5. Max
“Obviously, I’mnot going to fuck him.”
Thewords Isabella had said earlier played on repeat in my mind as I watched her work. Even as Isabella’s eyes found mine from across the lounge as my eyes scanned the room. Even as she caught me checking her ass out as she bent behind the bar to grab a new tray.
It’snot like I expected Isabella to actually fuck me, but the finality in the way she’d delivered that fact to Dominic when he awkwardly caught us in a moment was enough to bruise my ego. ButI knew I shouldn’t let it get to my head. This was a good thing. My upstairs and downstairs brain needed to get the picture that she was off-limits.
Womenlike Isabella were expected to make all the right moves in life. The right career, the right partner, the right private school for their children, and the right luxury NewYorkCity property to raise them in. None of that could come together if they looked too far outside their circles.
Butthere’s something about the way that I felt like Isabella did things differently. Or at least wanted to.
Isabella, the trust fund baby of a world-renowned sex therapist, author, and speaker. And that was just her mother. Her father came from a long line of money from his own family, so together, they were a multimillion-dollar powerhouse of a family. I couldn’t let myself be convinced that Isabella liked taking in strays as much as her brother did.
Ishould at least be thankful that, unlike Ana, Isabella wouldn’t string me along for two years waiting for me to turn into something I wasn’t. She set the precedent early, and that, at least, deserved some respect.
Iknew befriending the rich kid at summer camp would open me up to a world I’d never experienced before. ButI hadn’t anticipated I’d feel like such an outcast even all these years later. Dominic and I had known each other since we were fourteen. We’d been randomly assigned bunkmates in a cabin at a camp for boys.
Myparents sent me there because there was no one else to watch me during the summer while my parents worked. I wasn’t sure why Dom’s parents sent him there, but I was grateful. WithDom’s menacing glare, quiet attitude, and “don’t fuck with me” face, no one messed with him—or me—all summer.
Forsome reason, Dominic had kept inviting me to things even after summer camp had wrapped. It took me a while to fully let it sink in that me and Dom were actually friends. That in a city where class was clearly divided throughout the boroughs, this teenage boy didn’t care. Dom hadn’t cared that my dad had to pick up night shifts to be able to afford my soccer uniforms or that my parents only had the one home where me and my three sisters grew up.
Bythe time I had met Dom, Isabella had already moved out. At that point, she was probably somewhere between Barcelona and Lisbon, and it would be a long while before I’d meet her in person. She’d swept into town to celebrate her mom’s birthday, and there was so much energy around her that I got sucked in. I’d watched her from the sidelines as Dominic and I prepped the pool, and Isabella had helped the florists place their centerpieces on the outdoor tables. She’d been wearing a dark red summer dress dotted with tiny white and yellow flowers. Her feet were bare, and an ankle bracelet with dangling golden butterflies glistened in the sun on her tan skin.
Buteven though the memory had aged over time, I remembered how I felt when I first laid eyes on her, listened to her speak, and heard her laugh.
Tosay I’d been instantly infatuated was an understatement. ButI knew the bro code, and I held strong and fast to those rules for fear of losing the friendship and connections Dom brought me. A poor kid from Brooklyn didn’t grow up to be a MasterSommelier without the influence of the wealthy.
Itdidn’t matter if her brown eyes twinkled in the chandelier light or her face heated when I’d told her about some of the member activities that went on in the lounge areas. It didn’t matter that I’d like her on her knees in front of me doing some of those activities.
WhenI’d seen her for the first time after all these years, that same electric feeling zapped through my belly. I hadn’t been able to keep my eyes off her then, and I couldn’t figure out how to do it now either. It didn’t help that Isabella was somehow even more attractive now than she was back then.
Evenback when I’d barely known her, there was a pull, an intrigue about Isabella that caught my attention. But time, the sun, and life experiences had shaped Isabella into someone I really wanted to get to know now.
“Hey.” Isabella’s voice brought me back from wherever my mind and dick had traveled off to. “I think your private-tasting clients are here. Do you need anything?”
“Yeah, you,” I said.
Isabellaturned to face me. “What?”
“I mean, I could use your help. With them. Just switching out glasses and making sure they’re all topped up while I explain things. I set up a tasting station over there in the corner at the high-top marble table.” I pointed over to a round table set back in a small alcove.
“Oh, yeah, of course, whatever you need,” Isabella said. “I’ll bring them over.”
Iwatched as she walked away and greeted the two couples who were here for the tasting, guiding them over to the table.
“Obviously, I’m not going to fuck him.”
“Obviously, I’m not going to fuck him.”
“Obviously, I’m not going to fuck him.”
Irepeated it like a mantra, mostly to keep my aching dick at bay.
Ididn’t need one of my best friend’s sisters to know how badly I’d like to bend her over in that back office.
Orhow badly I’d like to trace the fading tan lines I’d spotted on her shoulders.
Ithought I had gotten Isabella out of my system this morning in the shower, but being around her at this club was stirring up weird feelings inside me. That’s just what this place did to you.
Aplace Dominic and his friend Liam had created for sexual exploration and positivity. A place where it was expected that you, as the employee, keep your own turn-ons at bay even as members were in various states of pleasure all around me. At the end of the bar, a couple was making out. In a wide lounge chair angled slightly away from the bar sat another couple, and I saw a flash of upper thigh as the woman leaned forward. An older gentleman sitting between two women was getting a rubdown in a booth.
Igrabbed a fresh bar towel and headed over to the table to greet my guests. My demeanor was a stark contrast to my relaxed, flirty self at the bar. Now, in front of the guests, I tried to exude confidence and control. My eyes, however, flicked toward Isabella, locking eyes with her for a split second before acknowledging the guests.
“Mr. and Mrs. DeLorenzo, Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield, welcome to the PrismSociety,” I greeted, extending a hand to each of the guests. Their hands were accepted with firm handshakes and nods of acknowledgment.
“Isabella will be assisting me this evening,” I said with a note of finality as if expecting no objections. Izzy squared her shoulders, giving a polite nod to the two couples. TheDeLorenzos, prominent figures in the art community, had a reputation for being exacting in their tastes. TheWhitfields, though younger, were rising stars in the world of art curation.
Asthe couples settled around the marble-topped table, I directed my attention to Izzy. “Isabella,” I began, my tone imperious yet not unkind, “please ensure each guest has a clean glass in front of them.”
“Of course.” Isabella swiftly moved to distribute the wineglasses, her movements precise and efficient. I watched her every move, nodding slightly when she was done. “Thank you. Now, the first wine we will be tasting this evening . . .”
Ilaunched into an intricate description of the first wine, discussing its origin, the notes to anticipate, and the correct way to taste it. I felt Isabella’s eyes on me as she observed me work.
Atintervals, I would give Izzy commands, some overt and others more subtle. “Isabella, the decanter,” or “A touch more for Mrs. Whitfield, please.” Each time, she responded promptly, and I would show my approval with a small touch of my hand on her lower back. I didn’t know what game we were playing, but I sure as hell loved it.
Theevening flowed smoothly, with Izzy and me working seamlessly together. The couples seemed thoroughly engrossed in the experience, hanging on to my every word and frequently engaging Isabella with questions about the wines.
Asthe tasting concluded, I turned to Isabella, my voice low so only she could hear. “You did well, Isabella,” I murmured, my eyes intense.
Isabellasmiled, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered back.
Herwide eyes glancing down in shyness at my feet did something to me. For as strong and confident as the woman before me was, there was something inside her that seemed to be begging for direction. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold onto my control around her.