Page 5 of House Rules
“How long do I dance?” I ask.
“He hired you for a half hour. When you’re done here, ring the bell and I’ll escort you back.”
I nod, liking how well they care for their women here, but I have no idea if half an hour is a long time or not. Mikey leaves, and I step into the room and catalogue my surroundings. I’m in some sort of glass booth, but the walls don’t go all the way to the ceiling. On the other side of the pane I can make out a single chair facing me, and a door. I feel a moment of disappointment. This setup isn’t conducive to what I have in mind.
But that disappointment quickly segues into a combination of nervousness and excitement when the door slowly opens. Please be Sean. Please be Sean. If it’s not him, no way am I going through with this. The lights in my box brighten as he enters, making it hard for me to see out. Obviously we’re not supposed to be able to identify our clients. I narrow my eyes to take in his tall, athletic frame, dressed in a dark suit that fits his muscles to perfection as he seats himself. He rakes his hair from his face, a familiar childhood movement, and a jolt of lust zaps through me.
While I can’t see his face, I recognize it’s Sean. There is a familiarity about him that I’d know anywhere. My nerves fire, and for a moment, I’m shocked that I’m actually going to go through with this. This is so not like me. Then again, perhaps whoever sent the dossier is trying to kick-start my sex life. It would be wrong to let all their hard work in setting this up go to waste, right?
Yeah, right, Kennedy. This isn’t about your sponsor; this is about you. You want this.
“Hey, Kitten,” Sean says quietly, and my heart jumps into my throat. That sexy voice, deeper than in our teen years, sizzles down my body and settles itself between my thighs. As he draws a desire out in me, I begin to dance to the music.
There is no pole in the room, so I just move in circles, exposing myself to him. I know I might not be model-thin like the girls he went after years ago, but I’m confident in my body and curves. I sway and bend my knees, spreading my legs and sashaying toward the floor. I glance out, and when I feel the weight of his stare, a deep, intense longing, ten years in the making, takes hold.
The music is low—low enough for me to hear him peeling his zipper down. OMG, he’s opening his pants. He’s opening his freaking pants. Does that go against house rules? I have no idea, but what I do know is that he’s about to stroke himself while watching me, and that shit is hot.
I try to breathe, but how is that possible, knowing Sean is freeing his cock and taking it in his hands? It’s probably all kinds of wrong, but it does bolster my confidence to know I’ve finally gotten his attention. Well, Kitten has finally gotten his attention.
Heat pools deep in my belly, and I hear him grunt. Holy shit. I could die just thinking about it—I swear to God it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard—and I wish I had a better view.
His grunts become louder, quicker, and I listen to his palm move over his cock. Feeling bolder than ever before, I turn, press my ass against the glass, and bend forward. A low, tortured sound curls around me, and I smile, loving the way he’s responding. I dance, he groans, and his fist works harder. The legs on his chair scrape, and I think he’s tilting his seat back. A moment later it slams to the floor and he presses his forehead to the glass.
I hear a rustling sound as his breath steams the glass. Is he cleaning himself up? I strain to see, and he stands, tucks his cock back in, zips his pants, and turns. He opens the door and leaves. I stand there breathless, excited…so damn aroused I don’t know what to do with myself. So much for legendary sex. Cripes, talk about a plan backfiring—to a certain extent, anyway. I did manage to get Sean to notice me as a woman. But a hell of a lot of good that did for me.
With equal measures of elation and disappointment, I press the button, and Mikey comes back to collect me. In the change room, I pull my dress on over my still-shaking body, grab my coat, and slip out the back. I need a drink. Or three.
I step outside and let the night air wash over me, although it does little to cool my heated blood. I almost wish it were raining again. Dashing down the sidewalk, I make my way to the bar inside Hotel Royal. Maybe I’ll be able to find a hot guy, take him back to my room, and have sex. It might not be legendary sex, but God, I need something, anything, to ease the heavy ache between my thighs.
I step up to the bar, order a glass of wine, and grab a private table in the corner so I can collect my thoughts. I shed my coat, and with my body still on fire, I scan the room from the dark corner, take in the patrons, and make eye contact with a few men. Picking up a random guy for sex isn’t my thing, but I’m doing all kinds of things out of the ordinary today, aren’t I?
A large shadow blocks my view, and my heart jumps as my glance slides up the hottest guy I know. My gaze locks with caramel eyes, and I suddenly can’t breathe.
“This seat taken?” he asks.
I try for normal, a difficult task considering this man just masturbated while I danced for him. “No,” I say, and take a big gulp of my drink. I wave my hand toward the seat. “Help yourself, Mr.…” I purposely leave his name off. After all, I’m not supposed to know him.
“Sean,” he says, exuding raw power, raw passion, as he lowers himself into the seat. “Sean Fraser.” There is a slight angle to his head, and his eyes narrow, curious, as he looks me over. I feel a moment of panic, praying to God he doesn’t know it’s me.
“Nice to meet you, Sean. In London on business?” I ask.
He quirks a smile, looking like every sexual fantasy I ever had. “That obvious, huh?” Shifting closer, he leans in toward me, and his scent is enough to melt my clothes, what little I’m wearing. The clients the girls dance for are supposed to be anonymous, but something tells me he knows I know.
“Tell me, Kitten,” he says, “was there more going on in that booth than just you dancing for me?”
Holy Jesus, way to get right to the point.
My stomach flutters. “What…what do you mean?” I ask.
“I think you liked it when I stroked my cock.” Raw hunger flares in his eyes. “I think you wanted to watch, maybe stroke it for me.”
Flames shoot through me, and I’m hardly able to believe how direct and bold Sean is being.
“I––no touching––house rules.”
He looks around the room, his glance flitting over the piano player and the couples dancing before zeroing back in on me. “Yeah, but we’re not in the house anymore, are we?”
I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip and his gaze drops to take in the movement. “No, we’re not.”
