The VIP Room (50 page)

Pleasure pools inside me. It's so good, everywhere, and I'm stuck here. I'm utterly at his mercy. He digs his nails into my thighs, and a burst of pain washes over me. It's sharp and real. I moan out some utterly incomprehensible collection of syllables.

He focuses his attention on my clit. It's soft, slow strokes at first. They're perfect and amazing. My entire body is in overdrive. It's so much feeling, and there's nowhere for it to go. I groan, louder and louder and louder.

He flicks his tongue against me, hard and fast. A wave of pleasure jolts through me, so strong it hurts. I gasp. I can take it.

He does it again. I try to free my legs so I can squeeze them around him, affect him some way too. But he only holds me tighter. His nails dig into my skin again, like he's warning me he'll tie my legs, too.

He licks me. Slow. Then faster. Harder. It's jolt of pleasure after jolt of pleasure. With no way to contain the sensation, I feel everything. I shift my hands until the rope tugs at my wrists.

It's so strange. So wonderful. Still so warm, so soft, so wet. Blake moves faster, until every jolt blurs together, and all I can feel is an intense rush of pleasure. It's so tight. With my hands bound and my legs pinned, I can't do anything to contain the sensation.

An orgasm builds up inside of me. It's tight, tight, tight, and then everything releases in a perfect wave. I catch my breath for an instant then Blake's mouth is on me again. He licks me with long, fast strokes. Somehow, it's more of everything. More intense, more pleasure, more I can't contain.

I moan. "Blake." Then words completely flee my brain. I groan. It's the only thing I can manage. The tension builds inside me until it's so tight I think I'll snap. But he keeps going. Tighter. Tighter. Tighter.

This orgasm comes fast. All the pressure inside me releases in a deep cascade of pleasure. I feel it everywhere.

My legs go slack. I relax into the bed, reveling in the after shakes. Blake releases me for a moment. His eyes find mine. This expression I understand. He wants his release. He wants me.

He unwraps the condom and rolls it on. He arranges my legs, flat against the bed again. Then he brings the weight of his body against mine. He feels so good already—warm and hard and distinctly male.

He spreads my legs wider. The tip of his cock strains against me. There's a sharp tugging sensation from the rubber of the condom. It's a quick moment and it's gone, replaced by the feeling of him inside me.

Wow. Wow. Wow. That's the only word I have. He shifts into me slowly. It's not like people warned me. There's a slight discomfort, but it doesn't really hurt.

Blake plants his hands outside my shoulders. He pushes into me, going deeper. Wow. Wow. Wow. Any remnants of pain are replaced by the sensation of being full. Something instinctual takes over inside me. I arch my hips. I go to bring my arms around him, and my wrists catch on the restraints. I'm not in control. Blake is.

He grunts. His lips press against my neck. Then it's teeth. He bites me hard enough that pain shoots to my sex. It heightens the feeling of him inside me. It heightens the pleasure spreading to my fingertips.

He moves faster. Harder. It hurts for a minute then it feels so damn good. I wrap my legs around him and arch to meet his movements. Wow. Wow. Wow. This is why people write pop songs. This is why people go to war. This sex thing is amazing.

He groans. "Mhmm. Kat."

His nails scape against the outside of my thighs. Another perfect burst of pain. I close my eyes and surrender completely to the sensation. He thrusts into me. He sinks his teeth into my neck. He scrapes his nails against my skin. Everything mixes together--the pressure, the pleasure, the pain. It's amazing. It's perfect.

His breath speeds. He bites me harder. His back shakes. I open my eyes to look at him. There's something about his expression. It's so heavy and so desperate. He's about to come. That's what it looks like.

He's about to come, because of me. Because he wants me. Because he needs me.

The thought of it makes my sex clench. I let out a loud moan. It spurs him on, and he moves faster. Harder. All the pressure inside me winds up again. Tight, tight, tight. I take one more look at Blake. I soak in the weight of his body, the slight shaking of his arms against my shoulders.

All that pressure inside me unwinds. Wow. Wow. Wow. An orgasm spreads through my body. I relax into the bed, again, utterly unable to do anything except feel.

It's enough to push Blake over the edge. He groans. "Mhmm. Kat." His nails sink into my sink. He moves faster, faster, faster.

Something in him changes as he comes. His expression softens. His muscles tense as he tears at the sheets.

Blake collapses next to me. He rolls off the bed to discard the condom. That same softness is in his eyes. It's the closest thing I've seen to vulnerability.

He looks me over, his gaze hardening quickly. "Are you okay?"

I nod.

He reaches up and unties me. He looks my wrists over, pressing his fingertips against them gently. He stretches my wrists, fingers, elbows.

