Sinful Desires Vol. 2(6)

While Philadelphia had the unavoidable sounds that came with so many people living in one area, it somehow managed to still be quieter than other large cities. Even though there were bad memories here, I had to admit I'd always loved this city. I swallowed a sigh. I wondered if I'd ever get that way with Las Vegas or if I'd always feel like a transplant who didn't belong.

“Here we are,” Brock announced.

I looked up. The apartment building was huge, and one of the most expensive ones in the city. I didn't need Brock to confirm he'd brought me to his place and I sincerely hoped this didn't mean he was about to tell me what I had to do to earn the promised ten thousand dollars. Sure, I'd had sex with him once, but the minute he put a price on it, things would change.

“Would you like to see my apartment?”

If he'd tried to be seductive about it, I probably would've turned him down, but he sounded almost shy when he asked, as if he wasn't sure I'd want to go. I was starting to see that his confident swagger was, at least in part, show. I liked strong men, but there was something to be said for a bit of vulnerability as well.

“I'd like that.”

He slid his arm around my waist and we headed for the front doors. The doorman gave us a nod and a smile. As we passed, I wondered how many other girls Brock had brought here the same way. I'd wondered the same thing before, how many girls Brock had given this special treatment to, but now it was different. When I'd thought this before, I'd been here as his date for a wedding and that was it. Everything had changed when we'd fucked. It hadn't put us in a relationship, but it had changed the dynamic.

When we got on the elevator, I completely expected him to try something, even if it was just copping a feel, but he remained a complete gentleman. The arm around my waist didn't stray north or south and he didn't try to kiss me. We rode up in silence, me watching the numbers tick past and him casually slouching next to me.

“Penthouse?” I asked as we neared the top.

“Not quite,” he said. The elevator came to a stop three floors from the top. “It's about half the size, but still more than enough room for me.”

I followed him out of the elevator and to the door on the right of the hall. The one on the left I assumed belonged to the person who had the other half of the floor. When he opened the door, he stepped back and let me walk in first.

Well, shit.

Brock's apartment was bigger than the entire strip club where I worked. It was open and airy, with the kitchen, dining room and living room separated only by the furniture. A pair of French doors led to a balcony and a hallway to my right led, I assumed, to at least two rooms and a bathroom, maybe more.

“You want something to drink?” Brock asked. I raised my eyebrows and he clarified. “I have soda, juice, and more water.”

“Juice would be good.” I followed after him into the kitchen and took the bottle of mixed fruit juice he offered. I took a sip and waited for him to offer to show me his bedroom. Instead, he surprised me.

“There's a soccer game on I wanted to watch. Do you mind?”

“Soccer, really?”

“I kinda have a bet going about it.” He grinned at me as he took a fruit juice. “But if you don't want to, that's fine.”

“No, soccer's okay.”

We settled on his couch, both in the center and close enough that our bodies were touching, but he didn't try anything. In fact, we sat through the first ten minutes of the game without talking. I had to admit that these silences were surprising me. I'd gotten the impression that Brock was the kind of guy who always had to be talking, usually about himself, but he'd proven me wrong on more than one occasion today.

I looked around the apartment, seeing what I hadn't seen on first glance. There were a lot of electronics, which wasn't surprising. Video games, computers, sound systems, all of that, but there weren't any of the usual things I'd expected from a place an interior designer had decorated. It was a typical guy's bachelor pad, without any of the snooty art a lot of rich kids would've bought just to be pretentious.

“Hey, um, so I talked to Peter this morning.” Brock broke the silence. “He told me what he said to you. I put him straight. Told him you weren't an escort and if he acted that way around you again I'd knock him out.”

It took me a moment to remember who and what Brock was talking about, but when it came back, I stared at him. Had he seriously offered to punch someone because of something that had been said to me?

Impulsively, I leaned over and kissed him. It was barely a peck, mouth brushing against mouth, but it sent a little jolt through me, reminding me of what it had felt like when we'd kissed the night before.

