand. I lead her to the elevator. We go up to my apartment. I tie her wrists together with rope. Raise her arms above her head. And chain her to the ceiling. It’s my turn.

Chapter One - Bric

There is nothingness… and then there is emptiness. I’m lying in bed trying to figure out which is which. Trying not to notice that the girl who was here last night is gone. She’s not the reason for my existential crisis. And it’s not Rochelle either. It’s Smith and Quin who have my wandering attention this morning. My phone buzzes on the bedside table. I want to ignore that buzzer pretty bad right now, but this day has priorities. I grab it, tab accept, and put it up to my ear. “Yes.” “Bric,” Margaret says. She’s my manager downstairs. “There’s a real-estate agent here to see you.” “Give him a table, offer him anything he wants off the menu, and tell him I’ll be right down.” “Got it,” Margaret says. She hangs up without saying goodbye, but I don’t take it personally.

Margaret is the very first person I ever hired at the Club. She knows this place better than anyone except me. She might know me better than anyone except me as well. I drag myself out of bed, sighing, then shuffle around the room picking up my clothes and pulling on my pants. I leave the apartment and take the elevator down one floor to my own place. My shower is exactly two minutes long. I don’t shave, just finger-comb my hair and pull on a fresh suit. Lawton only waits fifteen minutes, tops, and he’s enjoying his complimentary breakfast when I slip into the booth, holding up a finger to signal the waitress I’d like coffee. “Bricman,” Lawton says. “I was beginning to think you stood me up.” “I need you, Lawton. Don’t be absurd. I don’t piss people off until I’m done using them.” Lawton laughs, like this is a joke, and continues eating. He’s in his prime. Twenty-eight years old. Built like a fucking MMA fighter, tall enough to be intimidating, wealthy enough to be confident, and good-looking. But he’s also smart enough to know how to rein all that in. Present himself as someone who is just another humble servant, ready to please. Of course, I’ve known him since he was sixteen. So I don’t fall for any of it. He’s not a Club member and we never meet here for business, but his office

is being remodeled over the holiday and it’s as good a place as any. “So what now?” he asks, taking a sip of coffee. “I need to sell the loft.” He almost chokes, takes a second to recover, and then says, “Why? The market is down right now and you can still make a killing off short-term rentals.” “I’m done with it,” I reply, just as the waitress comes up with my coffee. “Oh,” Law says. “All right then.” He takes a moment to think, then says, “I’ll go over and take a look at the new improvements and then put together a listing. Should go live by the end of the week.” I let out a long breath. And it’s not a sigh of relief. “But do you want to tell me why?” Law says. “I mean… when we last talked you were moving in there full-time.” “With Rochelle and Quin,” I say. Law just cocks his head a little, not understanding. “We broke up,” I say. “Oh,” he says. “OK. I get it. No need for lengthy explanations.” He takes his attention back to his omelet. This is one reason I like Law. He’s a little bit like Smith. Only cares about himself. Not interested in

the messy details. Just the facts, ma’am. Or… how Smith used to be. Before Chella. And even though I really love Chella, every day since I got the results of that paternity test back have been filled with thoughts of what if? What if Rochelle never left? What if we never met Chella? Smith never fell in love. Quin never got what he wanted. I’d be a lot happier. “Did you have a nice Christmas?” Law asks, throwing his napkin on his plate. “Oh, wait.” He laughs. “Never mind. I forgot. You don’t do Christmas. Did you have a nice weekend?” “Sure,” I say, as he pushes back from the table and gets to his feet. “Good. I did as well. OK, gotta run, Bric. But I’ll call you in a few days and give you an update.” He turns to leave before I can even bother responding, and I wonder if his life is as perfect as it seems. Lawton Ayers was a kid with a brain and not much else when I took him under my wing twelve years ago. I have a scholarship fund at the private high school I attended here in Denver. Law was just one among hundreds of kids who wanted that spot back when he was a junior in high school. He’d been in the foster system for two years by that time. Absent father, drug-addicted mother, and kicked out of every public high school he went to. But his SSAT scores were perfect. He was brilliant in a way only one born with brilliance can

be. So he made the shortlist of candidates and we ended up having a one-on-one. Cocky doesn’t even come close to describing him back then. But I knew he had potential. He got the scholarship. And when he graduated, he got more than a scholarship. I became his sponsor. And look at him now. Made his first million two years ago and well on his way to real-estate domination. See? This is what I tell myself on days like this. See what I did? I made him. But the thing that really kinda pisses me off about Lawton Ayers is that he comes off so damn satisfied. I just want to smack that self-assured smile off his face, wrap my hands around his throat, and shake the truth out of him. No one is that fucking satisfied at twenty-eight coming from a place like he did. No one gets over shit that easy. “Hey.” I pull myself out of my fascination with Lawton’s personal demons and find Jordan grabbing the seat Law just vacated. “What’s up?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee. “You look deep in thought,” Jordan says. “Still thinking about her, huh?” “Who?” I ask, defensive. I wasn’t thinking about Rochelle. Fuck him for even— “Nadia,” Jordan says, his eyebrows knitted

together. “Who the fuck is Nadia?” I ask. But I’m relieved he didn’t say Rochelle. Even though I wasn’t thinking about her. “My present last night.” Jordan laughs. “Oh,” I say. “Her.” “What the fuck do you mean, Oh, her? She’s fucking amazing, right?” “I guess,” I say, taking another sip of coffee. “You didn’t like her? What she’d do? Mouth off? I fucking told her not to talk to you, goddammit.” I wave my hand at him. “No, she didn’t talk.” I laugh. “She didn’t make a single fucking sound.” “Explain,” Jordan says. His forehead is all scrunched up, like this is the most unbelievable puzzle that needs solving. “What part of she didn’t make a sound needs explaining? She didn’t talk. She didn’t do anything but submit.” Jordan laughs. “And? That’s your thing, right? Shut up and submit.” “Yeah, but I like a little screaming and a lot of moaning. She didn’t even cry.” Jordan stares at me for a few seconds. “Huh.” “Huh, what?” I ask. “That’s weird. She’s fucking perfect with me. Her moans are so loud I usually have to gag her. I guess she didn’t care for it.”

“Care for what?” I ask. “Well.” Jordan snickers. “You.” “Whatever,” I say. “I wasn’t looking for a fuck last night anyway. I only did it because she was there.” “Did she say anything when she left?” Jordan asks. “I dunno. I was sleeping. I don’t even know when she left. Just woke up this morning and she was gone.” “Huh,” Jordan says again. “Would you stop it with your silent judging? Who cares? I don’t want her. She’s yours anyway.” “Well,” Jordan says. “I was thinking, you know. We could bring her in on the game.” “Fuck that. She’s boring.” “Boring?” Jordan’s laugh is practically a guffaw now. “Well, I have a lot of words to describe Nadia, but boring is definitely not one of them. She’s fucking amazing. Fights back like nobody’s business.” He leans in, looking around to see who’s at the tables nearby, then whispers, “And she cries the most beautiful tears when I fuck her throat. Fucking make-up runs down her cheeks. Eyes on me the entire time. She’s all, ‘Yes, sir. Do it harder. Yes, sir, I want more.’ God, I get hard just thinking about it.” I admit… I have trouble picturing that. “I thought you told me she was a top?”

“Was.” Jordan chuckles. “But that whole time you were busy with Rochelle and Quin I was training her. I told you that.” “It was only a couple weeks,” I say, doubting. “She liked it, Bric. Well,” he says, taking a moment to think. “She liked it with me, anyway. Maybe she just doesn’t like you?” I’m done here. “I gotta go,” I say, standing. “I got things to do today.” I take out my wallet, throw down a fifty, and say, “Order whatever you want. Breakfast’s on me,” as I turn away. “So we’re still on for tonight?” Jordan calls after me. But I don’t even know what he’s talking about, so I don’t bother answering. I have nothing planned for today, let alone tonight. But I don’t want to have a conversation about how a girl I don’t even care about prefers Jordan over me. I go up to the second-floor elevator, take it back up to my apartment, undress, and crawl back into bed. There is nothingness… and then there is emptiness. I’m still trying to figure out the difference.

Chapter Two - Nadia

My feet are killing me and my nipples are sore from the clamps Jordan’s friend used on me last night. My ass still stings when I sit down from the slaps, and my thighs tremble even though all I’m doing is walking around the classroom, pointing out imperfections in form. “Point your toes,” I say to the room filled with little girls. They are at the barre, left feet turned out, ankles already hurting as they stretch their right arms over their right legs propped up on the barre. “Keep your body straight, Kallie. And hold for one. Two. Three. Don’t bend your knees, Jessica. And other side.” There are seven nine-and ten-year-old wannabe ballerinas in my morning class. They wear pink tights, light-blue leotards, and pink slippers. They all have their hair pulled tightly back into buns, strained, serious expressions on their faces, and their young muscles tremble as we progress through warm-up.

By the time they are nine, they know most of them will fail. They watch each other with an even more critical eye than I do. They assess their peers, then self-assess, then reassess. Maybe one of these seven girls will make it. Maybe. I’m new here at the Mountain Ballet. They barely know me. But none of them are new. All of them have been in the Mountain Ballet School since they were five years old. All of them understand the rigors of ballet training. All of them dream, and stress, and hope, and pray that one day they will be like me. The rest of the class proceeds as usual. This is a special holiday camp for the most promising levelthree students. And they will work hard. It’s my job to push them just enough to make them rethink their choices. So I do. These seven will not quit until some outside force requires them to. They move away. Their parents get divorced and can no longer afford us. They get sick or injured. “Excuse me? Nadia?” Chris, the teenager who runs the reception desk, whisper-yells over the classical music. “You have a phone call. He says it’s urgent.” I sigh, looking at the clock. We have five minutes left. I know it’s Jordan on the phone. He does this on purpose to make me leave my class

and obey him. I want to punch him in the face. But I also want to keep seeing him. “Can you cool them down, Chris? Thank you.” I don’t wait for her answer. She, too, has dreams of being me. I entered the Mountain Ballet as a demi-soloist, but she is only junior company. I outrank her. She will not complain. “This is Nadia,” I say into the phone, smiling at parents in the lobby waiting to pick up their children. “Nadia,” Jordan says. I take a seat at the reception desk so the parents can no longer see me. “Yes, sir,” I say demurely. It makes me sick to call him that. But I can’t stop myself. This… relationship we have has progressed to a point I don’t completely understand. I’m compelled to do it. “I’m in the parking lot. Join me immediately.” “Yes, sir,” I say. He hangs up. I stand, smile, straighten my black ballet skirt, and walk around the front of the desk. More smiling for the parents, then through the back door and out into the parking lot. Jordan’s black BMW is idling. He’s checking his phone. I run to the car, cringing at the thought of my black slippers getting wet from the snow, and get in. “I had breakfast with Mr. Bricman this morning.” Oh, shit.

“He says you didn’t enjoy yourself.” I say nothing. It wasn’t a question. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Jordan asks. “Yes, sir.” He rubs a hand across his jaw. He hasn’t shaved today and the stubble turns me on. “Well, Elias Bricman didn’t feel you did. I had high hopes for you, Nadia. And when we started this, I made it very clear what kind of woman we were interested in. I don’t want you, Nadia. I want you and him. Do you understand?” I have to stop myself from swallowing hard. He’s going to do something about this later. Something that terrifies and excites me at the same time. “Yes, sir.” “So we’re going to try again tonight. And if you want to be around tomorrow, you had better make him happy. Now get out.” I open the door and stand up. “And Nadia,” he says, leaning over into the passenger seat so he can see my face. “Do not disappoint me.” “Yes, sir.” He reaches for the inside handle of the door and yanks it closed, ripping it from my hand. He doesn’t screech the tires when he pulls away, but I can tell he’s angry with me. I turn, my feet already soaked from the snow, my slippers already ruined, and wrap my arms

around my body, hugging myself as I go back inside. This hour’s classes are over, Chris is back at the desk, and the lobby is filled with the pre-ballet students in the half-day camp. My students are at lunch. Our classes won’t begin again for another hour. So I go to the break room and sit with my new friends, pretend to eat the low-calorie lunch I brought from home, just like everyone else, and lose myself in my thoughts. I don’t understand how I got here. All the parts that involve here are included. I don’t understand how I got this position, or the apartment I’m living in, or the man who just left. I don’t understand any of it, but I can map it out quite clearly. Matthew, one of the guys at my table, says something that makes everyone laugh, so I laugh with them before returning to my thoughts. I am not a shoddy dancer. I am not undisciplined. I am not lazy, and I do not take anything for granted. I worked hard to get where I am. I worked hard to pay for ballet classes back in New York. I deserve this. This, meaning my career. I earned it. But the offer to dance with Mountain Ballet was unexpected. I was rising in the corps back in New York. I would’ve made demi-soloist eventually if I had stayed. But it would’ve meant at least three

more years of corps work. And three more years is a long time in the dance world. I would be twentysix. I’d rather be twenty-three. So I came. I was offered the position pretty much out of nowhere. And two weeks later I was living in a company apartment in Denver. It was a whirlwind dream come true. But there has to be a string. Everything requires payment. And even though Jordan has nothing to do with the ballet—hates it, in fact. Hasn’t even ever seen The Nutcracker, for fuck’s sake—he’s the condition. Fate or luck or whatever you want to call it always has a price and I think Jordan Wells is my price. That’s why I put up with his bullshit. I just know —feel it in my heart—that if I walk away from him luck will walk away from me. It’s stupid. I realize this. But I still believe it. So I stay. But he’s dangerous, this man. He has rules, and expectations, and he insists on being in control. Control is something I like as well. I’m in control of everything in my life if you take Jordan out of the equation. It’s why I told him I wasn’t submissive. I’m not. That wasn’t a lie. But I was hoping to dissuade him after his offer. He called me a challenge. Like I’m a game. Like I’m just a piece of a puzzle he’s trying to put

together. And he wants us to play the game with Elias Bricman. I’ve seen Elias around the Club. He’s the owner, or part-owner. Manager. One of those three. I have no idea. So last night, when Jordan came over to my apartment and ordered me to dress up in the clothes he brought me, tied a gift tag onto my wrist, and told me to go meet Mr. Bricman at his secondstory bar inside the Club, I went. He instructed me not to speak, so I didn’t. But he never told me to have a good time. I smile at that. Stupid asshole. He should know how to play his own game by now. Of course, the joke’s on me. Because now he’s pissed off and I’m expected to satisfy his friend tonight. Again. “What are you smiling about?” Matthew asks. “Oh, nothing,” I say, chuckling to myself. “Just a guy.” Matthew smiles back and winks. I don’t know him well, but well enough. I get up before he can pry into my personal life and he sings out after me, “I’ll get that story, Nadia. So don’t think walking away will help you escape.” I’m really not trying to escape. Escaping is easy. I’m practically an escape artist. I never choose the easy way out. I love a challenge.

I can take it. I can take anything the world throws at me. So if Jordan thinks his little game will break me? He’s wrong. Many have tried. He won’t succeed.

Classes end at four, so by the time I finish up everything at the school and walk through my apartment door, it’s almost five-thirty. I throw my keys down on a side table and I’m just walking over to the comfy chair I like so I can relax for a few minutes when I spy the present on the coffee table and stop in my tracks. It’s a pretty box. Light pink with a white chiffon ribbon. There’s a single pink rose lying on top next to a card. I allow myself a smirk as I walk over, drop my purse on the table, pick up the card, and open it. Nadia, Sorry about the shoes today. Jordan The ribbon falls off the present like water when I

untie it, and then I lift off the lid. Brand new pair of black ballet slippers. See, this is the thing about this relationship I have going with Jordan. He’s a dick, but it’s an act. He’s actually a nice guy. I never said a word about having to walk out into the snow in my slippers. I never even looked down at my feet, so he didn’t pick up some subliminal clue from my expression. He just knows. He knows because he cares enough to pay attention to me. This is a great quality in a dominant/submissive relationship. Like, number one on the list kind of quality. But it’s going to be his downfall. I pick up the rose and walk over to my big chair, sinking down into the cushions as I lift it to my nose and take in the sweet scent. My phone buzzes in my purse, so I lean over, fish it out, and tab accept. “Hello?” “Can you be ready by six?” “No,” I tell him. “I just got home. And I’m enjoying my rose at the moment. So no. Not by six.” I can feel Jordan smile on the other side of the phone. “I’ll be there at six. And you will be ready.” The call drops and now it’s my turn to smile. I like this game. A lot. I like the power play we’re doing. The push and the pull. The give and the take. Most men like Jordan like to take. Taking is easy. But giving in is a lot harder.

We both have trouble with that. So it goes on like this. I’ve only been in this relationship a few weeks, but I’ve got him all figured out. He’s not the mystery he thinks he is. He’s a player, for sure. Not an amateur, but certainly not at a professional level yet. I might not be at the top of my game either, but I’m farther along than he is. Thirty seconds have gone by now and I’m on a timer. So I run to the bedroom, taking off my ballet skirt as I go, and when I get to the bathroom, I slip out of my shoes, my tights, and run the water for the shower. I’m washed, dressed in a robe, hair still piled up on my head in a bun, two minutes after that. Makeup takes five minutes. Way too long. Then I unpin my hair, let it fall over my shoulders, and brush it out so the long waves are shiny and brilliant. Five more minutes go by. I choose a dress from the closet. It doesn’t matter which one I put on. Jordan purchased all of them, so he’ll like whatever I wear. I choose black because it feels like a dark night coming. It’s low-cut, so I skip the bra and then decide to skip the panties as well because… what’s the point? At five minutes to six I’m fastening the diamond necklace around my neck—yet another gift from Jordan—and slipping my aching feet into a pair of black five-inch heels.

When he walks into the apartment at exactly six o’clock, I’m sitting on the couch, legs crossed, leaning towards the door, holding a glass of wine. He smiles at me because he knows what we’re doing too. It’s a game. A very fun game. And even though calling him ‘sir’ makes me want to roll my eyes and spit in his face, I do it because the payoff is all that matters. The expression on his face when I disappoint him is almost as delicious as the expression when I surprise him. He’s not surprised tonight. He knew I’d be ready. I stand as Jordan walks over to me. He takes my hands, leans in, and kisses me on the cheek. “You look nice,” he whispers into my ear. “You as well,” I say, wanting very badly to check him out thoroughly, but not daring to take my eyes off his as he leans back. “I hope you’re hungry,” he says. “We’re going to dinner first.” “I’m famished,” I say, purring the words out. “And thank you for the shoes.” He shrugs off the gratitude and walks over to the coat closet, chooses a black cape, and throws it over my shoulders with a gentlemanly flair. “Ready?” he asks, holding out his arm for me. I nod. “Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

I don’t know what he’s got up his sleeve for tonight, but all this polite talk is my first clue that it will be challenging. That’s OK with me. I just love a challenge.

Chapter Three - Bric

My phone buzzes on the bedside table. I lift up my head, confused as to whether it’s morning or night, then decide I don’t really care and let it drop back onto the pillow. The phone stops buzzing, goes to voicemail. But a few seconds later it buzzes again. I make a grab for it, miss, and it slides off the table and drops to the floor. “Fuck,” I grumble, reaching down to pick it up again. I read the screen. Jordan. “What?” I say into the phone. “We’re coming up.” “Who?” I ask, still confused. “Are you… sleeping?” he asks. “Who?” I say again, ignoring his question. “Nadia and me,” he says. “We’re just finishing up dinner. Be up in ten.” He ends the call before I can say anything else, so I just stare at it for a second, trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

I roll over, sighing heavily, and check the time. Seven-thirty. I slept all goddamned day. I close my eyes, not caring. Pounding on my front door wakes me again. “Goddammit!” I yell. Can’t I have a fucking day to myself without people demanding attention? But the pounding continues. Relentlessly. I swing my legs out of bed, walk out to the front room half naked, and pull the door open. “What the fuck?” Jordan is standing there with the girl from last night. “Jesus Christ, man,” Jordan says, pushing past me. “Pull yourself together, Bric.” He leaves Nadia at the door. We stare at each other. Her eyes dip down to my bare chest, then slowly come back up to meet mine again. I stand aside to let her in, and she enters. Silently. Just like last night. Bitch is playing with me, I can tell. “Did you go to work today?” Jordan asks as he pours drinks into two cut-crystal glasses at my bar. “I live at work, asshole.” I’m pissed off for a dozen reasons right now. He woke me up, twice. He’s drinking my best bottle of brandy, and he brought that game piece to my apartment. Not to mention that they are both dressed and I’m wearing —I look down at myself—pajama pants and nothing else. Add in the fact that I don’t like this

girl, he’s brought her here for us to share, and I’m not in the mood for sex, let alone sharing sex, and yeah. Plenty of reasons for me to be pissed off. “Get out,” I growl. I’m talking to Jordan but I’m looking at the girl. She doesn’t even give me the courtesy of a scowl. Bitch. “No,” Jordan says. “I’ve brought Nadia back for a second chance. She’s sorry she wasn’t more accommodating last night and she’d like to try again.” I stare at her. She stares back. “Isn’t that right, Nadia?” Jordan asks. “That’s right, Jordan,” she says. Her voice is… nice. A little deeper than I expected since she’s so young and her face is… kinda sweet. A little bit innocent. Everything about her screams liar. I realize I’m still holding the door open, so I close it and walk over to get my drink. My bare feet thud heavily across the floor. Nadia turns her body to watch me pass, and that pisses me off too. “Why did you bring her here?” I ask, taking my glass and sipping the drink. “Take her up to the apartment and I’ll be up later.” “No,” Jordan says. Cool as can be. I have to admit, he’s a better player than I first thought. I thought I’d have to teach him to stand his ground

and be more assertive. But he’s got no problem with aggression. We’re equals in this game and he knows it. I like it, but hate it at the same time. I’m not used to playing with Jordan, even though we’ve been doing this for a while now. I’m used to Smith and Quin. I know them. And we always complemented each other’s personalities. They both had their assertive moments, but it was understood that I pretty much run the show. I’m the game master, if you will. The arbitrator. The one in control. Jordan isn’t about to bow to my demands. Just one more thing to tick me off. “I don’t feel like playing tonight, Jordan,” I say. It comes out as a sigh. “Maybe tomorrow.” “Tonight,” Jordan says, walking over to Nadia. “Get on your knees, Nadia,” he says, just before kissing her mouth. She closes her eyes and enjoys the kiss. But the moment Jordan pulls back, she’s dropping to her knees. Her head is turned up, eyes on his. Glued to him. Her hands go behind her back as Jordan walks around her and stands in front of me. “You need a game, brother,” he says, then takes a sip of my good brandy. “And this is the perfect player for us. She’s willing, Bric. She’s got some fight in her, I’ve seen it. So whatever happened last night…”—he growls those words out as he reaches

for Nadia’s hair and gives it a tug hard enough to make her head jerk—“won’t happen again. Will it, Nadia?” He looks down at her as she looks up. “No, sir,” she says, just loud enough. With just the right amount of submission, but not too much. Because, as we both know, she’s not really submissive. He pulls her hair towards me, making her pivot in place, until I can see her face. “He’s your master now too, Nadia. Do you understand?” “Yes, sir,” she replies, eyes darting away from his and landing on mine. “You will obey both of us. Unconditionally. Do you understand?” “Yes, sir.” “Good,” Jordan says. He looks at me as he takes off his suit coat. I watch him as he drapes it over a nearby chair. Then he untucks his shirt from his pants and begins to unbutton it. A moment later, it lands on top of the coat. He smiles at me. But his smile reminds me of Quin when things finally fell into place with Rochelle, and I look away. Down at Nadia. I have her full attention and I don’t like it. “Close your eyes,” I say. She obeys. Chin still lifted. “And lower your fucking head, whore.” She lowers her head. I look at Jordan to see if he’ll say anything about

this, but he doesn’t. He’s too busy unbuckling his belt. A second later he’s got his cock out. Fists it, then pumps it. It’s hard and thick in his hand. “She’s going to suck your dick,” Jordan says to me. “Is she?” I laugh. He nods. “And I’m gonna help her.” I raise my eyebrows at that, then shake my head so Nadia won’t know I’m rejecting the offer. Jordan smiles and nods back a, Yes, I am. “Watch me,” he says, walking over to Nadia. He grabs her hair and says, “Keep your eyes closed, Nadia. And crawl forward a little.” She crawls. Jordan guides her by the hair and then yanks on it to signal stop. She’s right in front of me. Jordan reaches down, takes one of her hands from behind her back, and places it over my cock. When his eyes meet mine again, he has a look on his face that says, See. “Take out Bric’s cock, Nadia.” She uses the one hand—and only the one hand —to pull my pajama pants down and take me out. I’m half hard already just from the little show Jordan is putting on. But it only takes a few pumps of her warm palm to get me all the way there. “That’s nice,” Jordan says. “Now put it behind your back again.” She obeys just as Jordan scoots closer, so he’s standing directly behind her. His cock is hard too,

and he presses it to the back of her head as he places his palms against her temples. He pushes her face towards me and says, “Open your mouth, Nadia. Wider.” He chuckles. “Bric is bigger than that.” I look down—watching—as she opens wide and Jordan guides her head until the tip of my cock passes between her lips and rests on her warm tongue. “Lick him, Nadia,” Jordan says. Her tongue begins to twirl around the tip of my head. She licks, then drags her tongue all the way down my shaft. I realize that Jordan is the one controlling her. She obeys the pressure he places on her temples. He guides her back up and then pushes her forward until she’s got my cock in her mouth again. I look up at Jordan and he smiles. I manage a crooked grin. It’s hot, I decide. And not something we’ve ever done before. But I redirect my attention back to Nadia, because Jordan is urging her to take more of me in her mouth. He pushes on her head, forcing my cock down into her throat. I feel her contract around me —almost gagging but not quite. And that must not be enough for Jordan, because he makes her take more. She is choking when he finally pulls her head back. Drool falls out of her mouth, slides down her chin, and drips onto her dress.

Jordan moves his hand downward, noticing my gaze, and yanks the dress down until one tit comes free. It hangs out, perky and plump from the surrounding fabric. He plays with her nipple as his other hand guides her back to my waiting cock. He helps her blow me. In his own way. And I enjoy it… a lot. I close my eyes, wanting very badly to lie back, but I’m standing up and so I can’t completely let go. My hands join Jordan’s on her head. He gives me space. Then, once I’ve got a rhythm going and I’m pumping her head good and fast as I fuck her throat, he places his hand on top of mine. I don’t bother looking at him. If he wants to make it more personal… fuck it. It feels good. Nadia is making the most delicious noises as I pump my cock in her mouth. Gagging and whimpering. So very, very different than the way she was last night. When I close my eyes and start moaning too, Jordan reaches under my balls and grips them tight as I spew my release in long, contracting waves of pleasure. She swallows. Twice. “Fuck,” I whisper, once I’m finished. I needed that. I open my eyes and see Jordan groaning as he fists his cock now. He grabs Nadia by the hair, spins her around, and shoots his climax on the front of her dress.

“Yes,” he says, still pumping his cock. “Yes.” He takes a long breath before looking at me. Smiles. “OK, decision time, Bric. Do you wanna play a game with me?” I look down at Nadia, who still has her hands behind her back and her eyes closed. “She wants it,” Jordan says. “If you reach between her legs right now, you’ll find a warm pool of gimme more in there.” I grin. Chuckle. Then give in. “Why the fuck not?” I say back. “But only for tonight.” “Sure,” Jordan says. “We can make it a one-time thing. Nadia won’t care, will you, baby?” She keeps her eyes closed as she shakes her head. “No, sir. I’m here to do whatever you want.” That sweet, slightly deep voice has my full attention again. Maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe she’ll make a good player. At the very least, she’s a good start.

Chapter Four - Nadia

One night, Jordan said. Just one night. I keep repeating the mantra over and over in my head as I concentrate on keeping my eyes closed. They walk away to get their drinks again, leaving me in the center of the room on my knees. I still have my stupid cape on and I’m beginning to sweat from the extra layer. Why am I doing this? Luck. I remind myself. But it’s more than that and it takes more resolve not to smile right now than it did to let Jordan control me. These asshole men think they’re so in control. So assertive, and aggressive, and appealing. And they think I am weak. So willing, and compliant, and obedient. We’ll see. They talk for a while after that. They settle on Bric’s couch. I can see them as I peek through my half-closed eyes, their legs open or propped up on

one knee. They drink their stupid drinks and ignore me, still here in the middle of the floor, come drying on my dress. Some time later Jordan orders me to lie back and open my legs. I just keep my eyes shut and try to relax. Forget where I am, what they’re doing, and concentrate on the dance going on in my head. I choreograph an entire routine as they play at being men with power. Still, there’s the nagging doubt in my head. Do I really want to get involved like this again? I moved away. I’m making a new life for myself. I’m going places. “So what kind of pay does she get?” Bric asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. Are they talking about me? I wasn’t listening. “Who says she needs to get paid?” Jordan replies. “They always get paid. You know this. It’s in the contract. We all have to get something out of it—” “No,” Jordan says, cutting him off. “She’s here because she likes this.” Ah, they are discussing the details of some kind of contract with me. “Aren’t you, Nadia?” “Yes, sir,” I say out loud. But that’s not what I say in my head. “Why are you smiling, Nadia?” Jordan asks. “Because I’m a dirty whore and this is payment enough,” I reply in my demure submissive voice

that I’ve curated over the past few weeks. “See?” Jordan says. “Well, fuck that,” Bric says. “I’m only playing if she gets paid. I like to keep it all professional.” “Whatever,” Jordan says. “So pay her.” “You’ll pay her too. You know how this works. Nadia,” Bric calls. “What do you need from us to play?” “I don’t need—” “Nadia,” he barks. It’s a loud bark. Loud enough to echo off the ceiling. “I’m not interested in your opinion on the payment. I’m interested in how much you think you’re worth.” How much do I think I’m worth? Is he fucking serious? “Answer him, Nadia,” Jordan says. “I’m worth more than you can afford,” I say, biting back my anger. They both laugh, like this is funny. “We’re very rich, Nadia,” Bric says in some calm, professional voice I haven’t heard from him before. “Trust me when I say we can afford you. Now tell us how much you think you’re worth.” How do you put a price on yourself? “I’m worth something dear to you,” I say. I’m still on my back, eyes closed, legs open. “So why don’t you tell me what’s dear to you and then I’ll tell you that’s what I want.” I can practically feel the eyebrows rising up on

their stupid caveman foreheads. They laugh. For a good long time, too. They sip their drinks and chuckle some more. “Or not,” I say, opening my eyes, closing my legs, pointing my toes, and sitting up. I smile at them. “I can walk out, I guess.” “Nadia, shut the fuck up and lie back down,” Jordan says. But you know what? I don’t feel like shutting the fuck up and lying back down. I still want to win this game, which means I have to play. So I’m not going to be dramatic about this. But I want them to, at the very least, take me seriously. “No,” I tell Jordan, getting to my feet. “Your friend is right. We need a contract. And until we have one, I’m going home. I’m going to soak my aching feet, stretch my aching legs, and then give myself the orgasm the two of you were incapable of delivering. And tomorrow, I’m going to do some research. I’m going to figure out what it is you don’t want to lose, and then I’m going to ask for that as payment.” They stare at me, open-mouthed. Silent. Maybe stunned. Maybe pissed off. I don’t care. I straighten my dress, ignore the dried come down the front, and walk out the door. I walk home and I don’t even mind that my toes are bleeding in these stupid high heels. I’m used to it. I can take it. I hold my head high, do not limp

like a lame horse with a missing shoe, and do what I do best. Manage. When I get home, I fill the tub with hot water, add in some bubbles, then take off the disgusting dress and throw it in the trash. My phone buzzes in the bedroom where I left it, just as I’m pulling the Band-Aids off my toes, but I ignore it. I step into the hot water. I hiss out the sting of pain when the half-healed blisters on my feet hit the heat. And then I sink under and let the world slip away.

I let that phone buzz a voicemail notification over and over on the nightstand until the water cools and I get out. I dry off and go to my workout room. It’s a ballet room because this is a company apartment. I wonder if the principals have an apartment like this too? No, they will have something much nicer. Not that this place is shabby. It isn’t. It’s professionally decorated and has lots of high-end finishes like soapstone countertops and amazing hardwood floors. But come on. I might be somebody to a junior dancer like Chris, but to the stars of the Mountain Ballet I’m no one. I stand naked in front of the mirrors in the ballet room. They run the entire length of one wall. My body is typical ballerina. My breasts are not

small, but they are not large either. Ample might be a bit too strong a word to describe them, but they are close. My legs are long. Like a baby racehorse’s. My face is sweet and pretty, my arms are willowy and graceful, and I am nothing but well-honed muscle. You don’t get far in this art if you don’t have the body for it. It’s genetic. Something you have or don’t. Not something you can shape yourself into with diet and exercise. I shift my feet and arms into fifth position, gather myself from my core, and go up on my toes. The hot water has soothed them, but they still hurt, even though I’m not actually on the tips. I am used to hurting. I hold my position, then begin to dance. I transition into different steps leftover from old performances to feel normal again. It’s holiday week at the school. And the company is off after a grueling Nutcracker schedule. I am bored there. The little girls are not enough to fill my desire for work. But after the New Year things will be back to normal. My days will be filled with dance, and pain, and mental stress. All the things that get me through. But for now, I’ll play with Jordan. It’s only a week. This stupid game they think they’re playing will only last one more week, I’ve decided. They will keep me busy during holiday week, I will get

what I need, and I will win this game and leave them both behind. My phone buzzes again in the bedroom. Another notification. Another voicemail. I stop dancing and breathe hard, hands on hips, bending over as I crunch my feet and stretch them out. When I’m done I walk into the bedroom and check my voicemail. I smile into the phone as I listen. Fucking men. They are so predictable.

Chapter Five - Bric

“It’s like life, Nadia. What you get out of it is directly impacted by what you put into it.” Jordan was pissed when she walked out. Left a very threatening voicemail on her phone after fuming around my apartment for thirty minutes. Which, if we want to play a game—and I’m not sure I’m on board yet, but I like to keep my options open—wasn’t going to cut it. So I made a call and left a voicemail as well. “Did you call Jordan back?” I ask while she thinks about what I just said. “No,” she says. Interesting. He’s the one who found her, yet she called me and not him. “Look,” she says, sighing into her phone. “Obviously, I’m getting something out of this… arrangement I have with Jordan. I’m just not sure I need to play two games at once.” This isn’t the first time she’s used the term “game” while we’ve been talking. And even though

it is a game, it strikes me as unusual for her to be calling it that. So easily. “It’s just one game, darling,” I tell her back. “We’re all playing the same game.” “But a game with two men is not quite the same as a game with one.” I’m silently frustrated. But she’s a good enough distraction. Jordan even used that term earlier. She’s a good replacement for… them. Them, meaning Rochelle and Quin. And… Adley. “What do you want out of this?” I ask her, pushing away my depressing recent past. “Surely there’s something? Everyone has that little something that seems unattainable. Let us give it to you.” “In exchange for submission?” “I get it. Jordan told me a couple weeks ago. You’re not naturally submissive. You think you’re dominant.” I try to hold in my chuckle, but I don’t entirely succeed. “Is that funny, Mr. Bricman?” “A little bit, Nadia. Yes, it is. You’re what? Twenty years old? What do you know about being a top?” “Twenty-three,” she corrects me. “And I know enough to understand I like it.” “You like control, then? Not really controlling people?” I can almost feel her shrug. Like there is

no difference. But there’s a big difference. “It’s not the same thing, Nadia. Do you fantasize about tying me up to a bed and having your way with me?” “Yes,” she says. “I’m imagining it right now. Putting a hood over your head, chaining you up like you did me last night. Making you wonder what’s coming next. Beatings, or slaps, or sucking your cock.” I do not hold in the laugh this time. Not at all. “Well, that’s never going to happen.” “So you say,” she retorts. “OK, am I wasting my time here? Just say so. I’ll hang up and never bother you again.” “I already told you what I wanted, Mr. Bricman.” “Something dear.” I sigh. “What’s that even mean?” “I haven’t done my research yet, so I’m not sure. But I’ll know. Eventually. And once I do, that’s my price.” “Maybe you’re really not worth it.” “Then hang up.” We’re silent for a few moments, both of us wondering what we should do. She’s not hanging up, that’s for sure. She’s getting something out of this conversation, I realize. Dominance over me. Not in the way one usually thinks of when you use the word dominance. But she definitely likes the control. She likes making me defensive.

“How about a date?” I ask. “No,” she says. “I don’t have time for dates.” “Well, then let’s just stop this now. What we do with the players—Jordan and I—is definitely dating.” “I’m not a loyal partner, Elias,” she says. Her choice to use my first name has the effect she was going for. It sets me back a second. “Perfect. You have two of us to choose from.” “I mean,” she says, stressing her words, “I won’t be faithful to you so dating is out of the question.” I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it. “What?” “I’m playing several games right now, Mr. Bricman. Yours is not the only one. So I won’t be giving those up.” “Sexual games?” I ask, thoroughly intrigued at this point. “Yes.” “But you’re new in town.” “So? I have connections. When I got this offer to dance at Mountain Ballet I called them up and set up a few… interactions.” “So you are a whore?” “If by that you mean I like to have a lot of sex, then yes. I’m a dirty fucking whore.” Hmmm. “Does that bother you?” she asks. Her filthy words from her sweet mouth are killing me right

now. “No,” I say. “It actually turns me on.” “What?” she asks. Do I read confusion? Is this bitch playing me? “How do you manage the health check Jordan requires?” I ask. “I don’t fuck them, Elias. I do… other things.” “Such as?” “Hoods, and chains, and sucking cocks,” she says. “Are you fucking with me right now?” I ask. “I’m just being honest, Elias. If I was fucking with you, believe me, you’d know it.” I… I actually laugh. For real. “I know what you’re thinking,” Nadia says. “You’re thinking… Why’s she doing this? Why’s she playing a game with Jordan? Why’s she submitting? But the question you should really be asking, Elias, is what am I getting out of this?” “Well?” I ask. “What are you getting out of this?” “Satisfaction.” Yeah. This one is batshit crazy. I mean, all these girls we play with have a certain degree of crazy in them. Even Chella, though it was a lot more benign than this one’s brand of psychosis. And Rochelle too, though I never really figured her out. “Do you want to play or not?” I finally ask, reaching the end of my patience.

“I do if you do.” “Can you be serious for a moment? And stop acting like a child? I mean, I get it. You practically are a child, but let’s pretend you’re a grown-up for a few more minutes and see if we can’t work out a deal.” “I don’t respond to insults, Mr. Bricman. I can take anything you throw at me. Words”—she laughs—“words are useless weapons. They bounce off, Elias. So if that’s your game plan, you’ve already lost.” “I’ll keep that in mind about the words,” I say, letting out a sigh. “How about we take a night to cool off and think it over, hmmm? Have another go at it tomorrow.” “Fine with me,” she says. “Have a nice evening.” She ends the call and leaves me to stare at my phone. What the fuck just happened? I shake my head and laugh, answering my own question. “I have no clue.” I press the contact number for Jordan. He picks up on the second ring. “Did she call you back?” “She sure did,” I say. “That bitch is nuts.” “Right? She’s fucking perfect.” “Where did you find her?” I ask. “A directory online. A kink chat on the dark web. Why, you think she’s dangerous?” “She might be,” I say.

“Too dangerous for you?” he laughs. “No,” I say. “Are you in or out?” he asks. “I’m not sure. I think it’s up to her.” I think Jordan spits out a drink at that comment. “Since when?” he asks. “Since when do you let the women call the shots in the game?” But I have no answer for him. So I just say nothing. “Well, listen…” Jordan says. “I’ll make nice tomorrow like I always do and we’ll have dinner with her. Not at the Club. Somewhere else. You take care of that and then swing by my place and pick me up at seven. We’ll pick her up together after that. Sound good?” “Sure,” I say, ending the call. I am restless the entire evening. And I’m not tired, since I slept all day. So I look her up online. I get her last name from the ballet website. A blog post about her joining the company. Nadia Wolfe. From a smaller company in New York. No other personal details. After searching I get a few phone numbers, none of which are the one she’s using now. And a list of several dozen residential addresses. There’s quite a few Nadia Wolfes, it seems. I do a half-hearted search on social media, but then slap my laptop closed and decide it’s not worth my time.

Who cares who she is or why she’s doing this? Nadia Wolfe has obvious issues. Most of which will prevent her from playing a game with us. And if she does agree tomorrow night, well, she won’t be around long, that’s for sure. She wants something, but it’s some prize that has nothing to do with Jordan or me. So fuck it. Fuck her. I don’t care about her motives. I just want her on her knees. I want to bend her backwards and make her submit. This is not the game I usually play. This game has nothing to do with taking turns. This is about me for once. It’s my turn, I realize. It’s my turn to take, and take, and take until I use her up and spit her out. It’s been a long time since I did something like this. A very long time since I’ve had it my way. And now’s my chance. Just a little detour, I think in my head. A shortcut to ease the pain from losing the last game to Quin and Rochelle. I won’t get lost. I know my way through this dark forest.

Chapter Six - Nadia

Oddly, I do not think of them all day until… until… grrrrr, he makes me so mad. Until Jordan shows up—in person, at the front desk of the school—with a huge bouquet of red roses. Not the kind in the vase, either. The bouquet all wrapped up in pretty paper. The kind a prima ballerina might get on stage after opening night. Of course he’s wearing one of those bazilliondollar suits and looking hot as fuck. So by the time I follow Chris back to the front desk to see what the hell is going on, there’s a horde of young women, not to mention the mothers of the young students, hovering around. Buzzing like bees and asking him questions and… and he’s generally just being… him. Which is so irritating because he’s fucking hot and charming as all hell. And he knows it. Jordan is one of those guys who looks unapproachable at first. Very handsome. Strong square jaw with the perfect amount of stubble on it. Like he grooms himself that way on purpose. Which he does,

because I’ve been at his house when he’s been getting ready for work on several occasions. And he’s got hypnotic eyes. A weird greenbrown-blue swirl of fucking sexy. I want to growl again when he trains them on me as I approach. “Nadia,” he says, reaching for me with both arms outstretched. I let him take my hands and pull me in so he can kiss my cheek. He wouldn’t dare do a full kiss on the lips in front of people. He’s not into public displays of affection. And neither am I, so I’m fine with that. “I was thinking of you today and just wanted to drop these off myself before my afternoon meetings.” The whole fucking room swoons as I take the flowers, sniff them as I smile for the crowd, then hand them to Chris and say, “Can you please put these in water for me? I’m going to walk Mr. Wells back to his car.” I have to control my eye-roll as all the women in the lobby continue their gaping and ogling, because I know what he’s doing. He was mad at me last night. I behaved… not quite badly, but I didn’t react to their invitation the way they’d hoped. “Did you come to any conclusions?” he asks. “About?” I say, smiling sweetly and hooking my arm around his as I guide him over to the back door. We exit the school and walk over to a small

pavilion where students gather on nice days. I look up at him, waiting for his answer. “You know what,” he says in a low angry voice. See, I have him down so well. He would never lose his temper in public. He would never display his dissatisfaction with me in front of people I work with. But out here… I tuck down the smile… he’s free to just be himself. Control freak. Asshole. Kinky bastard. Dom. Sir. Take your pick, all of those words describe Jordan Wells. “I haven’t had time to do my research,” I say, nodding my head towards the school. “I’m working.” “Well,” he says, catching a stray piece of hair blowing in the slight wind and tucking it behind my ear. Such a player. “Plenty of time for that. We’re going out tonight, right?” “Yes,” I say, trying my best to appear bored. Bric is a mystery to me. One night is not enough time to understand what makes him tick. And that night we were together I was so angry. Fucking Jordan. It was Christmas night and he called me up, ordered me over to his apartment, dressed me up like a doll, and then sent me to his friend as a gift. Bric fucked me well enough. But he didn’t talk much and I was instructed not to talk. So I didn’t get much out of that night. I did manage to piss Bric off though. I almost

smile at that, gazing up at Jordan with the most innocent expression I can muster. “We actually had a nice, long conversation last night,” I say. “I know.” Jordan says, not missing a beat. “He recorded it and sent it to me this morning.” Asshole. “So you’re playing games with other men?” he asks. His eye twitches as his words come out. This is his tell. I figured that out a long time ago. Sometimes it just means he’s thinking hard about something. But other times it’s a dead giveaway that he’s angry. And right now he’s angry. “Were you going to tell me about them? Or was this just yet another of your fucking games?” “Jordan,” I say, still smiling. Still being sweet. I might not be in control of him—yet. But I have one hundred percent control over myself at all times. This is why I love ballet. It’s an endless stream of self-control, self-abuse, and self-assessment. “You were the one who said you didn’t want to know about me. Not one thing. Remember that?” “I was not including your sex life in that, Nadia. And I’m pretty sure I made that clear.” “Did you?” I ask. I tap my finger on my lip as I pretend to think this over. He absolutely did say this was an exclusive arrangement. “I can’t remember,” I lie. “We didn’t write any of it down.” He nods his head and trains those green-brown-

blue swirly eyes on me. “One point for Nadia,” he says, his voice deep and dangerous. “I won’t make that mistake again.” “No.” I sigh. “Probably not. Your friend seems like a dot the i’s and cross the t’s kind of man. I’m expecting a contract from him.” “As am I,” Jordan says. “And I’ll make you pay for this.” I smile sweetly as I lean up on my tiptoes, cup his face in both my hands, and kiss him chastely on the lips. “You can try.” I turn away then, calling out over my shoulder, “See you tonight. And thank you for the flowers.” “Be ready for us at seven fifteen,” he calls back. I don’t even bother replying. I feel powerful today. Here’s the thing about men who like to dominate women. They think we’re weak. That we enjoy submitting. And I’m sure there are weak ones out there. Just like I’m sure some of them like to submit. But I’m not submissive. Not at all. And no one who knows me would ever describe me as weak. I play this game with Jordan because I’m practicing. I’m learning how to be more dominant from an unequal starting point. I’m teaching myself to think outside the box when it comes to controlling men. I’m still in control. He has to know that. We’ve

been playing for weeks now and the first two, at least, I must’ve slapped his face in public a couple dozen times. I’m testing him. Seeing how far I can push before he loses his cool. He’s doing well, so far. But I’m just getting started. And even though I didn’t anticipate him inviting his friend into our little arrangement, I’m all for it. Two clueless bastards to play with? Why, yes, sir, I’d like that very much. I smile all the way through my afternoon. All the way home to my apartment. And the whole time I’m soaking my aching feet and my aching body in my nightly bubble bath. I choose my favorite dress from the closet. It’s a charcoal-gray A-line, wool coat dress with a cutout back and a tailored waist. The silk lining feels so soft when I slip it on. A nice contrast to the wool exterior. The zipper goes both directions. Down from the top and up from the above-the-knee hem. So you can button yourself up or let some skin show. I choose the skin. A push-up bra hikes my tits up to my chin and the stiletto heels make me five inches taller. I want to be as close to eye-to-eye with these men tonight as I can manage. The entire ensemble is professional in a very alluring way. We are equals, this dress says. In all

ways but one. The only one that matters. I’m the one who owns a pussy in this little relationship. I chuckle at my reflection in the mirror and… stop. Am I happy? Hmm. I have to think about that for a moment. I’m not a sullen person. At least on the outside. I’m not bubbly. I’m neither dark nor light. But I’m not one of those boring in-between women either. I’m just careful. And I like to have a plan. So I don’t show happiness much because I think happiness is a weakness. I don’t like to laugh, but I don’t hate it. I don’t make myself unhappy on purpose. In fact, I’m not an unhappy person at all. I’m mostly quite… satisfied. “Yes,” I say, straighten my skirt and then plane my hand flat down the front of my breasts to smooth out a wrinkle. “I’m satisfied.” And it’s not a lie, either. I am pretty damn satisfied right now. My life is going better than expected. I love the job. I can’t wait for Christmas camp to be over at the school so I can get back to seven AM rehearsals and days filled with nothing but straining muscles and self-inflicted, internal mind games as I bend my body into an instrument that needs to be played… just so. “I’m ready,” I tell the reflection of me in the mirror, just as the doorbell rings. She nods back to

me just before I turn away and walk to the front door. I open it wide to a straight-faced Jordan. He looks me up and down—approves, I can tell these things—and says, “You look very nice tonight, Nadia.” “Thank you,” I reply, turning so he can grab my coat from the closet near the door and help me into it. It was an automatic gesture and it occurs to me —we know each other now. He knows where my coats are. He knows I will answer the door and turn. And he will open the closet, get a coat, and help me into it. No words necessary. Is that… strange? I wonder about this as he lifts my hair out of my coat and arranges it along my back. “Bric’s in the car,” Jordan says in his low, gruff voice. He’s not unhappy right now. In fact, he seems a little subdued. I turn around and reach for my small clutch bag on the foyer table. “Is everything OK?” I ask. He gives me a questioning look. I’m not usually interested in his moods. Beyond horny, that is. “Yes, why?” “You seem… quiet.” He shrugs. “I’m not.” “Well, you look nice too,” I add for lack of anything else to say. He is quiet. Something is

wrong. But… whatever. I’m not really interested. So the compliment is just a time filler. “I like this suit. Is it new?” “Yes,” he says, looking down at himself. And then he smiles. “My mother gave it to me for Christmas.” “Did she?” He’s never talked about his mother before. And I had no idea where he was for Christmas Day. But apparently, he was with family. Good for him. “Yes,” he says, holding out his arm for me. I take it and we step out into the hallway, turning together, just enough so I can pull the door closed behind us. “She says I’m big and important now, so I should dress the part.” “The other bazillion-dollar suits weren’t up to her standards?” We both grin as he shakes his head. “God, don’t get me started on my fucking mother and her goddamned standards.” I smile all the way down the hall, picturing his uptight mother. I met her once. By accident. God, I was horrified when I realized who she was. Where I was. Jordan took me to a party just before Christmas. I only said yes because I mistakenly presumed it was a work thing. It wasn’t. It was a family thing. At his parents’ home, if you can call a twelve-thousand-squarefoot mansion in Cherry Creek a home.

