Page 27 of Emmett
Good.
“Thanks,” I tell the guy, pressing a hundred dollar bill to his chest.
Go tell your boss I’m here. I’m sure he’s got a watch-and-report list in every one of his clubs.
While I wait for the servers to come, I settle back into one of the couches with my arms draped over the back of it and my ankle crossed over my knee, and I lean my head back.Bingo. Camera. I offer it a smug grin and a wink before lifting my head back up.
I have to give this place credit, even if the owner is an asshole – they work fast. Barely five minutes pass from the time that my ass hits the couch to the time that two beautiful, lingerie-clad women approach me with menus in hand.
It’s like the best of both worlds; one of them is a little thicker with shoulder length hair, pitch black with curls in it, and the other is more slender with long, bleached blonde hair that she wears straightened. I can barely make out the shape of a tattoo at her hip, most of the design cut off by her bodysuit. The one with black hair doesn’t have any visible tattoos, but she has a small silver ring hooked through the septum of her nose.
As I browse the menu, I make a display of touching the dark haired woman on my left; trailing my hand from the back of her knee up to the curve of her ass, repeating the process until I finally settle on a few bottles of overpriced champagne, and I slap her on the ass as she walks away.
If my dad could see this, he would straight updisownme.
I spend the next hour sipping directly from the bottle, sharing it with the girls working my booth, and just overallputting on a real asshole act. By the time we down the second bottle, I think the only parts of their bodies that I haven’t touched are the parts which are covered by thin strips of lacy, navy blue fabric.
The blonde one sits next to me and she trails her finger across my chest. I lightly rub a hand over her outer thigh, moving from her knee to her ass and back again. She’s giving me an obvious in, and I could take it. Ishouldtake it. I could screw her on this couch, right in front of that little camera and really put on a show for the creep sitting behind it.
But I can’t.
Instead, I give her thigh a pat and excuse myself, heading for the bathroom. If I want to mess with Nash, fine, but I’m not going to use some girl just trying to do a job that, if rumor serves, she doesn’t even want to be doing. I draw the line there. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.
I run my hands under the faucet and splash water on my face, trying to clear my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here, but Christ, he’s such a prick, I’d love to get one over on him.
He wants fire, I’ll bring him fire.
Part of me hopes that he tries to swing on me if he sees me here, just to give me an excuse. I’m not a violent guy, but…I could really use an outlet right now.
Splashing my face one more time, I straighten and look in the mirror to see Nash’s large frame standing at the door, locking it behind him to seal the two of us inside.
“I warned you,” he tells me as he turns and strides toward me, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt and looking at his arms as if he’s admiring them. “Didn’t I? You don’t like to be told no, do you?”
His gaze meets mine in the mirror and I clench my fists over the edge of the sink with one side of my mouth turned up in a grin as he gets closer.
Hit me, asshole. I dare you.
I hardly have a second to react before he’s on me, pinning me between his body and the counter. His cologne envelops me in a warm blanket of wood and citrus that makes my breath catch in my throat, and my chest tightens.
“What the fu—”
“What did I tell you would happen if you came into one of my clubs again? Hmm?” He asks, his breath hot against my ear. His left hand reaches for my jaw, forcing me to look over my shoulder at him. Hazel eyes bore into me as he growls, “I told you that I would own you.”
“What are you—”
His mouth meets mine in a sudden kiss, his tongue sliding past my lips to take me by surprise, and I jerk my head back as his right hand works quickly to open my belt and unbutton my jeans. It slides under the band of my boxer briefs to wrap around my cock, and I grunt at his touch as he pulls it out.
“I’m not gay,” I breathe in protest, trying to pull my mouth from his, but my cock swells as his fist tightens around it, ignoring my protests. My heart slams against the wall of my chest and his left arm moves to snake around my waist, his fingers grazing over the plane of my stomach.
“I didn’t say that you were,” he teases, running a finger across the slick head of my dick to earn a whine from me.
His mouth meets mine again with lips like silk as his hand pumps the rigid length of my shaft. I want to hate it. I want to headbutt him, to break his nose like Davis taught me to and ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing touching me.But thewaythat he’s touching me feels so goddamn good that I can’t seem to do it.
I break away from the kiss, my hands gripping the edge of the sink with white knuckles, and I fight back a moan. I can’t be enjoying this as much as I am.
I lovewomen. I fuckwomen.
I amstraight.