3. Chapter 3 #2
My stride comes to a halt outside Room Three, I swipe my security pass against the keypad issuing an override of the internal lock, the door opens with a quiet hiss of hydraulics.
Cass is on the edge of the lounge chair, robed, posture tight.
Even though she’s trying not to show it, I can see the tension in her hands and throat.
Arthur Morrow is too close to her. His hand grips tightly on her knee, which is not part of the pre-negotiated script.
His body language isn’t quite aggressive, though not casual either—it’s possessive. He doesn’t look up when I approach.
“Is there a problem?” he asks, smooth as silk, flashing a dazzling set of teeth. “We were just getting comfortable.”
I ignore him, instead looking to Cass. One second of eye contact and a slight tilt of her chin is all the confirmation I need. “You touched a worker without a negotiated signal. No protocol was confirmed. No scene initiated.”
He rises abruptly. His posture says he’s important, like I give a shit.
His mask is bone-white, gold trim—one of Maddox’s hand-approved members, usually someone with offshore holdings and judges in his pocket.
Doesn’t matter to me, all men bleed the same regardless of status.
Something in my gaze must show that because he blinks, then smiles and readjusts his lapels.
“Well. She didn’t tell me to stop," he grins. “She shouldn’t have to," I counter, my authoritative tone unwavering. He moves like he’s going to say more, so I step once into his space before he can. "This session is finished.” My voice is cold and hard, it leaves no room for argument. Morrow doesn’t speak again, merely holds eye contact, warning me to back down.
When I don’t, he pushes past me with a huff, muttering something about how this isn’t over.
"Sure, go run to Maddox buddy, see how far that gets you," I mutter. The girls’ wellbeing means more to Mads than money. The last man who dared to hurt a woman in Maddox’s presence had his eye carved from it’s socket with a blade before I forced him to swallow the gelatinous remnants—God, that was a fun night.
Philzy nods to me through the doorway as he and Colson escort Mr. Morrow off the premisis. I wait until the door clicks shut, then turn back to Cass. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Sorry for over-reacting,” she says, voice soft. “Didn’t want to use the panic code if I didn’t have to, I-I just—”
“You didn’t overreact,” I interrupt. "You handled it well.”
She nods, but her hands are still shaking. I speak into my headset, “Can we get aftercare in room three for Cass.” The static whirs in my ear as Nathyn's response chimes through. “Copy that. Sending Maria over.”
I turn my attention back to Cass who’s wiping away a tear with a loud sniffle.
She’s one of the newest entertainers here at Velvet, and has the look in her eye of someone re-thinking all the decisions that lead her to this point.
Some girls take to this life naturally, while others come into it thinking that it’s easy money; that it’s all glitz and glam like they see on social media.
Those are the ones that never stick around too long.
“Hey, you’re alright. Aftercare is on their way,” I say, awkwardly hovering nearby. I’m not really good with girls crying, I’ve got a job to do and this isn’t a part of it.
“Yeah,” she mumbles around a sleeve, dabbing at her eyes, “Thanks, Rylen.” Cass purrs, smiling as she reaches out to stroke my arm.
I stumble backwards, abruptly turn on my heels and stride from the room before I do something stupid, like take her back to my bed and use her to forget the fact that Flea got to have Maddox tonight and I never will.
I shake the mental image of Cass bent over my knee, ass covered in welts from my mind.
Don’t linger. She’s safe now. That’s the job. On my way out, I find Felicia waiting in the corridor. Exactly the last person I want to fucking deal with right now.
Her face is unreadable, cold and perfect. Her hair is twisted up, lips repainted—all trace of Maddox gone. She watches me intently like she’s trying to decide what I know. "The two of you really are something else, aren't you?" she snarks, condescension dripping through her tone.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” I gawk. Is she talking about me and Cass? What, is she a mind reader all of a sudden?
“Oh sweet, stupid boy. I don’t have the time, nor the crayons, to spell this out for you,” she retorts, pushing herself off the wall with her shoulder.
“You know what Felicia, someone really needs to install a speed bump between your brain and your mouth, so you stop being such a conceited bitch all the time.” I growl in response.
"Aw, but Maddox loves my mouth just the way it is," she smirks with all the venom in her retched soul. Vile fucking bitch. My teeth are clenched so tightly they threaten to turn to dust. My hands shake by my sides as I ball them into fists.
