When Jeff arrives at my house to pick me up, there’s no suit in sight. The horny-as-hell knot in my core tightens at the sight of his lightweight sweater shirt stretched over his pecs paired with jeans that have to be concealing a perfect ass.
I get to experience the downplayed version of him, closer to my norm than the fancy dress and high-dollar drinks. Is my long, loose skirt a suitable replacement for the curve-hugging thing Valerie let me borrow? Will he think differently of me after seeing my neighborhood or house? I’m shocked at how exposed it leaves me. People in my neighborhood don’t drive Corvettes and hang out at swanky clubs but it doesn’t seem to faze him. He’s only paying attention to me, and if there’s any judgment it’s veiled in adoration.
He offers a hand for the single step I have off my front porch and I’m tickled by the gesture. My heart flutters. You can take the gentleman out of the fancy club but you can’t take the gentleman out of the man.
When he shifts his hand, placing his fingers very low on my back, I have to take deliberate breaths. I want his hand to fall lower. Should I ask him about skipping the movie? My bedroom is so close, so tempting.
But I want this date. I want this little bit of normal.
I’m on the verge of light-headedness the entire ten steps to his car, the drive to the theater, and the wait in the concessions line. It’s not until we’re sitting that I can be sure my knees aren’t going to give out.
Sharing a tub of ultra-buttery popcorn, he says, “I wasn’t going to ask, but why did you call me?”
What? “You wanted me to, right?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were going to.” He had every right to make that assumption after my monologue about my cat followed by photographic evidence.
“Honestly when I left that night, I wasn’t sure I was going to.”
“What changed your mind?”
A whirlwind of emotions tears through my chest. How do I explain without sounding dismal or needy? At least I don’t have to worry about anyone overhearing since we’re alone in the theater.
He sets the popcorn aside and wipes his hands on a napkin then links our fingers together on the armrest. This is why I’m here, this feeling of being cared for, and if I extend it to a level that may not be realistic, I could even say protected.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“I don’t mind.” I squeeze his hand. “The other night at the bar, we sat and talked, and I forgot about my illness.”
He brings my fingers to his lips and kisses me in the passionately tender way I’ve already come to love. My breath hitches.
“It would be my honor to help take your mind off things more often.”
“I’d like that, and you have no idea how hard it is to believe I’m saying that. Not that I wouldn’t want to be distracted, but I’ve been bogged down in my limitations. I’m spending so much time trying to keep my symptoms from flaring I haven’t been enjoying the time between episodes.”
He listens, asks questions, and once again, helps me feel normal. Then his eyes bore into me as he leans closer, his lips parting.
I want more but worry that I’ll get in over my head.
Yet I’m leaning closer, my eyes fixed on his lips. His hand cups the back of my head, gently holding me as he claims me with a kiss.
Reality blurs and I’m lost in him. His touch, his ability to meet me where I am, and his undeniably musky scent drive me wild.
Our lips transition from their light and sweet dance to a more sinful one, tongues exploring, and the knot inside of me winding so incredibly tight I no longer care if we watch the movie. I need release. I want it with Jeff.
Music fills the air and the previews must have started but he claims several more kisses before slowly pulling himself from me.
His hand drags around the side of my chin, our eyes locked. If he asked if I wanted to go somewhere else, I would go. Lubing my vibrator was far less seductive than Jeff’s kisses.
“I promised you popcorn,” he says.
My chest deflates like a balloon popped with a single pinprick.
What I want starts with a P but it’s not popcorn. My eyes drop to his lap when he’s looking the other direction to retrieve the popcorn bucket from the next seat. The bulge of his cock is a nice hint that I’m not the only one debating whether the movie is worth our time.
But I linger too long and get caught.
With one hand, he adjusts the front of his pants and after a low, sexy laugh says, “Sorry that kiss got to me.”
He’s upfront about it. I don’t want him to think I was unaffected.
“I know what you mean.” I take a sip of my soda.
“Want to have some fun while we watch?” His eyes are planted on the screen.
“Sure.” Although I’m not sure what he’s thinking.