He wraps his arms around me. Wow. A completely different sensation, but it's equally amazing. I close my eyes and relax into it. Nice. This is really nice. He press his lips into mine. He tastes like me. That's strange, too, but I don't feel shy over it.

Something shifts. Blake climbs off the bed. His expression goes back to impenetrable. "You can stay as long as you want."

"Thanks." He takes a step towards the door. "Make yourself comfortable. Jordan will take you home whenever you're ready. If there's an emergency, I'll be in my office."

I nod like it's normal that he's fleeing the scene. "Sure."

"I sent your things home with him. I'll email you about your appointments. The doctor and your hair and makeup for the gala Thursday."

"Okay." Cause apparently I can't handle my appointments or my life.

"Goodnight." He steps out of the room and closes the door.

I look around the room. There's not much besides this bed and a stack of books. The attached bathroom is gorgeous, all stainless steel, Italian marble, and an enormous tub with jets and imported bubble bath.

I soak for a long time. The thing is big enough to swim in, but there's still something missing. Everything is a lie. Everything but sex, and that's just sex. No getting attached to Blake, no matter what.

My clothes are folded on the couch. Not the pink chiffon dress--the jeans and t-shirt I wore this morning. The entire apartment is quiet and dark except for a room in the far corner. Yellow light streams out through the door. Blake's office, no doubt. I'm no fool. I understand the arrangement.

The sex part is done, but the guy isn't rude. He's not about to kick me on my ass. This apartment is beautiful, but there's something very cold and lonely about it. Lizzy is sleeping at a friend's place. There's nothing waiting for me at home.

I make myself comfortable on the couch. Three hundred channels and none of them are as interesting as wondering what the hell Blake is doing in his office, all by himself, at two in the morning.

B
lake fingers graze my back
, pressing the silk of my dress against my skin.

His hand rests on the curve of my waist. It's equal parts possessive and sweet. Of course, the latter is a lie.

He turns to me ever so slightly. His eyes are wide, bright. He's nailing that gaga in love look.

Lie, lie, lie. It's a lie. I press my French-manicured nail into the pad of my thumb to remind myself. He doesn't love me. I don't love him. We're only pretending.

A man in a navy suit approaches. He's in his twenties. Blake offers his hand, but the guy shakes his head and pulls Blake into a hug.

The man turns to me. "You must be the lovely Kat I've heard so much about?"

My cheeks flush. Blake warned me this company party would be long, boring, and filled with assholes. He didn't warn me that he was talking about me. "Kat Wilder. Nice to meet you."

I offer my best coquettish grin. Of course Blake mentioned me. People talk about their girlfriends. And that's what I am--his pretend girlfriend.

"Declan Jones," he shakes my hand. "You're much prettier than Blake said."

Big smile, little laugh. "Thank you. I've heard so much about you." Like the one time Blake mentioned his college friend who runs a start-up in San Francisco.

"And where is your date?" Blake asks.

"I'm here on business, my friend. No dates. But I'm glad you volunteered to entertain me." Declan smiles. "Things didn't work out well with Grace. Different lifestyles."

"That means she wasn't okay with him seeing other women." Blake raises an eyebrow as if to challenge his friend.

Declan shrugs with false modesty. So the guy is a bit of a player. No surprise. All that matters is that he's buying into this whole ruse. I have to admit, it's convincing. Blake is the quiet, protective boyfriend, and I'm the pretty--with the help of a hair, makeup, and styling team--young thing he needs around constantly.

There are another dozen introductions just like that one. I laugh. I smile. I swat men away saying things like
oh, you.
Blake's grip around my waist gets a little tighter with every compliment. Almost like he really is jealous.

A woman a few years older than I am storms up to us. "Blake."

He remains steel. "This is my sister, Fiona."

Fiona nods hello. "Nice to meet you. Kat, right?"

I nod. "I'm Blake's girlfriend."

Her eyebrows raise in surprise. She shakes the expression off. "Mom wants to meet your
girlfriend.
She said something about how she hopes you finally care about more than getting between a woman's legs."

I am under strict instructions to hold my tongue, but the anger coursing through me is so tempting. Big smile. I can play this my way. "It's funny. Our relationship started out purely sexual. But Blake is so sweet." I turn to him with my best gaga eyes. "How could I not fall in love?"

He runs his fingertips over my chin, tilting me towards him. He leans closer, closer, closer. Our lips press together.

That whole thing about butterflies in your stomach--it's fact. My entire body is light. I'm faint. Blood
is
rushing down. That must be it. A kiss for show is still damn hot. It's not like my body knows it's a lie.

I grab at his shoulders and kiss back harder. Pretend or not, his lips are perfect against mine.