She winks at me then turns, heels clicking on the marble, and disappears through the far archway. I stay where I am, watching the shadow she leaves behind. Count to ten, then keep walking.
Fuck. Felicia. Evans.
It’s past three in the morning when I get home. My half of the apartment is clean, dark, and silent, exactly the way I like it. Except for the petite black and white cat weaving between my feet the moment I cross the threshold.
“Hey, Gremlin,” I coo, as a pair of chartreuse eyes blink up at me from the blackened floorboards.
She stretches, yawns, and continues winding herself around my ankles like I’ve been gone for a week rather than a few hours.
I scratch behind her ears with a sigh. "Miss me, pretty girl?” She chirps and trots off toward our bedroom, tail flagging high.
I follow, chuckling at the dainty way she moves.
After my shower, I pour a drink I don’t really want, to try and calm my racing heart when I realise that Maddox still isn’t home.
Is he with her ? Fuck, I'm acting like a jealous boyfriend. I run a hand through my damp hair, slicking it back off my face and release a heavy sigh. We’re best mates.
Practically brothers. Nothing more. We will never be anything more.
I knock back the whiskey before letting my head hit the pillow, and sigh deeply as my eyes drift shut.
My bedroom door clicks open rousing me from sleep—I must have drifted off sometime after my shower. I don’t move at first, because nine times out of ten, it's the cat kicking the door wide open, as if she doesn't squeeze under the tiny gap beneath the couch on a regular basis.
Only, Gremlin doesn't curse when she trips over in the dark and stubs a toe, which means that a drunken Maddox has finally made his way home .
Sure enough, his shadow wavers in the spill of hall light before he staggers inside, shirt wrinkled, belt undone, and his hair a mess like he’s fought against a windstorm.
The low thud of clothing hitting the floor sounds again and again as he stumbles across the room and climbs right into my bed—wearing nothing more than boxer shorts—collapsing onto the mattress with a groan.
The stench of alcohol and poor decisions wafts off him in waves. I push up on an elbow turning on the bedside lamp, scowling at the intrusion. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” I croak.
“Trying to sleep,” he mumbles, face buried in my pillow.
“Cool. Go do it in your own bed," I snap, shoving at his shoulder. He doesn’t budge, just makes a low, dramatic noise like I’m asking him to climb a mountain.
“Don’t wanna," he whines like a petulant child.
My patience snaps causing me to shout. “Then go crash on the couch. Anywhere but here.”
He rolls onto his back, one eye pinched shut squinting against the light. “No. I wanna be with the cat,” he slurs, reaching blindly across the sheets, nearly slapping me in the dick, “but the cat’s with you.”
I breathe heavily through my nose, about ready to lose my shit.
“You don’t even like cats,” I grit the words out.
My eyes sting from the bright lights and lack of proper sleep.
I peak over at my phone where it's charging on my bedside table and see that the screen reads 4:48 AM.
I'm going to kill this asshole if he doesn't fuck off out of my bed.
His head lifts, affronted, as though I’ve spat on his honor. “Excuse me? Gremlin and I spend a lot of time together when you’re not around.”
“Bullshit," I scoff. Maddox sits up enough to scoop Gremlin from where she rests beside my hip. She resists his hold, seemingly unimpressed, but he ignores it as he raises her paw and gently bumps it against his fist. “See? We’re homies.”
Exasperated, I drag a hand down my face, switch the light off and flop back down on my pillow facing away from him. “Oh, what-the-fuck-ever. Just go to sleep.”
He drops the cat, who promptly slinks back to her warm spot, curling back up as my little spoon.
I thread an arm around her and snuggle into the soft ball of fluff to regulate my breathing in time with her purrs.
My pulse slows and my eyes adjust to the darkness, blending in with the dim hall light from the door that Maddox failed to close behind him.
Until the bed starts rocking and creaking with Maddox's constant squirming—the never ending rolling, sighing, and adjusting. The mattress jolts with every movement until my irritation erupts.
“Dude,” I snap, kicking back my heel, landing it against his shin with each word. “Stop. Fucking. Moving.”
“Ow! I’m trying to get comfortable. Why are you yelling at me?
” he sloshes, expression hurt. “Because you’re an obnoxious drunk.