He fucked me senseless in his childhood bedroom. And just thinking about it now kinda makes me wet. I wonder if we’ll fuck tonight or if it will be all games? “What is going through that dark mind of yours?” he asks me as he waves me into the elevator. I wait for the doors to close and the car to descend before I answer. “Fucking you tonight,” I say. “What else would I be thinking about?” “Do you think we will? Fuck tonight?” He’s trying to hide a smirk. “Why wouldn’t we?” I ask. “You might not like Bric’s terms.” “Hmmm,” I say. “Should I be worried?” The elevator doors open and he waves me through. “Yes, Nadia,” he says with a long sigh. “You should. He’s not like me.” “What’s that mean?” I can see Bric through the lobby doors. He’s waiting in the car. We walk down a few steps and cross the main lobby. There’s a few people having drinks at a bar. A few more sitting in small gatherings, talking. This place reminds me of a hotel. “He’s very good at playing games.” “Well, so are you, right?” “No,” he says, serious. He opens the vestibule door and waits for me to enter. The doorman is

busy outside, talking to someone. But he sees us and jogs to get the second door before we reach it. “He’s serious. This game he plays, Nadia, it’s fucking real to him, OK? So don’t push the guy too far.” “Or what?” I ask, just as the doorman opens the door for us and we step out into the cold winter night. “He’s been known to… go too far sometimes. He’s dangerous.” “And you’re not?” I just barely get the words out before we reach Bric’s waiting car. But there’s no time for Jordan to answer me. He doesn’t even try. The doorman is there, opening the passenger side door. Jordan veers away to walk around to the other side. I slip in next to Bric and Jordan gets in behind him. “You look nice,” Bric says, glancing over at me as he revs the car engine. “Thank you,” I say. The two of them talk after that, Jordan from behind, Bric glancing up into the rear-view mirror to see him. And I am left to wonder just what the hell Jordan was getting at back there. He’s dangerous? So? Aren’t all men dangerous? I shake it off and enjoy the smooth ride as we make our way through downtown. I’m dangerous too. So if Jordan thinks I’ll cower because he feels I’m getting in over my head…

well. He doesn’t know me very well. I like a challenge. That affirmation is practically my mantra. I say it over, and over, and over again. Every time things get hard, those words run through my mind. When Jordan has me tied to the bed and my face is stinging from his slaps. Or my ass is hot and red from his heavy hand. Or my pussy is raw from being fucked. I repeat it. I like a challenge. I like a challenge. I like a challenge. “You’re very quiet tonight,” Bric says, pulling into the Mountain View Country Club valet area. There’s a car ahead of us, so we have a moment to wait. “I’m just enjoying the ride.” “Listen carefully, darling,” Bric says. “The ride hasn’t started yet. So don’t get too excited.” Before I can snap a reply back at him, we’re moving forward and several young men are pulling our doors open in haste. I smile at the one helping me, as he takes my hand and pulls me from the car. “Thank you,” I say. But I’m fuming inside. I don’t like this Bric guy. I don’t like the way he talks to me. Like I’m a child. You’re so young, Nadia. What do you know about anything? Asshole.

I know plenty. So much more than I should. Let me take you to school, Mr. Bricman. You listen carefully. I’m the one with the power here. Don’t you forget it.

Chapter Seven - Bric

It’s a good thing Jordan is here. He’s lively. A conversationalist. And he’s very interested in this Nadia girl, so he’s trying his best to keep the conversation going after we order drinks. Nadia looks… pretty, but professional. Like this is a business meeting. I’m wearing the same suit I put on this morning. I didn’t see Jordan this morning, so I’m not sure if this suit he’s wearing is special or not. I don’t pay much attention to what he wears from day to day. But all of it together makes this… not a date. I sigh as I take a sip of brandy. “Am I boring you already, Mr. Bricman?” “Not in the least, Nadia. And please,” I say, setting my glass back down on the white linen tablecloth. “It’s Elias.” I glance at Jordan, who is shooting me a confused look. “What?” I ask him. “Elias, huh?” He tries to hide a smirk when he takes a sip of his whiskey. “I’m trying to pick up the mood. Why am I

getting the feeling none of us want to be here?” “I want to be here,” Jordan says. “How about you, Nadia? Is Elias”—he stresses my name with a sneer—“someone you see yourself with?” Nadia shrugs. She’s drinking wine. They carded her and she produced an ID. So I guess she’s at least twenty-one. “I don’t do anything I’m not interested in.” “How do you manage that?” I ask her. I’m genuinely curious. “Surely you must do lots of things you’re not really interested in.” “No,” she says. She carries herself with confidence. Not quite arrogant, but definitely on the edge of it. Stuck-up. Snooty. Too good. All words a casual acquaintance might use to describe Nadia Wolfe. “I made a promise to myself when I was a child. I would never cower to the demands of others. Unless, of course,” she says, winking at Jordan, “I enjoy cowering.” “You don’t cower, Nadia. You always put up a good fight.” “Like now,” I mumble. “You didn’t answer my question. Am I disappointing you, Elias?” “Not yet,” I say, taking another sip of brandy. “But I think you have the potential.” Jordan laughs. I try not to, because I’m being a dick and I know it. But fuck it. She’s being a bitch. “Should we call it a night then?” Nadia actually

stands up like she’s gonna walk out. “Come on, Nadia,” Jordan says. “He’s just fucking with you.” I look her in the eye. Meet her gaze. Hold it prisoner. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood, Miss Wolfe. But by all means, you’re free to walk out. Just know that you can’t ever come back.” “Is that a rule?” she asks, taking her seat once more. People are looking at us. I don’t like to be stared at. But if she wants to make a scene, that’s on her. I’m not gonna let it be a reflection on me. “Yes,” I say. “That is a rule. You stay, we’re together. You walk out, we’re not. Take it or leave it.” “Can I get this in writing?” she asks. I pull the contract out of my suit coat pocket and place the thick envelope on the table. “Of course you can.” She glances at Jordan. Maybe nervous. Maybe not. He nods to her. “Sign it,” he says. “It’s all standard language.” Nadia reaches for the envelope, pulls out the stack of folded papers, and begins to read. She looks up after a few seconds. Stares at me. “I told you I’m already playing games with several other men.” “So quit,” Jordan says. I say nothing. I just stare her down and slowly sip my drink.

Nadia redirects her gaze to Jordan. “I like them. I’m winning. Why should I quit?” “Then why are you here?” Jordan asks. I’m still silent. Letting Jordan field this one. “Because I was intrigued. But Elias has already written me off as a poor loser. I don’t know if the two of you deserve my full attention.” “So walk out,” I say. “If you’re waiting for me to beg you to stay, well”—I laugh—“you’re gonna grow old waiting for that to happen.” “It’s just fun, Nadia,” Jordan says, shooting me a let-me-do-the-talking look. I suddenly feel like I’m playing the game as someone else. As Smith, actually. I’m usually the one in control and he’s the one being a dick. And that’s a little bit sad. I miss that old game. “We’re just here for the fun. Just ignore Bric’s bad mood, OK? He’s getting over some shit.” She lifts one eyebrow at me. I roll my eyes in return. “Now that is interesting,” she says. “What is it you’re getting over, Elias?” She sips her wine and waits. “Nothing that concerns you.” I don’t bother shooting Jordan a chastising look for bringing my personal life into this little meeting. He’ll get an earful later. I won’t put on a show for this stranger. “OK,” she says, dropping it and refocusing on the papers in her hand. “This says payment. We’ve already discussed this. I don’t want it, you’re

insisting on it, so I am scratching this out.” She actually has a pen too. Where she just pulled that from, I have no idea. She draws a line through the section about money. And then begins to write something in. I don’t want to crane my neck to get a better look. I don’t want to show her that I’m intrigued. But I can’t help it. She’s renegotiating my fucking contract. “Do you want to know what I wrote?” she says, still writing. “Yes,” Jordan says. God, this guy. Sometimes I think he has no game at all. He’s way too eager for this girl. What makes her so special? OK. So she’s a ballerina. I admit, that’s pretty cool. And she’s beautiful with her pale skin, long legs, and sweet face. But all the players are pretty. I think Jordan likes her because she’s aloof. Distant. And she tries to dominate him. It gets him off. He likes her public displays of anger. And if I’m being honest, that whole slapping gig she pulls on him—it’s fucking hot. It might be the only reason I’m here. I wonder if I could get her to slap me in this restaurant? I look around at the country-club types, all buttoned up and proper, sitting at their impeccably laid out tables covered in expensive food and drink, and almost laugh.

I should show her who’s in charge here. “Write whatever you want in that contract, Nadia. I’ll sign it.” “You will?” she asks. I can tell she doesn’t want to look up at me. She’s trying very hard to not look up at me. But when she fails, I get a thrill of victory as I meet her eyes. They are brown. Just plain old brown. But not plain, either. They are lit up with fire. With determination. With strength. Maybe that’s what Jordan likes about her? The fierce look in her eyes? “Of course,” I say. “I’m gonna get what I want out of it no matter what you do to that contract.” “And what’s that?” she asks. “You.” She looks back down at the contract, quickly averting her gaze. Maybe she even blushes a little, but the light in here is too dim to really make that determination for sure. I’m so going to win this game. “I wrote what I want out of it. Since you’re so easy to please, Elias.” She puts her pen down and pushes the contract over to me with one finger. “Sign then, if you’re so agreeable.” I pick it up and read her hand-written words. Payment to Nadia Wolfe to include something dear from Elias Bricman and Jordan Wells. I shrug and hand it over to Jordan’s outstretched

hand. “What’s that mean?” he asks. “Something dear? Like… my car? Or something from my apartment?” “Think bigger, Jordan,” Nadia says, feeling confident. “Any questions?” This one is directed at me. “None,” I reply. “I’m well versed in the rules of the game.” “Good,” she says, chuckling as she leans back in her chair. She takes a long sip of wine and smiles to herself. Like the cat with the grin. The one in the tree that’s always putting something over on the other characters in the story. Jordan reaches across the table, grabs her pen, and signs his name. He passes the contract back to me. I sign, then tuck it back inside the envelope and hide it away in my coat pocket. “I’ll email you a copy.” “I really don’t need a copy. I don’t need a contract, either. I’m not interested in this game business. I’m playing because it’s fun.” She looks at Jordan. “Like you said, right? It’s just fun.” “We usually supply an apartment,” I say. “But not this time, Nadia.” “I don’t need an apartment,” she says. “I know. And I don’t want you there anyway. You can live wherever you want, but we’re going to play at my house.” “Which house?” Jordan asks.

“My Club apartment.” He raises both eyebrows at me. Surprised. I don’t like to bring girls to my apartment. Last night with Nadia was a daring move on Jordan’s part. Bringing her to me like that. I don’t want to share my space. But I’ve decided to move out of the Club, so who the fuck cares. It’s not my space anymore. “I have some things in there we might find useful,” I say to Jordan. “A little bit of this and a little bit of that.” Jordan grins, catching my meaning. Nadia’s hand on my cock under the table jerks my attention back to her. She rubs me through the fabric of my pants and I grow hard and thick at her touch. “If we were there,” she purrs, “and not here, I’d be under this table sucking you off right now.” “Fuck, yeah,” Jordan whispers back. “And if I could reach you, Jordan, I’d be playing with your cock right now too.” Dirty. Little. Whore. “If we were at my apartment and you touched me without permission, Miss Wolfe,” I growl at her in a deep, low voice, “I’d slap your face and make you choke on my dick for not knowing your place.” She withdraws her hand. But her retreat comes with a devious smile. I’m just about to set her straight with another warning when the waiter comes up to the table to take our order.

I order for all of us, just wanting to get rid of the company so I can resume my threats. “You better know what you’re getting into, Miss Wolfe. Because this game is not what you think.” I wait for Jordan to run interference like he usually does when I get in a mood like this. But he keeps quiet. It’s Nadia who speaks. “No,” she says softly. “It’s not what you think either.” I think about her after that. I can’t stop thinking about her. She will be very interesting at least. Not anything like Chella. So far away from Rochelle, there’s no comparison. And I have no feelings for her other than pure carnal desire. It’s just a peek, I tell myself. I know how to control it. I know how to navigate my way through the puzzle of an erotic maze. I will win this one. There is no fucking way in hell this stupid girl will come out on top. The rest of dinner is pleasant enough. I drink. Jordan and Nadia talk like they are old friends. They already know each other. She is his, after all. I ponder that as they talk about her job. His job. Last weekend—apparently, he took her to a play— and what they are doing for New Year’s. “We have a party on New Year’s,” I say absently. They look at me. Almost startled. Like they forgot I was here. It doesn’t bother me at all.

That’s the funny part of all this. None of this bothers me. He can have her. I’m passing time, that’s all. “The Club has a party, remember?” I say again, looking at Jordan this time. “Does that mean I’m invited?” Nadia asks. Usually this is a great big no. None of the girls we keep in that apartment are allowed to participate in Club business. But fuck it. She doesn’t even count. And she won’t be living in the apartment. “Sure,” I say. “As long as you’re prepared for what will happen when you get there.” She waits to see if I’ll explain. But I don’t. I just pour myself another drink from the bottle the waiter left after we finished dinner, and enjoy leaving her hanging. “Well, is it a secret? Or are you going to tell me?” “It’s…” Jordan begins, but stops. “It’s Club stuff, Nadia. You don’t want to participate in that.” “Sure she does, Jordan,” I say. “She’s a dirty fucking whore.” “Nice,” Nadia says. “Is that how you refer to all your female members?” “We don’t have female members. But yes. The men in my Club join because their wives are addicted to dirty sex and want to be fucked by more than one man at a time. You get us. Do you need more than two, Nadia?”

She glares at me. “I can arrange another player. In fact, most of the games I play involve three men.” “This isn’t your game, Elias,” she says. I lift my drink to her in a mock cheer. “No, it isn’t.” She ignores me after that. And when we leave, it’s Jordan who helps her on with her coat. It’s Jordan’s arm she hangs on as we walk to the valet. It’s Jordan who drives—I’m well on my way to drunk. And it’s Jordan who walks her up to her apartment. I wait in front of the building in the passenger seat of my own fucking car until he comes back and gets in with me. “Well?” he says. “What do you think?” I shrug. Eager to get home and do some more drinking. “She’ll do.” “What’s wrong with you?” Jordan asks as we make our way through the nearly empty streets of downtown towards the club. I stare at the gold dome of the capitol building, lost in my own thoughts. “Well?” Jordan prods. “You gonna answer me?” “Nothing,” I say. What I don’t say is… I’m thinking about Rochelle and Adley living their little happily ever after with Quin. I’m thinking about Chella and Smith and when that announcement will come. The

one when Smith says, “We’re pregnant.” I’m thinking about how they’ve moved on and I’m still here… alone. Because I’m not thinking about any of that. “I like her,” Jordan says as we pull up to Turning Point. “I think she’s… interesting.” “Well, good for you. Do you need a ride home? Tell the valet to give you a car.” And then I get out, slam the door, and walk inside without saying goodbye. I don’t know why I’m so pissed off, but I am. I don’t talk to anyone in the lobby. I don’t stop and have a drink at Smith’s bar on my way upstairs. I just disappear. My apartment is… God. I need to get the fuck out of this place. I walk into the kitchen, get the bottle of brandy and a glass, and sit down on the couch. I stare out the window, just fixated on the capitol building, wishing I could turn back time one year. One year and a few weeks, anyway. Back to when Rochelle was just a weird mystery and Chella, Smith, and Quin were still mine. My cell phone rings in my suit coat pocket. I take it out, and look at the screen. Nadia’s number. I recognize it from the other night when I called her. “Yes,” I say, after tabbing accept. “I just wanted to thank you for a lovely

evening.” I almost snort my drink. “Was it lovely?” I ask. “Yes, it was. Didn’t you have a good time?” “Not particularly,” I say. “Was it me?” “Are you needy tonight, Miss Wolfe?” “Yes,” she says. She’s using that purring voice. The low, whispery, husky one. “I thought we’d spend the night together after dinner. I can’t deny I was a little disappointed.” “Well.” I sigh. “New game, new rules, right?” “I’m not sure. I never played the old game.” “No, you didn’t,” I say. Which is the whole problem. I want the old game back and it’s gone for good. But I don’t tell her any of that. She’s not worth it. “Would you like a goodnight… kiss?” she coos. “You want to make sucky-face noises in the phone?” I ask. “Pass.” She laughs then. A soft one. Maybe even a real one. “No, you dumbass. Like… phone sex, Bricman. Come on. Why are you so surly?” “You want to phone-sex me?” “Are you a phone sex virgin?” “No… not exactly.” “Have you ever done it before?” “Did Jordan put you up to this?” I ask her. “No. I just kissed him goodnight a few minutes ago. He enjoyed it, he said. Came all over my

imaginary face.” It’s my turn to laugh. Just a small one. “Ha,” she says, still almost whispering. “I made you smile. So do you? Want to phone-sex, I mean?” I look down at my cock and find it… uninterested. “I can make it fun.” “Were you a cam girl in your other life?” “No,” she says. Still playful. “I just think it’s erotic to get someone off with words, you know? And imagination. It’s an art, I think.” “And you’re what? A come artist?” She chortles this time. “Call it whatever you want. But how about you unbutton your pants while we talk? Take that fat cock out and hold it. Grip it tight for me, Elias.” And maybe I’m just drunk, or maybe I’m just lonely, or maybe I’m actually thinking it might be fun, but I do it. “OK,” I say into the phone. And then I put her on speaker and set the phone down. “I’ve got it in my hand. Now what?” “Play with your balls,” she says. “Grab them, lift them up, and massage them. Press them against your hard shaft, Elias. I want you good and ready for me.” “Are your fingers in your pussy?” I ask. “Not yet. I’m just getting started.” “Are you already wet? From Jordan?”

“Yes,” she says. “Are you playing with your balls?” “Yes,” I say, massaging them in the palm of my hand, rubbing them against my now fully-erect cock. There are all kinds of warning bells going off in my head right now. Warnings like… She’s controlling you, Bric. She’s getting her way. She’s trying to change the rules in her favor. She wants to win, Bric. But I don’t even know what winning means anymore. I’ve been on a losing streak for so long, I’ve lost perspective. Maybe this is winning? “Stop thinking so hard, Elias.” She purrs my name. Like a trained whore, I tell myself. Or… like a woman and not a girl. “Just relax. Lean back. Are you on your couch? Or in a chair? Give me a visual.” It’s a bad idea, but I don’t care. “Couch,” I say. “Keep playing,” she says. Her voice is so low now. Such a soft whisper. And her breathing is picking up. Just a little. Just enough for me to picture her too. “And tell me what the room looks like.” I look around my apartment. “It’s cold,” I say. “Leather chairs and couch.” “What color?” she asks. “White. And the floors are black marble.” “So you live in your own version of the Black and White Rooms?”

“What?” I say, my hand pausing mid-stroke on my cock. “Do you have a view? From where you’re sitting?” I glance out the window and find the gold dome of the capitol building. “No.” “Such a shame. Do you want to know where I am?” “Sure,” I say, losing interest fast. What the fuck am I doing? “Well…” she breathes. “I undressed as soon as I came home. I was regretting my choice of dress all night because I didn’t feel sexy in it. It was too tailored. Too buttoned up. Too professional. I wanted you to look at me, Elias. Look at me in a way that made your eyes heavy and your heart beat faster. And you didn’t. So I was disappointed.” I wonder how true that is? “So I put on something else. And made myself up in a different way. Do you want a picture?” “Sure,” I say, glancing down at the phone. I hear the sound of a camera click, then a few seconds later my phone beeps. I tab the message and open it up. Good. Fucking. God. Her hair looks like someone just fucked her brains out. All messy and long. Hanging over her eyes, which have been darked up with smoky colors. Grays and blacks. Her brown eyes still have

that glint of sultry power shining from within. And her lips are glossy and red. I picture them wrapped around my cock, those tantalizing brown eyes looking up at me as I hold her head in place and fuck her mouth. She’s lying back on her bed wearing black lingerie. A corset. She’s got her knees up, legs open, panties pulled aside, fingers spreading herself so I can see her pussy. Her tits are practically spilling out of the push-up bra built into the corset. Her other hand is pulling down the fabric to reveal a nipple. It’s a really good visual. “Do you like me this way, Elias?” “Yes,” I mumble. My hand is busier now. My strokes faster. My heart faster. Everything is faster. Her breathing picks up too. A few seconds later she’s panting, but it sounds like she’s holding back. “What are you doing?” I ask. “I have my fingers in my pussy. Wishing they were your fat cock.” I allow myself a smile. “Pretend your hand is mine now, Elias. That’s my hand on your cock. That’s my hand stroking you.” I do pretend. I stare down at the picture, hold the image of her in my head, and then close my eyes. “Drag my hand up and down your shaft, Elias. Slowly. All the way up. Over the tip of your head,

squeezing out little drops of liquid. I would lean over and lick it off if I was there. Looking up at you as I do it. Relishing the taste of your arousal.” I see the whole thing as I lean back into the couch cushions and stretch my legs out. My hand becomes her hand. “Now lift up your cock and place it flat against your stomach. Feel me lick your balls. One of my fingers is wandering, Elias. Down to stroke your asshole. Probe it…” “Jesus,” I mumble. “Do you want me to lick you there?” she asks. “Fuck, yeah,” I say. “Imagine my tongue takes the place of my finger. I sweep over your ass, then lick my way up your balls, sucking them into my mouth. I’m looking at you, Elias. Only you as I kiss my way back up your hard, muscular stomach and then put my mouth over the head of your cock. I cup your balls now. Wanting you to come down my throat. Your hands grab my hair and fist it. You force my face down. Force your cock into the back of my throat. Your other hand palms my neck, searching for the movement of my muscles as I swallow your thick shaft.” “Goddamn,” I say. “I’m so horny, Elias. I wish you were here to really satisfy me. My fingers can’t replace the real thing. I want you inside me. Stretching me open as

you fill me up.” Poor thing. “But I’ll just have to wait, won’t I?” “Yes,” I say. “There’s no replacement for what you can give me.” “No,” I mumble. I’m jerking myself off pretty hard now. I make slapping noises each time my fist goes up and down my cock. “I want to come, Elias. You can make me come. You can lean your head down between my legs. One hand fisting my breast. Squeezing it hard. So hard I gasp and whine. But I won’t tell you to stop.” “I wouldn’t listen anyway,” I say, breathing hard as the words come out. “I know,” she whines. “I know you wouldn’t. You’d make me suffer, wouldn’t you, Elias?” “Yes,” I say. I’m getting close. I like this visual. I really do wish I was eating her pussy right now. “What are you doing to me?” she asks. “Licking you, Nadia.” “Oh,” she moans. “It feels so good.” “I’m licking your pussy,” I say. “Lapping my tongue against it in long sweeps. Sucking in your clit until your hands grab my head and you try to push me off.” “You’d never let me push you off, would you?” “Never,” I mumble. “But I’d like you to try.”

“You want me to fight back a little, Elias? Writhe in place. Wriggle my body, desperate to stop the sensations—Oh,” she moans. “Oh, I’m getting close, Elias. Please put your cock inside me. Please, I’m begging you. I’m pulling your hair. I want your mouth on mine. I want to taste the sweetness of my own pussy. I want to feel you enter me—Oh,” she moans again, this time louder. I’m so fucking turned on I feel a climax building. “I’d lift your knees up to your neck,” I tell her. “I’d open you up so wide.” “I’d hold my legs open for you, Elias. Like an invitation.” Jesus fuck. I might have to get up and go over to her apartment right now, that’s how bad I want this to be real. “Where should I come?” I ask her. “Do you want me to spill it inside your pussy or your mouth?” “Pussy,” she says. “So I can come all over your cock at the same time.” I squeeze my cock as I pump it harder. My breathing is loud now. I’m almost breathless as I picture this scene in my head. A few seconds later I groan. “Ahhhhhh,” I say. “Yeahhhh,” I grunt, just as hot semen spills out of me. “I’m coming, Elias,” she pants. She’s loud now too. “I’m coming all over you. Can you feel me squeezing your cock? Can you—Ahhhh,” she says.

“Ohhhhhh, yesssssss,” she whines. After that there is nothing but heavy breathing from both of us. Seconds go by, maybe a whole minute before she moans again. “What are you doing?” I ask, my eyes still closed. Suddenly tired. “Turning over, Elias. Molding my back into your chest. You’re putting your arms around me. Pulling me close. Biting my shoulder and kissing my neck. We’re falling asleep. Completely satisfied.” I might fall asleep this very moment. Our breathing slows. Hers matching mine. “That was fun,” she whispers. “Yeah,” I mumble. “I hope Jordan had the same good time.” “He did. But just imagine how great it will be with all three of us together.” “Yeah,” I moan. So fucking tired. Maybe drunk. But definitely satisfied. “I can’t wait,” she says. “So I hope you’re not too unhappy with me.” “Why would I be unhappy with you?” I ask, totally not understanding right now. “I don’t know,” she says in a soft voice that makes her sound almost… vulnerable. “I got the impression you don’t like me.” “I like you well enough, Nadia.” “I want more, Elias. I want you to crave me.” “Well, this is a good start.” I laugh. My eyes are

still closed. I don’t mind the virtual pillow talk if that’s what she needs. I know how to do this, I remind myself. I know how to make them feel wanted and special. “I’ll set something up for tomorrow night, how’s that sound?” “Oh, thank you,” she says. “I want it, Elias. I really do. I want both of you inside me at the same time. I won’t be able to work tomorrow. I might have to sneak away from class to get myself off in the bathroom.” “No,” I say, ready for sleep. “Don’t cheat, Nadia.” My whole body is heavy and relaxed. “We want you begging for us the minute we start taking your clothes off.” “OK,” she says, giving in easily. “I won’t. I promise.” “Good,” I say. “Good then I’ll have Jordan call you with the details and I’ll see you tomorrow night.” “Good night, Elias. I hope I made you happy tonight.” “You did,” I say. “Good night, Nadia.” I reach over for the phone and tab the end button. Then I lie there, eyes closed, and start to drift. I picture the entire conversation in my head again. Try to remember all the dirty things she said. My cock, which was well on its way to flaccid, jumps back to attention with the memory. Jesus. That was some good phone sex. She really knows

how to… I open my eyes and sit up. Blink a few times to clear my blurry vision. She really knows how to take control, is the rest of my thought. Control. That fucking bitch. She just dominated me, didn’t she? Did I actually ask her where she wanted me to come? I stand up and look down at my pants. Fucking hell. Come all over my front. They might be ruined. My hand is sticky with it. My heart is still beating faster than it should. My cock is still semi-hard because I’m still fucking thinking about the experience she just gave me. Goddamn it. I look over at my phone and bring her picture back up on the screen. She is sexy as fuck. But she’s a manipulative little cunt. I will make her pay for this little move. I will make her fucking pay. “Nadia Wolfe,” I say, walking into my bedroom to get undressed. “You are not the dom in this relationship.” I hope her little trick was worth it. Because tomorrow, I’m gonna show her what submission really looks like. I have a scenario in my head immediately. One I

haven’t had to use in a very long time. One that will have her writhing, and moaning, and screaming our names. One that will have her begging for more and begging us to stop at the same time. One that will definitely show her who’s boss.

Chapter Eight - Nadia

I’m snickering with delight when I get the hangup beeps from Elias. I stand up and stretch. My old t-shirt rides up my belly and my cut-off sweats fall a little down my hips. I hike them up and then skip into my kitchen to make a cup of tea. I should’ve been an actress. For real, I am so good at this shit. But these stupid men, right? They are ruled by those cocks. And the bigger, the fatter, and the longer those cocks are—the more they use them to think. I bust out laughing. It’s so loud, it echoes through the kitchen. “Mr. Bricman,” I say to no one but myself. “You have officially met your match.” He’s going to be so much fun to fuck with, I almost feel giddy at the thought. Never in a million years did I think I’d wrap him up in one night. God, he’s almost a disappointment. “I expected

more from you, Bricman,” I say, filling my tea kettle with water and placing it on the stove burner. Then I walk back out into the living room and flop onto the couch. I pull my knees up to my chest and look out the window. I think I like Denver. I think Denver is my new favorite place. I haven’t felt this… happy in a very long time. The entire night was perfect. I played this game like a goddamned gold medalist. I am the queen of fucking mind games. “Queen, Bricman! Do you hear me?” I shout it at the walls. “I’m the fucking queen!” He has no idea who he’s dealing with. He has no idea how manipulative I can be. How cunning, and unscrupulous, and scheming I can be. But fuck him anyway. Fuck him for only seeing what’s on the outside. Fuck him for pegging me as a victim. Fuck him for underestimating me. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. My phone rings on the coffee table. Vibrates too. I glance down at the number, my heart skipping a beat as I read the screen. For a moment, I hope I’m seeing it wrong. I hope it’s just an illusion. Some kind of hallucination. But it’s not. It’s real. The phone is about to vibrate off the table when I reach out and grab it. Tab accept. “Hello?” I say. “Nadia?” “Yes,” I say.

Silence. “What?” I ask. “Why are you calling me?” “Where are you?” “None of your business.” More silence. I should just hang up. But I won’t. I refuse. I will not submit. “I already know anyway.” “Good for you,” I say. “What do you want?” “I want you to come home.” “No. I’m not coming home. I told you that when I left. I won’t be home again. Ever.” “You got a new job,” he says. “Yup. Pretty sweet one, too.” “Congratulations.” ‘“Thank you,” I say. He won’t ruin my night. Ever again. “I think about you all the time.” I sigh into the phone. “It’s over, Logan. It was fun, and then it wasn’t.” “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…” “You’ve told me that a million times. I don’t care what your intentions were. OK? I don’t care. I left and now it’s over.” “You can’t just… walk out like that, Nadia.” “You’re breaking the terms of the restraining order, Logan.” “Fuck that restraining order,” he spits. I press end, block his number, and turn my phone off. I won’t go back to that bullshit. Ever. He

can just fuck off. Him, and Bricman, and, hell, even Jordan. All of them. Every man on the planet. They can all just fuck off. My tea kettle begins to whistle softly. But I’m stuck here. On the couch. In the past. In another life and this one, all wrapped up into one fucked-up package. By the time I force myself to get up and go back into the kitchen, the kettle is screaming at me. I turn the flame off and the whistle fades away. Just like that life I had. It fades away. I don’t make a cup of tea. I turn out all the lights, take two sleeping pills, set my alarm for five AM, and climb into bed. He can’t ruin my night if I end it.

Chapter Nine - Bric

“Hey,” I say when Jordan answers his phone. “You busy?” “I’m in court today, so yeah, kinda. Why?” he asks. “What’s up?” “Did you talk to Nadia last night? After we dropped her off.” “No.” He laughs. “Sorry. I meant to, but I made the mistake of checking my email when I got home and…” He sighs. “This fucking job, ya know? Kinda interfering with my sex life.” A small chuckle escapes at his joke. “Hmm,” I say. I cannot get that sneaky bitch out of my mind. “I will though, Bric. Don’t worry. I’ll call her at lunch. You want me to set something up for tonight?” “No,” I say. Then, “Yeah. I mean I just wanted to know if she called you and you guys had…” Jesus. I cannot fucking believe I fell for her shit. “Had? What?”

“We had phone sex last night.” “Fuck, she’s good at that, right? We’ve done it a couple times too.” “She was trying to control me, Jordan. And she lied. She told me she called you first and you guys played the same little game.” “Well, we’ve done it a few times. But not last night. Like I said, I got distracted with fucking work.” “And she’s always the one who initiates?” “Yeah, why?” “Why? I just told you why. She’s using it as a way to control us.” “Maybe,” he says. I can practically feel him shrug. “But it’s pretty fun.” “This is a big deal, Jordan. She came to you as a top. She cannot fucking have control in this arrangement. Fuck that. And what she did last night was manipulative and sneaky. It breaks the spirit of the rules.” “Spirit of the rules?” He bellows his laughter this time. “It’s not funny. I’m pissed off. I don’t want to play with a girl who’s trying to control me, OK? And if she gets away with this once, she’ll try it again.” “She submits when you ask for it. She’s just putting up a fight, Bric. What’s the big deal? I thought you liked the fight?”

“I do,” I hiss. “With the understanding that I’m the one in control.” “So you’re pissed because she got the better of you last night? You feel like you lost the battle?” “You should be angry,” I say. “I don’t understand why this doesn’t bother you more. If she did this to Smith or Quin, they’d be calling an emergency meeting to set her straight.” “Well.” He sighs. “I’m not Smith or Quin. I like Nadia. I like her fight. I like pretty much everything about her. So…” I feel the shrug again. “What do you want to do about it? Cane her ass until she has welts?” “No,” I say. “I have something much better in mind.” “Good, text me the details and let me know when this is going down. I gotta get into court. Later.” He ends the call and I set my phone down. I’m in Smith’s bar checking out the people down below. It’s busy this week because New Year’s is this weekend. People love this fucking party. Almost every member shows up. Of course, Smith usually doesn’t. Not anymore, anyway. But Quin almost always does. But not this year. He’ll be home with Rochelle and Adley. Or they will get a sitter and go out alone. Or maybe they will double-fucking-date with Smith and Chella. Assholes. They’re all a bunch of fucking

assholes.

I spend the whole day stewing about Nadia and her covert attempt to take back control. I have gone through every emotion. Anger came first. Bitch. Why is she even playing if it’s just gonna be a mind fuck? But then I got to thinking about that. The mind fuck part. Because I’m kind of an excellent mindfucker. I mean, shit. I went to school to be a psychiatrist. I got pretty far into it before I dropped out. I have a medical degree. I run a sex club. I’ve been playing this goddamned game for more than a decade. And even though I’ve been on a losing streak for a while now, I’m damn good. I’m due for a win. I will win this. The key to a proper mind fuck is the element of surprise. The target thinks they’re ready for the unexpected, until they’re not. Nadia was probably pretty pleased with herself last night. She probably ended that call with a huge smile on her face. One hundred percent satisfied. And she’s expecting retaliation. She had to know I’d tell Jordan about it. She had to know I’d find out she never called him. She had to know I’d be pissed off today. When I realized that… well, that’s when I

calmed down and started piecing together a psychological profile on her. Nadia Wolfe. Twenty-something. Beautiful. Talented. Ballerina. Control freak. New in town. Rising star. Player of games. She’s so stupidly simple to figure out, I almost feel sad that she’s not more of a challenge. I decide the ballerina aspect is my best first move. They are a different sort of person, so most of what I just described probably stems from her choice of occupation. She likes control because she’s forced herself to be in control of things to get where she is in her art. Think about it. Ballerinas, right? They get up early to go to class or rehearsal or whatever the fuck it is they do first thing in the morning. They have to control themselves in very specific ways. They have to control their muscles, their emotions, their pain threshold, and the pleasure center in their brains. They have to psych themselves up to fit their bodies into the mold of dancer. They have to conform in many ways. Deviation from the standard is unacceptable, even though they are expected to excel and stand out. They must look a certain way, behave a certain way, and submit to the whims of those who control their future. Success, therefore, is not defined by their own perceptions of themselves, but by the perceptions

of others. And those perceptions are directly related to athletic skill, beauty, and youth. It’s a trifecta of psychological disorders waiting to happen. I smile. I’ve got you, Nadia Wolfe. I have your ticket, darling. I know what drives you now. But the key to a proper mind fuck is, again, the element of surprise. She’s expecting something from me tonight. Something pretty specific, I’d imagine. Something that involves pain, and sweat, and sex. Maybe punishment in the form of denial. I press her contact number on my phone. “Mr. Bricman,” she says, breathing hard and heavy into the phone. “What can I do for you?” “What are you doing?” I ask, wondering about her breathing. “Dancing,” she says, still huffing. “I thought this was a teaching week? Jordan mentioned something—” “I still dance, Bricman. Every day.” Of course she does. I smile, because…yeah. She has no idea what’s coming. “Anyway,” I say. “I guess you felt pretty good about last night, huh? Lying to me. Getting me to submit to your game. Getting me off.” She’s silent, except for her now more controlled breathing. But I know she’s smiling as she pictures

it in her head. “I liked it though.” “Good,” she says. “I wanted you to like it.” “But I’m not happy about it.” “Of course not. I played you, Elias. And you hate being played.” “So you want the punishment coming tonight. You do this on purpose.” They aren’t questions. “I like challenge,” she coos into the phone. “So I upped the stakes.” “Jordan will pick you up at seven-thirty. Be ready. Wear something black. Slutty, you know. You’re really good at looking the part of a slut. So do it up right, Nadia. OK?” “Sure thing,” she purrs back. “I can’t wait to see what your next move is, Elias. Don’t disappoint me.” I end the call and smile, looking out at the golden dome of the capitol building. Then I text the details to Jordan. He doesn’t answer back right away. Must be in court. But when he does, the only message he sends is a little devil emoji. I never disappoint, Miss Wolfe. Ever.

Chapter Ten - Nadia

I want to defy Bricman by wearing white instead of black. But I only own one white dress and it’s made of lace and makes me feel like a cheap bride. So I give him that point and put on the black. He said slutty, so I’ve got that covered too. The dress is barely long enough to cover my pussy. I’m wearing pink lingerie, but not the sweet kind. The kind that showcases your goods when you open your legs. The kind that comes with garters and thigh-high stockings. The kind that pushes your tits up to your chin and lets the tops of your nipples peek out from behind the cups. I debated on whether to wear high boots or stilettos, and went with the stilettos. They cost more than one month’s rent for most people. But I didn’t buy them, Jordan did. So that means nothing to me. They make me taller than the boots, and even though I still won’t be as tall as Bric or Jordan, I’ll be closer to eye level. Being small isn’t something I find cute.

I round it all off with some sterling silver jewelry. Nothing special, just a few pieces I have collected over the years. At exactly seven-thirty, the buzzer rings on my door. I take one more look at myself in the mirror, self-consciously pull my ridiculously short dress down one more time, and let out a deep breath. Let the game begin. “You look… slutty,” Jordan says when I open the door. He takes me in for a few seconds longer, then takes both hands, leans in for his kiss, and lets me go so he can grab my coat. It’s not slutty, it’s not warm, and it’s not cheap. It’s wool cashmere, but it’s short and black, so I think it’s better than the double-breasted pea coat I wore last night. “Bric wanted slutty,” I say casually as I slip my arms into the coat and grab my purse. “And you know how eager I am to please, Mr. Wells.” Jordan chuckles. He’s so easy-going compared to Bric. He laughs a lot too. I like it. He can be controlling and he’s definitely had some asshole moments with me over these past few weeks. But that’s not who he really is. Jordan is a decent guy in the real world. He’s a trial lawyer, so probably most people think he’s scum. But I’m OK with that. Because I know he takes a lot of pro bono cases. I looked him up and he’s been listed on the Crawford Top Fifty for three years in a row. That’s a special

list for lawyers who give back to the community. And that’s Top Fifty in the whole country. Not just Colorado. I trust Jordan. Sure, he might be a dick to me tonight, but if he is, he’ll show up tomorrow with roses. Or new ballet slippers. Or he’ll send me lunch and it will consist of all things I will actually eat and not things I’d just throw away because they’re junk. And even though I know we’re playing a game, it doesn’t feel like a game with Jordan. I mean, I know it’s a game. I know he’s not serious about me. I know this isn’t a relationship and we’re on the road to nowhere. But he makes it feel real. He’s a good actor. He deserves the Stepford Wife version of me. Elias Bricman though… No. He’s not worthy of the good-actress me. He’s not worthy of the girlfriend experience. Hell, he’s not even worthy of the whore experience. Bric gets what he gives. The Machiavellian me. Elias Bricman and I are definitely playing a game and we both know it. I got him good last night. “What are you smiling about?” Jordan asks me as we get inside the elevator. “This is fun,” I say, meaning it. But there are wild fluttering butterflies in my stomach for some reason.

“It’s about to get better. Play your A-game, Nadia. Because what you did last night really pissed Bric off.” “So he told you?” I say, trying—and failing—to hide my smirk. “He told me. I’m just warning you—” “I know, I know,” I say, just as the elevator doors open. We step out, he offers me his arm and I curl my hand around it and let him lead me to the door. “You already told me he’s dangerous. I get it. I’m not a child, Jordan. And I’m not fragile. He won’t break me.” We walk through the first set of doors, the doormen on their toes tonight, opening it up ahead of us, and then the second. And that’s when I notice Bric isn’t here to pick us up. “Where’s Bric?” I ask. “He’s waiting for us, Nadia. At the Club.” “Hmmm,” I say as I slip into the open door of his car. Jordan gets in a second later and revs the engine of his sporty BMW. “Hmmm, indeed, Miss Wolfe. You have really gotten his attention. And I’m not sure the full attention of Elias Bricman is a good thing.” We’re both quiet on the way over to the Club. It’s not far, so the silence isn’t glaring. But his warning makes me second-guess all the moves I’ve planned. Still, it’s exciting. I’ve been to the Club many

times with Jordan, but aside from that one night at Bric’s apartment, I don’t make it upstairs. Or downstairs, for that matter. We have dinner in the White Room or drinks and dinner in the Black Room. Then he takes me home and fucks me at my house. Or in his car. Or someplace public. Wherever. This will be the first time Elias is expecting me at the Club. Just as I get my stomach to calm down from nerves, we’re there and the valet is opening my door. He extends a hand to help me out and Jordan makes his way around the car to offer me his arm. I take it. Maybe even need it. OK, Nadia. Play well tonight. The people at the door greet Jordan and me. They take our coats, but then I am unexpectedly maneuvered towards the back stairs. “What?” I whisper, leaning up to Jordan’s ear. “No dinner first?” Jordan says nothing. And when I chance a glance up at his face, there’s no smile. His mouth is just a straight line of determination. Hmmm. So yes, all those butterflies in my stomach on the way over here were warranted. They have something planned for me tonight. Something that will put me in my place. Something that will give them power and make me submit.

We enter the elevator, but instead of taking it up to the fifth floor where I know Bric lives, we exit on the third floor. “Where are we going?” I ask Jordan. The hallways are quiet. Empty. So even though my words weren’t loud, they seem loud. Jordan doesn’t answer. We keep walking down the dimly lit hallway until we reach the last door on the right. And then we stop. Jordan turns to me, offers me a small smile, and then places both hands on my cheeks and kisses me softly on the lips. “Don’t make it hard, Nadia,” he says, whispering the words past my lips as he continues to kiss me. “What—” But his kiss becomes stronger now, his palms on my cheeks no longer gentle, but gripping. “Don’t say anything,” he replies, pulling back to look me in the eyes. “Just give in to us and everything will be fine.” Oh, yeah. The butterflies are back. I swallow hard, unfamiliar with the emotion coursing through my body. Dread, I realize. I’m considering my options. Thinking about backing out. But Jordan turns the handle and opens the door. The room inside is… soft and maybe even romantic. The first thing I see are the long, sheer,

pale yellow curtains partially hiding the downtown view. The next thing I notice is the soft, room-sized sheepskin rug. And that’s mostly because I trip over it as Jordan leads me forward. Then there’s the long table in the center of the room, covered with a white sheet. And Elias, standing at the head of it. “Get undressed,” he commands, his words and tone evoking a sense of power. There is soft music playing. Something meditative and calming. It does the job because even though I swallow hard again, the butterflies are receding. “Don’t make me tell you twice,” Elias says, his eyes trained on mine. Jordan is already undressing. Puling his tie through the collar of his shirt. I take a deep breath, hold it, and then let it out as I slip my shoes off. The rug is thick and luxurious under my constantly aching feet. I grip the long, soft fibers with my toes, ready to moan, that’s how good it feels. When I reach for the zipper at the nape of my neck, Jordan is there to help me. He drags it down my body, and even though it’s not cold in here—in fact, it’s slightly too warm—a chill runs up my spine when my back is exposed to the air. I slip the straps of the dress over my shoulders and let it fall to the ground at my feet. Jordan picks it up, takes it somewhere. “I like the lingerie, Nadia,” Elias says, staring at

my body like a wolf about to have dinner. “But it’s not appropriate for tonight.” “OK,” I say, slightly out of breath for reasons I don’t want to think about. “But you did say slutty.” He offers me a small smile, just as Jordan returns. He’s bare from the waist up now. His wellmuscled chest holds my attention for a few seconds before Elias’s words bring me back to him. “Take it all off.” I gulp air. I should not let him make me feel this way. I’m the one in control here, not him. But even as I say it in my head, I know it’s not true. Yes, I got Bricman good last night with the phone sex. But right now, there is only one person in charge. Only one person with total command in this room. “You need to move faster,” Bric says. He’s Bric now. Not Elias. I unhook the garters from my stockings and roll them down my legs. Jordan is there, kneeling in front of me, hands gently holding my foot as he slips them off. We do that again for the second leg. I like his touch. It’s soft and comforting. Jordan is grounding me now. Keeping me even and straight. Calming me. Bric sips his drink as he watches Jordan help me with my bra. He unhooks it, slipping it down my arms. And then his fingertips are on the waistband of my panties. Pulling them down my legs.

