Chapter 27
brOOKLYN
I step out of the dressing room, skittering to a halt as a muscled, tattooed arm shoots out and blocks my path.
I let my gaze up run over the spiraling ink, broad shoulders, absurdly beautifully proportioned neck and head, and grin.
“Can I help you, Val?”
My friend winks at me. “Depends.”
“On?”
“On if you're in a sharing mood.”
My brow furrows. “You were just in the same rehearsal I was in, right? So maybe you can see why I don’t really have the energy for riddles right now?”
He chuckles. “Fair. I’ll skip the tiptoeing.” He looks pointedly at me. “Who’s the new guy?”
I almost choke on my tongue.
“ What ?” I squeak, probably cementing Val’s theory firmly into place.
“Who are you fucking. I can tell it’s someone fun, and I want details.”
I frown at him. “I am not fucking anyone.”
…Which is technically true.
That still hasn’t happened. He’s gone down on me literally three times a day for the last week, occasionally mixing it up by pinning me to the wall or over the nearest random piece of furniture and fingering me into oblivion.
He also keeps me guessing with the odd spanking over his knee, mostly when I’m being a brat.
But he still won’t let me touch him.
Infuriatingly, he keeps claiming that I’m “not ready” for that with him. That his “brand” of sex is too rough, too…whatever…for me.
On one hand, it’s not like I’m mad that the freaking god of a man I’m living with has a thing for making me come on his tongue. And I know he’s only holding back because of what I’ve told him I’ve been through, and from what he’s seen.
But it's making me regret telling him anything at all about James or Lou, or about the shit I went through in foster care.
I know it’s because he doesn’t want to hurt me, but I feel it should be up to me to decide if what he’s into or the way he fucks is “too much”, not be told that it is. But how do I say that to someone as larger than life, and powerful, and seemingly immortal as Kir?
“You totally are,” Val sighs.
I could keep fighting him on the technicalities of this. But I’m exhausted after rehearsal, so I let it slide.
“Fine,” I shrug. “Yeah, I’m…seeing someone.”
He grins wickedly. “ And …he—or she…?”
I roll my eyes. “He. Still straight, buddy.”
He sighs happily. “My favorite foreplay line, from a guy.”
I snort. “Okay, I’ll bite. How did you guess?”
He gives me a look. “The floaty way you’ve been swishing your hips around all week like you’re still imagining the dick you were riding before rehearsal might have something to do with it.”
My face burns. “I have not been doing that.”
“Agree to disagree. But as well…” He lets his eyes slide over me before leaning close.
“Look, I know how you are about…you know…” He shrugs.
“C’mon, like I don’t feel it too? Most of our friends here at work grew up heirs and heiresses to mafia kingdoms with Amex Black Cards and personal bodyguards.
You and I fought off sex pests in the foster system.
” He gives me a hard look. “Dude, I know you have to be careful with money?—”
I start to protest, but Val puts his hands on my shoulders.
“No shame. I do, too. Even if Vaughn is apparently some sort of professional Bond villain now.”
I smirk. “How are things going with reconnecting?”
Val rolls his eyes. “Up and down. I mean, it’s cool to have family for the first time.
It’s just a little weird when he turns out to be the head of an international crime syndicate.
” He shakes his head, smirking. “Get this: we had dinner the other night—motherfucker booked out all of Eleven Madison. Like, the whole fucking restaurant.”
I whistle. “Holy shit.”
“Oh, it gets better,” Val mutters. “At one point between course eleven million and course twelve-million-and-seven?—”
I giggle.
“This fucking guy’s henchmen show up, whisper in his ear?—”
“Wait, what do they call him again?” I grin.
Val rolls his eyes. “ The Marquis . It’s the title they give to whoever's head of the Obsidian Syndicate.”
“How dramatic.”
Val snorts. “Right? And I’m the one who dances ballet and fucks men.
But I digress. Anyway, Vaughn just ups and leaves for an entire course, and then comes back with fucking flecks of blood on his collar and an ice pack on his knuckles.
” He shakes his head. “I mean, what sort of gangster-ass shit is that ?”
I laugh.
“So…” Val sighs, leaning against the wall. “For real. Who’s the dude you’re banging?”
Not banging, but whatever.
“He’s…” I shrug. “Older?”
Val arches a brow. “Ooh, how much older?”
I smile weakly. “Enough that I’m not going to give you a number.”
He hoots. “Fuckin’ juicy . I love it. So, sugar daddy?”
“No! Fuck!” I glare at him. “Just because he’s older, he’s a sugar daddy?”
“Nah, just because he’s older and buying you fancy shit ,” Val corrects, eying my clothes. I look down.
Shit.
I’ve been trying to downplay my outfits ever since Kir’s personal shopper filled my walk-in closet with insanely gorgeous designer clothes.
Not because I don’t like them—I love them.
