Chapter 17—Tommy
This might have been the worst idea I’ve ever had. And I’ve had some shit ideas. Like the time I thought it would be fun to bring home a duck I caught at Central Park. Or when I cheated at cards with Danny. He would have killed me for sure if Vinny hadn’t stepped in.
But all of that was child’s play compared to showing Payton how to dance. It was meant just to be a little video tutorial. Nothing more. Should have known I was setting myself up for disaster.
I honestly don’t know what I was thinking when I thought this up. On paper, it seemed like a good idea. I ought to be smarter than this, especially after my issue in Russia. But apparently I’m still that stupid kid who thinks he knows better than what the world has planned.
She was stiff at the start, just like when she danced for me that first night.
Then something snapped. The music. The reality of what this means.
Of her needing to know how to do this to pay off her debt.
Or just because she was in my arms. On my lap in a room where it was just the two of us, despite us watching others on the screen.
Something changed, and then my ballerina turned into a seductress. Her movements were still a little choppy—she might not get the biggest tip if she was being graded on this—but damn if my tip didn’t want to slip inside her.
Her innocence is what drives my need for restraint higher than it should be. Fuck, with the way she dances, she might as well be a fucking virgin. And yet she continues to grind her peach of an ass all over my hard cock.
I continue to grab the armchair with one hand, hearing the wood creak under my grip, hoping it will keep me from putting another hand on her. One seems to be all I can do. It’s already a downfall. Feeling her move on top of me is one thing. Feeling her hips flex under my fingertips is another.
Her costume, like every other night, reveals little of her skin.
But the image of her in my kitchen in a white bra and tiny white panties is seared into my skull.
I had to hold myself back then. And her stopping at the bra and panty set was more alluring than if she’d stripped completely bare.
So virginal. So innocent. So untouchable.
And yet I touch.
I leave depressions in her flesh from how hard I’m gripping her to keep her from moving away. I can’t let go, even if I should.
And then she touches me. Moving her hands to mine as if grasping for a hold, then releasing them to touch herself, gliding her fingers over her skin.
When her head lolls to the side, I have a view of her skimming her hands over her spandex-covered body.
It’s so tight it leaves nothing to the imagination—not the indent of her belly button or the brail around her hardened nipples.
Nipples she teases herself with as she flicks her fingertips over them. Once. Twice.
A moan falls from her lips when I squeeze her hip to keep from touching her. From tearing the fabric away and doing whatever I want to those nipples. I don’t even think she knows she did it. If she did, I bet she would stop. I bet she would run out scared like the innocent rabbit I know her to be.
But fuck if I’ll let that happen.
She keeps getting under my skin. More and more with every second that passes.
And then she does the worst thing possible.
She grabs the back of my head, clawing her short nails through my hair as she keeps her eyes closed and lets the music move her.
We can hear the moans from the couple doing far more than they should, but no less than what both agreed to, on the screen.
I glance up at them for a second, confirming all is good, before looking back down at her.
At the siren on my lap who has no idea the pull she has on me.
Her hand continues to explore my head, scraping my scalp and tugging at the ends of my hair, pulling a groan from me in their wake and driving her own as she moves her other hand over her body.
She’s too far gone to remember she’s not alone as she grabs a handful of her breast and squeezes tight.
Pulling me down till my stubble is next to her cheek, she shivers at the touch but continues to melt into me as if begging for more.
My lips hover over her neck as she grinds on me, and my fingers choose that moment to betray me.
I should stop this. I should walk away. But I don’t.
They glide over her hip, inching toward the apex of her thighs.
She doesn’t even still as my fingers hover just out of reach of her sex.
Till she moves her hips into them, touching her ass to my cock and then her cunt to my fingertips.
I can barely control myself, shaking as I hold my fingers still.
Letting her play this game of tennis, bouncing back and forth from one part of me to the other.
Then she grabs my wrist and pulls my fingers tight to her hot pussy as she grinds back on my cock.