I shiver as the soft silky fabric slides across my skin. I step out of them and Jordan takes everything away. I’m left standing in the middle of the room, completely bare. “Wash your face,” Bric commands while pointing to a countertop with a large ceramic bowl on top of it. This is a… spa room, I realize. The table is for massages. The walls are a pale gray-blue. Serene and calming. “Nadia,” Bric snaps. “I won’t tolerate having to tell you everything twice. Go wash that shit off your fucking face.” “You said slutty,” I say, feeling defensive. “Quiet, Nadia,” Jordan says, not unkindly. “Just do as you’re told.” My frustration at being stripped bare of my clothes and my control comes out of my mouth as a huff. But I obey. It’s a game, I tell myself. Just a stupid fucking game. In a few minutes, I’ll have a better grasp of the situation and I’ll be the one in control again. I’ll figure out what they’re doing and formulate a response. Make a plan. The water in the bowl is hot. I know this because there’s steam rising off it in little curly tendrils. There’s a few rolled-up washcloths off to the side, so I take one, open it up, and dip it in the water. My hands enjoy the soothing heat and then I bring the cloth to my face and start wiping. Once

my face is wet, I pick up a small seashell-shaped bar of soap and get it wet, lather up the washcloth, and scrub the dark, smoky makeup off my eyes. I splash water on my face to rinse it off, and then Jordan says, “Here, Nadia,” as he thrusts a soft towel for me to dry off with. When I’m done, I lower the towel and open my eyes. Bric is smiling when I turn to look at him. “Much better,” he says. I glance at Jordan, who’s standing right next to me, taking my hand. Leading me over to the table. “Lie down, Nadia,” he says. “Face first.” I climb up onto the table and do as I’m told. Bric is still standing at the head, so he’s right in front of me, the outline of his hard cock through his pants staring me in the face. I raise my eyes up to try to gauge what he’s thinking. He stares down at me as he sips his drink. No smile. No words of encouragement. Just nothing but Bric from Bric. Jordan places a towel across my bare ass and that’s when things start to make sense. His hands on my legs are my next clue. A massage? They’ve brought me up here for a massage? “Does it feel good, Nadia?” Jordan asks as he kneads the tight, overworked muscles of my calves. “So good,” I mutter, closing my eyes. It’s a

mistake, I know this. It’s a mistake to think that they’ve brought me here for this. But I can’t help myself. My body is in a constant state of dull ache from dance and exercise and I don’t even remember the last time I had a massage. I’ve never had a full-body massage like this, that’s for damn sure. “Good,” Bric says, gathering my long, dark hair and twisting it up. He ties it together with a slip of yellow ribbon that flutters in front of my face, pulling the knot tight. He arranges my new ponytail off to the side of my shoulder and then his large, strong hands press down on my upper back. Kneading the muscles into submission. Pulling the tension out of my body with his fingertips. I moan. It feels too good to keep up the pretense that I won’t fully enjoy this. I don’t know what they’re doing, or why. But right now, I do not care. Jordan is busy with my legs. He grips my calves tightly, then releases. Hot oil is dripped on my shoulders, then down the curve of my spine. More hot oil down each leg, starting from where my thigh meets my ass, and ending at the tip of my toes. And when they touch me again, those four strong hands make me give in. Completely. Utterly. Submit. “You don’t take good care of yourself,” Bric says, the heel of his palm pushing into a pressure point near my shoulder blade. There’s a sharp pain

at first when he hits a knot in some hidden, but well-used muscle. It makes me gasp. But after a few seconds the knot begins to disappear. The pain goes away. The pleasure sets in. I relax. I don’t even know how to describe the feelings Jordan is evoking on my lower body. One minute it’s painful enough to make me gasp again, but the next, he’s got his thumbs pressing against my inner thighs, so close to my pussy, it makes me bite my lip. I want him to stick his fingers inside me. And just that thought is enough to make me throb with desire. But he doesn’t venture into new territory. He takes his attention back to my legs. My thighs. My calves. My feet. He bends one leg at the knee and takes my foot with both hands. Kneads it. Presses on the arch and… oh, God, it feels good. I don’t have any Band-Aids on my toes, but they are raw and they hurt. They always hurt. I cannot remember a time when my feet did not hurt. Jordan massages them carefully, the oil a perfect lubricant that keeps the pain at bay. “You can fall asleep if you want,” Elias says. He’s Elias again. Not Bric. This man, touching me with his strong, but gentle, hands, making me feel so damn good, cannot be Bric in my mind. They are two different people. “Just enjoy it. We won’t

mind.” I nod my head. Or I try to, but I’m so relaxed, I don’t succeed. I mumble, “Mmmm,” as they stay busy bringing me pleasure. I allow myself this pleasure. I let my mind stop wondering things. I let my body stop doing things. I let everything drift off as they work their way up and down my body. The only thought that creeps in—and then only when Jordan’s hands wander too close to the wet space between my legs—is when will they fuck me? Will they fuck me? I worry about it for a few moments, but then Jordan lifts the towel off my ass and begins to massage my cheeks. He spreads me open, leans down and licks my asshole. My pussy throbs with the heat of his breath. I want him to lick me there so bad. “Are you ready to turn over?” Elias asks. So ready. I don’t even wait for him to tell me to. I simply force my submissive body to turn. And when I open my eyes, Elias Bricman is smiling down at me. He takes his hands to my breasts, pinches my nipples hard enough to make me gasp, and then resumes his calming massage. Gripping them in his palms like fruit, then releasing them, allowing them to fall back and rest, before doing it again.

He leans down—just as Jordan begins to knead the large muscles of my upper thighs, his thumbs once again dipping in between my legs, teasing me so sweetly—and kisses my mouth. He tastes sweet, like the fruity brandy he’s been drinking. “Do you want my cock in your pussy?” Jordan asks, his fingers, finally—finally—playing with my throbbing clit. “Yes,” I mumble into Elias’s mouth. Elias pulls back just enough to say, “Do you want to wrap your lips around my cock?” “Please,” I say, the word so soft and sincere. “Let me.” Elias grabs me by the arms and scoots my whole body forward, until my head is hanging off the edge of the table. I open for him, but he makes no move to take out his cock. Just resumes his massage of my shoulders. It feels so achingly good. There’s a sound of a belt being unbuckled. The ripping of a zipper being unzipped. It’s Jordan, not Elias. His pants fall to the floor with the whoosh of fabric, and then he’s pushing my legs together and climbing onto the table with me. He straddles my thighs as Elias continues to stare down at me, his hands busy with my breasts again, his fingers pinching my nipples. The tip of Jordan’s hard cock probes at the entrance to my pussy. I want to open my legs for

him, but I can’t. He’s got them pinned tightly closed with his knees. Jordan pushes a little harder. I moan, “Ohhh,” just as he makes it past the soft, wet folds and finds the entrance. “Yes,” I say, breathing hard now. I buck my back, making my head fall even farther back over the side of the table. Bric is unzipping his pants, taking out his cock. I watch it appear. Long, and hard, and so fucking thick. His balls are tight and round and I reach up and out to hold them. I can’t see the smile on Elias’s face, but I know he’s smiling when he leans forward, my mouth open wide, and pushes the round tip of his cock past my lips. I suck on him immediately, making him grab my hair. Fist it roughly. He likes this, I think in my head. He likes what I’m doing. I’m pleasing him. And this pleases me. A quick thrust from Jordan and he’s fully inside me. I lift my hips up in surprise, so focused on Elias, I’d forgotten he was about to fuck me. He’s still got my legs pinned closed and it’s killing me. It’s killing me not to open wide for him the way I’m open wide for Elias. “Put your hands on my thighs, Nadia,” Elias commands. “And don’t move them.” I obey. I grip his muscular thighs, grip the fabric

of his pants, desperate for more of everything they’re giving me tonight. “Open your throat,” he says, as Jordan begins to fuck my pussy harder. Making my whole body rock. Making my mouth take more cock. Making my pussy take more cock. “Open your throat and let me take over. Give in, Nadia,” Bric says. Because yes, this is Bric again. He’s tricked me, I realize. He’s always been Bric. But I don’t care. His commands feel like a gift. I let everything go. I let all my inhibitions fall away. I let them own me. I submit. And I like it. My throat opens. Bric’s cock thrusts inside me, making me gag and choke on his long length. I grip his thighs so tight, he lets out a hiss of air between his lips. I push him back, try to force him to withdraw, but he denies my request. Jordan is pounding my pussy. And with each thrust, I take Bric just a little deeper. I will die here, I think, desperately trying to breathe through my nose with Elias Bricman’s cock down my throat. There are sick, disgusting sounds coming from my mouth. Long strings of saliva leak past my lips, falling down my cheeks like a waterfall, stinging my eyes. But in between all this discomfort is the building

of my climax. I can’t help it. There’s nothing I can do. I am coming. I moan and writhe on the table as spasms of relief rocket through my body. Bric fists my hair so hard my scalp becomes uncomfortably tight. But even that contributes to the next wave of pleasure shivering its way up my spine, making me convulse with relief and ecstasy. And then they both come, their moans echo off the tall ceiling at the same time. I feel spasms of hot semen pulsing into me from both ends. Bric pulls out of my mouth and I immediately twist my upper body, desperate to sit upright and stop the choking. Jordan holds me down, not finished with me yet. He’s still inside me, his cock throbbing. Moans still coming out of his mouth as he says, “Yes, Nadia. Yes,” over and over again. Bric steps back, grabs the towel off the floor that started out covering my ass, and wipes off his dick as I watch, wiping the sticky liquid off my lips with my fingertips and still trying to catch my breath. He tucks himself away, zips up his pants, and buckles up his belt. Jordan finishes and falls forward, bracing himself with both hands on either side of my shoulders. I lift my head to look up at him and catch his smile. I smile back, unable to stop myself. He leans

down, and even though Bric just fucked my mouth, he kisses me on the lips. “You’re a good girl,” Jordan says, whispering the words. “A very good girl.” He sighs heavily, then swings his legs over the side of the table and I’m released. “We’re having dinner now,” Bric says, once again sipping his drink. “Go take a shower and then come back out here.” My body is pliant and limber when I try to sit up. Jordan has to help me. Has to hold me and keep me steady as I make my way to the huge spa-like bathroom. There’s a tub, which I am desperate to use right now. I don’t want to function. I just want to soak. But Jordan starts the shower instead as I lean against the vanity, barely able to prop myself up. He tests the temperature of the falling water, then comes towards me, picks me up in his arms like one would a small child, and carries me into the marble-tiled shower and sits down on the seat. I adjust my body so I’m straddling him, my arms around his neck, my face pressed against the hard muscle of his shoulder. “Did you get enough?” he asks. “Or would you like to fuck again?” I smile, but don’t move. “I’m not sure.” And then I laugh. “Well,” he says, moving my hair aside to kiss my

neck. “Then we’ll just leave it at this.” He smacks my ass hard, the sound of it echoing through the bathroom. “Come on. Stand up and I’ll wash you since you’re so damn tired. Bric won’t want to wait too long.” I do as I’m told, feeling slightly embarrassed that I’m so willing to obey them tonight. But my body is pulsing with a wonderful tingling. I push that thought away. Jordan washes me carefully. He soaps me up from head to toe, washing away the oil, and the sweat, and the come. He lathers my hair, rinses it under the rain shower, and then conditions it and rinses it again. I try my best to do him the same favor back, but I’m wiped out. The massage has made me relaxed and complacent. When we’re done he dries me off and wraps me up in a thick, white robe, then does the same for himself, but only wraps a towel around his waist. I study him. We study each other. He’s fucking hot. His shoulders are what I like best. Both sides, back and front. I didn’t get a good look at Bric’s shoulders yet. But I know it will be my favorite part of him. “There’s people waiting for you out there,” Jordan says, nodding his head at the closed door. “Who?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat. “They’ll do your make-up and hair. And we’ve

left you clothes. So don’t take too long. We’ll meet you in the second-floor bar for dinner when you’re done.” I study his back at he walks out, closing the door behind him. Yes, I definitely like his shoulders. There’s a little seat tucked under the vanity. I pull it out and sit. I cannot believe how wiped out I am. Tired, but not really tired. Relaxed, I realize. This is what it feels like to be relaxed. I wonder if they’ve got something planned at dinner. Something that will make me uncomfortable and unhappy? Can this night really just be about making me happy? I find it hard to believe. I pissed Bric off last night. He definitely has something else planned. “Well, Nadia,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. “He won this round no matter what.” There was no arguing. No battle of the wills. I did nothing but obey him tonight. So yes. “I lost,” I tell the girl in the mirror. Elias Bricman made me submit to him. And I loved every second of it.

Chapter Eleven -Bric

“Why are you so nervous?” I ask Jordan. We’re sitting in Smith’s bar. The table is elaborately set for a nice dinner, our glasses are full of expensive alcohol, and our cocks are happy. Why does he look like shit is about to hit the fan? “She had a good time,” I say, sipping my brandy. “Yeah,” Jordan says. His eyes are glued to the elevator doors, just waiting for her to come downstairs. “But it was sneaky, ya know?” “What was sneaky about it?” He shoots me a look that says, Come on. “She gave in, Jordan. We didn’t make her do anything.” “Right.” He sighs. “But you’re what, just pretending we didn’t have that conversation this morning? You know, the one where you said, ‘I’m gonna fuck with her head so bad, she’ll spin like The Exorcist?’” “It was a joke.” I laugh. “All we did was make her feel good tonight. She loved every fucking

minute of it. Even when I choked her with my cock. She couldn’t get enough.” “That’s because she was drunk on your dick at the time, Bric. But that feeling is gonna wear off and she’s gonna run the entire night through her head, and then—” “Then she’s gonna realize we know what the fuck we’re doing. That’s all.” “No,” he says. “She’s gonna realize you’re just playing with her emotions. Like you do with every fucking woman you’ve ever been with.” “So?” “So then she’s gonna up her game, Bric. And this is gonna turn into a mind-fuck shit-fest. I like her,” he says. “Maybe more than like her, OK? I don’t want her thinking I’m like you.” “You are like me,” I say, getting pissed off. Why the fuck is he sharing her with me if he likes her so much? But I don’t ask that question. Because I like her too. Just not in the same way. “See,” Jordan says. “See what?” I ask “That fucking evil grin you’ve got on your face. I know you well enough, Bricman. Well enough to see the Machiavellian wheels turning inside your head. Do not play with her emotions.” “Why?” I ask, my temper rising. “Is she some kind of fragile flower?”

But then I realize this intrigues me. “Stop it,” Jordan says. “She’s not a puzzle, OK?” “Then why are we even playing?” He huffs out some air. Runs his fingers through his still-wet hair. “Because she’s not…” He trails off. “She’s not what?” I ask. What the fuck is wrong with him tonight? “She’s not my type.” “OK,” I say, not really understanding. “I mean I’m not really her type.” “Hmm,” I say. “Do you love her?” “No,” he says. “Definitely not. But I like her. I could see myself playing with her for a long time. And if you fuck it up, that won’t happen. You, of all people, understand how fucking hard it is to get a girl you can trust in this game. One who just gets you, ya know? We get each other, Bric. I realize it’s only been a few weeks, but we know each other. I just like her. And we have an understanding. I get to boss her around and be a dick, but she knows I’m not a dick, right? She knows I’ll show up the next day and treat her nice and give her a gift. She knows I’m just playing. We’re playing.” “It’s a game. Same as this,” I say. “Dude, come on,” he says, almost fully exasperated now. “You are a sick motherfucker, OK? You know this, right?” “Then why am I even here?”

“Because we’re good together, ya know. Not great. Yet,” he adds. “Not what you had with Smith and Quin, obviously. But we understand each other. We work well as a team. She liked that up there.” “So what’s the problem?” “The problem is you’re in a weird place right now and I’m afraid you’re gonna take it out on Nadia. Don’t do that, OK?” He stares at me. “Just be…” “Just be your back-up?” I ask, huffing out a laugh. He shrugs. But that’s it. That’s what he wants. Don’t overpower him. Don’t take her away from him. Don’t make her rethink her strategy. Just help him keep her. It takes me a minute to decide if I’m angry or not. I decide I’m not. I don’t give two fucks about this Nadia girl. And my goal really was to break her. So I shrug. “Fine,” I say. “You want a wingman. Fine. I’ll help you out, Jordan. But when I need a favor, I’ll expect the same in return.” His shoulders relax with relief. His whole body, actually. “Thank you. And yes, for sure. If you need anything, just ask.” I like Jordan. More these days than I did last month. And it’s not because I just lost my two best friends—although I’m way too analytical not to realize that has something to do with it. It’s because

he’s a good friend. He was there on Christmas when I was down. He gave me his girl to make me feel better. He cared. “You want me to leave?” I ask. “I can, you know.” “No,” Jordan says. He sucks in a breath of air and then lets it out slowly. “No, dude. I want you to stay, OK? It’s going really well tonight. We’ve got her. And if we keep doing this… ya know?” He gestures with his hands to indicate this is what we’re doing tonight. “Making her happy. Making us happy. Everyone is happy. Then we’re golden. We’re set. We’ve got a long-term player.” “But if I play mind games she’ll walk out?” “Yes,” Jordan says. “She’s fucking sensitive to the control shit. I know this now. I know what she needs. I know how to keep her going. I understand her limits. I don’t want her to walk out and if you challenge her too much, she will, OK?” “I really don’t see what’s so special about this girl. She’s young, she’s arrogant, and she’s playing with fire. But whatever. I can do you this favor. I’ll be nice. But we still have a plan, Jordan. And we stick to it until it plays out, understand me?” The elevator doors ding before he can say anything else and Nadia Wolfe steps out looking… radiant. But a little confused. There’s a big crowd of people down in the lobby of the Club and they laugh loudly in this same moment, making her take

a step back. Like she’s afraid they might be laughing at her. Hmmm. But then she looks over at us and smiles. The dress is light blue. Her dark hair has been pulled up into some kind of elaborate twist. And her skin is glowing from the sex, or the massage, or maybe both. She looks a thousand times better now than she did when she came upstairs tonight. Jordan and I stand up as Nadia ascends the steps, and then Jordan walks over to her and takes her hand, leading her over to the table. He pulls out her chair and she sits as he pushes it in. I study him as he pours her wine from the bottle. She studies him back. He wants to treat her like a lady in public. Like me. Is he copying me? I mean, that’s how I usually play as well. Smith is the dick, Quin is the fun one, and I’m the gentleman. So why am I so hell-bent on breaking her? Her name pops into my head without warning. Rochelle. “Nadia,” I say, just to get the image of Rochelle and Adley out of my head. “You look very relaxed and satisfied.” She smiles as her eyes dart in my direction, then look away. Her attention is on Jordan. “Thank you,” she says, still looking at him. “I wasn’t

expecting that. But”—she sighs—“I have to reluctantly admit… I needed it.” “Well,” Jordan says, lifting his glass. “Here’s to the start of something special.” Nadia lifts her glass and then takes a sip. When I look over at Jordan he’s looking at her the way I looked at Rochelle two weeks ago. He says he’s not in love with Nadia. I wasn’t in love with Rochelle, either. But there’s a pull here between these two. Just as there was a pull there between Rochelle and me. Maybe I should just bow out now? Why should I help him get what he wants? Why should I always be the one left over? “Hey, Bric?” Jordan says, snapping his fingers. “What?” I say, becoming annoyed. “I asked you a question.” “I was thinking about something else,” I admit. “Repeat it, please.” “Do we really want to play the game here?” Jordan asks. “We could get our own place.” “I don’t—” “Quiet, Nadia,” Jordan says. Not mean, but definitely authoritative enough to shut her up. “Let’s look for one together.” I glance over at Nadia. She’s frowning. She likes her apartment, I guess. The way Chella liked her house. But Chella settled in. Yeah, and look what happened after that.

But I already tried the new apartment with Rochelle and Quin. That didn’t work out well, either. “Think about it,” Jordan says. “We’ll go looking together. Make it ours, you know.” Ours. Maybe that was the problem with the loft? It was mine. I guess, looking at this whole thing from Quin’s point of view, he probably thought I was trying to steal Rochelle and Adley away from him. Was I? It’s a hard question I don’t want to answer. “Sounds fun,” I tell Jordan, then raise my glass of brandy in a delayed response to their toast. “To the start of something special.” “Great,” Jordan says, smiling at Nadia. The table is set for three. It’s round, not the one we use to spy on people down below, and we are spaced evenly around the perimeter. So Jordan can look at her, he’d said earlier. Didn’t Rochelle tell me Quin sat across from her for the same reason? God, I need to get these people out of my head. “This weekend?” I ask them, breaking their moment. “We should go look this weekend. I have a guy. I’ll have him set up some viewings.” “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway,” Nadia says. “I like where I live. I don’t want to move. Why can’t we just…

stay there?” “No,” Jordan and I say together. At least we are on the same page as far as this goes. “Why?” she persists. “Because living at my place would take away your illusion of control?” “Illusion,” I say, laughing. “Don’t fool yourself, darling. We are in control.” She smiles at me. But it’s not the sweet kind she seems to be throwing at Jordan tonight. “I’m not submissive, Bric. Making me feel good for one night? That’s not enough to change that, you know.” I shrug. “It’s a start.” Jordan’s phone rings in his suit coat. He pulls it out, frowns at the screen, and then tabs accept and says, “Jordan Wells,” as he stands up and leaves the table, holding up one finger to us in a, Just a second, gesture. We watch him walk away. Down the short flight of stairs where he stops in front of the elevator. Not talking. Just listening. “It was a brilliant twist though,” Nadia says, pulling me back to the conversation. “And it felt amazing. So touché. You won this battle.” I give her my full attention. This might be the first real in-person moment we’ve had together. “It’s supposed to be fun, Nadia. It’s a game, not a war.” “Aren’t they the same thing?” she asks.

“No,” I say. And even though it’s been my job to calm the girls down and make them understand what it is we do, and why we do it when we share, I just don’t have the desire to be that man this time. I don’t care enough to explain. I don’t want to make her feel better. “You know,” she says, pausing to take a sip of her wine. “I’m going to figure out what your problem is. And when I do, I’m going to use it against you. Just like you did to me tonight.” I want to laugh. “First,” I say. “I don’t have a problem. And second, I set up the massage to make you feel better, that’s all.” “You set it up to make me submit. Willingly,” she adds. “I’m OK with that. But I know what you’re doing, Bricman. I’m an astute player. I read people. I look at their bodies, their faces, their whole demeanor… and I know what’s inside them.” “You don’t know what’s inside me.” “But I will.” And then she does shoot me the sweet smile. “You’re not such a big secret. Everyone knows you. Everyone at the ballet knows you. They talk about you, ya know.” “What do they say?” I try to come off as unaffected, but… I’m affected. I don’t like being talked about. “They say you’re kinky, mostly. That’s the rumor floating around. They know you play these

games. So if you come by the company and they see me with you, they’ll know we’re playing.” “So?” “So they’ll all start telling me little bits of this and little bits of that. All the rumors will come pouring out and I won’t even have to ask for them.” “Am I supposed to care?” She shrugs. “Care or not, it’s gonna happen.” Jordan returns, tucking away his phone. “I gotta go,” he says with a heavy sigh. “One of my fucking clients just got arrested.” He leans down to kiss Nadia. They linger, their lips soft and pliant, their mouths open. I can see their tongues twisting together. And suddenly the whole scenario reminds me of that first night Quin, Rochelle, Adley, and I had dinner at the loft. When I was the one leaving early. When I was the one kissing Rochelle goodbye. When I was the one lingering in the kiss. I didn’t love her. “Bric will take you home, Nadia,” he says, pulling away. “Sorry about this. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” There’s a flurry of commotion as Jordan excuses himself and the food arrives at the same time. Our plates are set in front of us, steam wafting up off the sea bass and asparagus. When all that settles down, Nadia looks at me. “I didn’t know I ordered

yet.” “We ordered for you,” I say, my response dry and dull. But then I add, “Jordan ordered it.” She looks down and smiles, her fingers playing with the napkin in her lap. And then she picks up her fork and begins to eat. She likes him, I realize. The way he likes her. Why the fuck am I here? “So what do you do all day?” she asks me between bites. I don’t eat. I’m not hungry. And even though I did enjoy myself upstairs, I’m not enjoying myself now. I drink instead. “I run this place,” I say, wholly uninterested. “What’s that like?” Nadia asks, still eating. I thought ballerinas liked to starve themselves? She must be pretty happy right now to forget she’s a ballerina. “It’s a lot of paperwork,” I say. “And parties.” “You make it sound so boring.” She laughs, stabbing a spear of asparagus and putting it in her mouth. “Mmmm,” she says. “This is delicious. Jordan knows what I like.” Mmmm-hmmm. I guess he does. “Well, the parties are business,” I say, trying to keep this whole night from going bad to worse. She raises one eyebrow at me. “All the parties are business? Even New Year’s Eve?” “No,” I say. “I’m talking about what I do, Nadia.

Not how I play. The parties are all about—” But I just don’t care enough to explain. And I don’t want to bring Smith into this conversation. “It’s just a job. Not as interesting as yours. How did you get to Denver? You’re not from here, right?” She stops eating and gently wipes her mouth with her napkin. Takes a sip of wine. “It’s my dream job. I mean, of course, I’d love to be dancing in New York. Or London. Lots of other places. But I’m young, so this is a really good break for me.” “How did it happen?” I ask. “Did you come audition?” “No, actually,” she says, her brows furrowing just a little bit. “I was invited.” “You must be some dancer,” I say. “I’m good,” she says. “Good enough for an invitation to dance for Mountain. You should come see me some time.” “The next show is…” I search my memory for the spring schedule. “Romeo and Juliet. Are you Juliet?” “No.” She laughs. “But I’m Rosaline.” She seems proud of this. “A good part,” I say. “For someone new to the company. I bet you already have enemies over there for getting that part.” She huffs at me and squints her eyes. “I’m not the kind of girl who makes enemies, Elias.” “Are we back to Elias?” I feel like I have this

conversation about my name a lot. They never know what to call me. As Bric, I’m the master. As Elias I’m the pseudo-boyfriend. It’s confusing, even for me. “I’ve noticed something when I call you Elias.” “Yeah? What’s that?” “You soften a little. You’re a frowner. Did you know that?” Am I? “No,” I say. “I haven’t.” “Well, you are. And when I call you Elias you soften. You like it. So I use it when it’s appropriate.” “And how do I look when you call me Bric?” “Like a predator,” she says, refocusing her attention back to the food. “Bric is hungry for something. Elias is already satisfied.” Jesus Christ. “How does Jordan look when you call him Jordan?” I ask. She shrugs. “He’s Jordan, that’s all. He’s got no secret side to him.” “Does that disappoint you?” I ask. “Not in the least,” she says, putting her fork down, daintily pressing the napkin to the corners of her mouth, and placing it on top of her plate. She only ate a small portion of the fish and half the asparagus. So I guess she never forgets she’s a ballerina. “Jordan is just…” She laughs. “Just what?” I ask. She’s got a power in her. She

commands attention. And it’s not the new sexy dress or the hair. Or even her fresh face, devoid of all that dark make-up. It’s inside her. “He’s good,” she says. “Do you think you deserve him?” I ask. “Why wouldn’t I?” “Because you’re not good,” I say. “No one who plays a game like this is good. He’s not good either. I know him better than you.” “Then why is he good to me?” she asks. Her eyes are bright with mischief. She knows the answer to that question just as much as I do. “He likes you,” I say. Because I don’t care. “He does like me. And I like him. But mostly,” she says, leaning forward in her chair—leaning across the table, like she’s about to share a secret with me—“mostly I just like to play with him, you know. The way you like to play with me.” “So you’re pretending to like him?” She leans back in her chair, the secret over, her voice a little louder now. “I like him enough. I wouldn’t bother if I didn’t. But he’s kind of easy, don’t you think?” “I don’t understand,” I say. She huffs some air. Like I’m amusing her. “He’s not quite,” she says, lowering her voice again, sharing another secret, “the player you are, Bric.” “So this is all a game. And if he gets hurt? Fuck him, right?”

“We’re all going to get hurt, Elias. I don’t think that’s a secret.”

Chapter Twelve - Nadia

Bric was done with me after that last comment. He took me home, walked me to my door, said goodbye. It was all very cold and very predictable. But I smiled when I closed the door and leaned back into it. I smiled as I got ready for bed. Brushed my teeth, set my alarm, and crawled under the covers. I might even have smiled in my dreams. I’m not smiling now. Cold is not a word I’d use to describe Jordan, even though he’s mostly predictable. But he was neither cold nor predictable today, because I haven’t seen him. He didn’t show up at lunch to make it up to me, as promised. I was waiting too, my attention half on my little would-be ballerinas, half on the sounds coming from the lobby. I was straining to hear the phone. A call telling me to come outside. Or the busy-body whispering of the parents as he entered the school, looking for me.

But it never happened. And I cannot, for the life of me, remember the last time I was stood up. What they did for me—to me—it was nice. It felt really good. And the shower after—Jordan asking me if it was enough or did I need another fuck. I regret not letting him take me again. The dress is pretty. It’s hanging on the door. Blue silk. Light and airy. Too light and airy for winter. But I didn’t care. I was only outside briefly when Bric took me home. And my hair was done up so well, I almost wanted to go to work with it this morning. Of course, I slept on it, so couldn’t. I took it down and put it back up in the typical bun ubiquitous to all polished dancers. I look at the phone, now that it’s night and almost all chances of Jordan making it up to me are gone, and consider calling him. “Don’t do it,” I tell myself. “Don’t fall for their games.” Because that’s what this is. Show me a nice time. Make my body throb from their touch. Make me dream about their hands, easing the aches from my legs and my feet and my shoulders. And then walk away. Isn’t that what they all do? My phone rings in my hand. It startles me and I drop it onto the fluffy white down comforter.

But it’s not Jordan. Or even Bric. It’s not a number I recognize, but the area code is. New York. I send it to voicemail. I blocked him the other day but obviously I’ll need to change the number. So what are they doing? I have been asking myself this question all evening. Were they playing last night just to get control? Are they done with me? Have they walked out? Are they waiting for me to call them? What? What do they want? They want me to submit, I know this. They spelled it out. Jordan was upfront when we started playing our little game. And Bric, well. He’s made his conditions clear. He was angry when he found out I lied to him about the phone sex. Was angry when he realized I was controlling him. But instead of doing the predictable—teaching me a good lesson with nipple clamps, or a good spanking over his knee, or chaining me to the fucking ceiling like he did Christmas night… he switched it up, didn’t he? Made me want him. Made me want to submit to him. Made me feel good, and not in a roundabout way, either. He didn’t spank my ass so hard I’d scream, then gently caress it and stick his finger in my pussy to take away the pain. No. He just… gave it to me freely.

Was it really free, Nadia? If he’s making you pay today? I know it’s him. Jordan would not stand me up. We’ve been doing this for more than a month now. I’ve seen him every single day except this one. I frown and lie back. My phone rings again. I send it to voice mail. I really need to change my number. A good player would have a move ready. But Bric is better at this than I first thought. Yes, it was all very well played. Think, Nadia. Think, think. What can you do to get him back? The ringing phone draws my attention away from my problem and towards a solution. Makes me smile. I turn the phone off, fluff my pillow, and then close my eyes, putting this day to bed. Tomorrow things will be different.

Chapter Thirteen - Bric

“Hey,” I say when Jordan calls. “What’s up?” “What the fuck did you do?” I gather the papers on my desk that I’m working on and shove them in a folder, attempting to straighten up my desk before I take two days off for New Year’s. “What are you talking about?” “Nadia,” he seethes, like this explains everything. “What about her?” I ask. “She’s changed her fucking phone number.” “Huh. Why’d she do that?” “You tell me. What the fuck did you say to her yesterday?” “I didn’t say shit.” That’s not entirely true. I said a lot. But I was only trying to protect him. And she gave it right back. “She ate, we talked, I took her home. We were barely there thirty minutes after you left.” “What do you mean after I left? That was Thursday night. It’s Saturday, you dumbass. I left

you a message Thursday night and told you to show up for lunch on Friday. Play with her a little. She was expecting one of us to show up, for fuck’s sake.” “Oh, yeah.” I laugh. “Ooops.” “Ooops?” Jordan is pissed. “I told you I liked her. I told you not to fuck with her. I told you—” “You know what you didn’t really tell me?” I say, interrupting his rant. “Why the fuck I’m even involved.” Jordan lets off an incredulous huff that is not a laugh. “I thought we had something good going here, Bric. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe you don’t want to play. Maybe you’d like to find some other guy to share with? Maybe this is over now?” I take a few moments to think about this. Am I done playing? No. No, I’m not. And I definitely don’t want to find a new player to share with. Jordan is good enough. He’s really great at some things. We fuck together pretty well. I like the way he holds their legs open for me sometimes. Like he’s offering them to me. It’s hot. “No,” I say. “It’s not over. I just spaced it, OK? Just… tell her I’m sorry, it wasn’t on purpose—” “I can’t, Bric. I don’t have time this weekend. I have a client in a lot of trouble. I just got him released from county this morning. The charges are serious, OK? I have to take care of this shit because

we’ve got an eight AM hearing on Tuesday. You need to take care of Nadia. Call her up—no, just go over there and—” “It’s Saturday night, Jordan. She probably has plans. And they’re definitely not with me.” “Just go over there and be nice to her. You don’t have to fuck her or anything. Take her some flowers.” “Flowers?” I say. “That’s lame.” There’s mumbling on his side of the phone. Like he’s got his hand over it so I can’t hear some other conversation he’s having. “I gotta go,” he says. “Go over there. And get her new goddamned number while you’re at it. I’ll call you later.” I get hang-up beeps. “Dammit,” I hiss. I was gonna go down to the basement tonight. Fuck, some women who actually like it when I take control. And if Jordan thinks I’m baby-sitting this bitch all weekend… fuck that. Tomorrow night is New Year’s Eve. I will not be missing that party. I fume about my new responsibility as I grab the phone on my desk and press the button for the lobby. “Yes, Mr. Bricman?” Margaret says when she answers. “Get my car ready, please. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“On it,” she says, and hangs up. I look out the window as I wonder what this night will bring. Maybe I can make Nadia slap me? That makes me chuckle. It’s not busy outside. Everyone is ready for tomorrow night. Parties and drinking and celebrations in the street. I have never understood people who want to stand outside in the cold waiting for midnight. Just… no. Then I turn and go downstairs. Margaret smiles at me as I descend into the lobby. The coat check woman has my coat and Margaret helps me into it. “What are you doing this weekend?” I ask her. She never comes to the New Year’s parties. It’s straightup fucking on every floor, including this one. “Hanging out with the grandkids.” “Stop lying, Margaret. You’re not old enough for grandkids.” She gives me a smirk. “My daughter and worthless son-in-law are off to the Bahamas tonight. So I’m leaving in about an hour and I won’t be back until all your festivities are over.” Margaret was the very first employee I ever hired here at Turning Point. She was younger then. Just one grandkid. Now they are big and she is older. We’re all older. She had just divorced her worthless husband and was looking for meaning in her life. I was looking for… well, not a mother. I have that already. But

someone like a mother. Someone who cared and always told the truth. Her son-in-law isn’t worthless—he’s the vicepresident of a bank here in Denver. And her exhusband isn’t worthless either. He’s the president of said bank. She’s got more money than she knows what to do with and when she came to me all those years ago, it was with the intention of giving it all away. She’d heard about Smith and was interested in partaking in his little social experiment. She’s contributed millions of dollars to our little help-theworld fund over the years. For a long time, I thought she came to work for me just to piss the ex-husband off after the divorce. And maybe she did. He might not be worthless, but he is an asshole. We circulate in the same world of big money, so I see him often. But he never says a word to me. She’s my friend, I realize. Someone who has stood by me from the beginning. And she appreciated the fact that I didn’t try to talk her out of giving that money away. I recall long nights of the two of us talking. What I wanted from this place. What she wanted from the job. And I guess we got those things because we’re still here. “Happy New Year, Margaret,” I say, looking down at her with a smile. Her hair isn’t gray. She’s

not the going-gray type. And her clothes are welltailored and impeccable. She’s the epitome of class. “Happy New Year, Elias,” she says, straightening out the collar of my suit and tucking it under my coat. “Stay out of trouble.” “I always do,” I say, turning to walk out. “I know,” she calls after me. But then I enter the revolving door that leads outside and she doesn’t have a chance to say anything else. It’s cold out, but not snowing. My car is only steps away and the valet has the door open on the driver’s side. I slip him a hundred-dollar bill as I get in the car, then close the door and enjoy the heat blasting from the dash. I always do. Maybe that’s the problem with me these days? I pull away from the curb and into the street, weaving my way through the light traffic towards Nadia’s apartment building a few blocks away. I’m not exactly bored. Not really. But I feel boring making its way into my life. Like a snake slipping in under a door, unseen until it’s upon you. What are Smith and Quin doing this weekend? “Command,” I say to the car. “Call—” What the fuck am I doing? “I’m sorry,” my car says in an unassuming female voice. “I didn’t understand your command.” No, I think to myself. I don’t understand my command either. I’m pretty sure Quin is hanging

out with Rochelle and Adley this weekend. Probably Smith and Chella too. They are having dinner right now. Going to see a play. Or maybe they’re just kicking back at their respective homes, content to be with themselves. “Why?” I ask the cold night. “Why did you leave me?” But I know why. Nadia’s building comes into view too quick. I have an urge to keep driving, but I have nowhere else to go. Just the Club. Just the basement. Just the meaningless sex-filled rooms that might’ve stolen my youth. And even though it’s a powerful pull… I don’t want to be there tonight. Not without them. Of course, I’ll go back later. I always do. I pull into the valet and they rush to my car. “Keep it here for me,” I say. “I’ll only be a minute.” “Yes, sir,” the young man replies. But I barely hear him. I’m already on my way inside. I walk across the lobby towards the elevator, press the button, then step back in surprise as the doors open and Nadia and I almost collide. “What are you doing here?” she asks me. She’s dressed up. A long, black coat covers her clothes, but I can see the fuck-me shoes on her feet, the make-up on her face, and the careful attention she gave to her hair.

She’s going out. To have fun, I suppose. “I…” I sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t call yesterday. Apparently, I was supposed to. Jordan is busy this weekend with a client. He says you changed your number so…” “So he sent you to rein me in?” “Something like that.” “Well, apology accepted. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.” “Where?” I ask her. “None of your business.” “Nadia, don’t play with me, OK?” She places one hand firmly against my chest to push me back, and then skirts around my body acting like a blockade. I follow her. Not because I’m intrigued. “Nadia,” I say, catching up to her and grabbing hold of her arm. She spins, fake smile in place. “Let go of me,” she hisses under her breath. “I’ll drive you.” “No, thank you.” “I’m driving you,” I say, leading her towards the lobby door. She acquiesces, allowing me to take her outside. And even though I can feel the rage boiling up inside her, she stays quiet when I open the passenger door to my car and motion with my head for her to get in.

I close the door, hand the valet a ten, and get in my side. “What do you want?” she asks, looking through her small purse for something. “Where are you going?” “Out.” “A party?” I ask, pulling away from the curb. “Does it matter?” she asks. “Are you meeting a date there?” I ask, stopping at a light on Speer Boulevard. “Several, actually.” I look at her from the corner of my eye. “You’re not allowed to date.” She simply shrugs. “Drop me off here.” “Where?” I ask, pulling forward for the green light. “Here, on the corner.” “Please,” I huff. And then I turn right, up Speer, towards the freeway, because I have the feeling if I stop at another light she might get out. “Where the fuck are you going?” she asks. “I don’t know. You tell me.” She shuffles in her seat, looking back over her shoulder at downtown as I ease into the light traffic on I-25 south. “Take me back downtown.” “Give the car an address,” I say, motioning to the on-screen display on the dash. “And I will.” “Fuck you. I’m late already.” “Well, you’re going to be a whole lot later if you

don’t tell me where to go. Give me,” I say, my voice solid, commanding, “a fucking address.” “So you can come ruin my night?” she huffs. But I’ve made her angry. Perhaps I’ll get that slap after all. “Maybe I’ll make your night better?” She shakes her head. But a few seconds later she says, “The old tire company warehouse.” “Why?” I ask. The building is kind of iconic. Old-school, cool logo painted on the fading brown brick. And not far from downtown. It’s been empty for a long time. They’re tearing it down next week to build condos. “Why do you think?” “Hmmm,” I say, getting off the freeway to turn left onto Colfax. “Sex club?” I laugh, because I’m kidding. But Nadia says, “Ding. Ding. Ding.” “You’re going to a fucking sex club tonight? Nadia, what the fuck? And a transient one, at that? Just what the fuck?” “I like to play in the dark just as much as you, Elias. I like the transient ones. Keeps it all mysterious and anonymous.” I reach for her coat and pull it open. She’s wearing fucking lingerie underneath. “Who runs this club?” I ask. “Someone you know,” she says. Coyly. “Who?” I ask. OK, I’m there. I’m intrigued.

“Not Smith.” “Baldwin? That boring jerk? Hardly.” “Not Quin.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” So I shrug. “Doesn’t matter then. Are you meeting men there? Even after our deal? I thought you had fun the other night?” “You’re playing a game with me. I know what you did.” “You liked it.” “I know what you did.” There’s a little hint of double meaning in her voice. Something dark and ominous in her tone. “Are you meeting men there?” I ask again, enunciating each word. “Mr. Bricman,” she says, turning in her seat. “I don’t waste my breath with lies. I said yes. Several.” “Several.” I say the word. Process it. “Is this the whole hoods, and chains, and sucking cocks you were talking about the other day?” “Yes,” she says, then smiles so big as she gazes out the window. Fucking Cheshire cat is back. “Can I come?” I ask. I realize it’s not a command. I could’ve said, I’m coming with you. But I asked instead. A question she has to answer is so much better. And I know it will make her think. After a few moments of nothing but the sound of heat blaring at us from the dash, she says, “If you

don’t interfere.” “You’re going to fuck them?” I ask. “I won’t let you fuck them.” “I told you I don’t fuck them.” “I won’t let you suck them off, either.” “You don’t get to decide, Elias.” So… we’re back to Elias. “I do, Nadia.” I say it honestly. Meaning it. And she knows this just from my tone. “I’m with you tonight whether you like it or not. So I do get to decide. I’ll take you there. I’ll take you in. I’ll stay with you every moment. But you touch no one but me. You leave there with me.” “And what if I say no?” she asks. “You won’t say no because if you do then the game we’re playing is over. You like the game. You like Jordan. You might not like me, but you like what I’m offering or else you’d never have given it a chance. You’d never have wasted your time playing with me on the phone the other night. You’d never have wasted your time with Jordan if submitting wasn’t turning you on. You like to slap him, but you also like what comes after. When he gets you alone.” She glances at me, but catches herself a second later and stares back through the window. “No,” I say, answering her unasked question. “He hasn’t told me what you two do. But I’m not a beginner at this, Nadia. I’m a professional. I know

what comes next.” Ball in her court. “I don’t…” But she stops. “You don’t what?” My question is harsh. “You can watch, then.” she says. “But that’s it. If I follow your rules, you follow mine.” “That’s your only rule? Watch, but don’t interfere?” She turns her head to look at me. Opens her mouth. Pauses. “Yes.” It comes out soft. Not what I was expecting. It makes me hard, the way she just gave in like that. “Are you lying?” I ask. “I get that this is a power play. I like it, OK? I do, or I wouldn’t be here. But I need honesty, Nadia. Or it won’t work. It won’t be fun. If you’re lying—” “I’m not,” she says. “I like things my way. Tonight it’s my way.” “And tomorrow?” I ask, hint of a grin on my face. “Tomorrow we can do it your way.” I squeeze the leather-clad steering wheel and imagine taking her to New Year’s Eve. “Tomorrow I get to play my way and you can’t interfere.” “You can’t fuck them, either. If I can’t, you can’t.” “Why would I need to fuck them when I have you, Nadia?” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t interfere.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. “I can’t wait to see you in action.” Her grin is twisted. But I’m not worried. Twisted is my default setting.

The parking at the old tire factory is disorderly and comes with no instructions. In my head I’m thinking, Don’t leave your car here. When you come back it will be on blocks, tires gone, parts stripped. But it’s either this or turn back, and I’m not turning back. I never turn back. So I park the car on the street, the thumping of music already in my ears, even though we’re two blocks away. I look around as we start walking towards the party. Nadia’s hand is there, so I grab it. Partly to make her feel safe in this run-down, dangerous neighborhood. But mostly to make her feel owned. She’s mine. No matter what happens tonight, she’s mine. It’s not a claim, just the facts. Cold as they are. There are some people walking up to the impromptu club with us, but not many. A few more lingering at the massive garage door that’s acting as an entrance. I’m curious more than anything. What is this

place? What kind of people come here? What do they do? How will the night end? I crane my neck a little as we approach. There is no one taking names or stamping the backs of hands. No bouncer, no authority. So different than Turning Point Club where the door is always open but access is usually denied. We pass through the door of the industrial version of my own secret sex palace and find the party. The dance floor—though it’s not a real one, just bare concrete—is filled with half-naked bodies glistening with sweat, even though it’s a cold night. We came with coats, but I don’t see a coat check. The thought almost makes me laugh. This place is so far away from coat checks, it might as well be Mars. Nadia’s body begins to sway with the music as she heads towards a table on the far side of the warehouse, leading me, since I’m still holding her hand. We get to a booth upholstered in green or tan crushed velvet. It’s hard to tell in the blinking multicolored strobe lights. There are a lot of booths, mostly empty, all lined up against the back wall like a restaurant, but not. How they got here, and who is paying for all this, is beyond my comprehension. Nadia sheds her coat and drapes it over the side of the booth, the glow from a portable heater enough to keep us warm. I do the same, mostly out

of habit, and then she slides into the half-moon curve of the seat, giving me room to slide in beside her, and raises her arm in the air, just as I settle. It’s not as cold back here at all. Almost too warm. Like the bodies on the dance floor are generating heat and forming a wall of insulation against the outside world. A server—dressed in a strategically ripped leather corset that bares her nipples to me, and nothing but garter straps and fishnet stockings down below—appears, presumably from Nadia’s waving arm, but I’m not sure about that. A bottle of Louis XIII in a limited-edition decanter and two snifters are placed in front of us. “Who’s paying for this?” I yell over the music. Nadia smiles at me, leans into my ear, and whispers, “You are.” OK. This is not my kind of place. At all. But I can’t help but take it in. Everyone is young. Young men —boys, really. And girls, not women. Even the server looks too young to be serving. Nadia’s age, I realize, suddenly feeling old and out of place in my five-thousand-dollar suit. They are holding red Solo cups in their hands, splashing beer and whatever else onto the bare concrete floor that will quickly become sticky. Nadia pours the drinks. About five hundred dollars’ worth of alcohol goes into each snifter. I

take it from her offering hand out of habit and sip. It’s good. Good. Something I’d find waiting for me on the top shelf of Smith’s bar. I’m not missing the dichotomy of the illusion. We are separate from the crowd. Wholly and utterly separate. Nadia’s hand is on my thigh, caressing her way towards my cock. She grabs it, holds it in her hand. Squeezes as I grow from her touch. Her body is pressed to mine and I realize—she’s got power over me right now. She’s taken me out of my world and flung me into hers. This is her kingdom, not mine. So I let her touch me. She is, after all, in charge, I guess. “How long?” Nadia says, leaning into my ear. Purring the words. I can smell the fruity brandy on her breath. I turn my head and kiss her, unable to stop myself. “How long what?” I ask back, my tongue reluctant to leave her mouth as I speak. “How long since you’ve been to a party like this?” I pull back and look into her warm brown eyes. The flickering strobe effect of the lights makes them green, then yellow, then brown again. “College, probably.” “Hmmm,” she says, leaning in for a final kiss before turning her head to watch the crowd. College parties with Smith and Quin. We were

just beginning to play our game back then. Smith wasn’t even in college, but was, at the same time. I envied him back then—and still do now—because he never had any responsibilities he didn’t ask for. And Quin. With his good-natured-all-American looks and upbringing. He did everything right and still came out like the rest of us. Deteriorating even as we rose in status and stature. I liked Quin more than Smith back then. He was easier. Simpler. Honest. We almost fucked once. Back then when everything was new and exciting. Just the two of us sucking each other’s cocks one night in front of a girl. We did it to turn her on and it worked. We fucked her afterward instead of each other. A momentary lapse, maybe. Or entirely deliberate. I never understood that night. Don’t even understand it now. Two people are grinding on each other not far away, the boy’s hands on the girl’s ass, lifting up her skirt to reveal the fact that she has no panties on, giving everyone a peek. He looks at me, watches me watch him as their bodies sway together in the thumping music, then bends her over so I can see her pussy. His hand rests on the small of her back and then slides down between her ass cheeks, fingers reaching even before they enter her pussy, making it glisten in the lights. She’s wet from his touch.

