Page 35 of Wicked Design
At 10:10, the Latin samba stopped mid-note. Lights flicked off. Staff called out their goodbyes to each other.
Van Gogh strode down the hall. He held the front door open for Jasmina and Lauren. “See you tomorrow.”
“Have a nice evening.” Lauren squeezed his hand.
Jasmina winked. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
He’d need more than protein and carbs to prepare for the threesome she had going with Noah and Kyle.
“Wait.” Lauren glanced around him. “You forgot your backpack.”
“I’ll grab it tomorrow. Night.”
He ran down the walk toward his apartment. A block away, he circled back. Lauren and Jasmina were gone. Thankfully, he had a key to the parlor and knew the security code. Dim lights illuminated the front area. He groped down the inky black hall to Lauren’s office and checked the camera settings. Off. He ducked into his station and closed the door enough so light wouldn’t bleed out but he could still hear Clover’s knock.
Eight minutes to showtime.
He set up his space for their evening. It wasn’t the honeymoon suite at the Hilton but during the coming hours this place would belong to them. Eager to see her surprise and approval he double-checked everything.
Raps sounded on the front door, beating out the opening strain of Beethoven’s 5th.
Laughing, he bounded down the hall.
Clover clapped like a kid at her own birthday bash.
He pulled open the door. “You’re late.”
“I’m early.”
“Only by a minute. Are you trying to kill me?” He hauled her into his arms and kissed her hard.
They tottered to the left and right, struggling to get closer to each other, and fell on the sofa. It creaked from their combined weight.
She jerked his tank top up. He yanked her strap past her shoulder, exposing her breast. Her nipple tightened within his mouth, the tip harder than hell, the moment pure madness.
Anyone passing by the front window might see them screwing around. What in the fuck was he thinking?
Lauren may have claimed to love him like a brother, but having to pay his and Clover’s bail for public indecency wouldn’t go over too well.
He pulled Clover off the sofa and to the front door.
“What are you doing?”
“We can’t stay here.”
“You mean at the parlor?”
“No. Up front. We need to go in back.”
She cupped his balls. “Since when?”
He held back an aroused groan. “Someone might see what we’re doing.”
“You don’t like voyeurism? Have you ever tried it? I haven’t. That could be our second goal.”
He laughed too hard to answer, locked the door, and yanked her down the hall. “Go in. Now.”
Worried someone on the street might see the light, he pushed her inside.