Only then do I give up, breaking the restraints as I play a pattern over her clit, wiggling my fingers up and down, a steady tempo to match her rhythm.
She cries out at the touch but doesn’t stop moving.
Her eyes remain closed, and I have no idea if she’s even mentally here or not.
But I can’t stop. No matter that I should, I can’t.
Her hand on the back of my neck is rougher, her muscles flexing and straining as she holds me to her. I touch my lips to her skin, lick her sweat off them, then run my tongue along her neck, making her arch against me for better access. Something I can’t seem to deny either of us.
My fingers continue to flutter between her legs as she grinds on my rock-hard cock. But my lips? My tongue? Those take their damn sweet time.
With just the tip of my tongue, I trace over her skin.
Her head tilts a little as if nodding and begging for more of my touch.
Never moving away, never stilling under my assault on her as I lay claim to what I own.
The small licks turn into deep slashes of my tongue against her, taking her sweat and essence into me.
I scrape my teeth along the column of her neck, pulling more and more moans from her sweet lips.
Then I strike. I clamp down and push my fingers deep into her clothing, pinching the bud between her folds and enjoying the soft cry that comes from her as she shakes out her release in my arms.
As slowly as I started, I lick away my teeth marks, lapping at her skin in an apology for leaving a bruise. Sealing a claim, but also a promise to make more.
I just had a taste of Payton. One I denied myself before but won’t refuse myself again. Her release doesn’t calm me; it hits something deep inside me.
Back in Russia all those months ago, I almost died.
A part of me did die. And that empty part is now being filled up by Payton.
By her still-twitching form as she comes down from her high.
The one that’s still slowly moving her hips back and forth on my lap.
The one that doesn’t seem bothered by my fingers that are still laying claim to her pussy, not moving from the home they’ve found between her legs.
Her eyes don’t flutter open. She doesn’t speak. She just breathes. Deep breaths in and out as she slowly lets herself come back to what it was before all this.
But unlike her, I already know it won’t ever be what it was.
It can’t. I won’t let it.
Her movements start to slow, then still. Her breathing evens out as she falls into a slumber in my arms, and after what just happened, I let her. I hold her as I watch the cameras and make sure no one is doing something they can’t.
Something like what I’m doing.
Because while I might not be willing to give up Payton, I know I should. Maybe even must.
A soft knock echoes in the now-quiet room, since I turned off the sound coming from the private room and put the cameras back to their normal feeds a while ago. I don’t look back. I know who it is before they even enter.
“How’d it go?” Dante’s smug face comes into view, but other than the smirk, he keeps the taunt where it should be—unspoken.
I don’t answer him. There’s nothing to say.
Instead, I gather Payton securely in my arms and walk out. He has work to do, and I have a woman to get to bed so she can rest before we do that again.
That and more.
Much more.
The sound of her gasp reaches my ears before I look up to see her sitting up and looking around. She seems dazed and unsure, as if lost in a dream, as she takes in my space.
I wanted to take her home. To lay her out on my bed and wait till she woke up to redo what we did in the tech room. But a reminder on my phone had me carrying her to my office instead.
I know half the damn club saw me do it. And the other half is probably hearing about it. Good. Saves me time from having to warn off anyone who’s going to be an issue for me.
Payton is mine. I own her. The paperwork has been filed.
She has a debt to pay, and I’ll be the one to collect.
Not in sexual favors, but in actual financial value.
That I’m interested in her as more than just a debt is complicated but not unheard of.
Pretty sure there is a line of men in my family who found their mistresses in such a fashion.
But mistress isn’t what I would title what she means to me.
It’s more than that. How much? Well, that’s what I’m trying to figure out.
And if the gossip spreads that she means something to me, or that I’m looking after her, it should be enough to keep others at bay while I figure shit out. At least to prevent another attack on her. Well, that and I plan on moving her in with me till all this is sorted.
I made a point not to commit to where I said she was going to live. If I say nothing and just put her in my place, then when—or if—I tire of whatever this is and realize it’s more lust than anything else, I can move her to another building.