I drag my gaze up to his and he smiles while I sip my brandy. “Do you want to dance?” Nadia asks, pressing her body against mine. We’re already sweating. Already hot and we haven’t even started yet. “What do you do here?” I ask her. “Just party? That’s it?” “No,” she says, leaning in to kiss me again. “I do more than party.” “Show me,” I say. We are reading each other’s lips mostly. The music is so loud. And it occurs to me that this is a very different kind of intimacy. Conversation that depends on watching the lips of your companion and not hearing the actual words that come out of her mouth. “Let me out and wait here,” she says, her request mixing with the thumping beat. I stand to let her out, her fingertips brush against my shirt, dragging along my chest. I look at them, then her face. She smiles, her hand dropping to my dick again. Squeezes it as she stands up and leans in to kiss me. “Remember our rule,” she says when she pulls away. “Don’t interfere.” My heart beats faster as she walks away, her hips and shoulders swaying a little. Like her body can’t help but move to the beat. She is a dancer, after all. I should’ve said yes to the dance. She stops a little way off, hands clasped behind her back. She’s in profile, so I watch—enthralled—

as her back arches, pushing her breasts up and out, her peaked nipples in stark outline against the backdrop of flashing lights. Then she points. I follow the line of her arm right up to the tip of her finger. Searching for her target. A boy appears from the crowd. Young, handsome, shirtless. His chest rising and falling in rapid succession, like she makes him breathless. He’s been dancing, I correct myself. He’s hot, and sweaty, and breathing hard from the dancing. But I don’t believe it. It’s her who makes him breathless. His hands are on her body as soon as he’s close enough. Feeling their way up and down her slim waist, then reaching for her tits. I almost walk over there, but her glance stops me. Don’t interfere. She points again and another boy appears, then another. Same age as the first—Nadia’s age. Same hard bodies. Same handsome faces. Same undeniable attraction. They smother her for a moment. Their arms surrounding her. Hands seeking more. Knees pressing between her legs. For a moment I’m transfixed by the four of them. I see me, and Smith, and Quin with our chosen one, but with the power structure in reverse. Is this how she plays her game? Is she me? She turns away from them, walking back to me. They follow like dogs. When she gets back to our table she leans against it, like she needs help

standing. I move aside, letting her have her space. None of the boys even bother looking at me. They only look at her. Waiting for instructions, I realize. She kisses one. Her hands on his face. Like she needs to hold him. He kisses her back. I watch his tongue touch hers, his hands at his side, as if she gave a command, but I know she didn’t. They know her. She has played with them before. And I don’t care what she says—she has fucked them before. The other two wait patiently, still with eyes only for her. Her regular players waiting for her commands. Nadia is a top, I remind myself. In her real life, she is a top. She looks every bit her chosen role right now. Her fingertips reach for the other two now, the first still kissing her as she plays with their chests, draws them into her. Closer and closer until they are nothing but a mass of bodies moving together. Writhing to the hard beat of the impromptu club. Her hand presses on the shoulder of the one closest to me and he drops to his knees. The first one—the one she’s kissing—leans into her until she bends at the waist, letting her back rest on the table. My cock is so fucking hard. He—the first one—lifts up her top. A silky, pale

chemise that belongs in the bedroom. He exposes her breasts. Squeezes them as she closes her eyes and opens her mouth. I can’t hear the moan that passes through her lips, but I feel it. I moan too. The third boy lifts up her legs and opens them, just as the second places his face between her legs and begins to lick her. The first is bent over the booth, still kissing her mouth. I don’t feel her moans now, he does. Her back begins to arch as she enjoys the one between her legs. The third player caresses the back of the first and I wonder how far this will go. People are watching. Some of the young men already jerking off. Some of them with girls on their knees, taking out their cocks. It’s Turning Point Club. But not private. Nothing about this moment is private. And even though it should make me angry, even though I should want to take her out of here right now and whisk her away, back to the world I live in—the world I control—I don’t do any of that. I just enjoy the show. The whole show. All of the people. All of the music. All of the club. Nadia begins to writhe and I know she’s about to come. So quick, but it’s too erotic not to come. Too many eyes to not be ready. Too much stimulation. Too much hard music and way too fucking hot. The third boy has his hand between her legs, his fingers playing with her clit as the second one licks.

I grab my cock again, wishing I could fuck her, right here, right now, in front of all these strangers. She moans loud enough to be heard. Her body twists as the boys touch her, lick her, kiss her. She comes all over the third boy’s fingers and when she calms down, breathing hard and eyes still closed, she reaches for his hand, finds it, guides it up to her lips, and puts his fingers in her mouth. Her eyes open and she looks right at me. She smiles, then lifts a leg and kicks the boys away. They back off, unperturbed, and slink back into the crowd, which has gone from clubbing kids enjoying an illicit party to writhing erotic orgy. All on the command of Nadia Wolfe. She stands up and turns to me, her silky shirt falling back down to cover her tits. Her fingers reach for me, begin to unbutton my shirt, and then she pulls it open, exposing my chest. She is hot and sweaty from the thrill of other men. And I don’t care. I stand up and take her hand, pulling her towards me. Kiss her. My hands on her face as I hold her close. And then I push her face first onto the table, pressing her cheek into the hard wood. I lift up her skirt so I can see her pussy. Wet and glistening in the flashing lights from being licked to orgasm. And then I look over my shoulder, find the first guy who gave me a peek at his girl, and give him a peek at mine.

He smiles big, gives me a thumbs up—all the while, his girl is sucking his dick—and then I turn back to Nadia Wolfe, take out my cock, and push it inside her as hard as I can. I fuck her. I fuck her until I come inside her pussy and then pull back to watch the creamy evidence of my arousal leak out from between her lips. We dance after that. Her body is a work of art. Her long hair stuck to her face from the sweat. My fingers inside her sometimes. Her hand on my cock sometimes. We drink the brandy but get drunk on each other. We get drunk on the night, on the dancing, on the sweat, and the lights, and the music. I fuck her again when we get to the car. Face first on the hood of the cold metal. Her moans loud, and clear, and erotic as they echo through the dark night and turn into screams of ecstasy. People watch us. People I don’t know. People I don’t trust. People like me.

Chapter Fourteen - Nadia

My whole body aches when I wake. And not the usual kind, because I can’t even remember a time before my body was in a constant state of ache from dancing. It’s the… hangover kind. Uggggh. I groan, rolling over, to check my phone for the time. “Jesus,” I mumble, closing my eyes. Way too early. “I gotta go,” a deep voice says. I open my eyes again, searching for the voice. Bric is here. “It’s New Year’s Eve and there’s a lot of shit to do before the party.” He’s buttoning his shirt. Almost dressed. I just stare at him as he reaches for his tie. What in the ever-loving fuck is he doing here? There’s no way I was drunk enough to bring him home. Not like a… a date or a one-night stand. Or, God forbid, a relationship. I do not bring men home with me after a party. Not even Bric. He finishes with his tie and goes for the coat, shrugging it over his broad shoulders and adjusting

his collar. It’s wrinkled as all hell. And he’s got dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He looks like I feel. “Do you want me to pick you up? Or just come by?” I have no answer for that. Because I don’t know what he’s talking about. “Be there before nine then. We lock everyone in at nine.” And then he walks over to me, leans down, and gives me a kiss. A goodbye kiss, I realize. “I hope you’re not planning on going back on our deal, Nadia. I gave you control last night. We did it your way, inside your world. It was fun.” He shrugs. “But now I get to have it my way. And we do it inside my world.” “Yeah,” I croak out. My throat is dry and thick and that’s all I can manage. “Good.” He walks out. I hear the jingle of his keys, then the small squeak of the front door. The click as he closes it behind him. “What the fuck did we do last night?” I say it as I attempt to sit up, but my head is fucking spinning. Then I remember the brandy. A whole bottle of brandy. As if on cue, I see the empty bottle sitting on my nightstand. It’s bejeweled with sterling silver and crystal. A collector’s item decanter and not

really a bottle, which is probably why we brought it home with us. “Yuk,” I say, trying to get some moisture in my mouth as I get up, walk into my bathroom, stick my mouth under the tap, and gulp water. I stop drinking when my stomach feels like a water balloon and drag the back of my hand across my face. Stare at myself in the mirror. I’m naked. So yes, I brought him home and fucked him in my bed. I glance at it, appalled. My pussy is sore. My tits ache and there are bruises on them. Little fingerprint-shaped bruises. My hair is a tangled mess of darkness that mimics my eyes. I’m pale, and skinny, and not at all attractive. I remember letting Chad, Matt, and Kevin play with me at the table. Bric’s attentive glare taking us in as I made them get me off. Then I remember Bric pushing them aside and bending me over and holding my face against the wood as he fucked me from behind. The rest of the night… dancing? Drinking, obviously, and more fucking. Which I do not remember. I crawl back into bed, pulling the soft fluffy blanket around my body, glad it’s cold in here because I feel hot. And then pass back out.

Sometime later my phone wakes me dinging a text. Jordan. Sending a package. Open the fucking door. I realize someone is knocking at the door. Probably has been knocking at the fucking door for a while and I didn’t hear them, which is why Jordan needed to text. I drag myself out of bed, pull a robe around me, and stumble out to the front room. I don’t look at myself in the hall mirror—I can only imagine it’s worse than the last time. I pull the door open. “Delivery,” the guy says, looking pretty pissed off. “Sign.” I sign his clipboard and he reaches down to pick up a large black box with a white bow. Hands it to me. I don’t have a tip, but he knows this. I’m in a fucking robe. So he says, “I’ve already been tipped. Enjoy your package.” And then he turns away and walks down the hallway. My phone rings in the bedroom and I know this is Jordan, so I get my shit together and run, almost fall on my face when I stumble over a rug, and catch it before it goes to voice mail. “Hello?” I say, breathless and disheveled. “I’m picking you up. Bric thinks you’re going to stay home and you two made a deal. I heard all about last night, Nadia.” “Yes…” And then I realize we’re in character.

“Sir,” I finish. I can feel him smile on the other side of the phone. “You’re going to need those manners tonight. Bring them with you.” “Are you going to be there?” He’s silent. “Sir,” I add, rolling my eyes. “Of course I’m going to be there. I’m playing the game, aren’t I?” I wasn’t sure, asshole. I was just asking a simple fucking question. But I don’t say any of that out loud. Instead I say, “What time would you like me ready, sir?” “Eight-thirty. Be dressed and downstairs. I don’t want to come up. And Nadia, wear the capelet I bought you for Christmas.” Jerk. “Yes, sir—” But before I can finish I get hang-up beeps. How is this my life? Any of it. Well, besides the dancing. I don’t even remember having fun last night and I know I’m sure as hell not going to have fun tonight. They’re going to boss the hell out of me. It’s not going to be anything like the other night when they softened me up with that massage. It’s going to be humiliation to the extreme. So don’t go, a little voice says in my head. Stop all of this. Put it behind you. Let go of the past and start over. I would. It’s a good idea. But I can’t.

Because I like it. I like when Jordan forces me to obey him. Not because I want to submit, but because he expects me to fight about it. He expects me to rebel. He expects me to be bad. I am bad. And that makes me smile. I go back out into the living room and pick up the package. It’s heavy and big. The box is glossy black and the ribbon is smooth white satin. I set it down on the couch and pull the bow, making it fall apart and puddle into a soft heap. Then I whisk it aside, lift off the lid, and peel back the white tissue paper. The gown is exquisite. I know this before I even pick it up and lift it out. Silver, with elegant beading down the middle of the deep v-neck of a sheer bodice. My tits will show through. My nipples will push against the thin mesh, peaking and eager. They will probably be pinched. My hand goes to one. It’s already sore from last night. Tonight they will use clamps, I bet. But I have tomorrow off, is all I think about that. I will have a day to recover from whatever they have planned. I check the time and realize it’s late already. Almost five o’clock. So I run the bathtub, making

the water as hot as I can stand to bring some pink life back to my pale skin, and soak in soft bubbles. This tub is so big, three people could fit in it. I wonder if I will ever get Bric and Jordan in here with me? And I feel stupid. Because… Bric. In a tub. Ridiculous. When I’m done I take a long time to dry and brush my hair, blowing it out perfectly straight and glossy. I will leave it down tonight. So they can pull it. And then I start on my make-up. I go light. Silver accents on my eyelids, black lashes, and a blush of pink on my cheeks. I’m glowing again. Last night’s abuse already behind me. My lips are a shade darker than my cheeks when I decide that’s enough. I like the soft contrast of my face against my dark hair and eyes. Then I go for the dress. I slip it on. It fits like it was tailored for my curves. Makes my hips round and my waist small. My nipples are already peaked against the mesh of the bodice. I drag my fingertips over the beads. They are glass and they sparkle. The box had shoes too. Silver, to match the dress. And jewelry. Nice jewelry. Drop diamond earrings, a silver cuff that is probably platinum, lined with pavé diamonds, and a matching necklace

that looks more like a collar than a choker. There is no ring. At exactly eight-twenty I swing the black velvet capelet with silver fox-fur trim that Jordan bought me for Christmas over my shoulders. Hmmm. I wonder if he was always planning on bringing me to this party. It matches my dress suspiciously well. And then I grab the small silver clutch, also a Christmas present from Jordan, and walk out the door to meet him downstairs. I don’t expect him to be waiting, since I’m a few minutes early and he said he didn’t want to come up, but when I step off the elevator, he is waiting. Black tux framing his perfect body. Smile on his handsome face. One hand outstretched to take mine and lead me down the half-flight of steps to the main lobby. “You look beautiful,” he says. “Thank you,” I say, leaving off the ‘sir,’ since we’re in public and the lobby is filled with people. That’s something, I think. He’s not so controlling that he wants me to play in front of strangers. He doesn’t do this for ego. Neither do I. “Are you nervous?” he asks as the doormen nod their heads to us and we pass through the doors and out into the frigid night air. “Should I be?” “Yes,” he says, opening the passenger door to his

car and holding my hand until I’m seated in the soft leather seat. I look up at him, wondering how far they’ll go tonight. But he just smiles and pushes the door closed with a soft thunk. The engine is running so the heat is on, but the warmth is only momentary because he opens his door, letting the cold in, and a breeze of it flashes past my face when he pulls it closed. “We’re going to have a lot of fun tonight, Nadia,” he says, putting the car in gear and pulling away from my building. “Did you miss me last night?” “No,” he says. “I was thinking about someone else.”

Chapter Fifteen - Bric

I spend the day thinking about Quin as the workers bustle around the lobby setting up for tonight’s carnal proclivities. Smith too, but not as much as Quin. I think his absence at the New Year’s Eve parties these past two years was a symptom of the disease eating away at us that I failed to recognize. And I miss him. We spent almost the entire year apart and I should’ve seen all this coming, but I missed it. I missed it. I have an urge to call him. Them. Ask how Christmas went. Did Adley have fun? Did they take pictures? Can I see them? But it’s a stupid excuse. Adley is too young to know what Christmas is. And while I am interested in all those things, she wouldn’t be the reason I was calling. I don’t even know why I’d be calling. For Rochelle? For Quin? For both of them? All of

them? I just don’t know. It hurts to think about it. But then I see Nadia and Jordan coming through the revolving doors. All dressed up, looking sexy as hell, and ready for whatever this night brings. Jordan is wearing a tux, but it’s a nice tux. Not the usual I-wear-this-to-the-Club-every-Saturdaynight kind of tux. It’s slim-cut trousers and perfectly tailored jacket. It’s black on black on black and accentuates both his youth and his strength. I find myself smiling as I watch him come inside, Nadia on his arm, his eyes searching for mine. We meet from across the room. Hold the moment. He smiles back. Nadia is wearing the silver dress we sent. Tight, hugging her small curves, and long with a hint of a train that drags across the floor as she takes a few tentative steps into the lobby. She is showing skin on her shoulders, between her cleavage, and a hint of leg from the ankle to thigh from the side slit in her dress. She looks around the room too, but doesn’t immediately find me upstairs in Smith’s bar. So I enjoy the fear in her face. The wondering of what will come next. Almost hear the beating of her heart as her chest rises and falls. She has her arm hooked into Jordan’s and she pulls him closer to her as people approach to say

hello. She finally looks up and sees me. Just the barest hint of a smile as she looks away. I get up, button my suit coat, and check my watch as I walk to the stairs, hop down the half flight that leads to the second-story elevator landing, and take it all in. The waiters are looking up at me and when I nod my head, they begin the ritual of closing the outside shutters while others pull the curtains closed on the inside. There’s a net filled with black and silver balloons hanging from the ceiling. Confetti will fall, the lights will dim, and we will ring in the New Year at midnight moaning and writhing. We have a few more minutes until nine o’clock, so I clear my throat and take a glass of champagne off a tray being held by a waiter at my side. The thrum of lively conversation dims to a low hum, then falls off completely as I wait. Every head turns up to look at me. Power is the word in my head at this moment. I don’t wield a lot of power in this place. I’m just a player among players most nights. But this night belongs to me and they all know this. “Welcome back to the Turning Point Club New Year’s Eve Party,” I say, smiling down at everyone. “We have no new members this year, so you all know the drill.” We had one new member, but I withdrew his membership after his mistress

confronted Rochelle a couple weeks ago. “Please take a mask off the tray and put it on.” The waiters are there now. The trays of champagne they were carrying a few minutes ago have been replaced with trays of black eye masks. Trimmed in silver lace for the women. Trimmed in black leather for the men. Every hand reaches for one. Every face is covered. I look at my watch again, realize it’s time, and give another nod. The steel shutters are pulled closed on the outside of the revolving doors and we disappear from the rest of the world. Every man wearing black, on black, on black. Every woman wearing a silver gown just like Nadia’s. And when they look up at me again, they are faceless. Anonymous for all intents and purposes. They are equals. I find Nadia and Jordan, standing off to the side, and slowly descend the stairs. Everyone is quiet when I join them in the lobby. Every face on me. Every man wondering if I will choose his woman as this night’s sacrificial lamb. But I don’t choose their women. I choose our woman. “Come with me,” I tell Nadia, once I’m standing right in front of her, my hand outstretched. I don’t bring dates to the party. I always take someone else’s. Her eyes flick to Jordan’s—a hint of panic in the

cut-out cat’s-eye shape of the mask. But he gives her nothing in return. We didn’t tell her what we do at this party, but she’s about to find out. She lets go of his arm and wraps her hand around mine, letting me lead her to the center of the room. Bodies part to reveal a small circular dais with three steps leading to a platform encircling a steel pole that climbs all the way up to the ceiling. There are eye hooks welded to the side, and chains hanging off them. “Give me your hand,” I tell Nadia. She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth as if to say something, but then looks over her shoulder at the quiet and waiting crowd, and gives up. I have to tuck away a smile and a chuckle as I hold her hand, nod my head at the steps, and she begins to climb. When she’s on the top step—her head peeking just high enough above the crowd to really see the room—her eyes dart around with hesitation, or anticipation, or, hell, maybe even appreciation. I join her on the top step, take my own opportunity to appreciate the view, and then raise her arm above her head and bind her wrist into a soft leather cuff. I do it again for her other hand until her breasts are pushing up and out, pressing against the thin mesh of transparent silver fabric that makes up her bodice. The men begin to murmur. Probably wishing

they had taken more notice of her when she walked through the door with Jordan. But now she’s in a mask, so she is no one to them. No one but the girl on the dais in the center of the room. No one but the centerpiece of their night. Nothing but mine. But they all know I like to share just as much as they do, and so they know they will all get a turn in the game. “What’s going on?” Nadia whispers under her breath. “Don’t interfere,” I say. “Right?” I glance down at her, my hands on her breasts, evil grin on my face. “That’s not fair, Elias. I didn’t—” “Shut up,” I whisper back through clenched teeth. “You’re not allowed to talk.” I kiss her then. She breathes heavy into it. Her lips are tight against mine for a moment, but my hands are sliding down her body, tracing the curve of her waist, pulling her close to me. So she gives in. She has no choice, not really. She can say no. But she won’t. “You can say no,” I remind her. “Everything we do here is based on mutual consent. So say no now, Nadia. I’ll let you go, even let you leave—although it’s against the rules until we unlock the doors tomorrow morning. But then you’ll never know how the game ends. And you’ll lose, Nadia. If you walk out now, you’ll lose Jordan, you’ll lose me,

you’ll lose everything because I’ll just choose someone else to play with.” She wants to look behind her. Desperately wants to find Jordan’s masked face in that crowd to see what he thinks about all this. But she gives up before she really tries. She knows what he thinks. He brought her here wearing a uniform disguised as a dress. Everyone is quiet as we have this private conversation. It’s not unusual for the night’s sacrifice to be nervous. There’s often soft negotiation going on at this point in the night. “Don’t—” she says. But she stops. “Don’t what?” I ask, letting my body press into hers. I have my arms around her now, her back pressed into my chest. One hand slides back up the curve of her breasts and takes her face. My thumb presses against her jaw as I turn her head in my direction. “Better say it now, Nadia. Because if you don’t, I’ll definitely do it.” “Fuck you,” she whispers. “OK,” I reply, turning around to face my crowd. “Let the night begin.” People laugh, take long, fluted glasses off trays once again offering champagne, and resume the opening festivities. I find Jordan in the crowd. He’s got his hands all over a woman standing next to her husband. Or maybe she’s just a date and not a wife? I can’t tell.

Every man is a faceless black tux. Every woman a faceless silver dress. At any rate, Jordan is already engaged. Everyone is already engaged. Nadia is nothing but a footnote in a long story about to begin. “Just have fun,” I tell Nadia as I kiss her one more time. “I trusted you last night.” “I was too easy on you, obviously,” she spits. “I bet you won’t make that mistake again, will you?” She looks me in the eyes. “Never again.” Two men have wandered up to us, their eyes bright with mischief, drinks in hand. They stare at Nadia like they’re hungry and she’s a good meal. I feel Nadia swallow hard under the pressure of my hand on her throat. And then I grab her breast and pull the low-cut v of her bodice open to reveal a nipple. “Very nice,” one of the men growls. “May I touch her?” “Of course,” I say, pulling the other side of her dress open to expose her other nipple. “As soon as I’m done here.” More men gather as I fondle Nadia. I hold her close, pressing my hard cock into the curve of her ass. “You can close your eyes,” I whisper, leaning into her neck to nip at the sensitive skin. She draws in air through her teeth, letting me know it hurts. “I’m going to blindfold you soon. But you can close

your eyes now. It’s just my hand on you right now. And you can keep that illusion in your mind all night, if you’d like. Pretend it’s me, Nadia. And only me.” She doesn’t close her eyes, so I drop my other hand to find her thigh, slip my fingers inside the slit of her dress, and push them right up against her pussy. I play with her through her panties as the men crowd us. Getting closer, and closer until they are a mass of male bodies encircling her. Her pussy isn’t wet at first, but her shoulders relax and press against my chest, and then I feel the wet spot forming on the silky strip of fabric between her legs and push it aside to find her clit. She begins to pant a little. And the next time I look at her face, she’s got her eyes closed. “You’re a sick bitch,” I whisper into her neck. But she says nothing back. She knows. “You can have the blindfold as soon as you come for me. And then I’ll let them touch you, Nadia. You will have many hands between your legs tonight. You will orgasm for all of them, if they tell you to.” I push two fingers inside her and say, “Open your legs wider. Let it happen. Be here, Nadia. You’ve already agreed to play along, so you might as well be here.” Her legs part, just a little. Just enough for me to push my fingers all the way inside her. I wiggle them and she moans.

“That’s a good girl,” I say, using my other hand to pet her hair. “You’re a very good girl.” I use my thumb to strum her clit. Soft, slow circles as I continue to pump my fingers inside her. “Do you like it?” I ask, my own breathing becoming heavy now. “And don’t lie to me.” She hesitates. Maybe just enjoying the way I feel. Or maybe trying her best to resist and coming to the conclusion that she can’t. “Yes,” she eventually murmurs, eyes still closed. “Then come for me,” I say. “Right now, in front of everyone. Come for me.” She wiggles against the pressure of my fingers. Playing along like the good slut she is. My hand applies more pressure. My mouth finds her neck and I breathe into her ear, whispering, “Come, Nadia. Come for me,” as I continue to stimulate her. “Everyone is watching. Waiting for you to give in.” Her eyes are hopeless now. Tightly shut. Enjoying me. This. Them. “If you’re very good,” I say. “I’ll fuck you tonight. I’ll fuck you in private. After everything is over. I’ll take you upstairs and put you on top of me. Slide my cock deep inside you. And Jordan will join in. He’ll put his face between your legs as I fuck you. He’ll lick your clit when I make you come on my dick. He’ll—” Her body seizes up, stiffening with the coming of her climax. Her moans spill out with the wetness on

my fingers. She clamps down on me, her orgasm releasing on my command. I laugh a little as I watch the other men around us. Their zippers open, cocks in hand. Pumping hard and furious for our little show. “I hate you,” Nadia whispers. But her eyes are still closed. Her body soft against mine. Her breathing slowing. “I don’t care,” I whisper back. “I’m in love with your surrender.”

Chapter Sixteen - Nadia

Bric’s words awaken something inside me. Anger. Fear. Regret. Shame. All these things run through my mind when I open my eyes and meet his gaze. “I didn’t surrender,” I say. My voice is so low it barely counts as a whisper. He just grins like a man who has all the power. Fool. “OK,” he says, running his fingers through my hair as he leans in for a kiss. “I’ll let you think that for now. But you won’t feel that way tomorrow morning.” He lets go, his hold on me gone, and steps off the small platform. Jordan is suddenly behind me, lifting a blindfold up to my eyes. “Do you want this?” he asks. He wants my permission. Jordan is like that. He knows when to ask and when to command. He’s all about give and take. A stark contrast to Bric’s bullish, mandatory domination. “Nadia,” Jordan says, irritated with my silent contemplation. “Answer me.”

Bric has retreated to an elaborate high-back silver chair, something akin to a throne, directly in front of me. He meets my gaze with a stern face. “Yes,” I say. Because it’s easier to pretend I’m in control than it is to watch Bric’s smug satisfaction with my implied surrender. “Good,” Jordan says, covering my eyes with the blindfold. It’s soft. Cotton, maybe. But it pushes the mask I’m already wearing against my face, making the stiff silver lace trim scratch against my cheek. If we were alone I’d ask to take the mask off. But we’re not. And he’ll say no because of that. So I don’t ask. “Just try to relax,” Jordan says. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.” I trust him, I realize. I know he’s not going to let anyone hurt me. And I know if Bric wasn’t here, he probably wouldn’t even be doing this. But Bric is here. And Bric is in charge, not Jordan. So his promise doesn’t mean much. He secures the blindfold without further comment and then moves away. His absence creates a chill up my spine. “Master,” a male voice says off to my left. “May I play with your sacrifice?” “Of course,” Bric says. “That’s why she’s here.” The man’s shoes tap on the smooth marble of the pedestal as he steps close to me. The chill is gone now. Replaced by his heat. At least on the outside. Inside I’m ice. I don’t react when his hands move

up and down my ribs. Or when they gather my breasts to squeeze. But when his mouth touches my nipple, it peaks. Hard and pointy. His tongue slips over it in small strokes. His teeth nip and make me hiss in a breath of air through my teeth. “Master,” another male voice says. “May I play with your sacrifice?” “Of course,” Bric says. “That’s why she’s here.” This man doesn’t immediately approach. He takes his time. Probably studying me like a specimen. But then—hands. Now there are two sets of hands on me. Two mouths on my nipples. I lose track of who is who, and, after the tingle between my legs becomes a throb, I no longer care until one man leaves and I feel the cold rush in to replace his heat. “Master,” a third voice says. “May I rip her dress?” Oh, Jesus. I swallow hard. Imagining what everyone sees. There have got to be a hundred people here tonight. Well over a hundred including the servers. “Yes,” Bric answers from his throne. “She is my gift to you tonight, gentlemen. Do with her as you wish. Just make it a good show, will you? I don’t want to be bored.” More hesitation. Like they’re deliberately waiting to follow through to make me uncomfortable. Make me wait. Make me want it.

And then two hands grip the two sides of the bodice—already exposing my breasts to all the people in attendance, and rips the dress. All hope of being covered up tonight goes away with that rip. The sound of the thin mesh fabric tearing echoes in my head. He doesn’t stop there. The back of the dress is ripped open too. And then the skirt becomes tatters of silk and falls down my legs. This man doesn’t ask permission when he presses his fingers between my legs. He doesn’t need to. I am nothing but Bric’s offering to his members. I lose track of the hands after that. I lose track of their mouths. Their tongues. Their faces. Their kisses. Around me people become aroused. They are fucking, I realize. Getting off to the show called Nadia tonight. Moaning and writhing to the dance I perform with these strangers. I want to resist the feelings. I want to hold up my head and be immune to them. Scream at them that I am not their plaything. Tell them I’m here because I chose to be and not because I was ordered. But does it matter? Either way, I’m here because he put me here. Elias Bricman put me here and I’m the one who gave him that power. I handed it over willingly. So fuck it. I decide to enjoy it. Everything.

Every man. Every mouth. Every finger inside me. Every tongue on my skin. I take every bit of it and picture Bric’s face as I give in. I come on someone’s fingers. Moaning into someone else’s kiss. A hard cock presses against the small of my back. I lean into him. Letting him wrap his arms around me. Letting him press his thick head between my ass cheeks. Letting him enter me as someone else plays with my clit. I come again. And again. And get fucked over and over and over. So many times, I lose count, but it’s up there around seven, maybe eight times as the night passes and people around me fuck, and suck, and get off. Women are screaming with pleasure. Men are groaning and ordering them to get on their knees or take them deeper. They are talking dirty to each other—and me. Always talking dirty to me. So many whispers up to my ear as the hands caress my body and rub me raw… until I’m so exhausted, I can’t stand upright. I slump, making the chains holding my arms above my head taut. Making the leather cuffs pull at my wrists until they burn. And when I’m finally released, I fall to the floor, my body spent and worthless, as I lean against the cold, hard steel of the pole. The blindfold comes off and the first face I see is Bric, staring down at me with those dark, inky blue eyes. Then Jordan is there. It’s midnight, I realize.

People are standing around, naked, spent. Slumped just like me. And they start counting down from ten… nine… eight… Bric has my cuffs off. Is placing my hand on his dick. I caress him automatically. Out of habit. And then Jordan is there, same thing. His cock out. Hard and waiting. His fingertips squeezing my nipple as I take him in my hand, make a fist round his shaft, and give him what he wants. Three… two… one… Balloons fall, confetti spills out from the ceiling, and they kiss me. They pull me to my feet and kiss me again. Every one is yelling, “Happy New Year!” and blowing horns as a string quartet plays Auld Lang Syne. And I find myself singing into their kisses. They sing with me. And when the song is over, they hug me close and we dance close. Just the three of us. Slow and close. Everyone dances as the quartet plays something else. Chopin or Brahms, maybe. I’m so spent, I can’t even tell the difference and that strikes me as ironic, because my days are filled with nothing but classical music and I should know this. I don’t even know how we dance, since we are three, not two. But we manage it, and it feels… good. “Would you like to go upstairs?” Jordan asks. “Can we take you to bed now?” I look at him and wonder. Wonder why the fuck

he plays these games. But I say, “Yes,” instead of asking him that question. They take me up the stairs. Practically carry me. And I think I even drift off, because the next thing I know, I’m in Bric’s apartment and they’re running a bath. The water is hot. So hot, steam winds up and over my body as they lower me in. And then the hands are different. The hands wash me. Caress me. They talk softly to me. The lights are all off. There are only candles lit up. Flames flickering in neat rows along the edge of the tub. They wash my hair and rinse it off with silver cups of cool water that wakes me up and makes me new again. “I’m tired,” I say, looking up at Jordan as he holds a towel open. “We know,” he says, shaking it for me as Bric helps me out of the tub. Jordan wraps me up and they both hold me close as they walk me over to the bed and lie me down. Bric strips down to naked as Jordan flicks on a TV mounted on the wall. I have to watch the scene on the screen for a few seconds before I realize what it is. Me. Tonight. Chained to the ceiling of Turning Point Club lobby. Men are all around me. Bric in his throne. Jordan off to the side, hand over his face, like he’s worried about something. “I don’t want to see that,” I say.

“We don’t care,” Bric says. “You’re going to watch it anyway.” He slips into bed beside me. Arms wrapping me up in his. Maneuvering me around until I have a good view of the screen and I’m pressing my back into his chest. Jordan joins us. Naked now. Facing me. Smiling. Lifting a piece of wet hair off my face and tucking it behind my ear. “Look,” he says, nodding to the TV. I close my eyes to shut it out. But he just says, “Nadia,” in a stern voice. Which snaps me to attention. “Look at what we did tonight.” I glance over at the TV and watch. Men come up to me. They whisper in my ear. They retreat and more take their place. Over and over and over again. But the only men touching me in that film are… Bric and Jordan. The whole night, it was them. Just them and only them, all night long. I look at Jordan with squinted eyes and furrowed brow. My mind overflowing with questions. “We like sharing you together,” he says, laughing a little. “But we’d never share you with the goddamned Club, Nadia. Give us a little credit.” I turn a little, so I can look over my shoulder at Bric. He just shrugs as he grins. “Welcome to the mind fuck, Miss Wolfe.”

Chapter Seventeen - Bric

She starts to cry. Which doesn’t surprise me. It’s a hard drop coming down from subspace. She surrendered completely to us tonight, even when she thought she wasn’t. Her trembles become shivers, become shaking as we hold her tight. Wrap our warm bodies around her cold one. “It’s OK,” Jordan says. “Just relax now. It’s done. You did so good, Nadia.” He kisses her forehead and smooths her wet hair away from her face. “You made us so happy. You were perfect.” “You trusted us,” I say, squeezing her body a little to make her feel surrounded and safe. “We love you a little more for that, you know.” “I didn’t trust you,” she sobs. “I hated you.” “That’s fine,” I say. “You can think that now because what we did was very confusing. So it’s gonna take a while to sort it all out. But you’ll understand what really happened in a few days. You’ll see.”

“And I don’t love you,” she spits. “I quit. Fuck this game. Fuck this game!” She tries to get up, but both Jordan and I hold her tighter. “No,” Jordan says. “You can’t leave. We’ll tie you to the fucking bed if you try to leave. You can’t walk out on the mind fuck. Not until it’s over. And it’s not over until aftercare is finished. You need this night to process, Nadia. So just lie still and relax. We’re through playing tonight. You’re safe.” She cries harder after that. But she gives in to us. Again. Completely. And when her sobs turn silent, Jordan looks at me and shakes his head. Good game, he mouths. I let out a long breath in agreement. Fantastic fucking game. She falls asleep first, her breathing finally even and slow. Then Jordan. His grip on her body looser than before. But the dawn is peeking through the sheer curtains before I finally surrender to the win and relax. I wake up at the motion of the shifting mattress. Nadia is crawling down to the foot of the bed, still between Jordan and me. I grab her ankle out of instinct, startling a gasp out of her as she looks over her shoulder. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” she says. Her voice is low. Calm. So I let go of her and she stumbles her way across the room, closing the door to the bathroom

behind her. “Fuck,” Jordan says next to me. “What time is it?” I glance over at the clock on the nightstand. “Eight fifteen,” I say, croaking out the word. “Way too fucking early.” Jordan sighs, turning over on his stomach and bunching up the pillow beneath his head. “Yeah,” I mumble, eyes on the bathroom door. “Should we sleep or eat?” “Fuuuuuck,” Jordan groans into his pillow. “We have to feed her before we can let her leave. And she might be ready to leave.” “Call room service then,” he says, barely audible since he’s talking to the pillow. “It’s a Club holiday,” I say. “Everyone has today off. No room service.” Jordan lifts his head and stares at me. “You dick. Are you fucking serious?” “I didn’t really think this through.” I laugh. “I really thought she’d bolt last night before we even got as far as the chains.” “Yeah,” Jordan laughs, turning back over, his chest bare and ripped with muscle. His hand wanders down to his dick, absently playing with it. “What a great night.” I want to fuck them both, I realize. Before we end this session. We were spent last night by the time we got her up here, so we never did get a real

threesome. “Nadia,” I call to the closed bathroom door. “What are you doing in there?” No answer. “Nadia,” Jordan yells, “Answer him.” “Fuck off,” she says through the door. I can faintly hear the sound of water. Jordan grins, still playing with his dick. Eyes closed. “Be nice to her,” he says in a low voice so Nadia can’t hear. “She needs it.” “Does she?” I ask back. “Because I’m not getting that impression.” He opens one eye to look at me. “She does.” Like this is final. So I just shrug, taking his word on that. He’s the one who knows her, not me. The door opens and Nadia appears. Naked. Her long, lean, ballet body perfect in the morning light. Her dark hair is falling over her breasts like a soft blanket. Her expression is angry, then confused. Then soft. She takes a deep breath. “I’m going home now.” “Wait,” I say, sitting up in bed. I reach for Jordan and place my hand over his as he strokes himself. “Come be with us for a little bit longer. Then we’ll make you breakfast, and then you can leave. You can’t leave until we feed you. It’s part of the rules.” “There are no rules, Elias.” I smile when she

calls me Elias. “Despite what you think,” she says, her words crisp and clear, “you do not own me.” I lift my hand off Jordan’s and then drag the white down comforter off him. He grins at her as he masturbates, his cock long and hard, the tip of his swollen head emerging through the grip of his fist on each downward stroke. She watches him for several seconds. Unconsciously licks her lips. “Get in bed, Nadia,” Jordan says. “We’re gonna give you something nice now.” “What,” she asks, “could you possibly give me that I need?” “Submission,” I say, like this was always in the plan. I just made that up on the spot, because I’m playing the A-game right now and Nadia is so… not. She scoffs. “You two are going to submit to me?” I shrug, looking over at Jordan. His smile is so fucking wide. He says, “Within reason. I’m not gonna fuck him and he’s not gonna fuck me, either.” Nadia takes a deep breath. Considers this. Then smiles and walks towards us. She places both hands on the bed, the same space she crawled out of, and crawls her way back between us on her hands and knees, her long hair almost touching the mattress. “But you’ll suck his cock?” she asks, looking at me.

“If the conditions are right,” I say. “What conditions?” she asks. “He means,” Jordan says, smiling up at her like he’s having the time of his life, “if he’s fucking you and I make an offer, he might. Or”—Jordan considers his options for a second—“if I’m fucking your pussy from behind and he’s licking your clit. He might pull me out and have a taste.” She holds her breath at that. “I’ll even let you tell me to do it, if you want,” I say, waggling my eyebrows at her. She sits back on her butt, breasts out, hair falling over them, hands on her thighs like a good little slave, and weighs her options. “I’m too sore,” she says. Wistfully and with regret. Like she’s really disappointed. “Aww,” Jordan says, pulling her down onto his chest. “Then just watch us, OK? Just let us watch you watch us.” He kisses her softly, making Nadia melt and give in. She twists her body, so she’s lying back on the pillows, but can still see him. I reach for my cock, which is ready and hard, and then sit up and reposition, so my head is at Jordan’s feet and my feet are at his head. I know what he’s after. Quin and I used to do this with Rochelle. And I’m all for it. Our hands begin at the same time. I watch him, he watches me, Nadia watches both of us as we watch her.

Pure porn upcoming in five… four… three… two… Nadia leans over and takes Jordan in her mouth. At the same time she reaches for me. Her hand squeezing my fist as I slowly pump. “Fuck,” I say, slapping Jordan’s leg. He lets me maneuver, so his legs are hanging over my thighs. I scoot up, until my balls hit his, and Nadia’s mouth is on my cock now too. “Shit,” I say, shoving Jordan’s legs off a little so I can sit up and see better. I gather up her hair into a ponytail so I can get a good view as she rubs her lips across the tips of our cocks. I have to close my fucking eyes for a second. Enjoy it. God, how long has it been since I had a relationship like this? Even when Rochelle and Quin and I were together last month, it wasn’t this. “Do you like it?” Nadia asks, her lips wet with spit. She looks up at me through a few strands of dark hair. “Fuck, yes,” Jordan says. “Don’t stop.” Nadia smiles at me. I push on her head to give her encouragement she clearly doesn’t need, and she stuffs the fat heads of both our cocks into her mouth. Good fucking God. Drool drips down her chin as she pulls back, and then she says, “Fuck it,” in a low, heady voice, as she gets up, straddles us, and then lowers her pussy

down. Jordan’s hand is there to guide her, scrambling to stuff himself inside her as I do the same. Nadia moans. Jesus fucking… “Yes,” she says. I want to come right now. “Yes,” she moans again. “Hurt me,” she whispers. “Hurt me just like that.” I don’t even pay attention to what she’s saying, let alone what it might mean. And neither does Jordan. He’s sitting up now too. We’re practically hugging each other as we hold her. His hands are all over her breasts as he kisses her neck. My hands are on her hips, moving her to the rhythm we’re creating together. I kiss her face, then feel Jordan’s breath on her neck and lean down to kiss him too. He grabs my hair, pulling me into it, and he moans into my mouth as Nadia throws her head back and starts panting out our names. “Jordan,” she sighs. “Elias. Yes. Yes. Make me come. Choke me and make me —” Jordan’s hand is wrapped across her jaw, his palm squeezing her upper throat. It’s a serious choke and she gasps until he loosens his grip. I take his other hand and push it down to her pussy, urging him to play with her clit. She comes undone at that move. Goes completely fucking wild. Wriggling, and bouncing,

her fingernails digging into my shoulder. And still… Jordan’s mouth is there on mine. His tongue pushing against me. Pushing inside me. I come first. Jordan moans, fisting my hair as he turns his head aside and bites her shoulder. He comes next, his hot semen mixing with mine. And then Nadia just… loses it. She goes limp, falling back into Jordan, making him crash back into the bed pillows. My cock slips out and I watch the milky-white cream of our desire leak through the lips of her pussy. I push my fingers inside her, coating them with slickness, and pump them until she’s screaming my name. Screaming Jordan’s name. I take them out, slide up the bed until I’m on top of them both, my cock still hard, my hips still grinding against Jordan’s, and stick my fingers in her mouth. “This is what submission means, Nadia. Total surrender to everything you ever thought was forbidden. Welcome to my world.” She licks me, sucks my fingers, her tongue playing with them inside her mouth. Keeps her eyes closed. And then I fall off to the side, utterly satisfied and spent. Jordan’s hand reaching for me. For us. It’s real, I think, lying there in the midst of heavy breathing and complete exhaustion. This is fucking real.

Chapter Eighteen - Nadia

When I wake up I’m alone in bed. I turn over, my body aching badly. But I ignore it. I’m so used to it. “Jordan?” I whisper to the empty room. My eyes are still adjusting to the light when I shift my gaze over to the clock on the side table. Four thirtyseven. Jesus Christ, I slept all day. I can hear banging in other parts of the apartment. I’m at Turning Point Club, I remind myself. Bric’s apartment. There’s food in the air and my stomach rumbles from the emptiness. So I swing my legs over the side of the bed and all the memories of last night come rushing back with the blood to my head. Which makes me dizzy. What a crazy night. But I smile. Because I liked it. It wasn’t anything like I imagined, and yet… it’s everything I’ve come to expect from this crazy world Jordan has pulled

me into. I wander over to the closet to look for clothes. It’s a huge closet filled with suits. Black, charcoal gray, blue. And a whole rack of crisp shirts. His ties are all hung on a long rack and each pair of shoes has a home in a cubby. Elias Bricman is a neat freak. I feel the sleeves of the shirts, choose a white one, and slip it off the hanger. It’s cool and soft against my skin and my fingers find a small embroidered monogram on the stiffly starched cuff. TPC. Turning Point Club. So not his initials. Why, I wonder? Why would he have that monogrammed on his shirt? It’s like this is his uniform. I wonder what he wears when he’s not in uniform? And then I wonder why I care. He’s not the reason I’m playing this game. Jordan is. He’s the one who brought me in. He’s the one I trust. Bric is just another player as far as I’m concerned. And last night… God. It was fun, but now all the feelings I had when I realized what they’d done— the mind fuck—the emotions come back to me. I felt really stupid last night. But then they were nice, weren’t they? They took care of me. Aftercare, Jordan said. Tie me to the bed if I tried to leave before they were done. That was unexpected. Not something I have

participated in before. Not like that, anyway. Jordan doesn’t push me that hard when we’re together. He doesn’t really fuck with my head. Yes, we have our little game-playing moments. I resist, he punishes me, I give in, repeat. But last night was something very, very different. I don’t bother buttoning the shirt, just let it hang open as I back out of the closet and walk to the door. I listen for a moment. More sounds of cooking. The aroma more pronounced. My hunger gets the better of me until I open the door and walk out into the long hallway that leads to the main room. The dark hardwood floors are cool against my bare feet and I can hear music now too. Classical music. Music I recognize and love. In fact, this song he’s playing was a warm-up song for my class last week. I can’t wait to get back to work tomorrow. Teaching the kids is fun for a little bit, but I’m definitely ready to get back into my routine. Long days, long hours, hard training. The living room has obviously been professionally decorated for a bachelor. Everything is monochromatic gray, black, white. The couch and chairs are all dark gray leather with silver nailhead trim, the coffee table is a brushed stainlesssteel rectangle, and the lamps on the coordinating end tables are chrome.

Sexy, I guess. For a man’s place. “Hey,” Bric says. I look up and find him in the kitchen holding a spatula. He’s wearing an apron that has a buffedout cartoon man screen-printed on the front. “Hey yourself,” I say. “What’s going on out here?” When he turns his back to me I can’t stop the snicker. “What the hell are you wearing?” He looks over his shoulder and winks, then goes back to hovering over the stove. What he’s wearing is that apron and nothing else. His tight ass is clearly visible and accented by the apron strings fluttering against his butt cheeks as he moves. “Like it?” he asks, pushing some bacon around on the griddle. “Yes,” I say, walking up to the island and taking a seat on the stool. “I do, actually. But your body is much nicer than that cartoon on the front.” “Yeah.” He sighs. “But it makes you appreciate me more, right?” Elias Bricman. Officially an enigma. “What’s for dinner?” I ask. “Breakfast. I had breakfast in mind when I planned last night and I’m kinda set in my ways, so we’re having bacon, eggs, and pancakes.” I think about that for a moment. Last night, specifically. “Did you have fun?” he asks. I admit nothing. Still thinking.

“We did. I talked to Jordan. He left early to get some work done on that big case. But he said to tell you he’ll be around this week when he has a chance.” “OK,” I say. Bric grabs plates from the cupboard and starts piling food on them. His kitchen is very nice. Gourmet chef kinda nice, with one of those elaborate range hoods made out of glass and stainless steel instead of a microwave that doubles as a vent. His counters are almost black, with thin white veins running through them. Soapstone, I figure. The cabinets are all black too, but the sink is white and deep and the appliances are industrial high-end stainless steel. “Here,” he says, sliding a plate in front of me. “I’ll have the toast in a second.” On cue, it pops up in the toaster. I watch the muscles move in Bric’s back as he butters the pieces, cuts them diagonally into triangles, and then turns and drops two on my plate. “Eat up,” he says. “You can’t leave until you eat.” I pick up a piece of toast and dip the corner into my sunny-side-up egg. I cannot remember the last time I had eggs and toast and that first bite is heaven. “So we’re still playing?” I ask, needing clarification. “The date’s not over until I take you home, Nadia.”

