CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SEVEN
It didn’t matter how many times I’d beat off over the past week. With Jordan’s silken vice of a pussy wrapped around my cock, I was a ticking time bomb.
She let out a breathy sigh. Her nipples had been hard as diamonds since she took that top off. I snagged each one between my lips as she rocked against me.
“Fuuuuck, Seven.”
I tightened my hold around her little waist, making sure there wasn’t an inch of unnecessary space between our bodies. “Ride me like you wanted to. I’m yours.”
Her mouth parted, the sexiest, yet most tender look searing across her face. I didn’t go bareback with anyone—much less the client’s sister I wasn’t supposed to touch—but all bets were off with Jordan. I’d known it the second I met her, even though I’d been in denial.
Jordan pushed up, revealing the length of my cock, then sank back down. We both groaned. She was juicier than fuck, a waterslide of desire, and I held on for dear life as she slammed down around my cock. I cupped her tits in my hands as she rode me, matching the rhythm of the bass undertones coming from the current performance in the club. Bathed in purple light, fully naked and riding my cock like a champ, she was a goddess. This was absolutely the shit of my dreams. Better than my dreams, even, because I’d never been able to dream up someone like Jordan.
“That’s it, Jordan.” I squeezed her tits as she rocked against me. Her thighs trembled, and I could tell she was close. “You like how I fill you up?”
She nodded vehemently, her eyes glued to mine.
“You want me to show you how much I like it, too?”
She whimpered, biting her bottom lip as she ground against me.
“Let me hear you say it.”
“Sh-Show me,” she breathed. Her eyes were the equivalent of exclamation points. A sheen of sweat glimmered on her skin, and I could tell she was struggling to hold it together. “Fill me up, Seven.”
The breathy command undid my little remaining restraint. The way her hips moved against me, the way that vice of a pussy continually slipped up and down, consuming my cock with nothing at all between our slick, hot flesh…after so much prolonged teasing and delayed gratification, I was shocked I’d been able to last this long.
“Fuck, Jordan. You take it so fucking good.” I buried my face in the hollow of her neck as I felt the warning pinpricks spiral into a full-body assault. Heat flooded me, bliss spreading from top to tail, as I pumped round after round into her. Jordan made every type of indecipherable sound, the way a woman sounds when she utterly and truly falls apart. I could feel the truth of it from the way her pussy spasmed around my cock, the way she went limp in my arms and eventually stilled against me, buried balls deep inside her.
I couldn’t release my hold on her. I wasn’t sure I could ever let her go. Not fully. She breathed as fast as someone who’d just finished running a marathon. My cock pulsed weakly inside her, damn near ready for round two.
I’d found my moment of bliss. Everything made sense, and nothing but this languorous pleasure existed inside me and between us.
Jordan shifted after a few moments, or maybe a few hours. Her voice was a raw whisper. “Holy shit.”
I could already feel my cum beginning its hot slide out of her pussy, dripping out and down. I was a big man in all senses, and that included my output.
I nuzzled her neck. “You good?”
All I heard for a few moments was her breath at my ear. Then she said, “More than good.”
“Good.”
“What about you?”
“Paralyzed with pleasure.” I pulled back so I could get a good look at her, finding a drugged expression on her face. I likely wore a similar one myself.
“That’s probably a little closer to the truth,” she whispered. “I might need to go to the hospital after this.”
I smirked. “Well, all your vitals have been verified…”
“You technically impaled me.”
“I think you’ll be able to walk,” I said. Though I couldn’t say it would be easy right away.
“You rearranged my organs,” she said.
“They needed to be freshened up,” I claimed, “it’s good to rearrange things every so often.”
She snort-laughed, then collapsed against my chest again. My dick had softened slightly, but it waited at attention. I lifted her by the backs of her thighs slightly, until she slipped off me and came to her feet unsteadily.
“Whoa,” she whispered, bracing herself against my shoulders.
“Good thing you waited until after your performance.”
We watched each other for a few moments, grinning like idiots. Then she started to look for her clothes.
“I have no idea how to finish the rest of my shift,” she said, stumbling toward the discarded white mesh top.
