Chapter 4
Zia~
I was playing with fire, and I knew it. Nevertheless, I didn’t care. No matter what I said, Quaid Crawford wasn’t being robbed of his free will, so there was nothing stopping him from walking away at any time.
Plus, I didn’t necessarily want him to.
While I couldn’t know his exact age, he looked to be in his early forties, and not only was he well over six-feet-tall, but he also had one hell of a body underneath that white button-up and jeans.
He also had these bright hazel eyes that stood out against his dark complexion, and they looked like they were constantly glowing somehow.
In fact, he reminded me of De’Laney Ortiz, only a bit darker and older.
Quaid Crawford also looked like he could put it down, and I could admit that I was curious enough to try to find out.
Back at his office, he’d been trying so hard to remain professional, letting my father deal with my immature outbursts, and it made me wonder what he looked like when he lost control.
Eyeing me, he finally asked, “Why? Why do you want the man to keep thinking about you afterwards?”
“Because I’m worth thinking about, Mr. Crawford,” I told him, refusing to let all of my childhood insecurities insist differently. “Because I matter.”
Tilting his head to the side, he said, “So, neglect is your poison.”
I almost flinched as he hit the nail on the head, but in all fairness, it hadn’t been all that difficult to figure out.
Acting out and wanting to be the center of attention were classics signs of neglect, and while I hadn’t been neglected to the point of physical harm, I’d still been neglected enough to cause me some issues today.
“Which one is yours?” I asked rudely, presuming that everyone on the planet had some kind of issue or other.
At first, I wasn’t sure that he was going to answer, but then he said, “I have four siblings, and as the eldest, I practically raised them, giving me a slight aversion to...domesticationhood. It’s why I’ve never married or had kids.”
“So, you like your peace and quiet at the end of the day,” I surmised. “Could be worse.”
“Well, now you know why I don’t like complications in my life,” he remarked, but I was still calling bullshit on that.
“You don’t want commitments,” I corrected. “Again, if you didn’t like things complicated, then you would have chosen another profession.”
Stepping closer to me, he asked, “And how do you feel about commitments, complicated or not?”
Staring into Quaid’s bright hazel eyes, I wondered if this was how a black widow felt whenever a fly got too close to its web.
“I can take them or leave them,” I answered truthfully.
“After all, I’m only twenty-five, and until I’m ready to work on my issues responsibly and maturely, I’m fine with just letting the cards fall where they may. ”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re nothing but trouble?” he asked, but it didn’t sound like the insult that it should be. The rough tone in his voice made the words sound more seductive than they should be.
“A few times,” I quipped.
“Someone really ought to take you over their knee,” he continued, and I could only hope that he was volunteering for the job.
“Oh, really” I purred, my accent coming out whenever I got excited. “Do tell.”
Those prism-colored eyes of his flared a bit, and if I was able to get Quaid Crawford to bend me over and spank me in a voyeurism room, then I could definitely call this a successful night.
Being as tall as he was, his hands were nice and large, and I could only hope that the stereotype about a man with big hands was true.
Instead of taking the bait, Quaid asked, “How often do you come here?”
I shrugged, seeing no reason not to tell him the truth. “Up until two months ago, I’d been seeing someone for about two years, so there’d been no need to come here. Before that, maybe twice or so after graduating from college.”
His brows jumped at that. “You went to college?”
“Yes, Mr. Crawford,” I drawled out condescendingly. “Despite the blonde hair, blue eyes, and big tits, I’m not stupid. I graduated college with a degree in marketing, and I even own a home, pay my bills on time, and can drive myself around.”
Quaid shot me a quick look. “Point taken.”
I reached for my drink, the poor thing probably too watered down to make a difference, but I wasn’t about to waste eight dollars.
Plus, if Quaid Crawford wasn’t going to volunteer to help me with my night, then I needed to get going.
I wanted to take in a show before reserving a participation room, and I’d like for all the paperwork to be out of the way before going about my business.
So, after polishing off my drink, I flagged the bartender down, and she was standing before me almost immediately, and that was another thing that made The Fantasy Factory so different from the other clubs in the city.
No matter how packed the place was, there were always enough bartenders to keep you from having to wait a century for your drink.
“How may I help you?”
“Can you tell me if there’s a show for Room Four soon, and I’d also like to reserve a participation room,” I answered, ignoring how Quaid immediately stood to his full height, which had to be around six-three or so; seriously.
“There’s a show scheduled to begin in about ten minutes, so let me hurry up and get you that paperwork,” she replied happily, and that was another thing that I was grateful for. No one here ever judged you on your proclivities, and if they did, they did a hell of a job keeping it to themselves.
“You’re really going through with this?” Quaid asked as soon as the bartender left to get me the consent forms.
I turned to look at him, not intimidated in the least. “What made you think that I wasn’t?”
“Sex isn’t a healthy way to cope with the deeper issue here,” he said, and for someone who didn’t appreciate complications in his life, he sure was turning this into something that it didn’t need to be.
“No, it’s not,” I easily agreed. “However, since it’s been over two months since I’ve gotten laid, this kills two birds with one stone. Simplicity, Mr. Crawford.”
Before he could say anything to that, the bartender was back, and she had all the paperwork that was required by the owner to reserve a participation room.
Of course, the lawyer in Quaid was probably balking at how I hadn’t read any of it before signing and dating the thing, but he’d get over it.
Besides, having been here before, I didn’t need to read the terms and conditions again.
“Thank you,” I said as I pushed the paperwork back the bartender’s way.
“Not a problem,” she replied with a grin on her face. “However, since there’s only one room available for this showing, you might want to hurry up and get up there.”
“Of course.”
As the bartender turned from me, I jumped off my barstool, but because I hadn’t warned Quaid in time for him to move back and give me some space, my breasts ran down his chest until they rested against his stomach, and the low hiss hadn’t gone unnoticed in my ears.
Stepping back, I looked up at him as I said, “Well, it’s been fun, Mr. Crawford. However, I have a show to get to, and if I’m lucky, there’ll be a big-dicked caveman who likes to be called Daddy waiting for me at the end of it all.”
I shot him a wink before making my way to the stairs, and while the place had an elevator underneath the triple staircase, I wanted to be seen walking up each step, the dress that I had on barely long enough to cover my ass.
Again, I was here to make myself feel better, and I wasn’t going to apologize for it.
Yeah, this probably wasn’t the ideal way to feel validated, but I didn’t care.
I’d climb that mountain at a later date, when I was finally ready to.
I was also hoping that Quaid watching me walk up the stairs would snap him into action.
While I was very aware that he didn’t care for me much, I didn’t need him to.
In fact, hate-sex was as therapeutic as it got.
Yeah, candlelight and romance were very important when you were trying to connect with someone, but I wasn’t here to fall in love.
I was here to be worshipped.
Once I got to the second-floor landing, I headed right towards the hallway that separated the rooms, and I quickly grabbed the only free observation room that was left.
Now, because I didn’t mind watching or being watched, I left the door unlocked, inviting anyone to join.
Yeah, anywhere else, that might seem dangerous, but The Fantasy Factory’s reputation for safe engagement was damn near legendary, so I wasn’t too worried about it.
However, before I could even get comfortably situated on the couch, the door was opening again, and Quaid Crawford was stepping over the threshold, locking the door behind him almost immediately.
Checkmate.