“Just asking,” I say. “Unless you don’t want to go home,” he adds, grabbing a plate and setting it on the counter. He doesn’t sit, just leans his body into the island and starts cutting his pancake with a fork. He brings the food to his mouth and I watch him eat. He has nice lips, I decide. And then I picture his face between my legs. His unshaven jaw of stubble. His tongue doing its thing. “Do you want to go home, Nadia?” he asks. “I… think I have to. I live there, after all.” “You could just stay here.” “I don’t want to stay here,” I say. “We’re getting a place anyway, right?” “Are we?” I ask. “Seems to me that we were supposed to do that last weekend and you bailed.” “I forgot.” He shrugs. “New Year’s weekend. My real-estate guy wasn’t working. But we can look this week.” “Well, if we find a place I’ll move into it, I guess. But I don’t want to live at your club.” “Why not? You’re wearing my club shirt.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “I don’t have any clothes. You let people rip them off me last night.” “That was fun, wasn’t it?” He grins like a boy who is very proud of himself. “I’m not sure I’d call it… fun.” “Well, I do,” he says, redirecting his attention to

his food. “And since the date is not over yet, we’ve got more fun coming.” “Do we?” I ask. He nods knowingly. “Of course, you can say no if you’re not into fun.” “What are you into?” I ask. “Besides fun?” “Oh, is this getting-to-know-me time? What does Bric like? What makes Bric tick?” I pick up a piece of bacon and take a bite. “You’re a good cook,” I say. “I know that much.” “I’m an excellent cook. Did you know,” he asks, “that I own a tea room with Chella Walcott? And I actually helped create one of the scone recipes.” I smile and shake my head. “I did not. But very interesting.” “It’s called Bric’s Strawberry Tart.” “Does it taste like pussy and come dressed in red leather thigh-highs?” I ask, shoving some toast into my mouth before I laugh. “Strawberries,” he says. “Hence the name.” “Why are you telling me this? So I can gush over the fact that you bake?” “I thought you wanted inside my head? I’m just trying to give you a well-rounded example of who I am.” “Playboy,” I say. “Check. Deviant. Check. Bisexual.” I smirk now. “Check.” “So you liked it, huh?” “You sure seemed to. Especially the parts that

involved Jordan. Kissing him. Touching him.” “If you think that’s gonna set me back, embarrass me, well”—he laughs—“you’re gonna have to try a little harder. I’ve been doing this a long time, Nadia. I’ve had plenty of guys in my game.” “But you won’t fuck them?” I ask. “Why would I? I’m not gay.” “I’m pretty sure bi men also like to fuck each other.” “I like to fuck women,” he says. “But if it turns you on I’ll play a little harder next time.” I take whole moments to picture what that might mean. “Does it turn you on, Nadia?” I nod. “Mmm-hmmm.” “You’d like to see a little more of that?” he asks. “Yes,” I say. “And let me guess, you’d like to be in control too?” I get wet from that offer. “For sure,” I say, scissoring my legs together. Enjoying the stimulation. He nods, smiling as he looks down at his food, then looks back up at me, smile gone. “You’re not in control here, bitch. So make sure you remember that.” “Fuck you,” I say. “You’re the one who wants me here.”

“You want to be here, Nadia. Otherwise you’d have never agreed to any of this.” “I was playing with Jordan, not you.” “And now you’re playing with both of us. So either get on board or get the fuck out.” I just stare at him for a second, then recover. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” “Everyone knows that, Nadia. Try to keep up, will you please? You’re making this so easy.” “Easy?” I scoff. He reaches across the table and grabs me by the hair so fast, I gasp. “Do you want to play the game or not?” He growls it out. A low, deep rumble like it came from deep inside his throat. His eyes are intensely serious. No trace of a smile on his lips. No sign of the man who just cooked me breakfast. And all this while wearing that ridiculous apron. I grab his wrist and push him away, but he holds onto my hair and pulls me halfway over the soapstone counter. “Stop it,” I say. He lets go and I ease backward. A smile slowly forms. His lips barely curling up at the edges. An evil smile, I realize. A smirk. Nothing friendly about it. “Do you want to know why you’re here, Nadia?” “I came here to fuck,” I say, practically spitting the words out. “And I did that. And now I’m done.”

I turn away, but he grabs my hair again and it pulls. Harder this time. I refuse to react again. I refuse to give in to him like this. “If you hurt me again I will press charges.” “You’re the one who said—what was it again? ‘We’re all gonna get hurt, that’s not a secret?’ You said that, Nadia. You came into this game to hurt us. And now you’re what? Mad because we’re gonna hurt you back?” “Let go of my hair,” I snarl. “Now.” He lets go and then eases himself back over to his side of the counter. “Do you know why you like to submit?” he asks. I have to laugh at that. “I don’t like to submit, Bric. I’m playing a game, remember?” “You like it because you’re out of control. You like it because someone hurt you in the past. You like it—” “Shut the fuck up,” I say, cutting him off. “You have no goddamned idea what you’re talking about.” “Were you abused, Nadia? Did your daddy—” I slap him. Hard. Right across his stupid fucking face. And then I slap him again and make it count.

Chapter Nineteen - Bric

She’s absolutely still. The slaps still echoing in my ears. My face stinging like fuck. She hits back. And she hits hard. I like it. “Humans are violent by nature, Nadia.” She’s breathing fast. Just two feet away across the island. Hand still in the air. “They require limits. That’s why you want to submit.” Her chest rises and falls. “I don’t submit to anyone, Elias.” “No?” I ask. “Then why are you here?” She says nothing. “To bend me over and fuck me backwards like you do the boys at that club the other night? Do I like Jordan? That’s your question? Sure. I like him enough. He likes me enough. And we’re alike in a lot of ways.” “Not that many as far as I can tell.” She says it softly. Trying to convince me she’s in control. “And I’m going to leave now.”

But she’s so out of control. “Why?” I ask. “Your needs aren’t being satisfied?” “You only care about your needs.” “Funny,” I say, looking away for a moment before looking back. “That’s funny. I seem to recall meeting all of yours last night.” “After you fucked my mind for a few hours.” “I’m not gonna make a big deal about the slaps, Nadia. So if you’re worried about that—” “I’m not worried about shit,” she snarls. “You’re worried about everything. But it’s not your fault. You’re so young and there’s so many expectations, right? Be this and be that. Look this way or look that way. Do this. Do that. Life is just one long expectation after another. Make more money. Buy more shit. Become more powerful. Or in your case, dance better, be stronger, fit the mold they’re trying to put you in. You’re lucky though.” “How’s that?” she says, blowing out a long breath of air. “You have the body for it,” I say, nodding at her, standing there provocatively in my open dress shirt. “Long legs, graceful arms, tall enough to fit in but not too tall that you stand above the others. You’re naturally thin. Naturally athletic. Naturally”—I reach over and place my hand on her cheek, cupping her face—“beautiful.” “But,” she says. “There’s a ‘but’ coming. But I need a man like you to show me the way? Guide

me through life like some pathetic, helpless woman?” “No,” I say. “And yes.” “Save your breath, Bricman. I’m not into you.” “You’re still here, Nadia.” “I don’t have any clothes.” “So take mine. I’m sure there’s a pair of sweats in a drawer back in the bedroom. Take them. There’s a car for you downstairs. You won’t be walking home. I have a coat too. Take anything you want, actually. Whatever it is you think you need to be able to walk away from me right now. Take it and go.” She stays absolutely still. “Or stay and shut the fuck up.” “Why—” “Shut. The fuck. Up. Nadia.” She crosses her arms. Defiant, but submissive at the same time. “Good,” I say. “That’s better. Now eat your breakfast and make small talk with me.” “Why should I?” “I don’t like to repeat myself,” I say. “You never told me anything, Elias.” Elias. Bric. Bricman. Who does she think I am? “I did tell you. You need limits and I’m here to provide those limits. That’s why you should stay. You need my limits, Nadia. Very badly. So sit the fuck down and eat your fucking breakfast.”

She sits. I’m stunned. But I hold it in because this is way too much fun to laugh and risk pissing her off just yet. “It’s cold,” she says, looking down at her plate. “Hmm. I guess it is. Let me make a new breakfast then. Would you like coffee?” “No,” she says. “Orange juice?” I offer, turning back to the stove and starting again. “Sure.” “Good. See how nice this is?” I ask, breaking more eggs onto the griddle. I get the bacon and pancakes started too, then get the toast ready in the toaster before I grab the OJ from the fridge and pour her a glass. When I turn to set it down, she looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Why are you crying?” She wipes her face but only says, “Thanks,” as she takes the glass of juice from me and drinks. I turn back to the griddle and push the bacon around. Check the pancakes. Keep an eye on the eggs. “What kind of houses do you like?” I ask her. She huffs some air, so obviously frustrated with me. “Modern?” I prod. “Or traditional?” “Traditional, I guess.” “Good to know. I’ll tell Lawton to concentrate on traditional then.”

“Who’s Lawton?” “My real-estate guy.” “I don’t think I want to move in with you,” she says. I flip the pancakes and the bacon, then turn to her. “You’re staring at my ass, aren’t you?” She tries not to smile, but doesn’t quite succeed. “And of course you don’t want to move in with me. That’s practically the point of making you.” “You can’t make me do anything, Bric.” “Elias, Nadia. You need to choose a name for me. So let’s just go with Elias. And yes, I’m very good at making reluctant women do my bidding. So I can make you move in with me. I’d just prefer if you gave in a little to set the proper tone. Plus it will save us time in the house hunt. What neighborhood do you like?” “This game isn’t going to end the way you think,” she says. “Maybe this game never ends? Ever think of that?” She actually laughs this time. But I don’t see it. I’m back at the food. “Oh, yeah, I can picture it now. Nadia, Jordan, and Br—Elias forever.” “Why not?” I ask. “If we all play well, it could happen. I spent three years with the last girl.” “Who,” she spits, “the fuck would spend three years with you?”

Rochelle, I say in my head. And Quin. “People who play well, that’s who.” “Then why aren’t you still together?” “Because they fell in love and left together.” “Wait,” she says. And when I turn to look at her, she’s got her hand up in a stop gesture. “You had a threesome for three years?” Her face is all scrunched up like this makes no sense to her. “And they fell in love. So you just… bowed out? Or it was a bad break-up?” “It doesn’t matter—” “The fuck it doesn’t!” And now she’s animated and smiling again. So… getting the upper hand is what makes her tick, huh? “How about this, Elias. You want to get to know my secrets? Then you have to offer yours up in return.” “I have nothing to hide, Nadia. We played a good game.” “Did you love her?” “Sure,” I say, shrugging. “I loved her. But not the way Quin loved her. And they had a baby.” “A baby!” She’s practically cackling now. “Holy fuck. This is a delicious story, isn’t it? I need to know everything.” I turn back to the food, find it ready, and then push the toast down in the toaster. “Ask anything you want. I have nothing to hide. And if you think talking about them makes me uncomfortable, you’re wrong. I’m happy to tell you all about

them.” “It was his baby?” she asks. I roll my eyes as I grab two more plates from the cupboard. But she can’t see me because my back is still turned. “Yes. I wouldn’t walk away from my own baby, even if they were in love.” “Boy? Girl?” “Girl,” I say, loading up our plates. “Adley. Fucking adorable, if I do say so myself.” “How old?” I think for a second. “Like seven months now.” “Were you there for the birth?” “No,” I say, just as the toast pops up. “Rochelle left when she was only a few months pregnant. We didn’t meet the baby until she was six months old.” “Wait,” Nadia says. “So this shit just happened, didn’t it? Was this the reason Jordan sent me to you on Christmas? Awww,” she says. And when I turn and place the new food in front of her and take the old plate away, she’s got her hand over her heart in a mock gesture of swooning. “Jordan gave me to you to cheer you up.” I butter the toast, cut it, and place her diagonally-cut pieces on her plate. “Congratulations,” I say. “You’ve got me all figured out.” “So how—” “Eat,” I say, kinda sick of this game but not willing to give her more ammunition than she

earned. “I won’t make it again, even if it does get cold. And you’re gonna eat it no matter what this time.” Surprisingly, she gives in to that and picks up a piece of bacon. “So how come you were sad that night? I mean, if you so willingly walked out of that game?” “Who says I was sad?” “Well, obviously Jordan doesn’t go around giving away his best woman to just anyone.” I raise an eyebrow at her. “He’s got more than one of you?” She laughs. And it’s a good laugh. Real too. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I know he’s been pretty preoccupied with me these past few weeks.” “Training you,” I say. “For me, I think.” She has a forkful of pancake heading for her mouth when she stops and says, “What?” “He told me. He brought you to the Club a couple times. We were talking at the bar. You were looking at me that first time. You slapped him both times. And he said you thought yourself a top. And I laughed.” “It’s funny, huh?” “You’re just too young, Nadia. To know the difference.” “I don’t think so.” Her back is straighter now. Like I offended her. “Anyway, he invited me in that first day. But I

said no.” “Because of… Rochelle and… Quin, right?” “Yes. We had something good.” “Obviously,” she concedes. “If it lasted so long. Do you miss them?” “Sure. All the time.” “And I’m the replacement?” I shrug. “Why not? Does it make you feel used?” “No,” she says. Defiantly. “I’m using you too.” “For what?” “Sex.” She shrugs. “What else.” “But you can get sex from the little boys at that club, right?” “They’re not little boys. Everyone there is eighteen. And two of those guys were twenty-two.” “Same difference,” I say. “Boys.” “And what? You’re a man? I need you, a man, to give me what I don’t know I want?” “You got it in one, sister.” “Shit.” She laughs. “You definitely have an ego, that’s for sure.” “So house hunt tomorrow?” “I’m working.” “At the ballet?” “You know where I work.” “So you’ll be too tired to go out tomorrow night?” “I didn’t say that.” “Did you say yes, then?”

“House hunt tomorrow. Got it on my calendar.” “Good,” I say. We eat in silence after that. It makes her uncomfortable, but that’s exactly why I don’t talk. Just eat. And when we’re both finished, I pick up our plates and take the dishes to the sink. “So, are you ready for your punishment?” “What?” I turn to face her. Cross my arms over my chest. Lean into the countertop. “For slapping me, Nadia. You can’t slap me and get away with it. So are you ready? Or would you like a day to think about your actions and see if you can make it up to me tomorrow?” “I thought you weren’t gonna make a big deal about the slaps?” “This is me being cool about it. But everything has consequences.” “What kind of punishment?” “Slaps, of course.” “On my face?” “You slapped mine.” “Fuck that.” “I won’t leave marks. You won’t need excuses for why you have a black eye. I won’t beat you, Nadia. But it’s gonna hurt.” “As much as I hurt you? Is that how this works? Well,” she says, dabbing her lips with her napkin, “I don’t think I hurt you too much. So let’s just do it now. Where do you want me?”

Jesus Christ. Point to Nadia for having balls. “Go lie across the arm of the couch,” I say. “Face down? Or face up?” “Down.” “I thought you wanted to slap my face.” “I’ll get there eventually.” Her mouth makes an o shape. But she turns and walks across the room to the couch. One backward glance before she lowers herself as commanded. “Spread your legs,” I say. “Will you spank my ass?” she jokes. But she opens her legs. Her pussy is staring at me. Long, wet, pink folds stretched tight. “No,” I say, opening up a kitchen drawer and grabbing the rope I keep in there. “You’d like that though, wouldn’t you?” “No comment.” Wise girl. I take the rope over to her. “Hands behind your back.” She obeys, giving in so easy. She has no idea who and what I am. Which pleases me. I loop the rope around her wrists She looks over her shoulder at me, face screwed up with questions. “I didn’t tie you up, Elias.” “So?” I shrug. “What’s your point?” “You said slaps.” “I get it, Nadia,” I say, pulling the rope tight so she can’t get away. “You like this shit a lot. But try

to play a little hard to get next time, will ya? Make it interesting for me?” “God.” She sighs. “You’re a dick.” “Stand up,” I say. She struggles a little, but manages. Then turns to face me. “Give it your best shot, Elias. I can take it.” Both of my eyebrows go up. “Are you sure about that?” “Very,” she purrs. I slap her face. Her head turns into it from momentum. I leave a bright pink handprint across her cheek. “Fuck, Bric!” “Elias,” I say. “This is me, Nadia. Elias. The real me.” She huffs out a breath of air. Grinds her teeth for a second. Then says, “Do it. You’ve got one more, asshole. So just do it.” “Fuck that,” I say, chuckling a little. “I think I got you good enough with one.” “One little slap? Then why did you tie me up?” I take off my fun apron and throw it on the ground. My dick is hard and Nadia can’t help herself. She stares at it. “We can fuck, if you want. I don’t care.” “No,” I say. “No. I’m not gonna fuck you.” “Then what the hell are you doing?” “Get on your knees,” I say. “And open your legs

so I can see your pussy.” I walk over to the kitchen, pull out a note pad from a drawer and a big, fat, red marker, write five words on the pad, then rip the piece of paper off with a quick flick of my hand. My phone is on the counter, so I grab that too, and walk back over to stand in front of Nadia. “Open your mouth,” I say. She looks at my cock. Licks her lips. And opens her mouth. I press the piece of paper on her tongue and say, “Close.” She obeys again. A little confused, but still not quite getting it. I take a picture. Smile at it. At her. That haughty, defiant look plastered all over her face. “You’re pretty,” I say, taking the piece of paper out of her mouth. “Thank you,” she says back, voice filled with mockery. “You know what I’m gonna do with this?” I ask her, showing her the picture. Her eyes narrow as she reads what I wrote. Considers all the possibilities as they flood her mind. “Well, I’m not going to do anything with it if you behave,” I say. “But if you ever”—I cover the two steps between us and grab her face with my free hand—“ever fucking hit me again, Nadia Wolfe, I’ll ruin your fucking life with this picture.”

The mind fuck continues. She just hasn’t caught on yet.

Chapter Twenty - Nadia

Later, when I’m alone, and after Bric dressed me up in the promised sweats and had a car drive me home—not him, mind you, but a service. Dick—I think about that note. I want to be owned. I actually laughed when I read it. “This,” I said, “is the best you can do?” There were moments when I actually felt sorry for Bric’s game. Or lack thereof. But they were brief moments. “It’s powerful enough for me,” he’d said. “And you can tell yourself that making this little fact public won’t bother you a bit. But you’d be lying.” “I don’t want to be owned, Bric.” “Elias,” he corrected me. “And you definitely do. This note proves it. Besides, it won’t matter. People will believe it. They’ll see you differently, Nadia.” He whispered that last part. “They’ll see you as pathetic, and stupid, and weak.” He leaned into my ear for the second half of that threat.

And then he drew back and smiled at me. “Of course it’s a lie. You’re none of those things.” He shrugged. “But will it matter?” Dick. Now, I’m sitting in my apartment holding a hot cup of tea in my hands, staring out the window, eyes blurring the city lights in front of me, thinking up ways to get even with him. Because he’s right. People will believe that note even though it’s not true. And maybe they never say anything to me, or anyone else. It doesn’t matter. They have that note in their head and I will turn into this pathetic, stupid, weak person that Bric made me into. He’s not going to get away with this. Never. I will die fighting before I will let him change people’s perception of me. Plan something, Nadia. Now. OK, calm. I’m calm. He wants to believe he can control me. Dominate me. Bend me to his will. Make me submit. But he needs to believe he’s the reason it’s happening. Because I’m not naturally submissive, right? I’m like him. We’re two sides of the same coin. So if he can get me to bend that makes him… special. Oh, Elias Bricman. I have you now, honey. You want to be special? I can make you feel special. I can fuck with your head just as much as you can

fuck with mine. I grab my phone and press his contact number. He picks up on the first ring. “Hello, Nadia.” “Hello… Elias.” “Is everything all right?” “Perfect,” I say. “But…” I pause. Count the seconds until he gives in and has to ask. “But? What?” “I’m sorry,” I say. “For those slaps. And being difficult earlier. I know I apologized already, but I don’t think it was sincere enough. So I’d like to try again.” If he were here in front of me, I’d see that eyebrow shoot up his forehead in surprise. But he’s not. So I just imagine it instead. “I’m not sure if I believe you more now, or then,” Bric says. “And I just want to say goodnight. And thank you,” I add. It’s a nice touch. “For the great New Year’s Eve experience. I haven’t talked to Jordan yet but he’ll probably come for lunch tomorrow so I’ll tell him then.” “He’s busy tomorrow,” Bric says. “Oh,” I say, adding in a wistful sigh. “He called me a little while ago and told me to tell you he won’t be around this week. But we’re gonna house-hunt without him.” I roll my eyes. House-hunt. Jesus Christ. “What time do you get home tomorrow?”

“Well,” I say softly. “The camp stuff is over now, so I have rehearsals until two.” “So you’re off at two now?” “Yes,” I say, trying not to sound regretful. Not because of class, but because now he’ll want to dominate my days as well as my nights “Perfect. Be down in your lobby at three. Wear something classy and make sure you’re smiling.” He hangs up. I just stare at the phone. I’m so pissed off for a few seconds, my hand shakes. But I take a few deep breaths, picture my plan in my head, and let it all out. Elias Bricman wants me to be the slave of his dreams? Wants to own me? Dominate me? Make me submit? I can do that. If it gets me the payout at the end, I can most definitely do that.

“Nadia?” Chris says the second I walk through the door of the company. “Yes?” I say, anxious to get to class. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed pushing my body beyond its limits. Making it bend to my will. “This was just delivered.” She’s holding out a large yellow envelope. “Who’s it from?” I ask, reaching for it.

“Elias Bricman,” she says through her smirk. “Are you dating him? I thought you were dating that Jordan guy? I like him. He’s fucking hot. But Elias Bricman. Jesus, Nadia. Tell me how you do it.” “Do what?” I ask, staring down at the envelope. He put his fucking name on it. And I recall that one conversation we had. The one where I warned him about the gossip that would start circulating if people from the company saw us together. That dick. He did this on purpose. I want to be owned. He used my own words against me. Dick. “How do you get all these deviant men to like you?” I drag my eyes off the envelope and meet her gaze. “He’s helping me find a house, Chris. That’s all.” “But you live in a company apartment. Why do you need a house?” I want to tell her to mind her own fucking business. And I would. If this was last week. But I can’t, because this is today. And Bricman has a picture that will change people’s perceptions of me. “Oh, I just want to make sure people who need that apartment more than I do can live there.” It’s a stupid excuse because I make no money as a dancer, and my rank of demi has only slightly better pay than the other girls in the corps. But it makes me look generous. Magnanimous.

“So sweet of you,” Chris says. I’m not sure she’s buying it because I’m naturally bitchy and she’s caught on to that fact. But it gets me through her questions. “Gotta run,” I say. “If you know anyone who needs that apartment, you can tell them I’m moving out soon.” I don’t wait for her answer, just take my envelope to the locker room and dump my bag. I’m a few minutes early, people chatting as they adjust their clothes, slip on their shoes. Whatever. So I rip open the envelope and peek inside. “What’s that?” “Jesus, Matthew. Way to sneak up on a girl.” He’s leaning over my shoulder to get a look at my envelope. And lucky me. It’s nothing kinky or threatening. It’s just real-estate brochures. “Just house-hunting stuff,” I say. “Lemme see!” he says, grabbing the envelope out of my hands. “What the…” He holds the brochures in his hand and I’m immediately sorry I mentioned the house hunt. Because those brochures are for multi-milliondollar mansions in Cherry Creek. The swankiest neighborhood in the entire city. “You…” He shakes his head. “You can’t afford these houses.” “I know.” I laugh. “Don’t be stupid. It’s for my

dad. He’s buying a house.” My dad? Oh, my God. “Oh,” Matthew says, hand on hip. Pursed lips on face. “So you’re moving in with him? Chris just told me you’re vacating the apartment. I think I’ll apply for it.” “You should,” I say brightly as I take the envelope back and stuff it in my locker. “Elias Bricman though,” Matthew says, rubbing his chin in a gesture that says he doesn’t believe a fucking word I’m saying. “I didn’t know he’s a real-estate agent.” “I think he owns houses there.” I leave it at that. Just grab my water bottle and go to class. But the whole time I’m dancing I’m also thinking. Nice move, Bricman. I have to hand it to him. He’s definitely playing his A-game with me. He’s got everyone talking about me, he’s got my full attention, and he’s picking me up at three. Smiling. And wearing something classy. We take a break at eleven forty-five and I head straight for my locker, grab the envelope, and retreat to a stall in the bathroom. The brochures are glossy and sleek. The houses are huge and pretentious. The note is direct. Nadia—

Choose three and text me before noon so I can set up the appointments. Elias. Shit. I only have like eight minutes to meet his demands. I shuffle through dozens of brochures. Randomly choose three, take pictures, text. Done. Take that, asshole. The rest of my day goes as planned. I work hard. I sweat my ass off. I make my body ache and my feet hurt, until everything goes numb. I am berated repeatedly by the ballet mistress, but we all know if she’s not berating you on technique, or style, or lack thereof, she’s not seeing you. And we all want to be seen. At two, I’m exhausted, but high on dancing endorphins. When I get to my apartment I have forty minutes to turn myself into something classy for the monster I’m… dating. At two fifty-five I’m in the lobby wearing a cream-colored pencil sweater dress, a pair of tan leather knee-high boots, and a cape. And I have an ostentatious bag on my arm that Jordan got me the first real date we went on. At exactly three o’clock Bric pulls up in his silver BMW.

I wait in the lobby, our eyes meet, and I can almost see him roll his eyes as he gets out of the car and comes inside to greet me. Because I will not run out to his stupid car and get in like a teenager. If he thinks I will allow him to treat me like some cheap drive-up whore, he’s wrong. “Miss Wolfe,” he says, checking out my choice of outfit as he offers me his arm. “Mr. Bricman,” I say back. He leads me to the car, where the valet is already opening the door. I slide into the soft leather seats and then he’s inside with me, hand on the gear shift. Car moving forward. “Do you approve?” I ask. He glances at me and nods. “Very nice.” “I’m classy enough for you?” “Yes,” he says. Short. Curt. Dick. “Interesting choices,” he says after a few seconds of silence. “Oh?” I say. “How so?” I don’t even remember what I picked. “They’re not traditional,” Bric says. Shit. What did I pick? “But whatever. I can see this is a game to you. So we’re going to choose one of them tonight and you’ll have to live with it.” There’s brochures stuffed between his seat and the center console, so I take them out and look at them again.

Yeah. Not really my thing. One has turrets. Looks like a fucking castle. One is contemporary, but not traditional. And the third is Santa Fe Spanish. I almost can’t stop the laugh. “I’m disappointed in you, Nadia.” “What? Why?” “Because you put no thought into this. These are not your choices. And tonight I’m going to spend somewhere between three and five million dollars trying to make you happy by giving you a home, and you put no thought into it.” “That’s not fair. First of all, I’m not asking you for a house. Second, I didn’t even have a chance to look at what was in the envelope until my break. And by that time, it was almost noon. If you want to make me happy don’t give me deadlines.” He looks at me. Sternly. And the few moments of silence that come with that look make me squirm. “I didn’t say house, Nadia. I said home.” OK. Just give in, Nadia. It’s easier. Get the night over with and then you can go— “Why are you playing?” “Why are you playing?” I ask. “If all you get out of it is disappointment.” “I was hoping we had come to an understanding.” “Why? Because you’re blackmailing me?” He scoffs. “You are,” I say. “Blackmailing me.”

“So quit the game. You’ll save me a few million dollars.” “You could quit too,” I say. “And save yourself.” “Jordan laughed when I texted him your choices.” “Did he?” I say. Fucker. He hasn’t called me at all. I spent a good amount of time this morning listening for the phone to ring and Chris’s soft steps as she came to tell me I had a call. But he never called. It seems he’s abandoned me to Bric. “He said these aren’t your choices, which I already knew since you told me traditional. And then he laughed again.” “Does it hurt your feelings when he laughs at you, Elias?” The sneer he shoots me makes my heart skip a beat. “You’re trying to control me. And I thought we already had this talk. I’m the top, you’re the bottom. You exist to please me. And when you please me, I please you.” I look out the window, too angry to trust any words that might come out. “This is a power struggle,” he says. “And I like it.” I look back over at him, confused. “You do?” “Of course. What good is a dom/sub relationship if there’s no power struggle? It makes things exciting. I break you down, you learn something about yourself. If I do it right, you don’t get hurt.

So I learn something about myself as well.” Is he serious right now? “I was telling you this last night but you weren’t listening. Humans are violent. You’re violent,” he says. “I said I was sorry.” “But you like it, Nadia. That’s my point. You like the violence if you’re the one dishing it out. Which is why I asked if you were abused when you were younger.” “And then you made fun of me. ‘Did your daddy beat you, Nadia?’” I spit the words out. “Did he?” Bric asks. “I told you no.” “Then why do you like it?” “It’s a game, Bric.” “Elias,” he growls. “That’s all. And Jordan liked it. If you don’t like it, I won’t do it. How’s that?” “That’s a good start. Because you will not slap me again.” “And you won’t slap me either.” “Fair enough. But you’ll miss out on some good sex if you give me that rule.” I huff out some air. Frustrated. “Where do you draw the line, Nadia? With the violence?” “I don’t want to be hit.” “But you want to do the hitting?”

“I never said that.” “You didn’t have to. You told me through your actions.” “What are you? Some kind of psychiatrist? Stop reading into things, Elias. It’s just a game. You said so yourself.” He doesn’t answer because we pull into a driveway, pass through an open iron gate, and come to a stop behind a black Mercedes. The Spanish house. A man in a suit gets out of the Mercedes, younger than Bric but definitely older than me. “Can you see yourself living here for the rest of your life, Nadia?” I stare up at the house. Ugly orange, Spanish tile roof. Curved exterior walls covered in white stucco. Neighbors so close you can see into their windows. “No,” I say, being truthful for once. “I can’t.” Bric presses a button on his door and his window rolls down as the man in the suit walks up to our car. “We’re gonna pass on this one, Law. Let’s see the next one, OK?” “Fine with me, Bric. Meet you over there.” Bric tabs the window back up and we back out of the driveway. The next house is only a few blocks away. The contemporary one. We don’t even bother to pull into the driveway this time, just idle in the street. “How about this one, Nadia?”

Bric sighs. “No,” I say. Law comes up to our window again. And again Bric says, “Next.” The guy just shrugs, gets back into his car, and we follow him to the third place. The castle with turrets. The gate is larger than the last two and the driveway is longer, which means the lot is bigger and no neighbors can see into the house. There’s trees along the property line. Tall, skinny ones that create a wall of sticks that might even be pretty in the summer. “Do you even want to see it before we move in? Or should we just surprise ourselves next week?” I stare at the house. It looks cold. And old. It’s all gray-brown stone and appears to be something out of history. The window rolls down. Bric says, “Offer five million cash. Three-day possession.” “Don’t you want to see inside?” Law asks. “I saw the pictures online,” Bric says. “It’s good enough.” “Uh, OK,” Law says back. “I’ll write it up and email you.” The window rolls back up. We sit in silence. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say. “I have a place to live.” “I didn’t do it for you, Nadia. I did it for us.

Would you like to have dinner? Or do you want to go back to your apartment?” “Is Jordan coming?” “No,” Bric says. “He says he’s busy.” I let out a long sigh. “Is he quitting on me?” “No,” Bric says, a little bit of surprise in his voice. “Why do you think that?” “Because ever since you showed up he’s been conveniently missing.” “He’s got some big case, Nadia. Don’t internalize things.” “Is he going to move into this house with us?” “As far as I know,” Bric says. But he doesn’t sound very sure of himself. “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow. Do you want dinner?” “Sure,” I say. But I feel sad all of a sudden. I feel like I just lost something even though Elias Bricman just purchased a five-million-dollar house that I will soon be living in. I stew in that as Bric makes his way across town and we unexpectedly end up back in front of my building. “I thought we were going to eat?” I say. “I don’t want to be around you if you don’t want to be around me. So I’ll take a raincheck on that.” I stare at him with squinted eyes and say, “Well, that’s just fucking great,” as the valet opens my door. I slip one leg out of the car, but Bric grabs my wrist and holds me tight. I look over my shoulder at him. “What?”

“If you invite me in, I’ll come up. We can order takeout. Kiss a little.” I glance at the valet, who blushes and backs off, then look back to Bric. “Would you like to come upstairs?” “I would, Nadia Wolfe. Thank you for the invitation.” The valet helps me out and then Bric is beside me, offering his arm. I take it and let him lead me inside, to the elevator, upstairs, to my door. I fish my keys out of my pretentious purse and then Bric’s hand is on mine, taking them from me. He unlocks and opens the door, then waves a hand for me to enter, like this is his place and not mine. God. Does everything have to be a power play with this guy? But I shrug it off and go inside, and then he’s there, taking off my stupid cape and hanging it up in the coat closet. He does the same with his coat, unleashing an expensive suit on me that makes him look like Adonis with clothes. “Chinese?” he asks. “Mexican? What do you feel like?” “Mexican,” I say. He pulls out his phone, tabs a contact, and then orders for both of us. I want to stop him. Tell him not to do that. I can order myself. But he chooses sea bass tacos and I know the restaurant and I love those tacos. So I let it go. For once, I think in my

head. I can let it go because he did everything right. “It’s gonna be an hour and a half, they said. So we have time to kill. Something dear,” Bric says, changing the subject abruptly. “What’s that mean exactly?” “What?” I ask. “The other night. You told Jordan you wanted something dear to us. What’s that mean?” I shrug. “What’s that mean to you?” “Do you always do that?” he asks. “Get another opinion before you give yours?” “That’s not what I do.” “Yes, it is. You want to know what I think of it because you don’t want to be judged on what you think of it.” “It’s something meaningful, Elias.” “Like Jordan’s car.” But then he laughs. And I do too. Because fucking Jordan, right? He’s so materialistic. “Not his stupid car,” I say, still smiling. “I know that, Nadia,” Bric says, coming towards me to take my hand in his. Jesus. He’s a player. “So just tell me what it means.” “Just personal.” “Like a secret?” Bric asks, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. A familiar tingle runs through my body at his tender touch. It’s a game, Nadia. He’s playing you like an

instrument right now. This whole afternoon has been a game. “Sure,” I say. “A secret. But more than that, an insight, I guess. Into who you are. Who both of you are.” “Do you think you know Jordan?” he asks, pulling me close to his chest. He shifts his hands so they’re gripping my waist, and suddenly we’re dancing. My hands on his shoulders, my face near his neck. “Better than I know you,” I say, staring out the window on the far side of the room. “If I give you insight into me, will you give me insight into you? Or is your body my only reward?” What the fuck? “Whatever you want, Bric.” “Elias,” he corrects me. “You know, it’s painfully obvious that you call me Bric in your head. You make that mistake too often for it not to be true.” “Sorry,” I say, suddenly feeling weary. My legs are aching like crazy. And my feet are tired in these boots. “It’s just how I know you, I guess.” “Then you need to know me in a different way. Until Elias is the default and not Bric. Show me your apartment. Let me see your secrets, Nadia.” Everything about him is exhausting. And I guess that’s his plan, right? Wear me down, make me weak, bend me backwards. So why fight it? It makes me tired to fight it.

“Come with me,” I say, slipping away from his tight hold on my hips. “I’ll show you the only room that matters.”

Chapter Twenty-One - Bric

I grab hold of her hand before she gets away, not wanting to let her go. But she tugs me and brings me with her down the long hallway, on the opposite side of the apartment from her bedroom. I have a million questions as she leads me into her ballet studio and flicks on the lights. “This,” she says, “is the only room that matters.” It’s fairly large as far as rooms go in downtown apartments. But this place is company-owned so it makes sense they’d have a studio for their resident dancer. The floors are blond hardwood. One of the long-sided walls is covered in mirrors and has a ballet barre running its length. The opposite wall is aged red brick. “I like the mirrors,” I say. She snickers. “I bet you do.” I turn to her, place my hands exactly where they were back in the living room, and grip her hips tight as I pull her close again. “Stand very still, Nadia Wolfe.”

She scrunches up her eyebrows, like she’s about to ask a question, but my hands are already sliding down the curve of her hips, then her thighs, and then the soft leather boots hiding her calves as I crouch down. Her pussy is right in front of my face. But there’s plenty of time for that later. I’m interested in her boots. I reach around the back of one leg and tug the zippier down. “Don’t fall, Nadia,” I say, lifting up her foot as I pull the boot off. She steadies herself with two hands on my shoulders. “Don’t drop me, Elias.” I grin up at her, tossing the boot aside. Then go for the other one. Two seconds later her bare calves are in front of me and my hands can’t help themselves. I press my palms against her well-toned muscles and lean my face into her thigh, kissing the soft skin between her legs. When I nip, she sucks in air between her teeth and places her hands on the top of my head. Urging me on. Practically begging for more. I stand up instead, place my hands on her shoulders, and turn her around. “Lift up your hair,” I say. She obeys. Which is a very nice change after all the power plays we’ve had over the past several days. The zipper on her dress comes next. I peel the

soft cashmere off her shoulders, let it fall down her arms, and then it rests on her hips for a moment, until one small tug gets it around the curve of her ass and it puddles at her feet. “Turn back,” I say. She faces me. Studies me as I study her. Bites her lip as all the questions flood her mind. She’s wearing light pink lingerie. A beautiful satin demi-bra. Not the girlish kind with lace or bows, but the womanly kind with no trim, just purpose—because her breasts don’t need decorations. I take a moment to touch them, looking Nadia in the eyes as I squeeze her. Fondle her. Then I lean in and kiss her. Her fingertips are in my hair and it’s a passionate response. Her longing and desire a total turn-on. When I break eye contact it’s to look at her panties, a matching pink satin thong that can’t hide the fact that her pussy is bare and smooth. I place my hand between her legs, one finger positioned between her folds, and push a finger against her clit. The panties become wet. I nod my head to the corner of the room where she’s got a few pairs of pointe shoes scattered around. “Put on the shoes, Nadia.” She looks over to the corner, stares at it like her brain needs a moment to catch up with the request, then looks at me.

I’m waiting for another fight. I’m not sure what she could possibly object to with that request, but I’m sure she’ll think of something. But I’m surprised again. Because she turns away, walks over to the shoes, and sits down on the floor. One leg up, bent at the knee, the other resting on the floor so her legs are open. She doesn’t smile at me or try to take control— and I think that might be my favorite thing about her right now. Not her body, or her beauty, or the potential for a great fuck tonight. But her compliance. She slips a pad over her toes, her eyes flicking up to mine before returning to concentrate on her assigned task. I study her fingers as she slips her foot into the shoe, tugging on the elastic, and then twists the long satin ribbons around her ankle. She repeats this on the other foot. She stretches her feet out, flexing and pointing to make sure they’re comfortable, and then she looks up at me and says, “Now what?” Such a good girl tonight. I almost don’t know what to make of it. “Now,” I say, crossing the distance between us until I’m looming over her and she has to crane her neck to look up at me. “Now you’re going to pay for not being on your best behavior tonight, Miss Wolfe.” I extend my hand, she takes it, and I pull her to her feet. “I bought a house to make you

happy and I don’t think you were happy.” She stares at me, with a look of genuine fascination on her face. “Thank you,” she says. “And I mean that. I don’t need the house, Elias. But it’s a grand gesture, for sure.” “I’m invested, Nadia. I want you to understand that.” “I get it,” she says. “I don’t think you do. If you did, you wouldn’t have treated me so badly tonight. I’m afraid I can’t stand for it.” Every word comes out crisp and clear. But there’s no anger in them. No animosity. “So punish me,” she says, unable to hide her smirk. “I plan on it. Go to the wall,” I say, pointing at the brick. “And stand in second, en pointe.” She bites her lip but doesn’t say another word. She likes this, I realize. Everything about this moment is easy for her because she likes it. She likes the shoes, she likes this room, and the thought of me challenging her in her element makes her happy. I’ll have to remember that. But she gets it wrong immediately, and that makes me smile. “Face the wall, Nadia.” “OK,” she says, coming off pointe so her feet are flat on the floor. She turns and faces the brick, then places her palms on the wall to steady herself and rises up, legs slightly spread apart.

God, she’s beautiful. I can see every muscle in her legs. Her back is straight and firm. Her head is high, neck stretched long, and her shoulders relaxed. Her element. I walk over to her and stand right behind her. Wishing for the wall with the mirrors so I could see her face. But then she’d be able to see my face too, and we don’t want that. I place my hands on her waist and press my groin into her ass. She looks down for a moment, losing her concentration. “Do you want me to fuck you, Nadia?” “Yes.” It comes out as a breath. “I bet you do. But we’re not even close to that yet. I have to punish you, remember?” “Yes,” she breathes again. “How long can you stand like this?” I ask her. “Long time,” she says. “Give me a number, please.” She takes a moment to think. And I wonder if she’ll shortchange herself to try to spare her muscles some pain tonight. “Ten minutes,” she says. “OK,” I say, taking out my phone and pulling up my camera. “I’ll be back in thirty. And just in case you think you can cheat, I’m going to film you, Nadia.” I set a timer on the phone, walk over to the other side of the room, adjust the camera so it’s

front-facing, and prop it against the wall, positioning it until she’s centered in the frame. “Be good,” I say, exiting the room. “Because I’ll know if you’re not and then I’ll really make you work hard to please me tonight.” I go to her bedroom and stand in the doorway. She’s got clothes on the floor. Mostly dance clothes. Some shoes. Her bed is unmade, the sheets all askew. It makes me wonder if she’s ever had another man up here. Aside from Jordan. I’ll have to ask her about that. I sit on the bed, then lie back and close my eyes. Picturing her asleep in this very spot. I can smell her shampoo on the pillow. What makes Nadia Wolfe tick? I’m not quite sure yet, but ballet is definitely a big part of it. You don’t get this far in that art without serious dedication. I drift off but then wake, the alarm I set a distant ringing on the other side of the apartment. I wonder how long it’s been going off? My feet find the floor and I’m in motion. When I get to the ballet room, she’s breathing so hard, I hear it before I pass through the door. “Everything OK, Nadia?” I ask. “Fine,” she says through deep breaths. Her legs are shaking so bad, I can see her trembles from across the room. When I get close enough to touch her, I place

both on my hands on her hips and say, “Relax.” Her feet collapse and she places her head against the wall, spent. “Did you cheat?” I ask her. “Once,” she says. “When the alarm went off and you didn’t come back. I had to,” she whispers, looking over her shoulder at me. “I needed a rest.” “Hmm,” I say. “Is that the only time?” She nods her head and when I look into her eyes, I see that she’s on the verge of tears. “I’m going to check, if that’s OK. Is that OK?” “Yes,” she says. How perfect. The only way she could possibly make this better is if she had put a Master on the end of that response. “From now on, Nadia, when you address me while we’re playing, you call me Master. Do you understand?” “Yes, Master.” It’s pretty convincing. So I accept her submission as genuine and walk over to pick up my phone. Fast forward through the footage, and yes, she did cheat. Right after the alarm went off. And she continued to cheat for two minutes. In fact, she must’ve heard my footsteps on the hardwood floors as I made my way across the apartment, but she goes back up en pointe just before I enter the room. “Did you like this, Nadia?” I ask her. “Yes, Master.” Good God. I get hard at that.

“But you did more than just cheat, Nadia. You waited until you knew I was coming back before you resumed. Tsk, tsk, tsk,” goes my tongue. “So I’m going to have to punish you for that as well. Back up, darling. Just the way you were.” She sighs, almost sobs. But she obeys. I walk over to her and place my hands on her hips. “Spread your legs wider,” I say. She draws in a breath and that is definitely a sob. But she submits in silence. Her feet inch apart, her legs opening. “Wider,” I say. A few more inches and she’s groaning with effort now. “Just a little bit wider. You can do it, Nadia,” I say, encouraging her. “I know you can.” Her sob is loud this time. But her legs open farther. Just an inch, maybe not even. But wider is wider and I know she’s really struggling now. Her legs are shaking so bad, it’s got to be painful. “Now take your hands off the wall and—” “I can’t,” she says, reaching her breaking point. “I can’t do it. I’m too tired.” “Take them off the wall, Nadia. And place them on your thighs.” She shakes her head no, her head drooping in defeat. “I can’t.” “You can,” I say, removing one of her hands from the wall and placing it on her thigh. She grips

her leg hard. And she’s still shaking her head no when I lift her other hand off the wall and place it on her other thigh. Now she is spread eagle, en pointe, and she is crying hard. Her sobs are loud and her breathing hitched and uneven as she struggles to stay in position. Her whole body shakes and just as she’s about to give up, I wrap my arms around her and hold her steady. She melts into me. Her back pressing into my chest, using me to support herself. But she stays en pointe. “You’re a good girl, Nadia,” I say, practically cooing the words into her ear. “A very, very good girl.” “Thank you, Master,” she says through her sobs. “And do you know what good girls get?” I ask. “Tell me, Master.” “My hard, thick cock in her mouth. Would you like that?” “Yes, Master,” she says. I don’t know if she really means it. Probably not. I’m pretty sure she’ll say anything to rest her feet right now. Her knees are bent, her perfect posture so far in the past, I’m the only thing holding her up at the moment. But I don’t care. Giving up is giving in. “Drop to your knees,” I say, letting go of her body. She does. Like immediately.

I back away. Several steps away. And say, “Stay on your knees and turn around.” She scoots her body around so she’s facing me. Her face is bright red with exertion. She’s sweating profusely, her whole body glistening in the soft light. “Crawl to me, Nadia.” She leans forward on her hands and then crawls. Looking down at the planks of hardwood beneath her, hair dragging. “Look at me,” I say. She looks up as I back away and then another sob escapes when she realizes I’m still playing with her. It’s not over yet. I continue to back up and she continues to crawl. I lead her like that, all the way down the hallway, across the living room, and into her bedroom. I sit on her rumpled bed and let her finally reach her goal. She stays on all fours in front of me, head drooping again. She’s done. I pet her, drag my hand over her sweat-soaked hair, and say, “Scoot up as close as you can get, sit back on your butt, and take out my cock.” She scoots. Sits back. And looks me in the eyes as she begins to unbuckle my belt. I smile at her, still petting her hair. “Ballet, Nadia.” “What?” she asks, her voice weak and small.

Her fingers desperate to unbutton my pants. But she fumbles, every muscle in her body spent. “That’s your weakness. Ballet. You submit to it like a good little slave. And now that I know that, I will use it against you every chance I get.” Another sob escapes, but she doesn’t deny it or fight back. Total. One hundred percent. Submission. She gets past the button and drags the zipper down. And then her hand is pulling me out. Already pumping my hard shaft even though I never gave that order. If I hadn’t already pushed her past her limit, I might punish her for that. But she’s done. I’m happy with her performance, and now it’s time for her reward. “Put me in your mouth, Nadia. And suck my cock until I come down your throat.” I enjoy the anticipation as she licks her lips and lowers her head into my lap. I enjoy it so much I close my eyes and lower myself back onto the soft blankets on the bed. Then her hot breath is there, a flick of her tongue. I feel her rise up onto her knees to reach me, even feel her body trembling from the effort. She covers me. Devours me. Licks and sucks me. Her hands pumping. I place my hands on her head again. Lightly. Gently. And encourage her. It doesn’t take me long. Either she’s very good at this or I’m just ready as hell. But does it matter?

Does it matter at all when everything is so perfect? I come in her throat. She swallows me, her throat muscles contracting against the tip of my cock. And when I’m done, I push on her forehead to let her know it’s over. I open my eyes just in time to see her wipe her mouth and sit back on her butt. “It’s your turn, Nadia. You were perfect tonight. And I’m going to show you how much I appreciate that right now.” “Thank you, Master,” she says through her frown. Perfection.

Chapter Twenty-Two - Nadia

What happens after that is just like New Year’s Eve, but without Jordan. He walks away, starts my shower, and then comes back into the bedroom, naked. He holds out his hand and I take it, letting him bring me to my feet. My legs are shaky. Hell, my entire body is nothing but fatigued muscles. And he undresses me. He takes off my bra, then makes me place both hands on his shoulders as he slips my panties down my legs. When I step out, he picks me up, carries me to the bathroom, walks me into the shower, and places me on his lap once he sits on the stone bench. He wraps his arms around me and lets me rest. Just like that. My reward isn’t going to be sex, I realize. And that is the best gift ever right now. Because I don’t think I can move. “Are you excited about the house?” Bric asks. My head resting on his shoulder. My eyes closed. I am a big bundle of exhausted nothingness in his

arms. I can’t think about that house. “I probably will be tomorrow,” I admit. “It’s nice inside. You made a good choice, Nadia.” He pets my damp hair as he says this. “I think we’re all going to be very happy there.” “Did Jordan see the inside?” “No,” Bric says. “I haven’t really talked to him. But don’t worry. He’s gonna love it.” I picture Jordan and me and Bric. Living inside that mansion. I picture their cars in the driveway. What will breakfast be like? What does the master bedroom look like? I wonder if we have a back yard? “Come on,” Bric says, after a few minutes of silence from me. “Let’s wash up and then I’ll take you to bed and massage your legs. Would you like that, Nadia?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, just stands up, taking me with him, and waits until I place both feet on the tile floor of the shower. I feel like I might collapse. But Bric is there, one arm around me. Holding me up. “Turn around and face the wall,” he says. He turns me. “Place both hands here, Nadia.” He puts my hands right where he wants them, flat against the tile. “Now rest like this while I take care of you.” He does take care of me. Very good care of me.