I made quick work of slipping my cock back into my briefs and zipping myself up. I could have stayed in here with Jordan for another twelve hours, solely to fuck, but she had things to do. Besides, I knew we’d celebrate round two the first chance we got.
“Well, if you need to bring me in here again to think about things, you know where to find me.”
Jordan laughed as she tugged on her top. But when she bent over to replace her bottoms, she gasped, her hand going between her legs. “Oh my God.”
That could only be surprise about how much she was leaking. “You asked me to do it,” I reminded her with a grin.
“Seven.” She sounded panicked. “I didn’t realize you were going to go all Hoover Dam on me!”
I looked around—there was nothing in here to use. “Are there any towels in here? Otherwise I’ll go to the bathroom, but then you’ll be alone.”
She seemed confused for a moment, then she pointed to my feet. “Right there. It’s a little trap door with sanitizing wipes and paper towels. Can you pass me something?”
I felt around for the little trap door, tugged it open, and ripped off some sheets for her. Sitting on the couch, I beckoned for her to stand in front of me. I wiped up the dribble that had almost reached her knee, then gently cleaned off the moisture on her inner thighs. The purple light made everything different in here, but I could have sworn I caught a blush on her cheeks. I pressed a soft kiss to each thigh before I released her.
“Thanks,” she said.
I stood and caught her chin between my fingers and coaxed a deep kiss from her. When we broke, I said, “I wasn’t lying. Your customers will see my cum dripping down your legs tonight.”
She lifted her chin. “I told you I wanted them to see.”
I grinned, pressing my thumb into her chin. “That’s my girl.”
Once we were both put back together, she still walked unsteadily. I offered my arm. She looked up at me before she opened the door.
“You are just unreal.”
The way she said it sounded like it could either be a compliment or a point of frustration. Maybe it was a little of both. When she pulled open the door, some of the hard edges of her persona clicked back into place. She sent me a flirty look and strutted out into the club. Only I could notice the little wobble in her step.
I liked that. More than I wanted to admit.
I resumed my post along the wall, waiting for Jordan to return from freshening up in the Gems lounge. When she sauntered toward the VIP room about ten minutes later, a smarmy-looking dude in tow, I tried to ignore the way my hands formed fist, the way my heart rate picked up, and the sudden urge to follow them both inside.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself she was just doing her job. Nothing would happen in there with this guy or any other.
But the fact that I already felt the licks of jealousy and possessiveness wasn’t a good sign.
I knew better than to fuck the person I was protecting, but that didn’t mean I was ready to lash myself with regret and shame. No, I was fucking reveling in what we’d just done in the VIP room. It would be a while before the regret could find me. Until then, I planned to conjure up the 364 other ways I planned to fuck her. While staying vigilant, of course.
I scanned the club as I normally did, keeping tabs on the patrons. Looking out for red flags, creepy vibes, and shady activity. Gemstones was surprisingly safe, given my expectations when I first walked in the door. Their clientele was wealthier and better behaved overall, which at least tended to mean the nefarious shit was saved for outside club walls.
But that didn’t mean I let down my guard. Not here, not anywhere, not ever. Every new group that filtered in, I checked out and rated according to my internal security threat scale. Part of it was intuition, which was hard to back up with facts sometimes, but it hadn’t led me astray yet.
Just as Jordan was transitioning from the VIP room to the champagne room for a group of bachelors who wanted drinks and a show, I spotted a group of new arrivals.
Five men, clustered near the front door, dressed in standard-issue designer duds: beige business casual suits, collared polos, enormous watches. They remained clustered by the front door, conferring with the doorman. For a moment, it seemed like there was an issue. The guard’s brows drew together, and then one of the bartenders was summoned. I kept an eye on them as Jordan began entertaining the group of bachelors.
After some tense discussion, Eddie arrived to greet the group of men with a big smile and open arms. Now the group had VIP vibes, though the doorman and bartender still seemed on edge. I watched as Eddie conferred with the blond guy, who seemed to be the leader, then Eddie personally escorted them to a large open table in the middle of the lounge area, facing the stage. The five of them settled in, their smiles varying degrees of smug. They looked to be late twenties and early thirties, and even from my post halfway across the club, I could smell the stink of rich entitlement.
