Page 82 of A Dark Duet

Music begins to play, and she walks over and straddles my lap. Her scent of vanilla permeates the air around me. My hands touch her waist and I position her over my hard dick so she can feel how hard she makes me. My lips find the place between her breasts, and she arches her back, holding on to my shoulders. When she holds my head in place, I take my fill of the scent of her skin, kissing her. She gasps when I lift her in the air and she straddles my waist, not giving a fuck about the rules.

“There’s one thing you forgot, baby. I don’t follow rules when it comes to you. I break them.”

Placing her on the comfortable chaise before she can protest, I’m between her legs, rubbing my hard erection over her covered pussy.

My head lowers to nibble her ear while I grind into her pussy, rubbing her clit. She watches me with no emotion. Her response to me is confusing, she doesn’t moan or smile like I remember. Her pussy is not drenched like it used to be. This feels off and so wrong. I stop and when my gaze finds hers, her eyes look bleak and nonexistent. This is not her. This is not my girl. This girl is empty. Her legs relax and she turns her head away from me.

“Are you done?” she croaks.

My heart sinks. I swallow hard because for the first time, I feel like I’m forcing her. She doesn’t crave me or my touch.

She stiffens when I get up off of her and she tries to cover herself with her hands while quickly looking for the robe.

“I’m sorry,” is all I manage to say. What could I say? I fucked up and I’m no different than any man in this place. Taking advantage of her and her position. I’ve never felt more disgusted with myself.

“Please don’t ask for me again. You’ve done a great job staying away and forgetting about me. I want nothing more than for that to continue,” she says.

“Brie. I-I can’t. I’m not going to stay away,” I tell her, backing her against the wall. My finger tilts her chin up so she can look at me. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Her hands drop to her sides and her robe opens, revealing her delicate skin.

My fingers quickly find the sides of the silk material and I close it, wrapping and tying it together, covering her. Her gaze is still trained on mine, standing motionless with her plump pink lips slightly parted.

The backs of my fingers gently trace her soft cheek tenderly. Lowering my head toward her lips, my lips brush hers softly.

“I miss you,” I say, whispering before my tongue finds hers in a kiss. Our kiss. A kiss that is so soft and tender, she places her hands on my shirtless chest and when I think she is going to push me away from her, she rests her palms flat on my heated skin. My heart speeds up as she meets my kiss. A kiss I’ve missed because I may have fucked ring bunnies and random chicks, but I’ve never kissed them on the mouth. She is the only woman I have ever loved kissing.

“You are so beautiful,” I say, pulling away and breaking the kiss. “I apologize for treating you like that on the chaise. I’m truly sorry.” She averts her gaze. “Brie, please look at me.”

“Times up. I need to go.” She moves away and I back up, giving her back her personal space. Her response to me is like an ice bucket of cold water in a hot Jacuzzi but I let her go. She leaves the room and I stand there contemplating my next move.

Jaden

Parking in a discreet parking garage next to rows of ultra-luxury vehicles, Jake and Kyle Park their sports cars next to mine. Jake and Nick are the first to walk up.

“Ready, Champ?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” I say, following him toward a single black door with a bouncer wearing a tailored suit built like a house. He nods to Jake and says something in the speaker in his hand, giving him a code. We walk in and we are given special bands that indicate all-inclusive for one night only. Turning my wrist to look at the bold letters written across it, it readsNO VIP.I could change that tiny detail, but I decide I’m just here to blow off steam and celebrate with the guys. I know they are excited about me winning and they just want to have a good time.

We follow a hostess in a short skirt that Nick is blatantly checking out. She leads us to a table to the left of the stage. To our right, there is a tall man with dark hair that screams wealth with a bodyguard standing behind his chair. His table sits right in front of the last pole that is at the end of the stage that is set up like a runway in Paris for fashion week.

This place screams wealth with the most expensive wines, alcohol, cigars, and millionaires. Some are even billionaires, I recognize the man that is on our right, Ethan Carter. We move in the same circles and even have business ownerships in certain companies. He comes from wealth and privilege because his father is a Mafia king. We only respect each other because of business with important leaders.

Men like Ethan Carter scream power, and danger, with a huge mix of wealth. He is not old and if I’m not mistaken, he is around my age at thirty-two with a strong build. In other words, a man that shouldn’t need a bodyguard. He is always into some shit that people would try to take a chance and end his life. His head tilts in our direction and his dark eyes land on me and he smirks.

“Who the fuck is that asshole?” Jake asks, lifting his chin in the man’s direction. Cracking my neck, I stare the asshole down. When Jake looks over, the bodyguard notices the tension and crosses his arms over his chest in a defensive pose.

“His name is Ethan Carter. He is a billionaire and probably the richest man in the room, besides me. He owns many conglomerates all over the world. He lost his wife seven years ago in a car accident and has never been serious with another woman. They say she was the love of his life,” I say low enough so that no one near our table can overhear.

“Well, if they could see him now. I don’t think his dead wife would approve of where he is spending his nights,” Kyle chimes in.

Nick chuckles. “There must be someone or something that has his attention here and we are going to find out.”

“It’s like getting information before TMZ,” Kyle adds.

The lights begin to change and there is a huge screen behind the three main poles on the shiny black floor like in a concert or music video.

The hostess that brought us to the table walks over with a tray and a Macallan 18 with four glasses.

She leans in and says, “Compliments of Mr. Carter. Congratulations on your win, Mr. Cyprus.” The brunette with small breasts pushed up by the lace corset smiles demurely at me and takes her leave.

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