He grabs the shower head and wets my entire body. My hair too. And then he has shampoo in his palm. His fingertips massaging it into my scalp. “Tomorrow we’re going to go shopping for furniture. We have six thousand square feet to furnish and I’m going to assume your place came furnished?” I nod. “It did. None of this is mine.” “It’s almost a hundred years old, that place. But it’s just been completely remodeled. I’ll call a contractor tomorrow and have them make you a ballet studio. Just like the one you have here. Better,” he adds quickly. “Better than the one you have here.” He’s rinsing the shampoo out now. And then he repeats that whole process with the conditioner. “Would you like that?” he asks. I would. Very much. “Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask, looking over my shoulder. I catch him grinning and decide I like his grin. Elias Bricman is confusing in a lot of ways. But then again, he’s very simple. He likes to be in control. And even though Jordan was filled with warnings when he came to pick me up on New Year’s Eve, I don’t think they were necessary. Because as long as Bric gets what he wants, he’s very reasonable. Yes, my legs are aching and my body is spent. But I do that to myself every day when I dance. It’s

a familiar feeling. A welcomed one too. I like exhaustion. “It’s my job, Nadia,” Bric says. “Your job is to submit, my job is to dominate. And when I use that word, I mean it in all the ways you probably don’t. I push you and you give in because you trust me to take care of you. I asked for more tonight. And you gave it to me. You did so good.” He leans down into my neck and kisses the soft, wet skin just below my ear. When he pulls away, I want him back. “And Jordan and I have already showed you this side of the arrangement once. Now you have two real experiences to form an opinion. Twice we’ve pushed you beyond your limits—” “No,” I say, waking up a little at the mention of Jordan. “He’s not here.” “We’re both here, Nadia. I’ll fill him in on the details tomorrow. But the point is, we pushed you hard, you gave in—maybe it was just faith. Maybe it was just the fact that you wanted to get fucked. Who cares why? We don’t care why. The only thing that matters is that you did it. And when it was over, when your challenge was removed and you realized you pleased us, you got a reward. This builds trust. So next time we push you you’ll know what comes afterward. You’ll be looking forward to it.” It’s a mind fuck. Conditioning. I know this. I’ve

done it before. I’ve shaped the minds of men myself. Bric is rinsing my hair so I close my eyes and let the water run over my head. Relish the feeling of the hot water across my face. Then his hands are soft with foamy bubbles and he’s rubbing my arms. My waist. My stomach. My pussy. I wait for him to begin playing with me, but he moves on—much to my dismay—and crouches down to take the soap to my aching legs. I almost moan as he massages the long, thick muscles of my thighs, his hands kneading the fatigue right out of them. I am shaking again. But this time it’s not from the adrenaline of exertion. It’s the drop that comes after. “You need to rest tonight, Nadia. Your muscles are fatigued.” I nod my head, too wrapped up in the way he’s making me feel. He rinses me off and turns me around, then shuts off the water, grabs a towel from a stack of them on a shelf just outside the shower, wraps it around his waist, and then grabs another one and holds it open for me. “Come on,” he says, shaking the towel. I brace myself on the glass surround as I step out and let him wrap me up in softness. “Put your hands on my shoulders,” he says. I do. He dries me off. One square inch of skin at a time. Paying meticulous attention to every part of my

body. When he bends down to dry my legs his face is so close to my pussy, I can feel his breath. I want him to lick me. I want to come again. I want more, I realize. But he doesn’t give me more. He just continues his job until he’s done and then stands up. “We’re going to eat now. The food should be here soon. Get dressed. Can you do that by yourself?” he asks with a worried expression. I huff out a laugh. “Sure,” I say. He leaves me, walking out of the bathroom, then the bedroom, and I can hear him talking on his phone in another part of the apartment. I put on sleep clothes. Light pink terrycloth shorts and a white tank top. I’m done for tonight. When I glance at the clock I realize it’s only fivethirty. I’m getting old, I think. I’m spent. He’s dressed in his suit when I meet him in the living room. Minus his jacket, which is lying neatly across a dining room chair. And he’s relaxing on the couch. He pats the cushion next to him—indicating that I should sit. So I cross the room and sit, my body automatically melding into his. “Opposites,” Bric says as he puts his arm around me. “We’re opposites. Do you know why people are so attracted to opposites, Nadia?” I shrug. “It completes them, I guess.” “Nice answer,” he says, chuckling a little. “Yes and no. People are attracted to their opposite

because it excites them. We’re having a power struggle, you and I. You like to be in control. I like to be in control. So we have to give a little.” “But that just means we’re the same,” I say, thinking it through. “No,” he says. “You and I are not the same at all. You’re female, I’m male. You’re creative, I’m logical. You want to be taken care of. I want to take care of someone. Opposites do complete each other, but the underlying reason they feel that way is what really matters.” “I don’t think I want to be taken care of,” I say. “Everyone wants to be taken care of, Nadia.” “Then we’re the same,” I say. “You’re included in everyone.” “True,” he says. “I am. But you make me feel taken care of when you submit to me. When you trust me. When you let me take care of you.” “Hmm,” I say, huffing out a tired breath of air. This might be more conversation than I need right now. “The power struggle is necessary. It breaks us down into little pieces of nothing. And from that nothing we create something brand new. That’s why opposites attract. People want to remake themselves and they use their opposite to do that.” “Or,” I say, turning my head to look him in the eyes, “we’re just playing a stupid game and you won this time.”

He tries to hide his smile but doesn’t succeed. “We’re still playing, right? I mean, you bought that house tonight to prove a point.” “What point?” he asks. “Jesus,” I say. “So many points. That you have money, for one,” I say, holding up a finger. “That you have that money in cash.” I hold up another finger. “That you have people at your beck and call who will set up house tours at the last minute, and then not blink an eye when you refuse to go into two of them. That you can command me to live there.” “Don’t you want to live there?” he asks. “With Jordan and me?” “Well, I guess if Jordan were here, I could give you a complete answer to that question. But he’s not.” “He’s working, Nadia. He’ll be around when this case of his calms down.” “OK. I’ll let that go for now.” But I’m mad at Jordan. “Any more points I’m trying to make tonight?” “Yes,” I say, holding up a fifth finger. “The whole point of tonight—from the moment you picked me up to this one right now—is to make me depend on you.” “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” “It can be,” I say. “Were you in a dependent relationship in the

past?” “No.” I scoff. “I’m the top, Bric. I know you don’t believe that, but I am. I’m the one who controls the men in my life.” “Until Jordan came along and took all that control away. And you let him.” Bric has one eyebrow cocked. Like this explains everything. “And then he gave you to me.” “Is that what he did?” I ask, genuinely interested in this new direction. “Because I might not be OK with that.” “Which part?” he asks. “The part where he owns you and can therefore give you away? Or the part about you belonging to me now?” “Both of those and,” I say, stressing the word, “the fact that I cannot be owned. Thus, none of what’s happening is real. It’s just a game.” He shrugs. “Are you enjoying the game?” “Sure,” I say. “It’s fun enough so far. But I’m not looking for a master, Bric. So if you push me too hard I might call it quits.” Another cocked eyebrow from Bric. “Is that a warning? Or a challenge?” I sigh as I roll my eyes. “Take it any way you want.” He opens his mouth to respond, but there’s a knock on my door that breaks the moment. He gets up, pays the delivery guy, takes the bags of food over to the table, and then says, “For you, giving in

is like being ambidextrous, Nadia.” “Is it?” I say with mock fascination as I join him at the table. He pulls out the food—tacos, but the gourmet kind that come wrapped up in fancy foil—and unwraps them. “Sit,” he commands. I do, even though I’m tired of his commands tonight. I’m also hungry and my legs are still trembling. When we’re settled and have each taken a bite of the sea bass tacos—fucking amazing sea bass tacos—he continues. “You’re a well-honed muscle. You’ve exercised your mind regularly. You believe yourself to be dominant and I can see you’ve done pretty well in that regard.” “Praise from the master,” I say, then take another bite of food. “But everyone has another side to them, Nadia. Most people don’t like to admit it, but they do. No one is one hundred percent dominant.” “Not even you?” I ask. It’s my turn to cock an eyebrow. “Do I look dominant when I’m taking care of you after playing hard? No. I’m giving in to you, Nadia. I’m putting my wants and needs aside for yours.” “OK.” I laugh. It’s bullshit. He takes care of me afterward because it makes him more dominant, not

less. “If I had only been thinking of myself I’d have fucked you hard after you sucked my cock. I’d have continued to use you up and then I’d walk out and throw you away.” “Are you serious right now?” “Why wouldn’t I be serious?” “Is that your usual response to players? Use them up and throw them out?” “No,” he says. “I’m typically in a regular game. I’m just having… an off season.” I laugh so hard, I almost spit out my taco. “An off season? Do tell.” “Never mind that,” he says, changing the subject with a wave of his hand. “My point is, yes, I’m playing a game. But I take the game very seriously. I like to make the game last and the only way to do that is to submit to the needs of the other players. I’ve always been like this. Smith and Quin and I—” “Those other players you had? The ones who came before Jordan?” “Yes,” he says. “We always thought of each other. We submitted to each other in certain respects. We were equals and we didn’t take more than our share. And we did this with one end in mind.” “What end?” I ask. Not to be snotty, but because I’m really interested in knowing how he perceives winning.

“To keep the game going for as long as possible.” “But you’re not in that game, Bric.” “Elias,” he says, an edge to his voice. “Stop thinking of me as Bric and start thinking of me as Elias.” “Elias,” I say, conceding. Because I do, in fact, call him Bric in my head. “That game ended. You lost all your players.” “Yes,” he says. “And now I have two new players. You and Jordan. So I’m invested, Nadia. That’s my point. I will consider your needs ahead of mine. Submit to you when it’s in your best interest.” “How big of you,” I say, finishing my taco and wiping my mouth. “And if you’d just submit to me instead of making snide comments at every revelation I hand out, then you’d learn the lesson I’m trying to teach.” Learn the lesson. I just smile. Because this oaf really thinks he needs to teach me a lesson. “You’re fucking my mind, Bric.” I use that name for him on purpose. “Not my body. And we both know this.” “And you like it, Nadia. Or you wouldn’t be here.” He stands up, grabs his coat off the dining room chair, shrugs it on, and then leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “I’ll pick you up from work at two tomorrow,” he says, backing away, reaching

into his pocket to jingle his car keys. “We’re going shopping for furniture.” I watch him walk away. He pulls open the front door, then hesitates and gives me a sidelong glance over his shoulder. “I’ll make sure Jordan comes tomorrow. So you can give me a complete answer to my earlier question.” Even though I don’t want to… I think about him. For a long time after he leaves. While I brush my teeth and climb in bed. When I’m masturbating to give myself the last orgasm he denied me. Denied me, I remind myself. Under the pretense of taking care of me. Not using me up and throwing me away. And even as I drift off, spent from an exhausting day of rehearsal and mind-fucking, I’m still thinking about how he’s playing his game. Do I want to live with them? Yes, Elias, I decide. I want to live with you. You’re already bending your rules for me and we’ve barely just begun to play. Imagine how much further I can push him if I have twenty-four-hour access. My world goes fuzzy and I enter dream space picturing all the many, many ways I will get to know them…

Chapter Twenty-Three - Bric

“Your brother has called six times, Bric. I’m running out of excuses.” I glance up at Margaret in between signing the stack of documents she needs. She’s got a disapproving look on her face. “Just stop answering,” I say. “I left home twenty years ago for this very fucking reason. I’m not going to deal with all that drama.” “It sounds important. Something about Luc.” I continue signing papers and sliding them across the desk for Margaret to collect. But it pisses me off that my family is interfering in my life. I leave them alone, why can’t they do me the same courtesy? “Luc is a grown-ass man, Margaret. He’s like…” Fuck. How old is he now? “He’s twenty-one,” Margaret says, annoyed that I don’t know how old my youngest brother is. “Still a child in my mind. And Abrem sounded desperate to talk to you.” “Well, next time tell Abrem, ‘Galatians 6:7.’

He’ll know what that means.” A man reaps what he sows. Abrem was always the one in control back home. Hated when I had an opinion on anything. And now he’s just pissed off that he and Benjamin have let things get so bad. I sign the last piece of paper and slide it across my desk with one push of my finger. “I have nothing to do with Luc’s problems and, therefore, I have nothing to do with Luc’s solution. I barely know him.” Margaret sighs at my last remark. But it’s true. I left home when Luc was just a baby. And yeah, I see him once a year—when he actually shows up for the Labor Day family reunion party. He’s missed all but one since all this drug bullshit started back when he was seventeen. “Or better yet,” I say, glancing at my watch and feeling the need to get out of here and stop this conversation, “tell Abrem to call Jason or Keren, not me. They know him best.” I get up to escape Margaret, but she puts a hand on my arm. I stop and look down at her. “What?” “You know they’ve already tried that, Elias. Jason and Keren live at home. Do you really think Abrem hasn’t talked to them already?” “I can’t help Luc, Margaret. No one can. He doesn’t want help. He likes his life, OK? Just like I like mine.” “Your lifestyle, you mean?” she says, cutting through my words with a knife. “But your lifestyle

isn’t going to get anyone killed, is it?” I shrug off her hand and grab my coat off the chair. “I’m done with this conversation. I have things to do today. I’m moving in to a new place this weekend and—” “You can’t run from everything, you know.” “Margaret,” I say, all patience gone. “Stop trying —” “You can’t,” she continues, ignoring my brushoff, “pretend everything is perfect and not expect it to catch up with you eventually, Elias.” “I don’t need another mother.” And then I laugh. “OK? You’re important to me and I love having you at the Club. I wouldn’t know what to do without you. But Margaret, back the fuck off right the fuck now.” “Fine,” she says as I shrug on my coat and adjust my collar. “I’ll just pretend it’s not happening. I’ll just—” I know she’s going to get mean. I can feel her stinging words on the tip of her tongue. And when Margaret gets mean, she holds nothing back. But she stops herself at the last second. “I’ll just take care of these contracts,” she says in her normal Margaret-is-all-business voice. “Have a nice afternoon, Bric.” “Bric,” I mumble as she leaves me standing in my office. But it’s satisfying to hear the change in her tone. All business again. Just the way I like her.

By the time I get over to the ballet company, I’m twenty minutes late. Nadia comes rushing out of the door into the cold, wrapping her coat tightly around her body. She pulls the car door open before I can even get out to open it for her, and slides into the passenger seat, slamming it shut. “You’re late,” she says, annoyed. Well, I’m annoyed too, so I don’t give a shit. “I run a business, Nadia. I will occasionally be a few minutes late for things.” “More than twenty minutes, Bric. I could’ve gone home,” she says. “All you had to do was call.” “I got caught up in business,” I snap. Nadia recoils at my anger, turns her head and looks out the window. “Sorry,” I say, pulling back onto the street. “I was thoughtless. I’ll call you next time and let you know.” She huffs out some air, but doesn’t respond. “My fucking brother called and—” And I stop. Fuck that conversation. And fuck this one too. “And what?” Nadia asks, turning her body towards me. “Forget it. Not important.” We drive the rest of the way over to the furniture store in silence and by the time we get

there, we’re almost thirty minutes late for our appointment with my interior designer, Anna, and I’m not even remotely interested in shopping for furniture. I pull the car up to the front door, see Anna waiting behind the glass, and look at Nadia. “What are you doing?” she asks. “I’m gonna drop you off with Anna, the designer. Just tell what you like and she’ll—” “Fuck you!” Nadia says. “Just fuck you. I’m not the one who needs a new house. I’m not the one who made this appointment. I’m not the one,” she stresses, “who even wants to be here right now. I’d rather be home, sleeping, or watching movies, or what the fuck ever.” My head snaps back in surprise at her outrage. “You’re going inside, Elias Bricman. Or you’re taking me home right now. And where the fuck is Jordan?” “He’ll be here,” I say, regaining my voice. “I talked to him earlier and he said he’ll be here.” Nadia glares at me and I just don’t know why this day went from ordinary to shit so suddenly. “Park. The fucking. Car,” she says, clipping her words. I pull away from the curb and ease the car into a parking space near the front of the lot. Nadia opens her door, letting in a rush of frigid air, then slams it closed.

I sit there for a second, but she knocks on the window and points to me, practically ordering me to get the fuck out. I turn off the engine and get out. Goddamn, it’s fucking cold. When I walk around the car and join her, she slips her hand in my arm like nothing happened. Ready to go furniture-shopping. “Don’t,” I say in a low voice as we head towards the glass doors of the furniture store, “ever fucking talk to me like that again.” “Then don’t keep me waiting,” she says sweetly. “And don’t act like I’m your personal piece of property you can order around. Because I’m not.” I open the door for her and she walks in. Anna is there to greet us and Nadia smiles and talks politely to her as she introduces herself. Pretending that conversation never happened. What a fucking day. We spend the next hour looking at furniture and telling Anna what kind of style we want for the house. It’s a classic Tudor mansion, so we stick to classic traditional furniture. Not my style at all, and from what I can tell, not Nadia’s style either. This is not going well. And just as I’m cursing Jordan for leaving me to deal with all this Nadia shit alone, he walks up to us in the bedroom section. “Hey,” he says, walking over to Nadia and me.

He leans in and kisses her, pulling her close as he holds her face in both hands. They linger for a second. Which allows me an opportunity to glance at Anna. She’s smiling and passive. I’ve never shopped with my players before, but her husband is a Club member, so she knows what’s going on here. “About fucking time,” I say, thoroughly irritated again as I glance down at my watch. “You’re only two hours late.” And Nadia doesn’t berate him for his tardiness, I note. She just wraps her arm around his and smiles. “We’ve picked everything out,” Nadia says. “Except the bedroom furniture.” “I guess I got here for the only room that counts,” Jordan jokes. And then he sits down on the bed we’re looking at—a dark gray low-profile platform with chesterfield tufting on the headboard. It’s not very traditional and it’s expensive as hell. But Jordan missed all that earlier talk about design and so he lies back and says, “Come here, Nadia. Try it out with me.” She obliges without comment. She even smiles and tucks her body up next to his. “What do you think, Bric?” Jordan says. “This good enough for you? Hell, let’s get the whole fucking bedroom set. Why not?” He laughs. “Bric’s buying. Say yes and we can get the hell out of here.”

“Sure,” I say, liking the whole getting the hell out of here part. “You got everything you need, Anna?” Anna looks down at her clipboard and smiles. “I got it, Bric. Do you want it delivered tomorrow? We have everything in stock.” “How about Friday?” I say. “We close Friday morning at nine. So, noonish?” “Yes,” Jordan says, feeling Nadia up. Nadia is giggling and her hands are wandering just like his. “Friday night we’ll break this baby in.” And then he sits up, helps Nadia sit up too, and stands, holding her hand as she climbs out of the bed. “I gotta go,” he says, leaning in to kiss her again before she can protest. It’s passionate and long. Long enough for Anna and I to look at each other. I’m annoyed, but she’s blushing. I have to control my eye-roll. “But you just got here,” Nadia says, more than a hint of disappointment in her voice when she pulls out of the kiss. “I know,” Jordan says, looking intently into her eyes. “But this case, Nadia. I have to be in court early tomorrow for jury selection. And this guy, man. He’s a big problem. Got arrested while he was out on bail just before trial. It’s a fucking mess. But it’ll be over soon. Two weeks, tops. Then I’m all yours.” He glances at me when he says that. “I’ll make it up to you guys when it’s over. OK?”

I shrug. I’m ready to go, so what the fuck do I care? There’s another kiss and then Jordan disappears throughout the rows of furniture. We finish up the details with Anna and then Nadia and I walk out of the store together. “Well,” she says, once we’re back in the freezing cold car. I can see her breath as she sighs that word out. “Furniture-shopping went better than I expected.” “Did it?” I ask, blaring the heater as I back out of the parking spot. “You looked like you’d rather be getting a root canal than shopping for furniture with me.” “That’s because you’re a dick, Elias. You made me mad. And this was all your idea and you ruined it. It should’ve been fun and you’re the reason it wasn’t.” “Oh.” I laugh. A nice, loud incredulous laugh. “But it’s OK for Jordan to be two hours late?” Nadia looks out the window. “At least he was happy to see me.” I drop her off at her building. I don’t even pretend like I’m going to walk her in and have my way with her upstairs. I’m not in the mood. “I’m busy tomorrow,” I say, just as she opens her door. “Me too,” she replies. “So I guess I’ll see you whenever.” “No,” I say, grabbing hold of her arm before she

can escape. She looks at me. Pins her eyes right to mine. Challenging me over whatever the fuck we’re doing right now. “I’ll pick you up after work on Friday. Have your things packed. You’re moving into the house.” She smiles. It’s fake, but it’s big. And says nothing. Just removes my hand from her arm and gets out of my car. I pull away without another look.

Nadia has twelve boxes and seven of those are cardboard wardrobes that mostly contain all the clothes Jordan has bought her since they’ve been together. I know this because she made a point of telling me that. Stressed his name, in fact. Jordan is not here. Asshole. Even though I had his keys delivered to him after I signed the papers today. We’re in the house. The last of the furniture is being delivered. Anna was here all day hanging pictures and messing with window coverings. She’s got bedding for the bed and towels in the bathrooms. The kitchen is stocked with dishes and glassware. The dining table seats fourteen, for fuck’s sake. And It occurs to me that I have no idea what I was getting into when I bought this house just to make Nadia mad about not participating.

Five million dollars cash. What the fuck was I thinking? She’s in the master closet, presumably emptying out her cardboard wardrobes and thinking about Jordan—asshole—and how perfect he is. I’m drinking a bottle of brandy in the office. I like the office because I can see almost the entire first floor from here. Specifically, the stairs. And I can hear everything too, like this place has perfect acoustics. Anna and Nadia are up there laughing. Men are walking down carrying folded cardboard, chatting and happy, discussing what they will do this weekend, eager to go home and forget about their week. I’d like to forget about my week too. My middle brother, Gaius, called yesterday. And my oldest sister, Candace, called today. I didn’t answer my phone either time, but Margaret made a point to leave me little sticky notes so I’d know they called the Club as well. My brandy is good and I finish the drink and pour me another. Nope, I’m not getting sucked back into that drama. They can call all they want. I’m not gonna do it. I didn’t bring anything over except clothes. So I guess Nadia and I aren’t that different. Jordan has brought nothing. Because he’s not here yet. Asshole. Nadia and Anna descend the stairs. They know

I’m in here. Have been in here since I brought Nadia over a few hours ago. But they don’t even look my way as they pass the open door. Just stop in the foyer and do stupid cheek kisses as they say goodbye. I guess Nadia has made a friend. Lovely. I’m happy she’s settling into her new life. They walk out of my view and say goodbye again. The door closes with a click. Nadia sighs, like she’s exhausted. And then she appears as a silhouette in my office door, backlit by the foyer chandelier and sparkling from the light reflecting off the crystals. “Well,” she says. “Have a good time moving?” I ask. “Come in here and have a drink with me.” She hesitates, but then decides it’s not worth a fight, and obeys. She sinks into one of two leather chairs positioned in front of my desk and takes the glass of brandy I just poured her. Sips it. Scowls. Puts it down. Smiles. “I think it went better than I expected.” “No Jordan, though, huh?” “He’ll be here,” she says. “He texted me this morning and said dinner time.” She glances at the clock. It says six twenty-five. “So soon, I guess.” “Are you in love with him?” I ask. “What?” She laughs out her answer. “No.”

“Then why are you so nice to him?” It bugs me. “He’s not as attentive as I am.” “And he didn’t buy me a five-million-dollar house.” I shrug. “It’s in my name.” She shrugs back. “Jordan is…” “Is what?” I ask, when she doesn’t continue. “He gets me, ya know?” “And I don’t?” “Not even a little bit, Elias.” At least she calls me Elias. “So what am I missing?” “Everything.” She sighs, leaning back in her chair and setting the arches of her feet up against my desk. She’s got socks on. And she’s wearing her dance clothes still. Ripped leggings with holes in the knees. The leggings cover her toes, but those have holes in them too. Her pinky toe is looking at me right now. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt that hangs over one shoulder to reveal the tank top she has on underneath. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. She looks every bit a dancer right now. The down-and-out type. The I-take-my-art-seriously type. The type I like. “Specifically?” I ask, wanting more from her. “Specifically… I don’t know.” “You know,” I say. “So tell me. I did just buy you a five-million-dollar house. I think I earned a

little insight.” “Well, I didn’t need—or want—a five-milliondollar house.” “So what do you need?” I ask, sipping on my brandy. “Just a game, Elias. Just a normal game.” “I’m playing wrong?” I ask. She nods. “You want to buy reactions. Jordan is just himself. I know who he is.” “Who is he?” I ask this because I’m truly interested. I know him, better than her, that’s for sure. But I’m interested in her perception of him. “He’s a player. He’s into the game, but only as something on the side.” “And I’m…” I laugh. “Too involved? You want me to ignore you for days at a time? Keep you hanging? That’s funny since you were pissed off when I was twenty minutes late the other day.” “Almost thirty. And Jordan would’ve called. Which is why I expect more of you.” “Oh.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m not living up to Jordan’s standard of care?” “Not even a little bit, Elias. I have no idea who you are or what you want. Jordan is just a guy who likes a lot of dirty sex and wants to play a game with me. You’re… you’re in this for something totally different.” “What’s that?” I ask, but halfheartedly. I’m losing interest.

“You want to break people.” “Do I?” I can’t stop the guffaw that bursts out. “Yes,” she says, wiggling that pinky toe at me. “You want control to prove something. Jordan wants control so he can help me.” I have no words for how ridiculous that is. “Why can’t you just enjoy it?” she asks. “That’s the part I don’t get.” “I enjoy myself plenty.” “No,” Nadia says. “You don’t enjoy any of it. Maybe you did once. When you were playing with your other friends. The ones you used to love.” “The ones I still love.” It comes out before I can think to stop it. “Yup,” Nadia says, picking a piece of lint off her sweatshirt. “The ones you still love. You don’t love Jordan. I can see that now. He’s just a replacement. Like me. I think that’s the biggest difference between the two of you. He’s invested in me. You’re not. Not even a little bit. I know this because if you were, you wouldn’t want to break me. You’d want to help me.” “Like Jordan does?” I ask, mocking her with my question. “Like Jordan does.” Just as that last word leaves her mouth, Jordan walks through the front door calling, “Honey, I’m home!” He almost walks right past my open office door,

but slides to a stop in front of it. “Jesus, Bric,” he says, smiling as he walks into the room. “This fucking place, man. It’s amazing.” “Yeah,” I say, grabbing the third glass on my desk and pouring him a drink. “It’s pretty fucking nice.” Jordan takes the drink and sinks into the chair next to Nadia. “So what’s up? Did you guys eat? I had a late lunch, so it’s cool if you did. When’s bedtime?” And then he laughs into his glass and almost spits out his drink. He recovers, wiping his hand across his mouth, and leans into Nadia’s space to kiss her on the lips. “I’m sorry I was gone all week.” Nadia kisses him back, her lips glistening with the brandy still on his mouth. She looks at me and smiles when he pulls away, swiping a finger over her upper lip and then licking off the brandy. “That’s OK,” Nadia says, her voice sweet and soft. Nothing like the voice she uses when talking to me. “Bric kept me busy.” “I’m sure he did,” Jordan says, standing up and taking her hand. “And I plan on making things up to both of you tonight. Great fucking house, man,” he says, pointing a finger at me as he pulls Nadia to her feet. And before I know what’s happening, he’s got her sweatshirt off. “You look hot, Nadia. Let me help you out of these clothes.” She giggles.

Fucking. Giggles. He kisses her neck as he drags the thin string of her tank top down her shoulder. She throws her head back, mouth open, and moans a little. Really? One neck kiss is enough to bring her to orgasm? I sigh and roll my eyes. She’s fucking with me. I know it. She’s trying to make me jealous or angry. Whatever it is she’s doing, it’s pissing me off. “Nadia,” I say. “What?” she breathes. But she doesn’t open her eyes. “Look at me when I talk to you.” She opens her lids to half-mast, like this request at this moment is unreasonable, and stares at me. But her hands and her body are both busy with Jordan. She’s threading her fingers through his hair and her leg is rubbing against his and— “Lie back, Nadia,” Jordan says, holding her by the shoulders so he can position her in front of the desk. “Yes, sir,” she says, still in that breathy voice. Good fucking God. Can’t he see she’s fucking with him right now? “Bric,” Jordan says as he pushes her backwards, making her bend at the waist until her back is flat on the desk and her face is right in front of me. “You take care of that end.” Jordan reaches for the waistband of her leggings,

pulls them down her body, and throws them off to the side. Two seconds later he’s got her spread open with his face buried in her pussy. I look down at Nadia. Her eyes are closed. “What are you waiting for?” Jordan asks. I don’t answer him. He doesn’t really want one anyway, because he’s too busy licking her clit. My eyes shift down to Nadia again. She’s biting her lip. Her face is all screwed up, like she’s about to come on Jordan’s face. Fuck it. Just fuck it. I place both my hands on her cheeks, which startles her eyes open—finally—and lean down to kiss her. I expect a little resistance, since she is deliberately trying to piss me off tonight. For what, I’m still not sure. But she doesn’t resist. She opens her mouth and begins to twirl her tongue against mine. Her lips are soft and plump. So her kiss is soft too. But she’s hungry for it. For my kiss. Or maybe my kiss is just a way to keep her mouth busy as Jordan eats her out. Who knows. Who cares. I lift her tank top up and shove her bra down, exposing her tits. Making them bunch up towards my face. Jordan is unbuckling his belt. Unzipping his pants. I watch as he takes out his cock and begins to stroke himself. He looks at me and grins. I grin back, just to make him look away and go back to Nadia. But

there’s an ache in my chest. He’s no Quin. Quin would know something was wrong. Quin would stop and make sure things are on track. Quin would— “Would you fucking participate already?” Jordan says. “Come on, man. I really want this tonight.” I get back into the game and stand up, unbuckling my belt. Take out my cock. And then I say, “Nadia, open your mouth.” Her grin is something altogether different than Jordan’s. Her grin stabs at me like a dull knife to the chest. Her grin says she thinks she’s winning this game. I’m the only one going to lose this round. Well, fuck that. I won’t lose. I can’t lose. Not again. If someone needs to get hurt this time around, it’s not going to be me. So instead of shoving my cock down her throat I reach across her body and grab Jordan’s hair. I pull him up from between her legs, look Nadia right in the eyes, and kiss him. He kisses me back immediately, pulling my hair just as hard as I’m pulling his. I catch a glimpse of Nadia’s hand reaching between her legs to play with herself. But then I let it all go and just… enjoy the moment. Because her other hand is reaching behind her head for my cock. She grips it in her hand, squeezing and pumping.

Jordan tastes like Nadia’s pussy and I like it. So I keep kissing him. He takes one hand off my head and reaches for Nadia, twisting her nipple until she squeals. We break apart from the kiss, staring at each other. He smiles. And this time I smile back and mean it. As I‘m thinking that though, Jordan opens Nadia’s legs again, pushing her knees up. I grab her ankles and hold her wide open. An offering. To seal the deal. “Take her,” I say, my voice low and throaty from the heat in this room. Jordan shakes his head. “We’ll both take her. But I’m happy to go first.” Longing courses through my body as I watch his thick head disappear inside Nadia’s wet pussy. He grabs her hips, holds them tight, and begins to pump himself deep inside her. Nadia moans, sits up a little so she can watch him fuck her. I push her all the way up and then jump on the desk, my cock in my hand, pumping to the rhythm of Jordan’s thrusts. Her mouth is ready for me. She opens wide as I come at her. Sucking me in, her tongue pressing flat on my shaft as I grab her head and make her take me deep. She gags, backs off, and Jordan’s hand covers mine. My urging turns into his urging, turns into our urging. “Yeah,” he says, still fucking her. And then he

pulls out, jumps up on the desk next to me, and pushes the head of his cock at her mouth too. I withdraw just enough to give him room, and Nadia’s hands are on both of us now. Pushing us both into her mouth. I watch, and then look up, my eyes closing, that’s how good this feels. “See,” Jordan whispers. I look at him through my heavy, half-open eyes. “See what?” I ask. We’re all breathing heavy now. It’s nothing but porn. I almost wish we had a camera set up. “We’re good at this, Bric,” Jordan says. I look down at Nadia and find her smiling. “It’s a good game, brother.” “Yeah,” I say. “It is.” “Fuck me,” Nadia says, bringing us back into the moment. “Fuck me,” she says again. And even though Jordan and I both know she’s trying to take control of this game, we don’t care. He grabs her hands, pulls her up off the desk. I lie down on the hard wood, my legs dangling over the side, just in time for him to pick her up and set her on my lap, facing him. He reaches into his pocket, pulls something out, and tosses it to me. Lube. I grin at him and he grins back. He’s no Quin, but he’s getting closer. I flip the cap, squeeze the slick gel over Nadia’s

ass as she lifts her hips up. A few seconds later she’s moaning loud as I enter her. She sits down, letting me fill her deep, and then Jordan is back, pushing her legs up to her face. I grab her ankles again, make her an offering, and he slides in. “Fuck,” we both say at the same time. This is why we do the threesomes. Double penetration is the most sensual feeling in the whole world. For us, and her. Jordan’s dick is sliding past mine as we fuck her, finding our own rhythms until his becomes mine, and we are in sync. I pull out as he pushes in. He pulls out as I push in. Perfection. “Choke me,” Nadia says, panting out the words. “Choke me,” she repeats. “Now.” “Choke her,” I say, looking at Jordan’s slack face and heavy eyes. “She wants you to choke her.” He growls as he reaches for her throat, his hand perfectly placed, his thumb and fingers squeezing the firm muscle of her jaw. She gasps because he’s squeezing tight, I can tell. But he’s doing it right and she won’t pass out. She doesn’t want to pass out anyway. She just wants to come. And we want her to come. Over and over again as we fuck her together. I reach down between her legs and strum her clit, making her body writhe with pleasure, and

then she stills. Goes stiff for half a second as her orgasm takes over. And then Jordan lets go of her throat and she screams. Her pussy and ass contract at the same time, squeezing our cocks until Jordan and I are both moaning with her. “Fuck, yeah,” I say, just as Jordan pulls her off me. He holds her tight and this is a move I know well. We’ve done it before. Downstairs in the Club. He’s watched me with Quin. He knows what to do. I sit on the edge of the desk as Jordan fucks Nadia standing up. He’s holding her up with his palms spread wide across her ass cheeks. He kisses her as he places her in my lap. My dick sliding up against Jordan’s. And then we’re both inside her. This time it feels way too good to hold back. Jordan comes first. His mouth finding mine as he kisses me. His hand in my hair again. Gripping me. Pulling me into him. I kiss him back and wait for him to finish. “On your knees, Nadia,” Jordan says, pulling her off my lap. She obeys, and then he spins her around. She opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue. Her hand on my cock, pumping me Encouraging me. And then Jordan’s hand covers her. And they get me off. I come so hard it splatters across her face, almost missing her mouth completely. But Jordan

swipes his fingers across her cheek and she licks them clean. We laugh, Jordan collapsing against her and me. Nadia quiet for once. Satisfied, it seems. “Let’s take a shower and try out that new bed,” Nadia says, accepting Jordan’s hand so he can pull her up from the floor. No one complains, or cares, who’s giving the orders right now.

Later, after we’re all in bed and the shower fucking is over, Nadia sighs. Then Jordan. Then… yes, me as well. “We got something good here,” Jordan says, half yawning the words out. “Maybe we do,” I say back, tired and ready for sleep. Nadia’s hand is on my stomach. Stroking me with a soft touch. One fingernail dragging its way up to my chest. Jordan’s leg is hiked up over one of hers. We’re tangled together and I like it. He’s no Quin. She’s no Rochelle. And that big, empty hole in my heart is still missing Adley. But it could work. It just might work.

Chapter Twenty-Four - Nadia

“Hello,” Bric says into his phone, still half asleep. He turns to look at me, notices Jordan has disappeared, and frowns. “What?” he says into the phone as I glance over at the clock on the bedside table. Five thirty-nine in the morning. For a moment I panic, thinking I need to get up and get ready for rehearsal. But then I remember it’s Saturday. “When?” Bric says, sitting up and turning his back to me. Then, “How?” A long sigh from Bric as he presses his fingers into his temple. “I’ll be there this afternoon.” He ends the call and sets his phone down on the nightstand. Drops his head into his hands and rests his elbows on his bare knees. “What’s wrong?” I ask. Because clearly that was not good news. “Where’s Jordan?” he asks, instead of answering my question. “Work, I guess. I just woke up too.”

“I have to go away for the weekend,” he says, still hanging his head. “What happened?” I want to touch him, but I’m afraid to. Last night was pretty good as far as this whole… relationship goes. But still, I feel like Bric and I are strangers. Not close enough for instant bad news sharing. And definitely not close enough for me to… comfort him. If that’s what he needs right now. Bric stands up and lets out a long breath. “My brother died. I need to go to Montana for the funeral.” He walks away. Goes into the bathroom, slams the door behind him, and starts the shower. Even though we just took a shower a few hours ago. He’s trying to get away from me, I realize. But I live here now. With him. Because he wanted me here. And there’s no way I’m letting him get away from this conversation. I get up, pull the tangled sheet from the bed, wrap myself up, and walk over to the door. Listening with my ear against the wood, trying to get a better understanding of what he’s doing. Water splashes into the shower, but he’s not in the shower. I can tell by the sound it’s making. “Elias?” I say, knocking on the door. I almost called him Bric. I need to stop thinking of him that way or one of these days it will slip out at the wrong moment and cause a fight. “Can I come in?”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he says. “Go back to bed.” I wait for a few seconds. Trying to decide if I should push him. But I end up where he wants me. Ten minutes later I give up and close my eyes. His brother died. I get that he’s upset. Clearly. But he’s not overly upset. Like… maybe his brother was sick and he saw this coming? Or… Hell, I have no clue. I know nothing about this man. Then why are you living with him? Good question, subconscious. I grab his phone off the table and find Jordan’s contact. Tab it, listen to it ring. Voicemail. I text instead. Where did you go? I understand that Jordan is busy. He’s some important trial lawyer and he’s got a highmaintenance client. Fine. But slipping out of bed? After a great night of sex? Fuck that. He’s not allowed to do that. This was all his idea. I’m here because he wanted me to be in this game. That’s my justification to the internal monologue. The phone dings with an incoming text. Had to get a clean suit before work. Don’t worry, I’ll bring my clothes as soon as I get time. Hmm. “What are you doing?” I jump a little from Bric’s loud voice. I hadn’t

even noticed he opened the bathroom door. “Texting Jordan. Your phone was here and mine is…” I have no idea. “Not here. So I just figured —” “You figured wrong,” he says, crossing the room in a few long strides. He snatches the phone from my hand and reads the texts. “Don’t look at my fucking phone.” “Hey,” I say. “You asked me where Jordan went so I got you an answer. Don’t be a dick to me because something just went wrong in your life.” “My brother is dead, Nadia. That’s more than just something went wrong.” He snarls those words. In fact, this might be the nastiest tone he’s ever taken with me and you know what? I’m fucking done putting up with this shit. His brother just died, Nadia. Be nice. “I’m sorry,” I say, sighing out a long breath of air. “What can I do to help?” “Stay the fuck out of my personal business.” That’s it. I’m pissed. I throw the sheet off me, swing my legs out of bed, and stand up. He doesn’t back away. In fact, he looks down at me with a challenge in his eyes. I point my finger in his face. One long, well-manicured pink nail. Right up to his face. “Don’t talk to me that way.” He huffs out some air and whips the towel from around his waist. “Go back to sleep,” he says, opening one of the closets and disappearing inside.

“You know where I’m going the minute you leave?” I ask. “Enlighten me,” he says, uninterested. And that pisses me off too. I’m nothing to him. Absolutely nothing to him. “Home,” I say. “This is home, Nadia.” “Not anymore it isn’t. Jordan is absent, you treat me like shit”—he peeks his head out of the closet at that remark—“and I’m done. I quit this game. Fuck the both of you. I’m sorry about your brother. Clearly, he meant a lot to you. But I can’t do this anymore.” “You’re staying here,” he says. “Am I?” I laugh. “I’ll be back tomorrow night.” “I’m leaving. I’m packing up my clothes, calling an Uber, and I’m leaving.” “I have a family emergency, Nadia. You can hold that against me if you want, but—” “I’m not holding that against you,” I snap. “I’m holding everything but that against you. I don’t even know you, that’s my problem. And Jordan isn’t playing by the rules.” “There are no rules,” he says, pulling on a pair of dress pants. “There are rules, Bric.” I use that name on purpose and it gets the desired reaction. Because he opens his mouth to correct me, but I beat him to it. “I don’t know Elias,” I say. “So I’m not calling you

that anymore. Elias is the one who goes home for funerals. I only know Bric. And I don’t like Bric very much. I’m quitting because neither of you are taking this seriously. I’m the only one invested in this game. So fuck off.” I storm off… but I need clothes. So I end up in the other closet—my closet—and start pulling things off hangers. He peeks his head in, adjusting his white dress shirt. “Just fucking stay and I’ll be back tomorrow night. I’ll talk to Jordan and—” “No,” I say. “This isn’t my home. It’s just a new house. And it’s not even my new house, it’s your new house. I’m going home. I won’t stay in an empty fucking mansion all alone for the weekend. And yes, I already know I’ll be alone. Because Jordan is too damn busy to pay me any mind at all. The only way I’ll stay here is if…” And then a delicious idea pops into my head. An evil, scrumptious, five-thousand-calorie idea. “If?” Bric asks, buttoning his shirt up now. “I’m listening,” he says, irritated. I smile before I turn around. But then I tuck it away and scowl as I face him. “If you take me with you.” “Where?” he asks. God, he’s dumb. “To the funeral.” “Fuck you.” “Fuck you too,” I say, crossing my arms over my

bare breasts. “Either you take me home with you and show me something real, Bric”—I snarl his name this time—“and show me who this Elias man is… or…” “Or?” “I’m leaving and I’m never coming back. Game over.” “You’re not in a very good position to bargain,” he huffs. Laughs, actually. “I’m in the perfect position. What we had last night was pretty great. You think so. And so does Jordan. ‘We’ve got something good here,’ remember? Well, I hope you find it again. I really do. Because it’s very clear to me that the two of you need this way more than I do. And I’m the only one invested. You guys come and go as you please. Treat me nice when you want something. Well, fuck that. I don’t need this shit. I’m not even submissive, for fuck’s sake. I quit.” I drag a sweatshirt over my head, pull on a pair of leggings, and then step into a pair of winter boots because they’re the only thing in front of me at the moment. When I turn, he’s blocking the doorway. Like for real. Physically blocking the doorway with his body. His palms flat against the doorjamb like a stop gate. “Just stay,” he says, his tone less irritated. More conciliatory. “I just need to take care of this stuff at

home and I can’t bring you with me because…” I wait, but he just stops. Looks at the floor. “Because?” He looks up and in this moment, he does give me something real. It’s hurt I see in his ink-blue eyes. Pain. Maybe even regret. His brother is dead. I get that. I should not be making this worse for him. But an opportunity is an opportunity. And seeing Elias Bricman in a vulnerable situation can’t come along often. I might never have another chance to get inside that fucked-up mind of his. “Because?” I ask again. “Because I don’t share that life with people in this one.” I shrug. “OK. Your call.” I grab my coat and purse, but when I try to push past him, he doesn’t give in. “If you stay,” he says—calm, voice low, all irritation gone—“I’ll tell you more about me when I get home.” “No,” I say, ready to stomp my foot like a child. “No,” I say again. “I want to go with you. Am I a secret? Is that it? I won’t embarrass you. I won’t say anything inappropriate. I just want to know you… Elias.” I admit, I have to force myself to spit out his real name. But I’m getting to him. He stares down at me with… confusion. Probably grief. And more than a little vulnerability.

“OK,” he whispers behind me. “You can come.” I’m not sure what I’m expecting after he gives in. Instructions, maybe? Don’t embarrass me. Don’t talk about our arrangement. Keep Jordan out of it. Don’t mention the five-million-dollar house I just bought yesterday. Stuff like that. Stuff everyone wants to hide from their family when they’ve been living a life of debauchery a thousand miles from home. But all he does is pack up a garment bag. Filling it with two suits. One blue, one black. “I’ll put your dress in here with my suits,” he says. I have no idea what a funeral is like in the dead of Montana winter, but I’m going to assume it involves a black dress. The only ones I have almost seem inappropriately pretty. So I choose the plainest one, and offer it over to his outstretched hand. We stare at each other for a moment. Eye to eye. I see questions in his. I wonder what he sees in mine? But then he turns away to pack up my dress. “Hurry. It’s going to take a while to get where we need to go. They’re having the service on the ranch but the funeral is in town.” “Ranch?” I say, picturing this in my head as I look out the window. It’s too dark to see anything, but I have an idea of what winter in Montana looks like. Closed roads comes to mind.

“We’re not going to stay at the ranch, don’t worry.” “Then where are we gonna stay?” “Just pack, Nadia.” It could’ve been sharp and dismissive, but it doesn’t come out that way. It comes out… sad. With a long sigh. And a frown. OK. He’s taking me to meet his parents. He’s letting me beyond his walls. And isn’t this what I was after? When they asked what I wanted from this? Wasn’t this my whole plan from the very beginning? I won. So I should win gracefully. “Here,” he adds a few seconds later, opening up a suitcase on the rumpled bed. “We’ll just take one bag. Put your other stuff in here with mine.” I do. And it’s all very intimate. Packing with him, I mean. Our clothes in there, together. Toothbrushes. His shaving kit. My underwear and hairbrush. He closes the case and drops it on the floor. Looks at me. “Ready?” “Do we have a flight?” He shakes his head. “No, but I’m going to take you downstairs and—” He stops to drag a hand through his hair. “Fuck. I forgot. We’re not at the Club.” What does that mean? “I’ll drop you off at the White Room. You can eat while I make arrangements.” The drive over to the Club is not long, but it’s far

too silent to be anything other than uncomfortable. It’s not busy when we get inside. Still far too early on a Saturday morning for that. So after Bric disappears I sit at a large back table in the White Room and stare down at my coffee. “Oh. Hello?” A tall, dark-haired woman I’ve seen around here before is standing at my table when I look up from my steaming cup. “Ah… hello.” She slips into the other side of the booth, folds her hands on top of the white tablecloth, and smiles. “I’m Chella. I don’t think we’ve met before.” “No…” I say hesitantly. “We haven’t. I’m Nadia.” “Are you waiting for Bric?” I nod. “Yes. He’s making arrangements.” She cocks her head at me, like she has a lot of questions about that. “Are you his new player?” Just like that. Are you his new player? “We live together,” I say. “You do?” she asks. “Well.” An uncomfortable laugh squeaks out of her mouth. “I’m… I don’t mean to be rude, but Bric and I are business partners. We own the Tea Room next door. And he hasn’t mentioned you before.” “It’s new,” I say, feeling stupid for admitting I’m part of his sick game.

“Are you living here at the Club?” Jesus. What business is it of hers? “No,” I say, staying calm on the outside. “We bought a house. Yesterday, in fact. In Cherry Creek.” “You bought a house together?” “Can I help you with something? It’s not a good time. His brother died and we’re going home for the funeral.” Her mouth falls open, like I just stunned the words right out of her head. But before she can say anything, Bric walks up. “Chella,” he says in that deep voice he has. “Can I talk to you in private?” She looks at me again. Smiles. It seems genuine. And says, “Nice to meet you, Nadia. I hope you’ll come by the Tea Room when you get back so we can get to know each other better.” “I’ll do that,” I whisper, watching Bric lead her away. Did I win? I wonder. Did I really? Because right now I feel like someone’s mistress who was just caught by his wife. They talk at the front of the restaurant, their eyes shifting to me once or twice. And then Chella kisses Bric on the cheek and disappears into the lobby. Bric’s attention is focused on me as soon as he starts walking back to my table. And before he even gets here, he’s saying, “If I tell you something, Nadia, you don’t repeat it. I didn’t make that clear

before now, so I’m not going to make a big deal about this. But I’m making it crystal clear now. I am a private man. If I wanted her to know my brother was dead or that we’re living together, I’d have told her myself.” “Sorry,” I say. “Don’t let it happen again. If you let anything else slip, I’ll have you signing an NDA agreement so fucking fast—” “Whoa,” I say, putting up a hand. Because I suddenly realize I’m not sorry. “What the hell? She came over to me. Started asking me—” “Don’t,” Bric growls down at me through clenched teeth, finger pointed at my face, “talk about me to anyone. Do you understand?” I have a lot of things to say to that little outburst. Things like, Fuck you. And, Fuck off. And, Go fuck yourself. But I don’t say any of them. I take a deep breath and decide I am winning after all. Because he’s losing his cool. Mr. Big Bad Bric has a weakness. And now I know what it is. His privacy. “I’m sorry, Master,” I say. In the most serious voice I can muster. “I won’t do it again.” I let him have his dick moment. I let him think he’s the one in control here. I let him see me frown, look properly admonished, and when he relaxes and takes that finger out of my face, I even let him

think he’s won. “We have a flight to catch,” he says, snapping up the handle on our shared suitcase. “The car is waiting, so let’s go.”