My intuition was pinging already.
Eddie chatted with them for a few moments, then one of the bartenders, Val, flitted over to take their drink orders. As soon as Eddie stepped away, one of the men reached out and squeezed Val’s ass. She swatted at his hand, playing it coy, but I was put off by the groping.
The longer I spied on this group, the more they raised my hackles. I already knew groups like these for what they were: troublemakers; men who pushed the envelope until it ripped. Usually abnormally wealthy or abnormally famous. I kept an eye on them during my club-wide surveillance. At one point, Joss brought over a tray full of shots from the bar, handing out two each. They were clearly here to party.
Jordan wrapped up in the champagne room after about a half hour. Eddie approached her as the men filtered out, grinning like idiots. He pulled her aside, discussing something with her that prompted a frown to form on her face.
Her gaze found mine as Eddie continued speaking into her ear. She nodded. I wanted to march over there and ask what was going on, but I restrained myself. I trusted her to tell me. She nodded again, saying something I couldn’t lip-read in the dim lighting, then Eddie flashed her a thumbs up and wandered off. Jordan ambled my way.
“Figures,” she said, propping a hand against the wall beside me. “The one night we say it’s a good thing I got my performance out of the way, Eddie asks me to do a surprise second show.”
I smirked. “I can’t say I’ll mind. Are you going to be able to?”
She nodded, crossing her arms as she assessed the club crowd. “I’ll be fine. He’s switching up the programming since he got a special request or something.” She turned toward me, shrugging. “My guess is someone out there wants more than just the regular pole routine from the other girls.”
My mind went to the group of men I’d been keeping my eye on, but I pushed the thought away. A second show wouldn’t change anything. Jordan knew how to handle herself, and I was only twenty feet away. Everything was fine.
But I couldn’t fight the nagging worry that grew as Jordan sauntered away to the Gems lounge to get ready for the next show, which she claimed involved a new outfit and a different persona. I kept closer watch on the table of five. All the shots had been consumed, and Joss returned with another round. These guys didn’t waste any time. Before the new round was tipped back, one of the men—the blond—excused himself and stood up, adjusting his watch and polo shirt before walking my way.
We made the briefest of eye contact as he passed me, en route to the bathroom. His blond hair was gelled in a swept back style. He was the living embodiment of what I considered a rich Hamptonite, minus an expensive sweater draped over his shoulders. Something unsettling lurked behind his gaze, something oddly familiar.
I worked through this dilemma until he returned. Maybe a fresh look would jog my memory. There were an incredible number of celebrities in New York City; I walked past a few A-listers on random outings around the city, and Jordan herself had pointed out a slew of reality stars and D-listers inside these club walls. It was more than likely that this guy was on TV or I’d spotted him somehow in the newspapers once upon a time. Who knew?
But when the man in question breezed past me again, his lips tugged down in a natural scowl that I could only assume was his resting bitch face, I had no further ideas about who the fuck he was.
I needed to know. My intuition was pinging like crazy, and I needed a damn nudge.
I headed for the bar, where Joss waited on some other men. She looked surprised when she saw me sidle up.
“Root bear! You need the usual?”
“I’m good tonight, Jade, thanks.” I had to laugh at the nickname. Maybe one day, when I got magically black out drunk sometime, I’d give Jordan and Jade the show they wanted. But that day was a long way off. I leaned closer, inviting her to lean in too. “I need you to give me some info on that table of five over there.”
Her gaze flicked over my shoulder toward the group.
“You brought them two rounds of shots already,” I added, hoping this would clarify.
“Yeah. What do you need to know?”
“Who’s getting the tab?”
She squinted over my shoulder, thinking, then she said, “The blond one. With the blue polo shirt.”
Bingo. I knew that Gemstones required a credit card behind the bar to open a tab. “I need you to give me the name off his credit card.”
She nodded, quickly accessing the POS system at the bar. She squinted at the screen, swiping her finger across it a few times before she leaned across and told me, “It says E. M. Rossberg on it. There’s a huge Boeing on it or something. That’s all I can really see before we process the transaction. That’s where I’ll get the full name.”
