Losing Control(53)
He pushes away from the door and climbs up the stairs. I haven’t moved. I can’t. His words have rendered me motionless. With each step, he’s coming closer to me, until he’s so close I feel like I could count the white dots in his ice-blue tie. His eyes search mine, and in them I see not only lust but tenderness.
His mouth fastens over mine, punctuating his words or perhaps sealing them inside me. Does he know that he makes my heart sing? That the tender look in his eyes completely slays me? His right hand digs into my hair as he uses his left to lift me against him. The hard length of his erection is impossible to miss. I wish I could see him in his office stroking himself. That would be so amazing that I’d probably come from just the show.
His tongue rubs slowly along the side of mine, inviting me to play. Whatever lipstick I once wore is being sucked and licked and bitten off. His kiss is ravenous, and I feel like he’s trying to devour me. Worse, I want him to. I open my mouth as wide as possible to swallow down all the sweetness and passion he’s serving me.
Beneath my questing hands, his body feels like iron. I want to rip off his clothes and impale myself on him right here on the landing. With a last reserve of sense, I pull away from him and rest my head in the hollow of his throat. I hear his rasping breath above me, and underneath my cheek his chest heaves up and down as he tries to gather his own self-control. I allow him to soothe my trembling body with his big hands when I realize the long, sweeping caresses are just as much for his sake as they are for mine.
“Jesus, Tiny,” he groans, dropping his forehead. After a minute he clears his throat and tips my chin up so I can see him. His eyes glitter in the darkness, lit from within. “I’ll find someone else to do the job. Clear the table so there’s just you and me.”
Someone else? He’d have to feign interest in her, bring her out to nightclubs and events. The idea of someone else doing this . . . project with Ian makes me violently jealous. Like, I’d punch her if I saw her with him. “No,” I say forcefully. “You hired me.” I straighten up and push him away. “I’m your girl.”
I am halfway down the second set of stairs when what I said sinks in.
“‘About time you realized that.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing because I don’t want him to know he has yet again gotten the last word in.
Chapter 20
THE AQUARIUM IS SO NAMED because it’s full of water, blue walls, and blue light. There is so much glass and mirror used on the walls and even the floor of the second level that it seems like you are in a fishbowl. The entire place is painted blue, from the floors in deep midnight to a varying gradient on the walls. Even the lights are tinted blue, giving an under-the-sea feel to the space. The main floor has a circular bar centered around a real aquarium with . . . are those sharks in there?
Once I see the second floor, I understand why Ian picked out shorts for me to wear. Above us the floor is made of alternating tiles of clear and blue glass, about four feet square, and by looking upward you can see straight up the skirts of some of the female club-goers.
Around the sides of the room on the second level are people sitting in glassed-in plunge pools lit from underneath, like square mini hot tubs. Most of the pools are filled with women who appear to have stripped down to their underwear, although there are a few males in them too. There are butts and boobs pressed against the glass—and in at least one, there’s a couple simulating a sex act. At least I think it’s a simulation. I nearly break my neck staring as I pass. It’s an exhibitionist dream, and I’m very glad I’m wearing shorts as I walk up the stairs past a formidable bouncer clad in a navy blue T-shirt with the word “Aquarium” stenciled in white across his massive chest.
The VIP area is a small balcony on the second floor that overlooks the first level dance floor and has a bird’s-eye view of the hot tubs. As far as I can tell, access to the upper deck is communicated through a series of nods and hand slaps because Ian simply lifts his chin to the bouncer who moves aside to allow us access.
Up here I can see that there are bleachers set up next to the pools and people are lounging in bathrobes or on towels. There are a couple of well-known actors and athletes who I recognize. The other beautiful people must be moneyed or famous or—as a slender reed of a woman walks by—arm candy like me.
“This is the weirdest place,” I tell Ian.
“New Yorkers get bored easily,” he replies. “You constantly have to come up with something new and seemingly innovative, and these days, the more risqué the better. It’s frowned upon to wear swimsuit attire here because that’s not considered edgy enough.”