I set down my purse, fished out my phone, and put on some music to mask the argument brewing upstairs. They were a handsome couple, but theirs was a volatile love. I stepped out of my heels and carried my phone into my bedroom, heading straight for the journal in my nightstand drawer.
The habit had developed way back when I started at the blindfold club. I’d needed to keep track of how many clients I was seeing and how much money they’d bid, because once I got a few regulars, I needed to make sure the offers stayed consistent. If I took one too low, I’d doom myself to that new price point.
I jotted down extra details too, although I wasn’t sure why. It felt good to put it all down on paper. Some nights I’d end up with pages and pages of notes. I wrote down everything, even who I thought they might be, since a lot of politicians and celebrities had memberships.
I grabbed the black journal and a pen and flopped down on my unmade bed. I scribbled the date at the top of the page and put down the original price of fifteen hundred, then scrawled beneath it how the deal had been called off.
In the apartment above, Hector’s stomp-fest continued, matching the tempo of the music I was listening to while I wrote. My pen scratched across the blue-lined paper, filling the page with all the details I could remember from the night. How the man had hesitated at first. How he’d used the ice. And of course, how his mouth brought me to the brink of an orgasm.
Damn, couldn’t Julius have waited ten more seconds before pulling the deal? Or had Regan pushed for it? The woman did love to delay my pleasure.
Thoughts of her and Silas had me hurrying along. Her text could come any minute, and I needed to get ready. I finished my notes, tucked the journal back into its spot, and hustled over to my dresser.
My lingerie drawer was comical. On the left side, it
was sports bras and shapewear and the ugly-ass underwear I wore when I knew no one was going to see it. On the right it was all lace and straps and mesh.
I stared at my options as I shimmied out of the red, low-cut dress I’d worn to the club. Even though the clients never saw our clothes, we girls dressed to impress. What better way to feel sexy before a night of dirty, raunchy sex?
The raspberry colored bra and panty set was my favorite, but . . . hadn’t I worn it last time I’d gone over to Regan’s place? It’d been so long, I wasn’t sure. Instead, I grabbed the bra that was sapphire blue satin beneath black lace.
As I dressed, my gaze drifted over to the full-length mirror on my wall, and up to the envelope taped to the glass, the words ‘FILL ME OUT’ scrawled in black marker on the front. Inside was the application to audition for Dance Dreams, which was at least ten pages long.
I could pick up complicated choreography in minutes, not to mention wrangle an eight-inch dick, but this application? It was daunting.
Crap, I needed to stop ignoring the paperwork and just do it. I’d already picked my audition music, ‘The Scientist’ by Coldplay, assuming I’d make it that far in the process. Most people didn’t get a solo performance—they were cut in the group round. I told myself I wasn’t allowed to start choreographing the routine, the part I was most looking forward to, until I’d finished my least favorite part.
Tomorrow. I’d reward myself when it was done and would book some practice space at my best friend Elena’s dance studio.
My gaze dropped from the envelope to the mirror and, as I’d been trained to do for years, I scrutinized my posture and lines. I worked very hard and had a killer figure, but . . . would my twenty-eight-year-old body be able to compete with the dancers in high school and college? I pushed the question out of my mind. Negative thinking wasn’t going to help.
My phone chimed with an incoming text message.
Regan: I’m leaving the club now.
I stared at my reflection, all wrapped in satin and lace, and wondered how long I’d have this lingerie on. My cheeks warmed in excitement. Hopefully, not long at all.
Tara: On my way.
-5-
Tara
Unlike the rest of the girls at the club, Regan didn’t sell her body. Typically, we rotated between the jobs, since two gorgeous women put us at an advantage over the men when negotiating. She was exclusively a sales assistant, which meant she didn’t pull in the kind of money I did. But she also had a day job as an accountant for some stuffy firm in the heart of downtown, so her apartment was nice.
She was waiting for me at the front door after buzzing me up, a glass of white wine in each hand. She still had on the silk blouse and the short, high-waisted skirt she wore at the club. Her legs looked long and smooth, ending in a pair of strappy heels.
I took the glass she offered and glanced around the large, open living area. “Where’s Silas?”
“Still at his gallery, but he should be here soon. He’s been working on that piece for forever.”
Regan’s boyfriend had gotten his start with tattoos, but he used anything and everything to make his art. Paint. Photographs. Sculpture. He was successful enough to own his own gallery, and nearly every wall of this apartment was decorated by something he’d created. Even Regan and I—we both had his ink embedded in our skin.
“Have you seen it?” I asked. “How’s it coming?”
Her blue eyes were the same color as steel. “I don’t want to talk about his work right now. I want you to finish your wine and get on your knees.”
She’d already started her shift into domme, and as I followed her order, I fell into my role. A calm flooded along my body when I set the glass to my lips and drank. There was freedom in being in someone else’s control. I didn’t have to worry about my safety, my actions, or my enjoyment. That responsibility became hers.