“Thanks, Jade.” I offered a small smile. This was something to go on, at least. I returned to my post along the back wall, a bit closer to the table of five. Bright pop music filled the club, an expectant air building as the lighting shifted, signaling that a show would start soon. Men shuffled around, claiming their tables, lifting their hand for a server. And while the rest of the club waited, I started my search.
Rossberg. I wracked my brain for any hits as the google search loaded. The name sounded distantly familiar.
Results flooded the screen. I thumbed through the top contenders, skimming for anything that might catch my eye.
And that’s when the pieces began to click together. News articles mentioning Cora Margulis-Rossberg. Paparazzi photos of the man and Cora, leaving a restaurant in Midtown or entering the towering Margulis building I’d seen in SoHo. I clicked on an article, almost reading too fast to comprehend what I was seeing.
Eli Rossberg.
Cora’s ex-husband.
Something heavy thudded to the bottom of my stomach and I looked up, making sure Eli was still where I’d last seen him. Having been primarily protecting Trace, Mercedes, and Willow since starting with the Fairchilds, we’d been focused on different threats during our time in Louisville. And during the weeks I’d been in NYC prior to being assigned to Jordan, I’d only gotten the bare minimum regarding Eli. He’d made Cora’s life a living hell, he was a rich and powerful man who hated the Fairchilds, and he was safely in the past.
Until now, when he’d unwittingly elbowed his way into my present.
I read more in the article I’d selected. Eli was the heir to the Rossberg Aerospace company, which was currently testing unmanned rockets to Mars and other space technology that made it sound like the top scientists were eager to escape the planet in favor of another one. I switched to a different article, something less technological and more rag mag. The title read “The Margulis Explosion.”It was dated a few months ago, reading like an editorial deep dive into the past and present reality of the Margulis family, including Cora’s breakdown and separation from her family. It was far too complex for the thumping pop music and swarms of horny men around me, though. I needed bite-size information before I could execute a proper investigation on my own. I texted Axel.
SEVEN: What info do you have on Cora’s ex-husband?
AXEL: Jesus Christ. Tell me you haven’t run into that award-winning POS.
I looked up just as Eli threw his head back in raucous laughter. Jade was delivering yet another round of shots. How much did this guy fucking drink?
SEVEN: I’m seeing lots of people out and about. Just want to make sure I’m briefed on all aspects of the family history. For Jordan’s safety.
AXEL: Appreciate that. Though I trust you’re still keeping it secret that she’s our sister?
SEVEN: Of course. Haven’t told a soul.
AXEL: Thank you. Eli is the definition of shit bag. Abused Cora for years, gaslit her, fucked her Pilates instructor under her nose. Damian dug up a whole history of mistresses he’s had, too. Even had to pay a few off. He’s an alcoholic, probable pill popper, just one of the most condescending motherfuckers you’ll ever have the displeasure of meeting. If you see him? Turn around.
SEVEN: Noted. Thanks for the intel.
I pocketed my phone, my gaze sliding back to Eli. Turning around wasn’t an option. Waiting until he left and disappeared from our orbit forever seemed to be the only choice.
The lights dimmed, and the music changed. Jordan’s show was about to start. When the first sultry thumps of a new song began, she emerged from backstage, practically gliding. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, streaked with neon colors. Her makeup was smokier than before, and she’d replaced the white mesh outfit she’d had on before with a shimmery teal outfit that was part corset, part bandages wrapped around her thighs and hips. She took to the pole immediately, hair flying, teal fabric flowing behind her. I’d just seen her twenty minutes ago, and she rode my cock a couple of hours before that, but somehow, she looked like a completely different person. One I’d never seen before.
A reverent hush fell over the club as she scaled the pole, and the music grew more intense. She was upside down and executing a controlled fall, slowly heading toward the ground, until the beat changed and she snapped her legs around the pole. When she spun around, seemingly clutching the pole only with her pussy, her arms splayed behind her and her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth, the entire club erupted in cheers. Eli sprang from his seat, cupping his hands around his mouth as he shouted something unintelligible. He rummaged around in his pockets for a moment, then stalked closer to the stage.