Go fuck yourself," I yell. His body stills, and I think he’s finally going to leave.
However that apparently would have been too easy, because this prick turns his head, eyes half-lidded and lips curling into that crooked, dangerous grin and says, “Right now?”
I glare at him, too tired for his banter. He drags a hand down his bare stomach, letting the waistband of his shorts dip lower until his long, engorged shaft springs free. “Can’t I at least get some privacy first?” Maddox coos.
Heat flushes my cheeks as I watch his fingers trace the base of his cock. I want to touch him so badly it hurts. My jaw clenches and his name leaves my lips in a warning growl.
“Relax, love,” he murmurs, slurred but teasing, eyes now heavy-lidded. “You can just watch me."
And before I can spit back a refusal, his hand is wrapping around himself, moving in low, languid strokes, thumb circling the head.
My mouth instantly dries and an inferno courses through my veins.
What the fuck is happening? This is a dream, a sick dream from a sick mind.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake the fuck up. He chucks breathily as he continues to stroke himself, "You're not dreaming, love. "
Fuck. That was outloud. My brain prickles sharply trying to make sense of how this is real.
My hearing gives out and a ringing sirens in my right ear drum as my chest aches from how aggressively my heart is pounding.
Isn't that a sign of like, a heart attack, or something?
That's obviously what's happening right now, I'm dying in my sleep and my stupid brain is short circuiting some bullshit before my body gives out for good.
He swipes at a bead of pre-cum and licks it from his fingertip and fuck me if that isn't single-handedly the hottest thing I've ever seen. “Mmm,” he hums in pleasure while my heart is beating so rapidly it’s rattling beneath my bones. My cock stirs painfully in my sweatpants, rock solid and aching.
I should get up. I should shove him out of the bed. Instead I sit there frozen, heat prickling my skin, fury warring with the unmistakable pull low in my gut. My cock throbs, yearning to be inside him.
The room hums with the wet slide of his fist and his ragged breathing. His eyes flicker to mine as he shamelessly works himself, soft moans escaping his lips. I bury my face in my hands, but not for long. It’s like witnessing a car crash, I can’t bear to look away. “This is insane,” I croak.
Gremlin purrs at the foot of the bed like some smug witness to my darkest desires.
I’m definitely dreaming, this can't be real.
A curse spills from my lips as I pinch my thigh.
Nope, not a dream. What the fuck? In a blur of motion my hand lunges out to snatch his wrist, willing it to stop, to make this madness end.
For a moment neither of us moves, and the only sound is the crackling heat in the air between us.
I want to tell him to stop, to leave me alone and stop toying with my head, but I don't trust myself to say the words.
My fingers grip tighter, so hard that I'm shaking.
“That’s it, baby," he murmurs, beginning to stroke himself again. "Touch me like you hate me.”
I rip my hand away like he physically burned me.
When his body tightens moments later, his breath stutters and he spills all over his hand with a blissed out groan, my restraint shatters.
I throw the covers back and sprint across the apartment to the bathroom, the slam of the ensuite door reverberating through the walls.
My cock is already painfully hard against my sweats, I waste no time ripping it free and tipping my head back against the door as I give in to my primal desires.
Fury, want, and shame, all tangled up as my fist pumps rough and fast. It doesn’t take long.
Not with the memory of his face and the ragged sound of his climax burned into me.
It builds so tightly that I don’t even have time to stifle the hoarse moan as my orgasm rips through my entire body, down to my curling toes.
My legs feel boneless as the aftershocks subside, causing me to slump back against the bathroom door.
A wave of post-nut shame swells inside my chest and I bite back the trembling of my lip as I fight not to let my emotions consume me.
When it’s subsided enough to be mobile, I wash away the evidence, scrubbing my hands under scalding water until I can pretend it never happened. That I didn’t jerk off to my best friend for the second time this week.
By the time I return, the room has gone still.
Maddox has passed out and is sprawled across the bed, lips parted, lashes brushing his cheeks, his chest rising slow and easy.
I stand there too long, hating myself for the way my chest softens at the sight.
My hand drifts of its own accord, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
My fingers hover, aching to linger, but I snatch them back before I can do something even more moronic.
Slipping back into bed, I cautiously lay down facing away from Maddox, pressing myself to the edge of the mattress. For a long time, sleep doesn’t come and when it does, I pray that I never wake.