Fiona scoffs. "Get a room."

Blake pulls back. He throws a
fuck you
glance at his sister. "Where's Trey?"

She plays with her wedding ring. "A conference."

There's a sadness in her expression, like even she doesn't believe her story.

"That's a shame," Blake says. It sounds sincere.

"Mom is tired today. Put in some face time before your little speech, okay?" She asks.

"It's under control."

"I bet." She looks at me like I'm a bimbo. "Where did you two meet?"

"It was a coincidence," I say. "I bumped into him on my way out of an interview."

"Oh? You work. That must be a refreshing change, Blake," Fiona says.

Irritation flares in his expression. There's a tiny hint in his eyes. Otherwise, he's a wall of stone.

"What do you do?" Fiona asks.

"That's not your concern," Blake says.

"We're having a conversation," Fiona says.

"I'm a waitress," I say.

Fiona fights something--judgment or solidarity or something else entirely. She looks at her phone and frowns. "It was great to meet you but I need to make a call."

She makes eye contact with Blake. Something passes between them, a mystery to everyone else. I can do that kind of thing with Lizzy. It's a kind of sibling magic.

Fiona turns and leaves with a loud huff.

My heart races. Slow inhale. Can't hold my breath any longer. I unfurl my clenched fists and lock fingers with Blake. I can deal with rejection. I'm not good enough for some snooty asshole, fine, but that's his sister. She has some nerve treating him like that.

Blake is stone. He studies my expression. "You okay?"

I nod. I will be. I just need a minute. Something to wash the taste of that encounter from my mouth. I grab a champagne flute from a passing waiter. Funny, I don't think I've ever had champagne. It's amazing. Sweet and bubbly with a faint flavor of apples.

I take another sip.

Blake grabs my wrist. "Slow down."

He presses his palm against my back. He leads me through the crowd. Everyone waves or nods. Most take a long look at me. Judgment flares in a dozen sets of eyes--people deciding if I'm good enough for Blake, if I'm a real girlfriend or a piece of arm candy.

I keep my eyes on the wall decorations. Sleek, abstract art in gold and silver. Totally incomprehensible, just like Blake.

We make our way to a row of seats in the corner of the room. A woman is sitting quietly, nursing a glass of champagne. She's in her forties or fifties maybe; I've never been good with ages. Very thin, well-dressed, pretty but a little pale. Not typical New York
there's no sun all winter
pale. There's something off about her skin like she's ill or hungover or at least about to pass out.

Her eyes light up when she sees Blake. She looks me over, but it's different than the way everyone else did. There's a concern in her eyes. Affection, too.

She goes to stand. Blake cringes. It's the smallest thing, but she notices immediately.

She shakes her head. "My son has always been very protective." She turns to me. "You must be Kat."

"Yes." I struggle to meet her gaze. She has the same intensity that Blake does, like she can read my mind. "I've heard so much about you."

"Oh, you're so sweet to lie. If I know Blake, well, I doubt you've heard much about anything."

I smile. A real smile this time.

"Meryl. And, please, none of that Mrs. Sterling crap. If you insist, it's Miss. Can't have any eligible bachelors thinking I'm off the market."

I go to shake her hand, but she hugs me instead. Her head is pressed right up against my chest. Meryl is on the shorter side, and I'm wearing towering heels under my dress.

She laughs. "Ah! I see why my son likes you."

"Mom." Blake clears his throat. For a second, he sounds like a teenager complaining his parents are embarrassing him.

She laughs. "My son, it's not his fault, but he thinks I'm too old to notice these things." She turns to Blake. "One day you'll be in your late forties, too. You'll still be noticing breasts."

Blake's cheeks flush. Holy crap. His mom is embarrassing him. It's so normal.

Meryl shakes her head. "Dear, you need to sit? Those heels look excruciating."

"I'll be fine. I'm on my feet all day."

"Really? What do you do?"

"I'm a waitress." I brace for a snarky comment. Meryl seems nice, but people with money, you never know if they look down on the commoners.

"Isn't it supposed to be server nowadays?" she asks.

"It's all the same, really."

"You call shit roses, it still smells like shit." She laughs. "I used to wait tables at the nicest place in town. That's where I met the late Mr. Sterling."

"Oh?"

She nods. "You should have seen him. He dressed even better than Blake does. He was so flashy with his platinum watch. When Orson-"

"Orson, really?"

"I'm afraid so." She smiles and her whole face lights up. "When he came into the restaurant, it was a commotion. All the girls wanted that table. It was the dream to marry a rich customer. Best way to get a better life, but I hated the asshole."

"How did you two end up married?"

"I've embarrassed Blake too much already."