His eyes darkened to the color of faded denim as he set our drinks aside. As he leaned toward me, I knew he wasn’t interested in the soccer game anymore. When he took my face between his hands, all I could think about was the heat from his palms against my skin.

His lips were gentle this time and they moved with mine, slow and easy. It wasn't until I slid my hand up his arm and across to his chest that I realized he was letting me set the pace. I slid my tongue into his mouth, twisting around his and drawing it back into my mouth. I sucked on it and he made a sound in the back of his throat. Apparently that was a signal he'd been waiting for because he pressed me back on the couch, bringing our legs up to twine together as we stretched out on the leather softness.

In the background, I could hear the soccer announcers, but they were fading, lost behind the sounds of Brock moaning into my mouth. I slid my hands under the back of his shirt, enjoying the feel of his muscles bunching as his own hands explored.

I'd worn jeans purposefully so I'd at least have to be a bit more conscious about them coming off, but that didn't stop Brock's hands from cupping my ass and squeezing. I arched against him and he groaned as I pressed against the erection I could feel growing there. One of his hands found its way under my shirt and brushed against the side of my breast. I hooked my leg around his waist, reminding myself that whatever happened it was because I wanted it, not because of any money he'd promised.

Then, suddenly, he was pulling away. His face was flushed, his breathing heavy, but he didn't look upset or concerned. He just pulled me up with him, tucked me against his side and went back to watching the soccer game.

“When does your flight leave?” he asked the question casually, like he hadn't just been groping me a couple minutes ago.

“Tomorrow.”

He was silent for a moment and then asked, “I was wondering if maybe you'd like to stay a bit longer.”

“Stay?” I pushed myself up so that I wasn't leaning on him anymore.

“In Philadelphia.” He looked over and smiled at me. “I'd like us to spend some more time together.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to refuse, to tell him I had to get back to Vegas and I couldn't afford to stay, but I didn't. The idea of staying in Philadelphia for a little while longer was actually appealing, which surprised me. I supposed I had Brock to thank for that.

“I'll pay for the hotel room, of course, as well as anything else you need.” He reached over and took my hand. “I understand if you're not comfortable with it, but I'd really like you to stay.”

“I'll have to see if I can get my roommate to cover my shifts,” I heard myself saying. I was rewarded with a wide and beautiful smile.





Chapter 6

Rosa was actually glad to take my shifts, saying that her mother needed to have some tests done and any extra money she could make would be very helpful. She also warned me to not take off too much or else they'd find another girl to replace me. I wasn't sure what that said about the state of the economy if a place like The Diamond Club could so easily replace a stripper.

The second call I made that night when I returned to the hotel was to Anastascia. She was ecstatic, at first, to hear I was back, but when I told her why, her tone changed completely.

“Piper, that boy is a womanizing creep who's got more pussy than a cat shelter.”

I would've laughed if her words hadn't held an edge of condescension. “He's not like that, Anastascia,” I protested.

“Oh, no? Then why is it every time I've seen him, he has a different woman hanging on his arm? He didn't go to St. George with us, but our families move in the same circles. And, trust me, in our circle, Brock Michaels has a reputation for fucking and dumping.”

My jaw tightened. “Just because we don't move in the same circles doesn't mean I'm an idiot.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Whatever, Ana,” I snapped. “I called because I wanted to let you know I was in the city for the week and see if you wanted to get together, but if you're just going to act like you know better, then it’s probably not a good idea.”

I hung up the phone before she could say anything else. My stomach hurt. I hated fighting with her, rare as it was. This time, though, it was more than just the argument. It was the fact that, for the first time in our friendship, she'd acted like there really was a difference between us because of money.

Her comments stuck in my head as I showered and curled up into bed. It took a long time for me to get to sleep. I kept remembering sex with Brock, and then how different it had been to make out with him. The feel of his hands on my body. And then I'd hear Anastascia telling me that he did this to a lot of women and how he was known in 'her circle.' By the time sleep finally claimed me, it was well past one in the morning.