The journey starts off typical enough. We go to an airfield where a private jet has been chartered. We get in, they offer us drinks. Just like any other plane. But I’ve never been in a private jet before, so the luxury stuns me silent for the entire two-hour journey. Not that I have anything to say because Bric is silent too. He reads the Wall Street Journal and sips coffee like this is just another day in the life of Elias Bricman. He smiles and chats with the attendants. Like his brother didn’t just die. Like we’re not on our way to a funeral. When we land in Great Falls, Montana, he rents a car. Not a car, a giant truck that looks like it really wants to haul a trailer filled with cattle or horses. It’s snowing, the wind is blowing, and it’s painfully obvious that I did not dress properly when I step outside and feel frost form in my nostrils. “Where are we going now?” I ask, the first words I’ve spoken to him since we left the Club. “To a hotel, Nadia.” He says it like it’s meant for me. His Nadia voice. Not his flight attendant voice. “Where?” I ask, standing at the passenger door

of the giant truck, shivering. He opens the door for me, holds my arm as I climb in, and then closes it back up without saying a word. The backseat driver-side door opens next, and he places the suitcase inside. Then he’s in. The frigid air goes still as we huff out steam and the engine turns over, and over, and over before it finally rumbles to life. What the fuck am I doing here? “Where are we going?” He looks at me, annoyed. But I can’t take another rude response, so I interject before it comes out. “I know a hotel. Which hotel? Where are we going? It’s fucking freezing here!” “Well.” He sighs, like I’m not on the verge of a meltdown. “It’s not five stars. And it’s not gonna have room service. But it’s better than the other option.” “Which is?” I ask, as he guides the truck through the lot, opens his window to feed the ticket to the agent at the rental car gate, and makes any heat coming out of the vents obsolete. “Thanks,” Bric says amicably as the agent raises the gate for us. He’s nice to him, but me? No. Apparently, I don’t deserve common courtesy. “It’s a long drive, Nadia,” he finally says, once we’re on the road and heading… somewhere. “The ranch is a little over an hour west of here. But there’s a town nearby we can stay in.”

“Why can’t we just stay with your family?” I ask. “Because I have eleven—” He stops. Swallows hard. Starts again. “I have ten brothers and sisters, Nadia. And every one of them has children. And all but two live on the ranch. So there’s no room, you see. I have no room there. There’s no space for guests. And I’m not fucking sharing a room with seven nephews today.” Oh. “You wanted to come,” he says, slipping me a sidelong glance. “You’re here. Congratulations. You got something out of me no one else has. Not even my best friends. But I’m gonna make you pay for this.” “What?” “Something dear. That’s what you said, right? When we asked you what you wanted as payment.” I don’t actually know what to say to that. “You want my privacy, Nadia? That’s why you drew your line in the sand?” “Obviously.” I laugh, shaking my head a little. “You’ve been stewing about your decision to bring me along this whole time. And you’re sorry I’m here. So forget it. I’ll stay in that hotel and you do your little private thing, Bric. And then when I get back to Denver, I’m done with you. Done. With. You.” “Fuck you,” he mutters under his breath. “I

didn’t bring you all this way just to offer you an easy way out. I’m gonna give you exactly what you think you want. And then when we get home, I’m cutting all ties with you. Jordan can have you if he wants. I’m out.”

Chapter Twenty-Five - Bric

She’s a hell of a player, I’ll give her that. Because she had me going for a little while. She had me thinking this was real. But then the word Master came out of her mouth. Rage filled me up when she said that word. Rage. That she would dare to play me like this after that call came in. Luc is dead. Dead. And while I can still be rational about this, and I know it’s not my fault—that he had his problems and they had nothing to do with me—it’s still my fault. Because three brothers and one sister called me this week asking for my help and I blew them off. “Why?” she says. The truck is loud, the wheels crunching on the snow-packed road as I make my way west. The heater is blaring. So her voice is small and weak. And even though yesterday that would almost be enough for me… today everything is different. I don’t answer her. She’s getting more from me

today than she deserves. I refuse to expose myself further. “Just tell me why you’re so mad, Elias.” Elias. I laugh, it’s such a joke. “I get it, you’re upset about your brother—” “Fuck you,” I say. “Just fuck you.” “What did I do?” she says, almost pleading. And I’m almost convinced. But she’s nothing but a very good player. She gives up after that. She’s stuck here with me. But that’s what she wanted. She took herself out of her element and now she’s in mine. I have all the power up here in the north. She has nothing but me. Almost an hour later, after sitting in relative silence the entire time—Nadia pressing her head against the frozen window, me gripping the steering wheel so tight my hands ache—I pull into the motel parking lot and put the truck in park. “Wait here,” I say, getting out of the truck and slamming the door. Inside the hot air from a heater blasts my face. I look around the tiny lobby, then find the girl behind the counter. “Hey, Elias,” she says, frowning. My niece, Mandy. Abrem’s youngest daughter. “Hey,” I say. “Just got in and I’m really tired. Is the room ready?” “Sure,” she says, craning her neck a little to get a look at Nadia through the window. “Are you coming tonight? You could give me a ride home so

my dad doesn’t have to come pick me up.” “Of course,” I say. “What time do you get off?” “Six. We’re having dinner at eight.” “Should be…” I’m about to say a good time. Pull out all my Uncle Elias charm. Be the uncaring one. The happy one. The distant one. But I can’t do it. “It’s gonna be OK,” I say instead. She’s been crying, I can see. Her eyes are red and her face is pale. She just nods as she fills out the little paper form with my name. I hand her my credit card, she runs it, and then slides a key on a plastic keychain across the counter. “Room nine.” And then she points. “That side of the building.” “I’ll be here at six, OK?” I say, placing my hand on hers. She just nods again, so I give that hand a squeeze and then turn away. “Everyone’s happy you’re home,” she says, just as I open the door and let the cold in. I smile at her over my shoulder and lie. “I’m happy to be home too.” Nadia says nothing as I pull the car in front of room nine. We get out, I grab the suitcase, and then we shuffle through the door and into the room. The heat is on, because it’s not an icebox in here. But I turn it up anyway. The cold kills you up here. “There’s two beds,” Nadia says. “Yup,” I say back. “One for me and one for

you.” It’s an insult she’s not expecting because it makes her recoil. I take out my wallet, throw two twenties down on the small table near the door, then place the truck key on top of them. “There’s fast food places in town. Knock yourself out if you’re hungry.” And then I take off my coat, my suit coat, and flop down on the bed farthest from the door, face first. Praying that she takes me up on my offer and leaves me alone. I have no idea what she does. I sleep. I sleep like a man who needs to forget. And when I wake, it’s my niece’s voice that draws me back to the living. “Uncle Elias?” she says, shaking my shoulder. “Hmmm?” I ask, taking a moment as the memory of where I’m at and why I’m here floods in. “It’s after six. We have to go. Are you still driving me home?” I look up and turn, taking in the room. “Where’s Nadia?” I ask. “She’s in the truck. She said she’ll drive me home if you don’t want to.” Fuck that. Like hell that bitch is gonna go sneak her way into my life. “No,” I say, sitting up. “I’m coming. Give me a few minutes to clean up, OK?” I smile at my niece because she looks worried. She looks… she looks like she doesn’t know me.

She doesn’t. None of them do. “I’ll wait in the truck,” she says, then pulls the door open and closes it, leaving behind a rush of cold air. Winter in Montana. Probably the thing I hate most about this place. And yet… here I am. I wash my face, doing my best not to look at myself in the mirror, then decide my rumpled pants and wrinkled shirt aren’t appropriate and change into my blue suit. The black is for tomorrow. For the funeral. Fucking Luc. The truck smells like food when I get in. My stomach rumbles in a painful way when Mandy offers me a burger wrapped in foil. “It’s still hot,” she says. “We just picked them up before I woke you.” Nadia is in the back seat. So when I look over my shoulder to back the truck up, I ask her, “Did you have fun today with my niece?” “Yes,” Nadia says, smiling at Mandy in the front seat next to me. “She sent me on eight errands.” I raise my eyebrows at Mandy. She just shrugs. “I had a grocery list from Mother. And Lettie needed medicine.” Yeah. This is gonna be a fucking blast. “I hope it’s not too much trouble to feed me tonight,” Nadia says.

Mandy laughs. “We won’t even notice you, Nadia. Until you tell everyone you’re a famous ballerina, that is.” “I’m not famous,” Nadia says, her face lit up with a smile. She seems more at ease with my niece than she’s ever been with me. “But it is kinda cool.” “My sister Becca wants to be a ballerina. She studies at a school in Seattle.” And then the conversation takes off from there and requires no more input from me. By the time I pull down the long driveway to the house—if you can call that monstrosity of logs a house—Nadia and Mandy are practically best friends. Why not? They’re almost the same fucking age. What the fuck am I doing here? Luc is dead, Elias. Right. No one comes outside to greet us when I pull into the snow-covered field we use as a parking lot. Way too fucking cold for something like that. I was just home last summer. I come home every summer for the Labor Day family reunion. But I haven’t been here in the winter in more than ten years. That’s when I stopped coming for Christmas. The last ten winters have been great ones. No yelling, no crying, no sick kids, no fighting parents. There’s no talk of who will wash the million dishes

piled in the three kitchen sinks. There’s no mound of wrapping paper being carefully refolded to use again next year. But there’s been no sleigh rides either. Or chestnuts. Or cookie-baking. Don’t do it, Elias, I tell myself. Don’t let the good memories outweigh the bad. Because it’s a trick. Just like this thing I have with Nadia. It’s a trick. Nadia and Mandy are already out of the truck by the time I gather myself and get out. My dress shoes sink into the snow several inches, soaking my socks. I look at my watch. Dinner in an hour, then maybe some small talk. I can be out of here and back on the road by ten. At the motel at eleven. Sleeping… I want to go home. This place is not my home. I get a sick feeling in my stomach when Mandy opens the door and Nadia files into the house behind her. I almost turn back. But fuck it. I’m here. She’s here. Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it. I’m so fucking tired of keeping this secret. I go inside and close the door. Five faces stare at me. Smiling, if you can believe it. Sylvia. Charity. Megan. Donna. “Nadia,” I say, looking down at her confused face as she takes in my family, “these are my

mothers. And this,” I say, nodding my head to the man between them, “is my father, David Bricman.” She’s silent for a count of five. Five long seconds as it all sinks in. She looks up at me. I shrug. “We’re a plural family,” I say. “And now you know more about me than anyone in the whole fucking world. Because now you know both sides to me. Elias from Great Falls, Montana. And Bric from Denver, Colorado. Did you get what you came for? Hmm?” I ask. “Did you ever think winning would be so… so fucking sweet?” I don’t even hear my moms as they reprimand me for language. I’m thirty-six years old. I can say fuck any time I want. I do not even care that there’s fifteen little kids hanging on my legs at the moment. I just don’t care. I walk towards the liquor cabinet—some of them sitting on my feet, gripping my knees for dear life, letting me take them for a ride—and pour myself a drink. “Cheers,” I say to no one in particular. “It’s time to get drunk.”

I do get drunk. I say nothing else the entire night. My moms all look at me like I’m sad. My brothers all send me disapproving looks, even Felix and Isaac, who have no room to talk because they left

home at eighteen and never came back at all until this very day. Not for Christmas. Not for the reunion. Never. But tonight, the only black sheep in this house is me. Disappointing Elias. Drunk Elias. Dark Elias. I like it. And then I smile, that’s how much I like it, and raise a glass to my fucked-up family. “Thank you,” I whisper to the dim, empty room I’m sitting in. “Thank you for reminding me what I am.”

Nadia drives us back to the hotel. I fell in the snow, twice, as we walked to the truck so she had no choice but to fight me for the keys. I’m surprised she knew how to get back to town, to be honest. But I’m too drunk to give a fuck. She disappears into the bathroom as soon as we get back in the room and I collapse on the messedup bed I was sleeping in earlier. I don’t hear her come back out. I don’t help much when she undresses me. I don’t protest when she climbs into bed next to me. But here she is. Her hand on my waist. Her soft breath on my now bare back. Her voice low when she whispers, “Thank you,” into the darkness. “You don’t want to thank me yet, Nadia,” I say, slurring my words. “Because I’m gonna make you

pay for this.” She’s silent. No response. Until I’m just about passed out. And her words barely drift in as the darkness takes over. “You earned it, Elias.” I did earn it. I earned every bit of what she has coming. And she’s gonna be sorry when I get her home. Because I’m going to break Nadia Wolfe. I’m going to snap her in half. I’m going to drag her secrets out of her and use them to make her think about things she never wanted to face again. I’m going to make her feel something. It’s time for a new game and I’m going to win this one no matter what. And when I’m done… I’m gonna make sure she’s begging for more. I’m gonna fuck her head up. Fuck her life up. And I won’t even feel bad about it. I won’t feel anything, ever again. So no… thank you, Nadia. For letting the man I’ve kept prisoner all these years out to play again.

I’m hungover at the funeral the next day. I wear a pair of sunglasses I bought at the drug store even though we’re inside the funeral home for the

service. We bury our dead on the ranch and there’s no burying anything this time of year. After the service Luc’s body will go to the morgue to wait until spring. I want to be sick. I’m not sure if it’s the thought of Luc being kept in that frozen crypt for the next few months or the fact that I drained two bottles of cheap whiskey last night. But I want to be sick. My phone buzzes in the middle of the ceremony and what feels like a hundred faces turn in their chairs to look at me. Disappointing Elias. I grin and shrug, like the fuck-up I am, and glance at my screen. Margaret. She’s the last fucking person I need to talk to right now. I refuse to make Margaret—dear, sweet, perfect mother-figure Margaret—a part of the life I left behind up here. So I ignore it. I ignore all seven of her calls that come after. I ignore her as Nadia and I board the plane. I ignore her as we get off back in Denver. I ignore her all the way over to Nadia’s apartment. “What are we doing here?” Nadia asks, when I pull up to the curb. I slide my cheap shades down the bridge of my nose. “I’m dropping you off, Nadia. The game is over and you won. Congratulations. I’ve already transferred money into your bank account and Margaret made sure everything you had at the

house was returned to your apartment. Have a nice life,” I say, finishing the speech I’ve been practicing in my head since she called me Master yesterday morning. “And don’t ever call me again.” She stares at me, mouth open. But she shuts up, gets out of my car, and walks away. “That’s right, bitch,” I jeer, saluting her back as she disappears inside. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.” I drive back to the Club, drop my car at the valet, and go inside—so fucking relieved to be home. “Bric?” Margaret says, coming up to me as I make my way into the Black Room for a drink. “I’ve been trying to call you.” “Sorry, Margaret,” I say, so fucking happy to see her face and not the ones I left behind up north. “I got caught up in shit. But I’m back now.” “You have a visitor,” she says. “He’s been calling since yesterday. He came in a few hours ago and I let him wait in the White Room.” “What?” I say, taking off my shades. “Who?” She spreads her hands wide as she shrugs. “He says his name is Logan. He’s a friend of Nadia’s. He says he needs to talk to you and it’s urgent.”

Chapter Twenty-Six - Nadia

“Nadia!” The yell stops me mid-step and makes me stumble. Mostly because the music is so loud, so Chris is yelling over it, and she scared the shit out of me. I skip over to the stereo, press stop, and the small rehearsal room is silent except for my own heavy breathing. “What?” I say, leaning over, hands on knees, trying to catch my breath. “You have a visitor,” Chris says. “It’s Jordan.” My body stiffens as I straighten and look at her. “Tell him I’m busy.” I reach for the music, press play, and get back into my routine. I’m spinning across the room in a long sequence of piqué turns, spotting at the door, when Jordan appears. My head spins, my eyes find him, I spin again, find him, spin—but now he’s crossed the room, directly in my path, blocking my way. “What?” I yell over the music, panting and out of breath. “Can’t you see I’m practicing? Why do you bother me at work?”

He just stares at me, frowning, walks over to the stereo and shuts off the music. “Well?” I ask again, quieter this time. “What do you need, Jordan? I’m busy.” “What happened?” he asks. His voice is low, but not stern. And his frown, I now realize, is… sympathetic. “With what?” I ask. “You know with what, Nadia. Bric. The house. Everything. I went there last night and it was dark and empty. What the hell happened?” I walk over to my water bottle, tip it over my mouth, and gulp. I look at him, all dressed up in that suit, and wonder what his angle is in all this. “It’s Wednesday,” I say. It’s an accusation and he knows it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was busy with—” “I know,” I snap at him. “Your case. So busy with your case it took you three days to realize that the game was over. Just what the fuck, Jordan?” He walks over to the studio door, looks out in the hallway to see if anyone is eavesdropping, then closes it to give us privacy. “I heard about Bric’s brother.” “Good for you. But I’m not sure what that has to do with me.” “He took you… home with him?” Jordan asks. “For a fucking funeral?” “Yes,” I shrug.

“Why? How did that happen, Nadia?” “What do you mean? He got the call, I wanted to be supportive—” “Wait,” Jordan says, putting up a hand. “Supportive, Nadia. You don’t even know the guy. It’s a personal family moment. Why the fuck did he take you home with him?” “Is this my fault?” I ask, thoroughly pissed off at this point. “Is that what you’re insinuating?” “If the game is over, it’s over,” Jordan replies. “It’s no one’s fault. But I need to understand just how the fuck you got Bric to take you up to Montana.” “Why?” I ask. “What difference does it make?” “Because, Nadia, no one goes up to Montana to see Bric’s family. Chella has never met Bric’s family. Rochelle has never met Bric’s family. Shit, not even Smith or Quin have met Bric’s family.” “Well”—I laugh—“I know why. Would you like to know why no one has ever met Bric’s family, Jordan?” “No,” he says. And this time his voice isn’t sympathetic or low. It’s harsh, and mean, and loud. “I don’t. Because I know Bric well enough to understand whatever’s going on up there is private. And you shouldn’t have gone. He shouldn’t have taken you. So I want to know”—he’s crossed the room and is standing right in front of me now, his hands on my shoulders like he’s about to give me a

good shake—“how the fuck you got him to take you up there.” “First of all,” I say, backing off his grip on my shoulders and slapping at his arms, “no one makes Elias Bricman do anything. Let’s just get that out of the way right now. Second, I told you. I was only trying to be supportive. The call came in. You had already disappeared—no surprise there—and he was upset when he told me his brother had died and he needed to go to the funeral.” “That’s not what happened,” Jordan growls. “And you know it. So either you tell me the truth or —” “Or you’ll what?” I snap. “I quit, Jordan. Do you understand? I’m done with both you freaks.” He laughs at that. But I don’t care. “I don’t want to see you anymore. Do not call me here or at home. Do not come by. Let’s just forget we ever met. Now if you’ll excuse me—” I push past him and I’m reaching for the play button on the stereo when he grabs my wrist. “Let go,” I say. My teeth are clenched and my tone is serious. “Just—” He lets go. Sighs with frustration. “Just listen to me for a moment, OK? Just stop being such a bitch and listen to me.” “I’m the bitch?” I laugh, that’s how funny that is. “You are,” he says. “You’re so fucking selfabsorbed. You’re so fucking sure you’re winning

—” “I did win. This is a fact. Bric told me himself. Paid me fifty thousand dollars, in fact. Even congratulated me.” “You lost, sweetie.” “Don’t patronize me, Jordan. You’re the one who fucked up the game. You’re the one who bowed out early. It was you who threw everything off balance.” “Fine,” he says, spreading his arms wide. “Fine, I fucked up your game. But did it ever occur to you, Nadia, that I was playing another game? Hmm?” I squint my eyes at him. “That’s right,” he says. “I had another reason for what I was doing. I have a big case, sure. And that guy needs my help. But do you really think I’d let a client come between me and my personal life, Nadia? Do you not know me at all?” “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “No,” he says, dropping the anger from his voice. “You don’t. Because I never told you. Or Bric,” he quickly adds. “He didn’t know either.” “What the hell?” I say. “You’re using us? Why? For what end?” “If you stop being so self-righteous for a second, I’ll tell you. Are you gonna be calm and listen? Because if you’re just hell-bent on walking out, then forget it. The game really is over and you

don’t need to know.” This is when I realize… he needs me. He needs my help in something. And that something has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Elias Bricman. “OK,” I say, letting out a long sigh. “Fine.” “Fine as in you’re gonna listen?” he asks. “Or fine as in you’re gonna help me?” “Help you,” I say. “If I can.” “You can, Nadia.” And now he unleashes that grin on me. The same grin that got me all hot and bothered the very first time I met him. “You’re perfect. You’re exactly what I need. It’s the whole reason I brought you here.” “Brought me here?” I’m confused. “Of course,” he says, placing a hand on my cheek. “You’re a good dancer, Nadia. Great, actually. You were gonna go far no matter what. But yes, I got you this job. I got you that apartment. I got you involved in my game. And then I got you involved in Bric’s game.” “Why?” I ask. “Just what the—” “Shhh,” he says, placing two fingertips over my lips. “You said you were gonna listen, remember?” I blink at him, my mind a whirlwind of what-thefucks. “I’m listening.” So he tells me. He tells me everything. He gathers up my things, walks me out of the studio, still talking, takes me to dinner at a little Chinese

place down the street, and explains. And when he gets to the end of his story, he says, “Now tell me how the fuck you got Bric to take you home with him.” So I do. And it’s his turn to listen and put everything in place. Finally, after what seems like hours of talking, he says, “OK, this is what we need to do.” And he explains his new plan for Bric. “Are you still out? Or can I count on you to help me?” It’s… clever. I have to give him that. Slightly diabolical. Definitely on the edge of evil. But it’s also brilliant all the way around. So I say, “I’m in. You can count on me.” Because Elias Bricman deserves this. He really does. It’s his turn to understand that the game he’s been playing all these years reaps nothing but destruction.

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Bric

“Abrem,” I say into the phone. “Call me back, asshole. I’m trying to apologize, OK? I’m sorry. I fucked up. Just…” Fuck it. I end the call and slide my phone across my desk. I’ve been trying to call him all week. He won’t pick up. I even tried blocking my number before I call, but I guess he’s not as stupid as I make him out to be. He never picks those up either. I’ve also tried calling Benjamin, Jason, Candace, and Gaius. None of them picked up. I know Hannah won’t take my call. I vaguely remember her spitting insults at me after the funeral. And I’m not that close with Felix, Delilah, and Keren so I don’t even bother with them… yet. I might have to resort to Delilah if Abrem or Benjamin don’t call me back soon. I feel like shit. And not because I’ve been drinking since I got home from Montana. I feel like shit for taking Nadia up there. Bringing my problems up there. Using her, and them, and Luc’s

death. Especially Luc’s death. I’m such an asshole. They are never going to forgive me. Ever. I can still see the hurt look on Sylvia’s face. Charity’s disapproving frown. Either of them could be my real mother, which is why it bothers me. I know neither Megan nor Donna is my mother. They came after I was born. It was a rule all growing up that we had to call them all Mother. We were David Bricman’s children, they were all David Bricman’s wives— though not legally, of course. But in that house, they were equals. And they were all Mother. I am, and have always been, their biggest disappointment. Not even Gaius or Felix can come close to the disappointment I’ve caused. When I told Chella they didn’t know what I do, I probably lied. Or… pretended, maybe. Either way, they have to know what I do. What I am. “Knock, knock.” I look up at the open door of my office and, speak of the devil, find Chella leaning against the wall. “Can I come in?” she asks. “Of course,” I say, waving a hand at one of the two chairs in front of my desk. “What’s on your mind?” Chella takes a seat, crosses those long legs of hers, and smiles at me. “I’d like to invite you to

dinner.” “Yeah?” I say, smiling for the first time today. “When?” Chella holds up a hand. “But there’s conditions.” I scowl at her. “What kind of conditions?” “You have to bring a date.” “What?” “Specifically, Nadia Wolfe. She’s the new player, right?” “How the fuck do you know about Nadia?” “I met her, remember? At the Club last weekend? And she came into the Tea Room this afternoon.” “What?” Jesus Christ, this is all I need. “Looking for me and Rochelle.” “What the fuck?” I say, more to myself than Chella. “I guess you guys had a fight?” Chella says. “And she came looking for insight. You know, to try to patch things up between the two of you.” “No,” I say, standing up. I’m ready to go over to Nadia’s work and tear her up for this. “I’m sorry about that, Chella. I really am. Our game is over and I’m done. She should know better than to come back after the game ends. I guess I just need to make things crystal clear.” “Bric,” Chella says, still calm in her chair. “Sit back down. I’m not finished yet.” I sit. Because it’s Chella. I miss her. And

Rochelle. And Smith and Quin, of course. But especially Adley. God, I miss that little pumpkin. I’m trying not to think about it too much. And this fight with Nadia and Luc’s death have pretty much taken over my world right now, so it’s been easier to put it behind me. But holy fuck, I miss that little pumpkin. I don’t want to think about those little chubby cheeks and those fat little hands. I can’t even picture her gummy smile without that empty hole in my chest aching. I wonder if she got a tooth yet? Please, no. I will die if I miss the sprouting of her first tooth. “It’s next weekend. Rochelle and Quin are having a little get-together at their house and we want you to come. It will be fun, Bric. I promise. We miss you. You need to come.” “But Nadia, Chella. I don’t want to bring her. I really don’t. I’m done with it. I just want to put everything about her behind me.” “I like her,” Chella says. “She’s interesting. A ballerina, right? Remember when you gave me that sculpture after we first met? I took her to see it at my house. Told her that you paid for the whole installation outside the Mountain Ballet Theatre. She was impressed. And she wants a chance to make it up to you.” “She said that?” I ask, picturing her and Chella talking about me on Chella’s patio as they look at

that sculpture. It pisses me off. I told her not to fucking talk about me. But then I soften, thinking about Chella. Things were good back then. Even though Rochelle hadn’t come home yet and I didn’t even know about Adley. Things were good. I still had Smith and Quin was still talking to me. Chella and I were just beginning to think about the Tea Room last winter. It was good back then and it can be good again. Chella nods. “She did. She said that. She said she did something hurtful to you and she needs a second chance to set things right. Even if you don’t end up together, she said she needs an opportunity to make it right.” “Those were her words?” I ask, an evil idea springing to mind. “Her exact words,” Chella confirms. “Let me think about it,” I say, because I need a little time to get this plan with Nadia in place. One more mind fuck to set things right. With any luck, Nadia will be a bad mistake in the past by the time next weekend rolls around. “OK,” Chella says, standing up. “But I’m going to tell Rochelle that you’re coming. Adley is about to get a tooth. You don’t want to miss seeing that, right?” I frown. “No,” I say. “I don’t.” “Then it’s settled. You’re coming.” Chella is happy when I meet her at the door. She places both

her hands on my cheeks and says, “I miss you, ya know. We all miss you. And I know it’s been rough for you, Bric. But we love you. You need to come back to us.” She kisses me on the cheek and turns away before I can say anything to ruin her proclamation.

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Nadia

I just stare at my phone for a few seconds, barely able to breathe. But then I snap out of it and tab accept. “Hello?” “Stay out of my life, Nadia.” Not really what I was expecting from him. But it’s a call, so there’s that. “I’m sorry,” I say. Short and sweet. Just like Jordan coached me the other day. He knows Bric far better than I do, so I took notes and I’m sticking to them. “Accepted. Now, can I count on you to leave me alone? No more showing up at the Tea Room asking about my friends. No more—” “Bric,” I say, cutting him off. “Please. Can I meet you for dinner or something? I just want to talk to you. That’s all. I need a few moments of your time and then I promise, I’ll go away.” “Dinner and a short talk are two completely different things.” “A snack?” I say, trying to laugh. I don’t feel like laughing, but this whole thing is nerve-racking.

Jordan’s plan is so… out there. “I’m in the studio right now. There are three dozen other dancers in here with me. Not my first choice of place to have a conversation. I’ll be happy with coffee. Or a burrito from the food truck outside the ballet. Something. Anything.” He sighs. “When?” “Tonight?” I ask. “After I get off work? I have to stay late tonight for an extra rehearsal. So I don’t get off until six. The dinner truck is fine, OK? Just… I need a few minutes of face-to-face with you. I’m sorry, I really am. I want you to know that.” “If that’s all you have to say then—” “It’s not,” I say, before he can finish. “I have more than just that. But it’s the kind of thing…” I turn away from the other dancers in the studio so they can’t hear me. “It’s got to do with the game.” “The game is over, Nadia. I made that pretty clear last weekend.” “I know,” I say. “It’s over. But I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.” “Five minutes,” he says. “Outside the ballet at six.” “Good—” But I get hang-up beeps because he just ended the call. Dick. “Everything OK?” Michael asks. Like me, he’s just here to watch the principals dance their parts

so we know what’s going on. “Fine,” I say, plastering on my forced smile and then turning away to watch the stars of the show. “It will be, anyway.” “Go get ’em, girl,” Michael says, pushing me on the shoulder. “Those two men you have are hot as fuck.” Yes, I think in my head. They are definitely good-looking men. But their minds… ugly, ugly places, those minds.

I get out late. Which figures. This is the ballet, after all. You’re not supposed to have a life outside dance. I sit all day watching everyone else go through their parts and then finally, at quarter after five, they want me to go through my steps with Romeo. When we’re dismissed, I take off my shoes, stuff my feet into some flats, and grab my pack and coat. It’s dark outside and I’m sure that Bric has gotten impatient and left. But then I see him standing over by the dinner truck, watching me as I hurry across the street in a rush. “Sorry,” I say. “I got—” “Save the excuses, Nadia,” he says, his tone sharp and dismissive. “Just get to the point.”

There’s other dancers hanging around, so I give them a nervous look, indicating that we need privacy. “My car is over there,” he sighs. “If you’d prefer to talk there.” “Perfect,” I say. And it is. For my plan to work I need to be in that car, right? With him, alone, on my way to… wherever he chooses. We walk over and I let him open the passenger door for me. At least he hasn’t forgotten his manners. When he dropped me off last weekend he didn’t bother with manners. So progress? Maybe? When we’re settled inside he says, “Should I take you home? Or do you have plans tonight?” I laugh as I pan my hand down at my sweaty dance clothes. I’m wearing sweats, sneakers, and a too-large hoodie over my tank top. “Home,” I say. “I’m obviously not going out anywhere looking like this.” He starts the car, but says nothing. Just eases his way out onto the street. I only live a few blocks away, so I get right to the point. “I know I already said I was sorry, Elias.” “Shit,” he says, turning the corner onto my street. “Let’s just stick with Bric.” I let out a sigh. “Fine. Bric. It was unfair for me to play games with you that day. OK? I need you to understand that I’m sorry for that. It was the Master, right? When I said that?” Such a huge mistake. Because that really was what set him off, I

know it. I went over the entire weekend with Jordan and he figured it out immediately. “My brother was dead, Nadia. You fucked up.” “I know,” I say, desperate to get more words in before he pulls up to my building. “I’m sorry. It was unfair and I didn’t mean it.” “Then why did you say it?” Bric asks. “We had a great night—” “I know,” I interject. “We did. I was… you didn’t deserve that, OK? That’s what I’m trying to say.” And there’s my building. One block away. But thankfully, we’re stuck at a red light. “I thought we had turned a corner,” he says. “I thought you were settling in. But obviously I was wrong. You’re not submissive. You’re never going to be submissive. And that’s why I decided the game needed to end. We’re wasting each other’s time, Nadia. It’s stupid. And counterproductive. I thought you were interested in me but—” “I am,” I say. “I really am.” “Well, it’s not going to work,” he says. The light has turned green and we’re two seconds away from my building. “I can change,” I say. “No, listen,” I say, grabbing onto his arm as he pulls into the valet area to drop me off. “I want to change. I like you, Bric. I do. I want to make this work. I want a second chance. I want—” “You want to manipulate me, Nadia. And I’m

just not into it.” “I can stop doing that, you know.” I straighten in my seat, then spy the valet coming to open my door. So I put up a finger, telling him to wait, and he backs off, but waits to let me out. Why does the valet have to be so attentive here? “I want a woman who likes what I have to offer, Nadia. You’re obviously not that woman.” “I am her, Bric. I am. It’s just different, OK? It’s taken me some time to figure it out, but I want to try again. I can please you, Elias.” He shoots me a sneer, but I don’t take it back. “I took advantage of the situation up in Montana. I took advantage of your… sadness. But I didn’t do it to hurt you.” “No, you did it to win. I’m not taking any of this personally, understand? It’s just a game. And now it’s over. I paid you, I—” “I want another chance. Just… give me another chance and I’ll show you. I am the woman you want. I am the woman you need. I’m in love…” But I can’t say it. I can’t. Jordan told me to say it, but I’m not going to. Because I don’t love him. Not yet. Maybe I can, if we get this second chance. But I don’t now and so I won’t use that to manipulate him into participating. He would never forgive me for that if he finds out what’s really going on. And he will find out. It’s only a matter of time.

“You’re in love… what?” he says, laughing. “In love with me? Were you seriously going to say you’re in love with me?” I shake my head, lying. Because that was what Jordan told me to say. “I was going to say… I’m in love with the idea of submitting to you.” “Are you?” His laugh is a full-blown guffaw this time. And then his face goes slack and serious. “Prove it.” “Come upstairs,” I say. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you.” I catch a grin at that invitation. It reminds me of Jordan. It reminds me of… me. It reminds me of the diabolical plan and for a moment I wonder who is playing who right now. But then the grin slides into a frown. “What will be accomplished if I give you another chance to submit? Because from my end, Nadia, this is just gonna prolong the inevitable. We’re not compatible. We never were and we never will be.” “And that’s all my fault,” I say, desperate to get him to change his mind. “I realize that now. If I had just given in and taken what you and Jordan were offering then we’d be… we’d be good, ya know? We’d still be playing. We’d be living together in that house you bought. We’d have something… real.” All lies, of course. I can’t believe I’m doing this for Jordan. I really can’t. Because I do like Bric.

Elias. Both sides to him. I realize that now. Maybe this actual moment is when the realization hits. “I don’t want your money,” I say. “I’m going to get a cashier’s check tomorrow and give it all back. I’m not here for the money, or the game, or Jordan,” I add. Because that part’s true too. “I’m here for you. I want you, Bric. So please, just come upstairs and let me show you we can be good together. Give me a chance to please you.” “And then you’ll leave me alone?” he says. I sigh. Because… “I hope you won’t want me to leave you alone.” “I will,” he says. “So if I come upstairs and give you what you’re asking for right now… you should know that going in. I’m out. Leave me alone after tonight. Leave my friends alone. Just go away, Nadia.” It stings. I’m not gonna lie. Because I don’t want to just go away. Not after everything Jordan told me. So I suck in a deep breath of air… and agree. “I promise,” I say. “If you come upstairs with me right now, and if you want me to disappear when you leave, I will. I won’t bother you ever again.” He opens his door without saying anything. I watch him as he walks around the front of the car, opens my door and says, “Last chance to submit, Nadia Wolfe. Do as you’re told tonight or just go upstairs alone.” “I will,” I say, accepting his hand as he helps me

out of the car. “I promise. I will.” Bric tosses his keys to the valet and puts his arm around my waist as he leans into my neck to whisper, “I’m going to give you what you want, Nadia. But you’re going to regret it.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Bric

Inside her apartment I dominate. No waiting for an invitation. No allowances for awkward moments. No second-guessing or looking back. It’s one hundred percent on. “Take off your clothes, put on your pointe shoes, and wait for me in the studio.” Nadia stares at me. I wait for her comment or objection. I wait for her mistake that will end all of this before it even starts. I won’t put up with it this time. Not one bit. She turns on her heel, takes off her coat as she walks away, throws it on the floor, and then whips her sweatshirt over her head before she disappears into her studio. I allow myself one small smile as I take out my phone and compose the text. It takes me a few minutes to get the wording just right. All the instructions. And I have to look at my watch for proper timing. Everything must go off without a hitch for this to work.

Nadia Wolfe will learn a hard lesson about control tonight. Very hard lesson. The text response comes back. I read it and slip my phone into my suit coat pocket. Game on. When I walk into the studio she’s on the floor tying the pink satin ribbons around her left ankle. The other shoe is already on and tied, so she wasted no time obeying. It’s a good start. For me, at least. Nothing about this will be good for her. She’s got her legs folded, but open. The way a dancer has them when they’re putting on shoes. Her pussy is pink and wet, her nipples hard and peaked as her arm brushes against them while she checks her shoes. “Get in position at the wall, Nadia.” I don’t give her any more clarification than that, but she knows what I mean. She walks over to the brick wall, places her hands flat against it as she spreads her legs into second position, and then she rises onto her toes. “Closer,” I say. “I want your face pressed up against that wall, Nadia.” She deflates a little. One small breath rushes out of her chest. But she inches her toes forward until her nose is touching the brick. “Why did you want to go to Montana with me?” She’s in profile, so I can’t see her face clearly. But I see her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Nadia. Answer me.” “To… to be a good friend.” “No,” I say. “That’s not why.” She deflates a little more. Lets out another breath. “To play a game with you.” “Correct. Tell me what your plan was.” “Bric—” “Tell me,” I say, cutting her off and speaking harshly, “what your plan was.” “You were right.” “About?” “I wanted something dear to you and the only thing I could think of was your privacy.” “So you wanted to get my secrets.” “Were they secrets?” she asks, looking over her shoulder just a little to find me off to her right. I huff air. “I was raised by a polygamist, Nadia. What do you think?” She shrugs. “It looked… functional to me.” “Functional?” I ask her. “That chaos looked functional to you?” “I don’t know, Bric,” she sighs, giving up. “If you say it wasn’t, then fine. It wasn’t. But it didn’t look…” I wait, but she stops. “Didn’t what?” I snap. “Aside from the understandable sadness, it was…” She shrugs again, struggling to put what she saw into words. What did she see? I hardly know, I was so drunk. “Just a big family from what I could

tell. I liked them.” She looks at me again, then quickly back at the wall. Her legs are beginning to tremble from the effort of staying en pointe. “Your niece was funny.” Nadia smiles, like she’s remembering some conversation I have no knowledge of. “And your sister Keren. She’s young. My age. I wasn’t expecting that. She invited me to—” “Shut up.” I can’t take it anymore. She knows the faces that go with those names. It fucking kills me that I let that happen. She gulps air, but she shuts up. One foot comes up off the floor. She bends her knee, like she’s getting a cramp and needs to stretch. “I’m very tired tonight,” she says, by way of explanation. “I just got out of rehearsal. My legs—” “So tell me to leave.” “Bric,” she says, turning her head all the way to the side so she can see me. “I’m just sorry, OK?” “Why are you sorry?” “Because I like you. And I think you like me.” “You’re wrong. I want nothing to do with you.” “Then why are you here?” “Because you asked me to come here. If you want me to leave, tell me to leave.” “I want a normal conversation—” “I don’t do that, Nadia. I do this. So if you like me, we do this.” She exhales loudly. Annoyed. “Whatever. If this

is what you need to get over the fact that I won your stupid game, fine. Consider it a gift.” “There she is,” I say. “What?” she snaps. Very irritated with me now. “The dom, Nadia. The top. The one who wants control. That’s what you want, right? When you agreed to play the game, you were playing your own game, weren’t you?” “So were you.” “I was playing our game. I was playing by gentleman’s rules.” She snorts out a laugh. Lifts her other foot up, stretches her leg, places her foot back down. She’s tiring quick tonight. She won’t last much longer. “Are you going to fuck me? Or not?” I actually laugh. “Not.” “OK,” she says, coming down off pointe. She turns, leans against the wall, and crosses her arms. “Then we’re done, I guess. You can leave now. But when you look back, Bric, when you’re old and alone and you’re thinking about all those girls you used up and threw away… don’t blame me. And don’t call me, either. This is your one chance to be real. When you walk out, that chance with me is over.” I think about that little speech for a few seconds. Which gives her courage, because she continues. “Everyone knows you’re broken, Bric. You have no friends left because you’re so goddamned

broken.” “I guess you know them all, right?” I laugh. “Chella told me.” My heart actually skips a beat. “She told me everything, Bric. About you. About Smith. About Quin, and Rochelle. And… Adley.” Anger is boiling up in my blood. “And Jordan doesn’t count as a friend. Not really. He’s just another anonymous player in your game. He told me that, you know. He told me last night that you need help. He thought maybe I was the one who could help you, but I guess he was wrong. You don’t want help. And everyone knows you can’t help people who don’t want it.” “Is that your professional opinion, Nadia? Do you fancy yourself a psychiatrist?” “Oh, I know all about that too. Thanks to Rochelle. She told me all about your failed attempt at medical school. How you like to mind-fuck people. That’s what you were doing on New Year’s Eve, remember? Just for the record, you freaked Jordan out that night. That’s why he hasn’t been around. He left the game because of you, Bric.” I control my temper and check my watch. “Time to go, is it?” Nadia says. I walk over to her. “Do you really,” I say, grabbing her hair and pulling it so hard her head falls back, making her look me in the eyes, “want

to play this game with me, Nadia? Because I will win.” “You didn’t win last time,” she says. “Or the time before that. Or the time before that. In fact, I think you’ve been losing this game for a long, long time. I’m practically guaranteed a win. So let’s do it. Who’s the top here, Bric? Me? Or you?”

Chapter Thirty - Nadia

Rage. That’s the look I see on his face. Pure rage. How dare I? How dare I challenge him? Well, fuck this. “You know,” I say in his ensuing silence, “you’re just another man who likes to pretend he’s in control. But you’re not.” “And you are?” he says. His voice is low. Throaty. Almost a growl. “Nope,” I say. My voice is light. Teasing. Almost a purr. “I’m just a girl who knows what she wants. And I’m going after it.” “What’s that, Nadia?” He’s still got a hold of my hair. He’s still staring me in the eyes. Still pretending he’s in charge. “What do you want?” “Right now?” I shrug. “You.” He lets go of my hair and throws his head back in a laugh. “Is that right? Are you in love with me, Nadia?” I shake my head slowly. “No. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I like you enough to care. I like Jordan enough to care too.”

He squints at me, brows furrowed in confusion. But he doesn’t know the right question to ask to get the answer he needs about that statement. “Are we going to play or not?” I ask. “Because I’m tired.” “Maybe you need a day to rest?” he asks. “To play your best game.” “I’m good,” I say. “If you think you’re up to it.” “Get back in position.” I turn to the wall, go into second, and up en pointe. I’m not at my best. I’m very tired. My muscles are quaking seconds into round two. But… Jordan promised me something if I did what he asked. And I’m interested in that promise. I think it has potential. Besides, Bric really is at a disadvantage here. I know so much more about him than he knows about me. I have all his weaknesses piled up at my feet. If he wants to fuck with my head… Well, he’s gonna get fucked right back. That’s the only way to earn his respect. “Do you have headphones?” Bric asks. Headphones? What the fuck? “Yes,” I say. Hesitantly. “In the living room. Under the TV.” “Stay in position,” he says, walking out of the studio. I look over my shoulder. Listening as he shuffles around in the other room. When he returns he’s holding the headphones that came with the

apartment. They’re good ones. The kind that cancel out noise and everything. And he’s pulling his tie from his shirt collar. It’s a red tie, I notice. My heart beats a little fast because I know what he’s gonna do next. “Hold still,” he says, covering my eyes with the makeshift blindfold and securing it tightly at the back of my head. “I’m gonna put the headphones on.” He does. And it’s silent. But there’s no music or anything. The cord just hangs limply at my side. And then it doesn’t. Because he’s taking my hands off the wall and tying them together with it. My legs are shaking at this point. My toes are burning. I lose my balance and have to lean on him. His body is warm and hard. But he’s cold tonight. And for the first time I wonder if I’m making a mistake. He pulls one headphone away from my ear and says, “I’ll be nice and let you lean on the wall, Nadia. Because that’s the kind of guy I am. But you will submit. I know how much you can take. I’m in control of you. So you need to trust me and obey. If you come off pointe the game is over and I win.” He’s such a dick. He’s so not worth it. But then I hear Jordan’s words in my head. All the things he told me last night. And I force myself to do as I’m told. Everyone has a breaking point. Everyone. Even Elias Bricman has a breaking

point. And tonight, I’ll get him past that point. I will break him. “Do you understand?” he asks, whispering the words in my ear. “Yes,” I say. “You’re in control. I must submit.” I want to add something snide at the end of that answer, but I hold it in. He’ll walk out. I know he will. He’s not in the mood. And I’ve already come this far. I’m practically there. So I hold it in. “Good girl,” he says. “The purpose of submission is to enjoy it, Nadia. So just… let it all go and enjoy it. OK?” “What do you want me to do?” “I. Just. Told you.” Angry Bric is back. I sigh, because he did. I just didn’t hear him. “OK. Just enjoy it. I can do that.” “Good,” he says, letting the headphone cover my ear again. This time he flips a switch on the side. It’s not silence I hear when he does that. It’s that weird non-noise of canceling. Almost a thrum, but not. A vacuum sucking the sound from my head. I don’t like it. But then his hands are on my body. They are warm, even though he’s so cold tonight. He slides them up and down my legs. Gripping my burning calves. I’m going to be so sore tomorrow. But his touch… it’s almost worth it. Because it feels so good. He’s gentle, but rough. Hot and cold. Every dichotomy at once.

I lean my head against the brick wall, the ragged stone pushing into the skin of my forehead until it’s uncomfortable. But then he’s got his mouth pressed into my neck. Kissing me. Pulling my hair aside to reach places that never get reached. I think he’s talking to me. I can feel vibrations. But the headphones do their thing, so I hear nothing. I tell myself his words are consoling. My body is trembling now. All over. My legs burn and my toes… God, my poor toes. So I tell myself those words are soft. And nice. Something he’s usually… not. A hand slides over the curve of my ass and fingertips slip right between my legs. For a few moments, I forget the pain. I forget everything but the feel of his words and his fingers. But my shoulders are aching. He’s got them pulled tight around my back. Is it too tight? Is he hurting me and I don’t know it? My heartbeat kicks up a notch. I begin to pant, unable to control my breathing. But the vibrations on my neck are back. His imaginary soft words soothe me back down as I realize he’s got his cock out. He’s pressing it against my hip and he’s hard. And then he’s gone. I panic for a moment when the heat of his body disappears. I’m out of control. My breathing, the pain in my legs, my heartbeat. Everything is out of

control. “Bric?” I say. But I only hear the voice in my head and nothing else. “Bric?” I am thinking about all the things he might be doing. I am conjuring up scenarios. He left me. He walked out. I will stand here for hours, only to realize he’s been gone the whole time. I panic and start hyperventilating. Short, staccato breaths take over my body. My legs are shaking so bad I want to— His touch again. He’s back. His hands are colder than before, but he’s back. I relax and let him have his way with me. His hard cock probing between my legs as his hands grip my shoulders. I lean back into his chest as he makes the skin on my neck vibrate again. God, I wish I could take these fucking headphones off. He enters me, but at the same time his hand slides around my hip and begins to probe my clit. It feels so good I almost forget how much pain I’m in. His other hand grips my breast. Squeezes it hard, like he knows he needs to remind me what’s actually happening here. I’m submitting. Moans escape my mouth as he begins to fuck me. Soft and slow at first. But then harder. His fingers still playing with my clit. His stomach hits my bound hands each time he moves forward. I want to be free. I want to touch him back. I want to

make him feel good too. But I can’t. I’m submitting. And it feels so fucking good. My legs begin to shake badly. I cannot stay up en pointe much longer. But if I fall out of it, he will stop. He will end this game and he will win and I will never forgive myself for not just putting in a little more effort to please him. He’s everything I want right now. He’s everything I need. So I refuse. I lock my knees, and stiffen. He stops. Pulls out. And for a moment I think he’s disappointed. My body language is all wrong. I have failed to submit properly and he’s going to walk out. Instead he unties my wrists. My shoulders burn when they are released, and fall, limp, at my sides. He places both hands on my shoulders and turns me, still en pointe, so my toes do a little painful dance as I spin, and pushes me back against the brick wall. I see nothing but the crimson red of his tie, tightly wrapped around my eyes. Then he reaches under my knees and lifts me up, pressing his body against mine, then pressing my back into the sharp brick wall until it’s painful. His cock slips back inside me. I moan for so many reasons. My legs, freed from agony. My toes— surely blistered by this point—screaming with relief.