I drifted toward his table, keeping a close eye on him as he stood at the edge of the stage, head tipped back, to watch Jordan like an adoring fan. He hooted and hollered as she performed, throwing bills onto the stage alongside a few other men. But what he threw were fifties and hundreds, not singles or fives like the others.
Jordan enthralled and bewitched every horny motherfucker in the club as she danced. Hell, it was hard for me not to get caught up as well. But Eli needed to be monitored. If I had a good enough reason, I’d be escorting him off the premises by now. Simply being Cora’s ex wasn’t enough, unfortunately.
The longer Jordan performed, the more raucous Eli became. He’d thrown roughly a grand onto the stage by the time Jordan’s show wrapped up. As the music faded and Jordan smiled out at the thunderous applause, Eli leaned over the stage and shouted something. It was loud enough that I heard it, but I couldn’t make out the words. Jordan’s gaze snapped to him quickly, her brows knitting together. Eli waved her closer. She knelt down as he said something to her—she laughed a moment later, gave him a coy response, and began collecting her tips from the stage floor. Eli turned and walked back to the table, looking pleased with himself.
I wandered off once he plunked his ass back in the chair. When Eddie showed up a moment later, I already knew what was coming. After Jordan collected her take from the stage, Eddie met her near the small set of stairs leading to the floor. A whisper, a nod, and then Jordan followed him.
My gut plummeted as the table of five stood. Eddie and Jordan met the group in front of the VIP room I’d fucked Jordan in hours before. But instead of one trustworthy man in there with her, it was five douchebags who I wouldn’t trust with a microwave oven, let alone with someone as special as Jordan.
Jordan disappeared inside the VIP room with the group before I could bolt over there to stop them. Not like it would matter. This was her job, one that I had to let her do, no matter how much the ensuing half hour to forty-five minutes felt like nails against a chalkboard.
I posted up right outside the door, leaning in close to listen for any signs of foul play. As far as Jordan knew, these guys were just her regular clientele. I didn’t presume she knew the entire backstory of Cora, especially if she’d barely kept up with news on her brothers.
Every minute that passed took twice as long. Thirty minutes turned into forty-five. Every second that went over the usual limit sent me closer to the edge of no return, where I’d burst into the VIP room and start peeling men off her, one by one. When they hit the hour mark, the door finally swung open, and the first men began trickling out. Red-faced, happy, and a little off-balance. Eli walked by, finally not scowling. Well, good for him. Then he paused, turned back toward Jordan, meeting her in the doorway. He held a business card between his fingers, passing it to her with a whispered something in her ear. Then he strode off.
Jordan looked at me, flushed and ecstatic. Hundreds poured from her bra, the straps of her heels, the bottoms of her pants.
“Seven,” she hissed. “I just made five grand!”
I blinked. “That’s…” I couldn’t say anything positive. If anything, it was a tolerable one-off occurrence. “What did that guy just hand you?”
She seemed confused for a moment. Then she held up her hand, producing the card. “Oh. I don’t know.” She studied both sides of it, then huffed. “His number. He wants me to call.”
Hard pieces clicked together inside me, forming an image I didn’t like to look at. “Do you know who that guy is?”
“Some wealthy dudebro who wants to give me all his money?”
“It’s Eli Rossberg. Cora’s ex.” When her brows began drawing together, I added, “The one that physically abused her.”
“Fuck.” Her throat bobbed and she looked up at me guiltily. “I didn’t realize.”
“I know that. But you won’t give him your number, will you?”
She gave me a duh look. “No. I know better than that.” She flicked the card and it fluttered to the floor. “But if he comes back I have to do my job. Until he actually tries something, I can’t refuse a client.”
Across the club, Eli and his entourage were packing up and heading out. He looked back at us one last time, his gaze searching for Jordan’s. Then he turned and one-by-one, they all shuffled through the doors.
Finally. My shoulders relaxed slightly. The night was over.
I wanted to believe this was a dodged bullet. But even though Eli was gone, my intuition was still sounding the alarm. Except now, I didn’t know what it was trying to tell me.