But I’ve been trying to avoid conversations exactly like this one with anyone who knows me and might be confused because I’m suddenly wearing D&G instead of Target or Salvation Army.
I exhale. “He likes buying me stuff,” I say slowly. “But he's not a sugar daddy.”
Val holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay.”
My mouth twists. “It’s just clothes, Val.”
“Well, yeah, and the Range Rover.” Val winks at me. “I’ve seen you getting out of one a few blocks from here before rehearsal a couple of times this week.” He grins. “Hey, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. You deserve to be pampered, B.”
I smile. “Thanks, dude.”
“He treats you okay, though?” Val’s smile instantly drops, his jaw tensing.
Val’s funny. On the surface, between dancing ballet and dating men, it could be easy to pigeonhole him. But I’ve always joked with him that if someone didn’t know he was bi, they’d think he was the straightest dude they’d ever met.
I mean, stereotypes can go get fucked, but Val presents as almost ludicrously straight.
His style is somewhere between a gym bro and a raver.
He doesn’t do shit to his typically messy hair.
He loves weightlifting, muscle cars and motorcycles, watches lots of sports, and his tattoos are super aggressive and masculine.
He's also ultra protective of us girls in the company. It's sweet, and it always makes me smile, the way it’s juxtaposed against ballet-dancing, party-boy Val.
“He is,” I smile quietly, blushing. “A lot more than okay, actually.”
Val nods. “ Good .” He shoots me a look. “Make sure he knows I’ll beat the shit out of him if that changes.”
I know Val knows how to fight, and he’s strong, and built . But even so, even with Kir being eighteen years older than him…I’m not sure he’d win that one.
“You walking out?”
I nod.
“Cool, I’ll walk you to your mystery boyfriend’s chauffeured Range Rover.”
I roll my eyes as the two of us fall into step, heading out the back door of the Mercury and up the alley to East 49 th Street.
“Hey…” I furrow my brow, glancing over at him. “You’re…generally good with, you know…people.”
Val smirks. “Why does 'people' feel like code for my sex life?”
I grin. “Not a dig, I swear. You’re just…good at talking to people, figuring out what they want…what you want…” I trail off, blushing, looking at the sidewalk.
“Fuck me,” Val grunts. “Mr. Boyfriend not know how to make you come?”
I bark out a laugh, my whole body simmering as I avoid his eyes. “No, that part is…” There’s no stopping the grin that spreads over my face. I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just make an “okay” sign with my fingers. Val cracks up.
“Fuck yeah , girl,” he chuckles. “Go get it. So…what’s the problem?”
I groan inwardly, realizing there’s literally no way to have this conversation without getting fairly personal. But it’s Val . It's not like I haven’t heard every single gory detail of his sex life.
“ He does me all the time,” I blurt awkwardly.
“I'm sorry, does you ?” Val snickers.
I glare at him. “Makes me…you know.”
“You can say the word orgasm, B. What are you, Evie?”
I huff. “Fine! He makes me come, a lot, all the time . But he’s…” I shrug. “Cagey about me returning the favor.”
Val looks at me. “Hold up. If I’m reading between the lines…” He arches a brow. “Have you seriously not fucked this man yet ?”
I flush crimson, shaking my head.
“ Wow .” Val blows out a breath. “So, to recap, you’re with an older rich guy who likes buying you nice clothes, chauffeuring you around the city in a Range Rover, eats pussy like it’s going out of style, and does not expect or even want you to fuck him or return the favor in any way.
” He looks at me like I'm crazy. “And you have a problem with this?”
I groan. “I mean… kinda ?”
He nods sagely. “Actually, that’s cool. I get it. I’m a giver too.”
I groan.
“What’s his deal, anyway?”
My mouth twists. “He says I’m not ready for him.”
Val hoots. “ That's what he says? Could you make him sound any hotter?!”
I nod. “Yeah. He says his brand of sex is going to be too much for me.”
“I think I just came.”
“ Dude !” I punch Val in the arm as he laughs.
“Okay, that's enough, Rocky.” He eyes me. “Have you tried just going for it? Like, don’t ask to jump his bones, just…jump his bones.”
I frown. “That sort of sounds like an absence of consent.”
Val rolls his eyes. “B, it sounds like the man goes down on you every hour on the hour. Consider that implied consent. Jesus, our generation is fucked. ” He shakes his head as he looks me dead in the eye.
“Brooklyn, don’t politely ask him if you can suck or ride his dick.
Pull on your big girl panties…or in this case, maybe take them off…
and just fucking do it . Then you can both decide if you’re ready for his…
” He groans, biting his knuckle. “ Brand of fucking.”
I suck on my teeth, mulling over his words.
“Don’t ask,” Val repeats. “Just pull his dick out and rock his world. You’re in charge of your life, so… Take fucking charge.”