I grab him. I hold him. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his hair and make him fuck me. He goes slow. And he’s soft. Even though I know he’s neither of those things. When I submit, he is, I realize. He’s soft just for me in this moment. And maybe I could love this man. Maybe I could. By the time my orgasm begins to build, I’m crying. I don’t even know why I’m crying, I just am. Tears flood my eyes. Fall down my cheeks. But it feels so good to be sad. I’m so confused. Until I realize this is what submission is. Relief. Freedom from decisions. Trusting him to do it right. To know. And I am convinced in this moment that no one on Earth knows me as well as Elias Bricman. I come, shaking and sobbing. And I don’t even know if he comes too, because I hear nothing but the vacuum of cancelled noise in my head. But he slows. And I can feel his chest through his shirt. In and out. Hard, short breaths just like mine. He sets me down and I don’t even pretend like I can remain en pointe. “I did my best. I swear,” I say, the words echoing in my ears. “I can’t give you any more.” He places his fingertips on my lips. Shushing me.

And then he walks away again. I don’t panic this time. Just lean against the wall, the sharp brick poking into my back. And I wait. He comes back. I knew he would. And drapes something around my shoulders. My robe, I realize. From the bathroom. I slip my arms into it, and never has terrycloth felt so luxurious. He ties the belt tight around my waist and leaves, one more time. I wait. And wait. And then I feel the vibrations of footsteps on the hardwood floor as he approaches. He pulls one of the headphones away from my ear and says, “Nadia?” But it’s not Bric’s voice. I grab for the tie that’s making me see red, and tug it down my face. “Logan?” I say, bewildered. “What the fuck—” But that’s when I see Bric. Leaning against the doorjamb. Holding out a piece of paper. “Look familiar?” he asks, shaking the paper. “Your boy here called me the other day. Said he needed to see you.” “What the—” “Nadia?” Logan says. “I’m sorry.” I look at Logan as I try to process what just happened. His shirt is untucked from his pants. His belt unbuckled. His hair rumpled. And then I look at Bric. He looks like a million

dollars. His suit is not rumpled. His hair is not mussed. He was not the one who just fucked me.

Chapter Thirty-One - Bric

“You dick,” she screams. “You motherfucking dick!” She flies across the room at me, her toe shoes clumping on the hard wood. Her fist hits me hard in the jaw. And I will admit, it fucking hurts. But I only let her get one punch in. I grab her wrists and say, “Calm the fuck down.” “Calm the—fuck you! Fuck you!” she screams as she fights my grip on her wrists. Flailing and out of control. “Nadia!” Logan says. “I didn’t. It’s not what you think. I don’t know what the fuck you two are doing, but I didn’t do anything!” Nadia looks at me. Confused. I almost laugh. But I figure that would not be in the spirit of things. I’m all about winning graciously. “He didn’t fuck you, Nadia. That was all me, honey. Come on. Give me a little credit.” “What the hell is going on?” she yells. I shrug. “You wanted to play, right? I warned

you. I fucking warned you. And you practically begged me to do this.” “To fuck with my head?” “You’re the one who said it, remember? I like to mind-fuck people. Did you really think you could play this game with me and not get the full Bric treatment?” She spins, looking at Logan. “What are you doing here?” Logan looks… scared shitless. And you don’t need a degree in psychiatry to see it. So I figure I better save the guy. It’s the least I can do since his role in this whole charade just helped me win. The paper I was holding fell to the floor during our scuffle, so I pick it up and hold it out to her. She snatches it from my hand, crumples it up, and tosses it over her shoulder. She knows what that paper says. “I should’ve done a background check on you, Nadia. Would’ve explained so many things.” She looks at Logan. Glares at him. “You told him?” Logan just shakes his head and holds up his hands in surrender. “You need to know something, Nadia. That’s why I’m here. I just need to tell you something.” “I don’t need to know shit,” she says, almost spitting out the words. “Get the fuck out of my house.” She screams it. “Both of you! Get the fuck

out!” “Well, I believe that’s my cue,” I say, brushing a piece of lint off my suit. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Wolfe. Good game.” I turn my back on them. I don’t know what the fuck they have going on, but I do not care. I read the police report Logan showed up with that day at the Club, and it does explain a lot. But I’m just not curious enough to figure the rest out. She learned her lesson today. I might’ve lost with Chella and Rochelle. But I most certainly did not lose with Nadia.

Chapter Thirty-Two - Nadia

Logan just looks at me after Bric is gone. “Leave,” I say, walking out of the studio and searching for my coat in the living room. I grab my phone from the pocket, but Logan is right behind me. “No,” he says, gripping my shoulder to make me turn. “I need to talk to you. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months. And now that I’m here, I’m gonna have my—what are you doing?” “You’re violating the restraining order. So I’m calling 911. You have two seconds to get the fuck out of my apartment or I will press that last number.” I hold it up so he can see my screen, the big ol’ nine and one staring him in the face. “Nadia,” he says, pleading. “Get out.” “I just want you to know—” “Go. Away.” “I’m sorry,” he says. Frowning. Watching me. Seeing me.

“Stop looking at me,” I say. “Stop it.” He lowers his eyes and turns. But just as he’s about to twist the handle on the front door, he stops. “It wasn’t your fault, Nadia. It was my fault.” “Don’t you think I know that?” “No,” he says quietly. “I don’t think you do.” And then he opens the door and walks out. I let out a long breath of relief. I can’t do this again. I can’t. I won’t. I want to run away. I want to get the fuck out of this apartment. This city. This life. But my legs— my whole body—is one big mess of exhaustion. What the hell just happened? I feel… wrecked. The couch is calling me. I sink into the cushions and curl up into a little ball. The memories of what happened in New York—memories I had put behind me—all come flooding back. Tears are running down my face and sobs are coming out my mouth in weird gasps. Just close your eyes, Nadia. Close your eyes and sleep it off. I will never sleep again. So I go to the bathroom, grab the bottle of sleeping pills, and gulp them down without water. I surrender to the nothingness of sleep.

Pounding on my door wakes me. It’s morning, but early. Just a hint of dawn peeking though my living room curtains. “Nadia!” Jordan is yelling in the hallway. “Open the door and let me in right now or I swear, I will call the police.” I drag my aching body off the couch. My legs are so weak from last night’s… game… I stumble over a rug and fall to my knees. “Nadia!” Jordan yells again, his fist pounding on my door. I scramble on my knees for a few feet, then get up and stumble across the room. “Open the fucking—” I open the door before he finishes. “What the hell, Jordan?” I look down the hallway and see two neighbors peeking their heads out. He pushes past me, huffing out air, slamming the door behind him. “I’ve been calling you all night. Why didn’t you pick up the phone?” “I was sleeping,” I say, unable to think about last night. “I didn’t hear it. I don’t even know where my phone is.” I sort through the couch cushions and find it wedged between the seat and the back. Yup. He’s called me nine times. “Sorry,” I say. “What happened?” “What do you mean?” “Don’t fucking play with me, Nadia. Bric called

me last night and told me the game was over. He won, you lost. His words exactly. Now tell me what the fuck happened?” I shrug and slink down onto the couch, curling my legs up underneath me. “He won,” I say. “I’m gonna need more details. Tell me exactly what happened. You brought him up here…” He waits for me to finish that sentence. But I don’t. “And then…” He walks over and places a hand on my shoulder. “Nadia—” He stops. “Why are you shaking?” I don’t know. So I can’t tell him. But I am shaking. It could be from Bric making me stand en pointe at the wall last night. Or the mind fuck. Or both. I don’t know. “Nadia, talk to me.” Jordan sits down on the couch next to me. “Tell me what happened.” My eyes fill up with tears. They spill down my face before I can wipe them away. “Nadia,” Jordan says. All his anger is gone now. There’s nothing left but concern. “Just tell me what happened.” “He won.” “How? How did he win? What did he do?” But I can’t tell that story. Not even to myself, let alone Jordan. So I just shake my head. He reaches for me, trying to put his arm around me, but I push him off and stand up. I try to cross the room without wincing. My legs… God, my legs.

They are weak and rubbery, so I sit down in a chair before I fall. “Go away,” I say. “I don’t want you here.” “No,” Jordan says. “I need to know why you’re acting like this.” I shake my head. “No. You don’t.” And then, because I really need him to leave, I look him in the eyes and say, “Get out of my apartment and don’t come back. I don’t ever want to see either of you again.” “Nadia—” “Out!” I yell it as loud as I can. Jordan stares at me for a moment. Sighs. Stands. And does what I ask. I stay in that chair all day. Until the light disappears on the other side of the curtains. I shiver. I don’t even get up to go to the bathroom. But I don’t have to, because I haven’t eaten or drunk anything since yesterday morning. My phone rings. Lots of times. Too many times to count. Whoever is on the other end of that phone isn’t someone I want to talk to. It’s Jordan. Or Bric. Or Logan. I just need them all to go away. And eventually they do. The ringing stops. I drag myself back into my bedroom, fall on top of the covers, and pass out in the dark.

Chapter Thirty-Three - Bric

I drink the entire weekend at the Club. I don’t even go downstairs to play. And Jordan never shows up, so… it’s just me and my bottle of brandy. By Monday, I feel like shit. I’m too hungover to care about Club members or people coming in for lunch at the restaurant, so I sit up in Smith’s bar, nursing a ginger ale. I’m getting old, I think. No, that voice in my head says. You’re feeling guilty. I don’t have anything to feel guilty about. So fuck that. Nadia asked for this. She wanted to play the game. She practically begged me. But she never asked you to fuck with her past or her head. That’s what I do. That’s who I am. She came into this game with eyes wide open. She came to have fun and be challenged. Not to get mentally raped. Mentally raped? Jesus Christ. My internal

monologue is out of control. I stand up and lean on the half-wall that overlooks the lobby just as the lunch crowd is picking up. I see Jordan walk through the revolving doors. He looks right up at me, heads for the stairs, pushes his way past the sentries I have posted, and storms into the bar. “What the fuck did you do to her?” “Who?” I ask. Jordan takes a swing. It’s so sudden I don’t even have time to process things until his fist crashes into my jaw. I swing back, but miss, then swing again and connect. He charges me, like a fucking bull, and we crash into the table. Glassware goes flying. My bottle of brandy breaks on the floor. I vaguely log the sound of people gasping down below. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yell. The bartender and server are there, pulling Jordan back by his shoulders. Jordan stares me down as I get to my feet. He wipes blood from his lip just as I taste my own blood in my mouth. “What the fuck did you do to her?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “The fuck you don’t,” he yells. “What did you do to Nadia?” “We played,” I say, trying to shrug and come off nonchalant. “She lost. End of story.” “She lost,” he says, still trying to wipe the blood

from his lip. “She lost? You broke her, Bric. You fucking broke her.” “She’s fine,” I say. “It wasn’t that bad—” He lunges for me again, but the bartender grabs him before he gets very far. “She didn’t show up for work today.” “So? Maybe she’s sick.” “Or maybe you broke her.” “Shut the fuck up. She wanted to play, so we played. I was just showing her who’s boss.” “You?” he says, still breathing hard. “You’re the boss? You’re fucking pathetic, Bric. No wonder Quin left you and took everything you loved with him.” “You better control that mouth—” “You broke her,” he says again. “I told you. I fucking told you I liked this girl.” “So why did you leave her alone with me?” “Because she was a gift, Bric.” I just… stare at him for a second. “What the fuck are you talking about?” “I got her for you. I trained her for you. And I gave her to you. Because I trusted you. I figured, hey, if Rochelle and Chella think you’re a good guy, well, I guess everybody else is wrong. But I’m the dumbass who was wrong. Quin was right. About everything. You’re a dick, Bric. You’re a class-A motherfucking asshole. And you hurt her.” I don’t actually have any words right now.

Hearing the names Quin, and Rochelle, and Chella come out of his mouth just… stuns me silent. “You’re just a coward. Hiding up here with the ghost of games past. I actually talked her into giving you one more chance. Did you know that? God,” he says, grabbing his hair with both hands. “I’m such a fucking jerk. I let you hurt her. I will never forgive myself. Ever.” And then he goes still and stops talking. I don’t know if he’s waiting for an answer from me, or he’s just run out of things to say. So I wait him out. Because I have nothing to say, either. I don’t even know what’s happening. “Do you know who that Logan guy was?” I squint my eyes at him. “How did you—” “He came to me too.” I shrug. “I have no clue.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Did you tell Rochelle to get an abortion? And don’t say no, Bric. Because I’ve already pictured that conversation in my head. I already know how it went. Just plant a little idea, right? Just hint around. Just fuck with her head, right?” I say nothing. “Just like you fucked with Quin about that baby. You wanted him to stick around and so hey, you figured, why not make him jealous, right? Why not just take what he thinks is his and make it your own. I see you, brother,” Jordan says, pointing at

his eyes, then me. “I’ve been watching you all this time. How you manipulated him. And Rochelle.” Jordan laughs. But it’s one of those sad, pity laughs. “You’re a sick motherfucker, you know that? Very fucking sick. Quin and Smith love you too much to come to this conclusion. They want you back. They will always take you back. But you do not deserve them. If you cared about them, you’d walk out of their lives and never look back.” I swallow hard and wait for him to walk out. But he doesn’t. He goes behind the bar, picks up a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf, and grabs two glasses. He slams them all down on a table that was not upended by our fight, and points to a chair. “Sit your ass down, Elias. Because it’s time someone stood up to your mind-fuckery and gave it to you straight.” I sit. He’s so fucking angry, it’s confusing. I don’t know what else to do, so I just sit as he pours drinks. Then he takes out a piece of paper, which I recognize as the police report Logan waved at me last week. The same report I held up for Nadia Friday night. And he talks. He drinks and calms down. His voice goes low, and sad, and soft. He talks for almost an hour as I listen. And when I finally get the whole picture. When I finally realize what I’ve done… I feel… just as broken as Nadia must. “I’m sorry,” I say, after he’s finished with her

story. “I didn’t know.” “You didn’t care, Bric. You’re out for you, one hundred percent of the time. You can fuck up your life all you want. I do not give a shit anymore. But you’re not gonna fuck her up again. Not when I just got her feeling better. So you’re gonna make it right. Do you hear me? I don’t care how long you have to beg and knock for her to open up that door. I don’t even care if you have to break the damn thing down. You’re gonna go over there and make it right.” “I will,” I say. “I’ll make it right.” He picks up the drink he poured before he started talking and downs it in one gulp, slams it down on the table, and stands up. He eyes me. Challenges me. And for the first time in a very long time, I’m not in charge of a situation. He walks out. The bar and restaurant went back to normal a long time ago. The afternoon is fading. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and for a moment I have hope that it’s Nadia. That she’s not in the condition he just spent an hour describing to me. But it’s one of my mothers. Sylvia. I want to ignore it, but I can’t. Because I fucked that all up too. So I tab the accept button and say, “Hi, Mom.” “Are you feeling better?” she asks. “No,” I say. “Worse, actually.” “I thought so. I know you don’t like us to call

you and so I typically respect that. You have your business and we have ours. It’s worked for a long time. But I don’t think it’s working anymore, Elias.” “No, I guess not.” “Would you like to try again? Or would you like to move on?” Her words stun me for a moment. Even more than the words that kept me silent for almost an hour with Jordan. I want to die right now. Because she wants to know if they should just leave me alone. Just forget about me. Write me off. Cross my fucking name off that page in the Bible like I never happened. That’s what I want, right? I want to keep them as far away as possible. Pretend they don’t exist. The two worlds will never meet. “We’d like to try again, Elias. But it’s up to you. It’s always been up to you.” “I… I don’t know what’s happening to me right now.” “Bad things, I think.” For second I think she’s pulling some religious crap on me. A guilt trip about sin and all that bullshit. Like she’s one to talk. “Bad things happened when you run from your problems. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling us? That one day we’ll have to account for all this.” I can picture her waving her arms in the air. All this… meaning the family. “We can’t run from it.

We know that. And even though people up here leave us alone, they know how we live. Someone tried to burn the barn down last Thanksgiving.” “What?” I say. “We got it put out in time. Not too much damage. Abrem and Benjamin fixed it already. And we found seven calves gutted in the field last spring. We tried not to think too hard about it. And no one could fix that. But we know why it happened. So you’re right. All things come due eventually.” “Mom,” I say. “I am your mother. You were my first, Elias. Charity got pregnant before me. Many times. So you came fifth. But you were my first and only child, Elias. You are my only child. And I love you. I don’t want this. I don’t want you to feel bad about this. It’s not your fault we live a life you don’t agree with. It’s not your fault I chose this and brought you into this family. So I want you to know, I won’t hate you if you walk away and never come back. I won’t.” I rub my hand over my eyes and hang my head. “We love you. But we know how we choose to live isn’t… conventional. So if you want us to leave you alone, we will.” I am broken. And they didn’t do this to me. I did it to myself. “No,” I say, my voice hoarse and cracking. “No,

that’s not what I want. Not at all. I’m sorry for how I behaved last weekend. I really am. It’s just… Luc,” I say, unable to keep my voice level. “And that girl I brought.” “Nadia,” she says. “We like her.” “Yeah.” I sigh. “Me too. I think.” “You’ll figure it out, Elias. You always do. You were always going places. Never content to sit still for long. Always looking for an opportunity.” Fuck. Is that how everyone sees me? Bric the user? Elias the opportunist? “And look at you now. Such a successful businessman. We’re all proud of you, no matter what, Elias. Your father’s here. And he’s nodding his head.” I hear my father grunt out something that might be, We love you. Pieces of me are shattered all over this fucking club. I am the broken glass under my feet. Because they accept me for who I am. And I have done nothing but punish them for what they are. But that’s what I do to everyone who gets too close, right? I punish them. Push them away. I break them. And now I’m about to break everyone I’ve ever loved just to keep this dirty secret inside me. I am Bric the user. I am Elias the opportunist. “Then… that’s it, I guess,” my mother says when I don’t respond. I can’t respond. I don’t trust myself not to break any further. “Will we see you

at the Labor Day reunion?” “Yeah,” I say, barely managing to get the word out. “I’ll be there.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could do something about that music,” the building manager says as we walk down the hallway towards Nadia’s apartment. I knocked for ten minutes but she never answered. And the music is so loud, I doubt she even heard me. “I think she’s dancing,” I say to the guy. He shoots me a pissed-off scowl as he searches for the key to unlock her door. “Obviously. The neighbors down below have been complaining all day about the thumping on their ceiling.” He finds the key. “She’s a ballerina,” I say. But yeah. I can only imagine what pointe shoes on a hardwood floor sound like from that perspective. He opens the door and the classical music pours out from the dark apartment. “Thank you,” I say. “Just make her stop. I’ve already gotten six calls from the police and while the Mountain Ballet own several units in this building, they’re not the only people who matter.” “Got it,” I say, starting to get annoyed. He turns his back to me and walks off, fielding complaints

from neighbors as he passes them peeking out their doors. I close Nadia’s door and shut them out. It’s no use calling her name. The music is way too loud. I can hear her in there. Jumping and whatever else ballerinas do when they are… broken. I close my eyes for a second. Try to massage the building headache. And then I open them, take a deep breath, and walk down to the studio towards the only light in the whole apartment. She’s spinning in the middle of the studio. The kind of spin that involves the opening and closing of arms and traveling diagonally across the room. When she runs out of space, she just switches direction and comes back the other way. No pause at all. And then she’s leaping, her legs scissoring into the splits as she checks her form in the long wall of mirrors. It’s a routine, I guess. Because she never stops. I watch her for a few minutes, thinking she’ll rest. She’ll mess up or get tired. But she doesn’t. And pretty soon she’s doing those spins diagonally across the floor again. “Nadia,” I say. She sees me. I know she sees me. It’s just an instant as she’s traveling in her turn, her head spinning with her body. She focuses on me. Spins. Focuses. Spins. But she never stops. Her cheeks are flushed bright red and sweat is pouring down her face. Her body looks thinner than I remember. Fragile. Her

pointe shoes have dangling threads and little shredded bits of satin barely clinging to the toes. Like she’s been in this room spinning and spinning all day and she’s worn them out. “Nadia,” I say again. But she ignores me. She comes out of her last turn, changes direction, and leaps again. She’s starting over, I realize. “Nadia!” I yell louder. I know she hears me over the music. But she doesn’t break her routine. I walk over to the stereo, search for the right button, and switch the music off. She doesn’t stop. She’s manic with dance. And all I hear is the quick thumping of my own heart and the hard thud of her feet as she continues. “Nadia, stop.” She glares at me as she spins. Her eyes focus on me, then lose me in the turn, and focus again. “Stop,” I say, walking across the room and stand right in front her. She comes out of her spin, dances around me in some elaborate swirl of her hands and arms and then just… spins in place. I grab her arm, make her falter, but she yanks out of my grip and runs. Leaps. Arches her back until she’s bent over at the waist, staring at the ceiling in midair. Arms outstretched. She’s beautifully tragic in that moment. All the things I learned about her today come rushing back. You broke her. This is Jordan’s voice in my head.

She lands, and spins again. I walk across the room, grab her arm tight, and make her stop. “Let go,” she says, barely able to talk over her heavy breathing. She tries to yank her arm away, but I hold her tighter. “No,” I say. “Enough. Stop dancing.” She grits her teeth and hisses, “Let me go.” I shake my head. “Not until you agree to stop.” I get a better look at her now that she’s still. Her face is too flushed. Her breathing too hard. Her muscles quake even though she’s just still. She struggles, slips out of my grip, and returns to her manic dancing. I broke her. Jordan was right. I did this to her. She doesn’t need music. She doesn’t need anything but that mirror and those shoes. She’s not going to stop unless I make her. So I make her. I cross the room, find the switch on the wall, and turn out the lights. One final thump of ballet shoes echoes in the studio, and then, finally, she goes still. “Get the fuck out,” she says. She can barely talk, that’s how hard she’s breathing. “I can’t,” I say. “Why not?” She’s so angry. And she has every right to be. “Because the rules say—” “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” She’s right in

front of me now, her fists pounding on my chest. “Just fuck you and your—” I hold my hand over her mouth. Just enough to make it hard for her to breathe and yell at the same time. She has to make a choice. One or the other. She chooses to breathe. “The rules,” I say, wrapping my arms around her tight—she begins to cry as I hold her—“explicitly state that you’re not allowed to walk out until I’ve taken care of you.” The last few words come out as a whisper. “You walked out on me,” she says through her sobbing. “I know,” I say. “I’m so fucking sorry.” I broke her. I made her trust me that night. I made her feel good. And then I fucked with her head and walked out. “You need to stop dancing, Nadia.” “I don’t want to,” she says. I feel the warmth of her breath through the fabric of my shirt. “I want to dance until I die.” “It’s… it’s called the drop, remember? We explained this to you.” I dropped her. I took her into subspace that night and then I left her suspended inside it until she dropped out on her own. “I fucked up.” She just shakes her head and tries to wriggle free. But I’m not going to let go. Because she needs me to make things right. “Be still now, OK?”

“I can’t,” she says, her voice breaking. “I need to dance.” “No, Nadia. You need to be taken care of, that’s all.” “I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you at all, Elias Bricman. I hate you.” I nod my head as I hold her close. “I deserve that hate.” “I don’t want to talk to you and I don’t want to see you.” “Well, you’re in luck,” I say. “Because I’m going to do the talking and we’re in the dark right now, so you don’t have to see me.” She starts to cry. I pet her hair and say, “It’s OK. You can cry. All this is normal. Not normal,” I say, trying to figure out a way to explain it. “It’s expected. All these feelings. This manic desire to do something. I took you to a special place Friday night.” “You took me to hell,” she says, sniffing back her sobs. “I took to you heaven, Nadia. And then I left you in hell. I’m sorry. I didn’t know about Logan —” “You had that police report! You shoved it in my face!” “I didn’t know the whole story, Nadia. I swear.” “You told me that night when we went out to Jordan’s party—”

“Jordan’s party?” “—that I like little boys.” She’s crying so hard now, I can barely understand her. “I didn’t mean it like that, Nadia. I swear. I didn’t know about Scott.” That name is the last straw for Nadia Wolfe. She collapses. Like one of those toys held together by taut string. The ones that fall to pieces when you press on the button underneath them and release the tension. A push puppet. She’s a push puppet and I hate myself for it. I pick her up off the floor, hold her in my arms, cradling her like a baby, and carry her out to the living room. We sit on the couch. Her still in my lap. I hold her close, her head tucked in under my chin, and play with her hair. I don’t say anything for a long time. I just hold her.

Chapter Thirty-Four - Nadia

For the first time in days, I relax. Bric holds me tight, his thumb swirling small circles on the hot, sweaty skin of my shoulder. But then all the heat of the dance pours out of me and I begin to shake uncontrollably. I close my eyes, willing my heartbeat to slow. It’s beating so fast, I almost think it will never go back to normal. Almost panic about it. Almost need to get up and dance again to put it out of my mind. But Bric is there, his lips on my head, saying, “Shhh, Nadia. Be still.” I try. But it takes me a long, long time for my heart to catch up to his command. My body stays tense with shivering for so long, it freezes me from the inside out. But after a little while, with his warm body pressed against mine, I start to relax. The convulsing wanes. The tears stop. And I am just nothing but wiped out. I let it all go and close my eyes.

“When I was growing up,” he says, finally finding his beginning, “I had no idea we were different.” His sister Keren talked to me a lot while Bric was busy getting drunk last weekend. She showed me photo albums. She hardly knows him, she said. They are so far apart in age, Elias was gone before she was out of diapers. And my response was, “I hardly know him either.” So she showed me the photo albums. “I thought everyone had two moms,” Bric continues. “I thought everyone had four brothers and sisters. It was just us five back then. But one day, when I was like… maybe six, I guess, I got two more moms.” I try to imagine that in my head but can’t. “I have no moms,” I say. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what it would feel like to have no moms.” “We’re opposites,” I say, my breathing finally slow enough to allow me to talk normally. “Black and white, Nadia Wolfe.” “Big and small, Elias Bricman.” “Good and bad,” he says. “Light and dark,” I finish. “You’re the light, Nadia.” “No,” I say. “I’m the dark part of this relationship.” “Then one day,” he says, picking his story back

up, “I was twelve. I know that for sure. I remember this day like it just happened. I see it in vivid detail. I was in town with my brother Abrem. He’d just gotten his license. Benjamin was with us. Just us boys rambling around in an old truck. Candace and Delilah were at home. They didn’t want to come and they were helping with the babies, anyway. And these kids came up to us and started saying things that made no sense to me. I knew by then that four moms was wrong. Not wrong as in sinful, or whatever. But wrong as in… out of the ordinary. They said a lot of awful things about me and my brothers and sisters. My moms and dad. I didn’t go to school. I think that’s why I liked Smith so much when I first met him. He never went to school ever. I was homeschooled until I got a scholarship when I was fourteen and left for Denver. I never really went back after that. Just… left it all behind. Put it away. Forgot about it.” Elias Bricman is telling me everything, I realize. “I met Quin first though. And Quin is like… perfect, ya know?” I don’t know Quin. But I saw him through the tea shop window when I was talking to Rochelle and Chella the other day. “Quin comes from the perfect family. One mom. One dad. No brothers or sisters. One small house, with two small bedrooms. He had everything I ever wanted. He’s been my best friend since I was

sixteen. But I have this problem, Nadia.” I look up at him. He’s staring off into space. I can barely make out the outline of his jaw in the dim light filtering up from the city outside. “What problem?” I ask. “I like to hurt people, I think. I must like it.” He looks down at me. “I must like it a lot. Because I do it all the time.” I don’t know what to say to that. I feel there’s something deeper inside him, but I don’t even know him, I realize. Not at all. “I love Quin. And Rochelle. But I hurt them on purpose. Both of them.” “They seem OK,” I say. “And they still love you.” “Yeah, they are. And they do. But that’s because I lied to them. They have no idea how much I was fucking with their heads. I like to do that too, you see. We’ve been playing this game forever because I need them, Nadia. They don’t need me. They don’t need anyone but each other. I need them. I was jealous. And I like to manipulate people. I like to hold power over people. I like to—” “Shhh,” I say, reaching up to place two fingers against his lips. “That’s enough of that.” He takes my hand in his. Kisses my fingers. Then places it back in my lap. “I think it’s important to be honest about it. If I want to change, I need to be honest about it. To one person, at least. To you,” he

says, looking down at me. “I hurt you. I left you when you needed my attention the most. I did it to win, Nadia. I’m obsessed with winning this stupid fucking game that means nothing. It’s nothing, Nadia. I’m so fucking stupid.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so vulnerable as this man right here. “I did it to them. I wanted Rochelle to go away when she got pregnant with Adley. But then I wanted Adley for myself, even though I knew Quin was in love with Rochelle in a way I’d never be. Even though I knew Adley was his. Jesus fuck,” he says, wiping a hand across his brow. “She looks just fucking like him. And I didn’t care. I told them I was allergic to mango just to make them think I was the father.” I don’t even know what that means. But it’s haunting him. And he needs to get it out. “I would like to start over, Nadia.” I think about that for a little bit. He waits. Patiently and in silence. “I don’t think we can,” I finally say. He sighs. Deflates. His chest sighing with… sadness, maybe? “I don’t think you can just erase the past, Elias. So I probably should start from the beginning as well.” “You don’t have to,” he says. “Jordan filled in all the blanks.”

“Jordan only knows part of the story. It’s the parts he doesn’t know that haunt me. Just like your lies haunt you.” So I tell him. I take a few moments to figure out where it all started and then I tell him everything. “I don’t remember my mother. I never had a father. So meeting your family was something like… being in a fantasy, almost. I was born addicted to drugs. My mother gave up custody of me before she ever left the hospital. I went into foster care, was adopted, but they gave me back a few months later.” I stop. Because this was the part that always fucked with my head. “Who gives a baby back?” “People who can’t cope, Nadia. It’s got nothing to do with the baby.” “That’s the rational explanation. And I’m pretty rational, so I accepted that. Long time ago. I got adopted again. Couples all want babies. And I lived there for a long time. Until I was seven or eight. And then they divorced and the woman I was calling mom died. The man I called father walked away from me over it. And once again, I lost my family. “From there I bounced around in foster families. My life spun out of control. I spun out of control. They tried to give me drugs to calm me down. Gave me a therapist. Nothing worked until one foster family put me in a free dance class they offered

down at the local community center. Dance,” I say, thinking back on it. “Everything about dancing had to do with control. I was nine years old when I became a control freak. Everything in my life could spin, but when I was in dance class, I had complete control over the spinning. “I became sexually active very early. And after being used a few times, I decided I was in control of that too. So I made the boys do things for me first. I’d make them steal things or buy me things. After I got tired of that, I’d make them get me off in unusual ways. And when that got boring, I’d make them touch each other.” “You don’t need to tell me this, Nadia.” “I do,” I whisper. “I really, need to tell someone. And I want it to be you.” He smooths my hair. Tucks a stray piece of it behind my ear. “I’m listening.” I take a deep breath and continue on the exhale. “Scott and I were together for a long time. I met him when I was at a party in the Hamptons two summers ago. And last spring, he took me back up there to his family’s house for a weekend. Logan came over. His family had the house next door. Things got… kinky, I guess. I took over. I was used to it. Scott liked it. Logan was intrigued, but standoffish. He watched me dominate Scott that first time. That’s it. But we kept going back on the weekends. And Logan kept meeting us there. And

eventually Logan joined in. I had them both. They did whatever I wanted. They took me out and took me home. We were pretty happy for a few months.” I sigh. Long. Slow. Exhale. “But then Scott wanted Logan to go away. He didn’t want to do it anymore. And I…” I don’t know if I can talk about this part. “And you did,” Bric finishes for me. I nod. “I still did. I wanted Logan. He did anything I wanted. He never said no.” “And you left Scott,” Bric says. I nod, my eyes hot with tears. “And he killed himself over it.” I nod again. “I didn’t mean to do that,” I say, crying again. “I swear. I didn’t mean to make him so sad. I didn’t understand. He was only nineteen, Bric. We met the day he turned eighteen. On his fucking birthday. I corrupted him. I ruined him. I broke him.” Bric is silent for a few minutes as he lets me cry it out. I have never told anyone this. Not my public defender. Not Logan. Not anyone. “And his parents blamed you?” Bric asks. “It was my fault,” I say. “No, Nadia. Breaking up with someone isn’t a punishable offense. You’re not responsible for his actions.” “He was only eighteen when we met—”

“Shhhh,” Bric says. His fingers back on my lips to quiet me. “I won the criminal case,” I say. “But his family got a restraining order. Logan’s family too. They told a judge I was dangerous. I was subversive. And that I had a long history of psychological manipulation.” I look up at Bric. “And that judge believed them.” “That judge was a dick, Nadia. Someone paid his ass off.” “What?” I ask, squinting my eyes at him. “Please. Subversive? That’s not grounds for a restraining order. They lied, that judge was their friend.” “No,” I say. “Yes,” he says. “Come on. I know you’re young, but… the whole world runs on money, Nadia. These guys come from old money. They wanted to punish you. And when they lost their legal case, they wanted to humiliate you. It’s bullshit. All of it.” “Except the part where I killed someone.” I sniff wildly. But my crying has stopped. “You didn’t kill him, Nadia. It’s not silly or stupid to think that. It’s normal. It’s even got a name. Survivor’s guilt. But you need to let it go. Did you know Jordan brought you here?” I nod my head. “He told me last week.” “Did you know he brought you here for me?”

I nod again. “He told you that last week, too?” “That’s why I begged you for a second chance. Jordan said you were worth it. He said we were perfect for each other in some odd way. That’s what he does, he said. He fixes people. I know he has clubs and—” “What are these fucking clubs you’re talking about?” he asks. “Jordan doesn’t own any clubs.” “Yes, he does,” I say. I even smile. Because Bric… all-knowing, all-powerful Elias Bricman, has no clue who Jordan Wells is. “We went to it that one night, remember? When I got to dominate and you had to watch.” “What?” I actually laugh. It’s small, and sounds terribly out of place after all this serious talk. But I need this laugh so badly—I do it again. “That transient traveling sideshow-slash-rave?” “The one where you fucked me on top of your car in front of fifty strangers.” “Jesus. What else don’t I know?” I shrug. “You know way more than I do, that’s for sure. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I came here for ballet. And to get away from Logan. He’s not supposed to talk to me. His parents could slap me with contempt of court if he says I broke the restraining order. And I still feel bad about Scott. I didn’t love him, or anything. But he was my

friend and I miss him.” Bric leans down to kiss me. “Don’t get lost in guilt, Nadia. Don’t do it. You can mourn him. You can miss him. But you can’t blame yourself for his actions. You’re not responsible for that.” I have wanted to trust Bric since the first time we met. I just didn’t know it. But I really want to trust him now. And I don’t know if I should. “I came here for a new beginning,” I say. “Then it’s time you got one,” Bric replies. He holds out his hand and says, “Hello. My name is Elias.” I stare up at him. Then take his hand in mine and shake it. He’s so powerful. And controlling. And wild. But he’s also gentle. And loving. And smart. “Nadia,” I say. “Nice to meet you, Elias.” “Would you like to be friends?” he asks. After a few moments I say, “Yes. I’d like that a lot.”

Chapter Thirty-Five - Bric

Dinner at Quin’s is awkward at first. Not for Nadia. She fits in immediately and is over in the kitchen with Chella and Rochelle drinking wine. But it’s like… it’s like Quin, and Smith, and I are all very different people now and we’re not sure where we stand. I hold Adley, who bats at my face with her chubby hands and drools onto my six-hundreddollar shirt. “That tooth is adorable,” I say, smiling at Adley’s newest milestone. “Yeah.” Quin laughs. “I thought you’d appreciate that.” He’s sitting across from me in a chair. One ankle propped up on one knee. Smile on that golden-boy face of his. Looking like a motherfucking movie star who won the lottery. Smith is on the couch with his dogs, two of the rats curled up in his lap and the husky pulling on his pant leg. It rips, and the puppy runs off with his prize. Smith sighs, looking down at the leftover

strings. But then he smiles too. Because he loves it. He loves every bit of his new life. “So,” Quin says. “So,” I say, setting Adley down on my knee. “You like her?” Quin nods his head to Nadia. I look over at her and nod. “I like her a lot,” I say. “She’s a ballerina. Great one, too.” Quin smiles at Smith. They share a look I know well. Because I know them. And they know me. Everyone in this room knows who I am now. And I think they probably see the same thing in me that I see in them. Happiness. Finally. We all won the game, I think. How could we be here, with these beautiful, smart, talented women, and not think we’re the luckiest men on earth? “Are you playing with her?” Smith asks. “No,” I say. “The game ended a long time ago. I just didn’t realize it.” I look at Smith and say, “I’m selling the Club.” “Well, it’s about time,” he says back. And then he takes a sip of his drink and smiles into his glass. I think that’s all they needed to hear. That I’m over it. That I’m OK with it. That I have a future that doesn’t center around manipulation. Dinner is better than expected after that. The food is good. The conversation never lags. We find our way through the unknown and decide, at the

end of the night, that we’re still a team. We just added four new members to it, that’s all. Smith and I make plans to go into business together. Since I’m kind of a real-estate whore, we’re gonna build some low-income housing to augment the neighborhoods around his gyms. So I guess we’re gonna turn into a bunch of boring do-gooders. I can live with that. It’s time to grow up.

In April, when the ground has thawed enough for digging in Montana and Nadia and I have settled into the Cherry Creek mansion, I take her home again. And this time I do it right. I introduce her to everyone, one face and name at a time. She’ll never remember them all. I barely remember them all. It’s weird. And unconventional. And weird. But it’s us. That’s all I have to say about it these days. It’s just who we are. I say goodbye to Luc properly as he’s lowered into the ground. Nadia cries, even though she never knew him. I know she’s thinking of her friend, also a victim of self-destruction. And I realize I’m lucky. Very fucking lucky that my friends loved me enough to drag me through to the other side. That Nadia is my light in the dark. And that she believed

in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I might’ve been a pretty bad player in the game of Taking Turns. Probably the worst in history, if that’s a thing. But I’m a goddamned genius at the game of life as far as I’m concerned. When I got my turn… I didn’t waste it. Game over.

Epilogue - Jordan

I’m looking for a few good men, the ad starts. That’s a goddamned good first line right there. I might be a copywriting genius. I might’ve missed my calling. Must be ambitious. Ambition is important. I need guys like me. Guys who will do whatever it takes to get the job done. Must be loyal. You don’t have shit if you don’t have loyalty. Willing to travel. Because who needs to be tied down to one city, right? I thought about buying Bric’s club. But then I pictured myself in ten years as Bric and decided, fuck that. I won’t have a Jordan to pull me back from the edge and slap me into reality. I gotta play this right. Must be dominant. Because let’s face it. The women who will come to me for help need that kind of man. Pay includes signing bonus, expense account,

and retirement plan. I have to smile at my brilliance. God, I’m so fucking smart. I read it over and over, but nope. It’s perfect. So I hit post. And it goes up online all over the world. I love being a lawyer. And it’ll come in handy when shit goes wrong. But this is what I was meant to do and I can’t wait to get started.

GET MY NEXT BOOK, FIVE, HERE.

END OF BOOK SHIT

Welcome to the End of Book Shit. This is the part of the book where I get to say anything I want and you gotta read it! (Or listen, since I will have to narrate all this out load in the audiobook). I am sitting here trying to figure out what to say. Or rather how much to say since I know going in that I will have to narrate this and the EOBS for Turning Back was monumentally long and filled with things that probably make no sense at all, so I’m trying to come up with a plan of attack so I don’t get sidetracked and longwinded. So what’s a girl to do? I went into my fan group and asked them for help. Terry Schott, my friend and kick-ass writer of the hit SF thrillers series, The Game is Life, says he thinks that since 321 EOBS starts with, “So I was cruising through some porn one night…” he just assumes they all start that way. Fucking Terry. They don’t all start with porn. This series really

didn’t start with porn. It started with that Forbidden City episode of Seinfeld. It’s a long story and I think I explained it somewhere else, so I’m not gonna explain it now. But the game… now the game actually did not start with a sit-com or porn. It started with the characters. I knew Smith, Quin, and Bric were all going to fulfill a need with Chella in some very specific way. I had that from the very beginning. But what I didn’t have, and thought out along the way, were the reasons each of these men were playing the game too. I came up with Bric’s background as I was writing that one chapter in Turning Back where he admits to Chella that he comes from a very large family and I tossed around the idea that it was a polygamist family, but decided not to commit to that until I was ready to write His Turn. So I left it all open-ended. I knew there was going to be a family crisis in Bric’s book and he would have to take the girl along with him and expose something private about himself. But other than that, I wasn’t sure what would happen when they got there. I don’t really have a lot of opinions on polygamy. I don’t know enough about it to be honest. I think most relationships, even very non-traditional ones, can work if people are invested. I think that was the whole theme of His Turn. In the beginning Bric wasn’t truly invested in anything and by the end, he is. I think Nadia was like that, as well. They are

very much alike in this respect. In fact, they might more alike than any other couple I’ve created so far. It was kinda cool to explore people who clash because they are too much alike instead of being opposites, because that can be a problem. Maybe opposites attract for a reason? Other than the laws of fucking physics, right? Ionic bonding and magnetism and all that shit. Maybe when you’re attracted to your opposite they complete something inside you that’s missing? I kinda believe that (as long as the differences aren’t too insurmountable). Which presents a problem for couples who are too much alike. Especially when they both like to be in control. I am the first to admit that I’m a control freak. I like being an Indie author because I have complete, one-hundred percent control over just about everything. Sure, the distributors can really fuck with my day if they want to. The Zon can change rules and one email from them can turn my whole world upside down. But they are a global corporation, so even though they write the rules, they also try and abide by them. I can trust them not to fuck with me too hard. So even if I get a bullshit email from them complaining about my table of contents being in the back of the book and threatening to take it off sale, I can shoot back a logical response and eventually, if I make a big

enough deal about it, someone in power—someone I can trust to make logical decisions—will get back to me and sort it out. Trust is the key word here. People who like to be in control only give it up to others they can trust. Smith learned to trust Chella. That was the easiest relationship of them all because both Chella and Smith are logical, responsible people who have made good decisions in their lives. Chella learns to trust Smith when she figures out he’s not really a dick, he’s just stuck in this weird outdated worldview because he thinks his money will corrupt him. And Smith learns to trust Chella when he realizes she actually understands herself and her needs. She’s not really afraid of who she is or what she might be. She just needs to work through it, and she does that in a very step-wise fashion with her therapist and by playing the game. In fact, Smith and Chella are probably the least damaged of all these characters. Quin and Rochelle are probably the most trusting of all the characters. Rochelle shows up and gives in. Immediately. She blindly (and probably simplistically) trusts these men to give her what she needs. She accepts the rules and moves on to build something with Quin. Quin is just one of those good guys. He didn’t need a lot of prodding to trust Rochelle. He just let the love happen. He probably got too complacent, but his issues were all about

not being enough. And he had his friends to fill in the gaps. Opposites attract, right? But in this case, it was the oppositional aspects of his friends, and not Rochelle, who completed him. He just needed to learn how to get that on his own. Quin grew from beginning to end more than the others, in my opinion. Because Quin didn’t need Rochelle. He wanted her. And he gave up something very precious to him, something he did feel he needed, in order to keep her. But Bric is a whole other animal, man. He’s fucked up. I could’ve written so much more about his dark mind but I didn’t want to lose sight of the story, which is the romance. And there was a romance, it just took Nadia and Bric almost the entire book to submit to it. Because submission requires trust. Giving in and letting someone else inside your darkness is a big fucking deal. Everyone has some kind of trigger event that makes them question things or even (cough) become cynical. So Bric grew up in a very specific way that made no sense to him, or, if I’m being honest, most people he probably encountered outside that family. He wanted to pretend it was something it wasn’t. Nadia forced his trust. He was having a vulnerable moment. Brother dead, family calling, plus he’d just lost the only people that made him feel normal. So her mind game on the way to Montana hit him pretty hard. Hard enough for him to hit back during

the one moment Nadia decided to stop playing and trust him for real. Trust is a big deal when you’re playing games like this. Hell, in anything, really. So now that the Turning Series is over I can look back on everything and try and make sense of it in a big picture way. And the big picture is… people get hurt or they have preconceived notions about themselves. And they don’t want to share that shit or experience it again so they come up with coping mechanisms. Smith and his weird view of money. Chella and her shame. Rochelle’s and Quin’s fears of turning into their parents. Bric hiding his family and Nadia hiding her mistakes. But when you fall in love trust is kind of a prerequisite, ya know? So that’s it. The game is just a coping mechanism. One way to get past the past and move forward. And I really like these characters so I’m glad they got their happily ever after. I mean, yeah, when you’re writing romance you gotta end up with the HEA, but if we didn’t doubt it would happen along the way—where’s the fun in that? The Turning Series is over but I have decided I like this world and I’m gonna keep it going. New game, new players, new everything starting in January 2018. There will be at least four books in The Taking Series and even though Jordan will not be the main character in the first three, he’s gonna be driving this trainwreck. I’ll tell you guys a little

more about who the real Jordan is in the EOBS of the first book. Because he’s a real guy… lol. He’s not this guy I’m writing about, but it’s all gonna be a very cool ride and I can’t wait for him to read it. So I hope you enjoyed this little peek into the forbidden. I know I did. ;) Thanks for reading, thanks for reviewing, and I’ll see you in the next book—WHICH IS FIVE, BITCHES! And you can get it on pre-order right now, right HERE. Julie JA Huss

About the Author

JA Huss is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than thirty romances. She likes stories about family, loyalty, and extraordinary characters who struggle with basic human emotions while dealing with bigger than life problems. JA loves writing heroes who make you swoon, heroines who makes you jealous, and the perfect Happily Ever After ending. You can read her writing craft and marketing articles at her website and chat with her on Facebook, Twitter, and her kick-ass romance blog, New Adult Addiction. If you're interested in getting your hands on an advanced release copy of her upcoming books, sneak peek teasers, or information on her upcoming personal appearances, you can join her newsletter list and get those details delivered right to your inbox. JA Huss lives on a dirt road in Colorado thirty minutes from the nearest post office. So if she owes you a package from a giveaway, expect it to take forever. She has a small farm with two donkeys

named Paris & Nicole, a ringneck parakeet named Bird, and a pack of dogs. She also has two grown children who have never read any of her books and do not plan on ever doing so. They do, however, plan on using her credit cards forever. JA collects guns and likes to read science fiction and books that make her think. JA Huss used to write homeschool science textbooks under the name Simple Schooling and after publishing more than 200 of those, she ran out of shit to say. She started writing the I Am Just Junco science fiction series in 2012, but has since found the meaning of life writing erotic stories about antihero men that readers love to love. JA has an undergraduate degree in equine science and fully planned on becoming a veterinarian until she heard what kind of hours they keep, so she decided to go to grad school and got a master’s degree in Forensic Toxicology. Before she was a full-time writer she was smelling hog farms for the state of Colorado. Even though JA is known to be testy and somewhat of a bitch, she loves her #fans dearly and if you want to talk to her, join her Facebook fan group where she posts daily bullshit about bullshit. If you think she’s kidding about this crazy autobiography, you don’t know her very well.

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