Blake is still red. It's amazing. I can hardly believe that he's capable of any kind of shyness.

I lean closer and lower my voice to a whisper. "I won't tell."

"It started off as sex. It was about the only thing we had in common, but we got caught up in the passion." She finishes her last drop of wine and moves towards the nearest waiter.

Blake fusses over Meryl, taking her glass and looking at her like she's the child and he's the parent.

She shakes her head. "I better let you go, dear. I'm sure Blake wants to show you off."

"Likely."

She studies my expression. "I wouldn't fault you if you were after his money or his looks."

My heart races. I look at Blake in the hopes he can rescue me from this conversation, but he's still finding another glass of wine.

"But I hope you are serious."

I nod and smile. It's not technically a lie.

"Be patient with him. His father wasn't a good man. It's no excuse, but..." She shakes her head, trailing off.

Blake arrives with two fresh glasses. He hands the champagne to me. "Give us a minute."

I nod. "Of course. It was lovely to meet you."

Meryl nods. Neither of them speaks until I turn, and even then, it's too quiet for me to hear.

I
splash
my face with cool water in the bathroom, but that only messes up my makeup. So much for picture perfect.

There's a flush, and one of the stall doors opens. I dig through my clutch like I'm looking for my lipstick. And there it is. May as well fix it. I glance in the mirror and Fiona is standing at the sink next to mine. Her eyes are red and puffy like she's been crying.

She washes her hands and pats them dry on a paper towel. Her reaction steels like she's absolutely fine. "I'm surprised he let you off his leash."

Big smile. It's not the time to start a fight. "Blake is very protective."

She nods like she agrees. "Try having him as an older brother. I couldn't date until he left for college."

"When he was sixteen?"

She shrugs and moves a little closer, looking me over like she's inspecting me. "I'm surprised he's calling you his girlfriend."

"Why is that?"

"He's never had a girlfriend." She pulls her lipstick out of her clutch, applies, and pouts at herself in the mirror. "And he's married to his job. Even worse than my husband." Her voice breaks.

"He makes time for me. And we're in love."

"That won't last."

Deep breath. It's a test and I need to pass. "I disagree. What Blake and I have... it's magical."

Fiona bites her lip. "You know, there are easier ways to find a meal ticket. Ways that won't destroy your happiness."

"I'm not after his money."

"It's not his sparkling personality."

"I care deeply for Blake." Big smile. That is the worst confession of passion in the world. I shake my head, letting a few of the waves of my hair loose. "I'm madly in love with Blake."

"I bet." She snaps her purse shut. "And do you also expect me to believe that his first serious girlfriend is someone with a shit job, no college degree, no family connections, and--no offense--only above average looks?"

Fuck you. Those are the most beautiful two words in the English language and it would be so easy to throw them at her.

But I'm taking the higher road.

"The heart wants what it wants," I say.

"He's not going to stay in love with someone like you." Her voice breaks. Her face contorts into a miserable expression. "That's not how it works."

"Maybe for other people. But not for us." I apply my lipstick and calmly walk out of the bathroom.

The sounds of the room rush around me. It's awfully loud in here, and everyone who looks at me does it like I'm an exhibit at the zoo. They're thinking the same thing Fiona was.
What the hell is he doing with her?

I won't let her get to me. I can play my part. I'm not a perfect ten by any means, but I'm cute enough. With the hair, the makeup, the cocktail dress, the four inch heels--I look damn good. It would be impossible to be as beautiful as Blake is, but I'm no slouch.

Besides, Blake isn't that superficial. He likes my personality. My sense of humor. My intellect.

A wave of dizziness hits me. I'm justifying my fake relationship. Blake likes me enough to continue this ruse with me, but he doesn't love me or my sense of humor or my intellect.

I look for him in that corner, but it's empty. Blake and Meryl are nowhere to be found. I wander around the party like I have a direction. Oh, a quiet balcony. That's much better than any other alternative.

There's someone in my way. Declan, the first guy I met here. He waves.

"Hey, Kat. Blake is about to give his speech."

"I'm just going to get some air," I say.

He pats my shoulder. "Nonsense." He leans in close and whispers. "I have it on good authority that he mentions you in it."

There's this twinkle in his eye, like he knows more than he's letting on. Okay, fine. I'm the ingénue. I'll play along.

I follow him into the main room. Oh, a server passing around a tray of champagne. Yes, please. The drink gets better with every glass. Really, it tastes like money.

Declan pats me on the back. He nods to a small stage. Blake is standing there. He's holding up his own glass of champagne like he's about to give a toast.

I must have missed something in the bathroom.

He scans the crowd, his eyes resting on me. He smiles, a big smile, but I can't tell if it's real or pretend.