He slides a hand onto my thigh and I draw in a jagged breath. His fingers slowly inch my skirt up and I glance around, confirming that we’re the only two people in the theater.
He has the hem of my long skirt under his palm, his fingers sliding over my exposed thigh.
We’re lost in kisses again as light from the previews flickers through the theater.
“You wore the perfect skirt. Mind if I slip my hand under here and make my sweet Tabby purr?”
Oh fuck, I’m wiggling in my seat at his question. Dirty talk is apparently a ‘hell yeah’ for me.
“Yes.” I knew from using my vibrator that my heart rate wouldn’t accelerate if I didn’t move around a lot. Climaxing is a good thing. I definitely chill out afterward. But in a movie theater with someone else, I might get my heart rate up a little more—a risk I was willing to take.
The movie starts and he pulls from our kisses, leaving my lips wanting more, but it’s my lower lips getting the attention now. He slides his hand up my thigh, pressing them apart then brushing his finger over my panties.
“Watch the movie. I’ll do the rest,” he says.
I can’t pull my eyes from the five o’clock shadow that’s framing his smile.
“If you don’t look at the screen, I’ll have to lift my hand and turn your head forward.”
A little sound comes from me, a whimper or whine, I’m not sure, but I comply.
“That’s a good girl Tabby, good pussy cat.”
Did he just call me a pussy cat? Why is that so hot?
His fingers work their way under the edge of my panties and I’m having trouble making out anything other than the jolts of electricity that shoot through me every time his fingers cross my clit.
I grip the armrest as he controls my body. The darkness of the theater and the loose fabric of my skirt offer cover for what we’re doing. When the ache grows almost unbearable, I realize I should probably be getting him off too.
I slide my hand over, rubbing the bulge in his denim, and the pace of his fingers sliding through my wetness becomes erratic for a second.
He leans his head closer, places his free hand on mine to still it, and whispers, “Just you right now.”
I don’t know why and I don’t care.
In the next instant, I fall off the abyss of sanity and my orgasm blinds me, carrying me through euphoria. It’s more than I’ve ever done for myself. My eyes close and I breathe through the desire to moan.
The movie makes no sense when it filters back into the fringes of my world. I don’t even bother to look at the screen. I turn my head toward Jeff and he’s staring at me.
“That was amazing,” I whisper.
“Pussy cats were made to be petted, Tabby. Let me know if you need to relax again before the movie’s over.”
His hand slides onto my thigh and he’s leaning in for a kiss when a figure behind him in the center aisle startles me. I cringe, leaning to the far side of my chair. I may have screamed.
Jeff sits forward trying to get hold of my hands.
A brief flash of light on the movie screen illuminates the person’s face and I swear it’s the guy from the car but Jeff moves, the screen goes dark, and the figure is gone.
“What’s wrong? Tabby talk to me.” He has my hands in his.
Do I tell him that I think some guy’s been watching me? Do I tell him about the creeper caller? Do I tell him that my gut believes the two are the same? And do I say that I think he may have been standing in the aisle?
“Tabby?”
“There was someone behind you.”
“An usher?” He cranes his neck but the person is long gone.
I shake my head. “Someone I sort of know.”
“Someone dangerous?”
“No, not yet.”
“Not yet? What does he look like? I’ll go find him.”
“No, don’t leave me alone. I want to get out of here.” I accept his hand and stand, his arms encircling me, enclosing me in a bubble of safety that I never want to leave.
“Tell me what he looks like so I can watch for him on the way out.”
“Medium build, brown hair…there’s nothing special about him…except that he makes my skin crawl.”
I scan the faces in the theater as we walk out, but there are so many average brunette males it’s hard to take them all in. None of the faces are right.
We walk to the car and Jeff keeps his arm around me. When we’re safely inside the vehicle, I explain the caller, the guy in the car, and how nothing has happened.
“Tabby, I don’t like the feel of this. Let me take you to my house. I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”
I don’t want to be alone. If I don’t go home with him, I’m going to have to call Valerie. She would drop everything for me. But for the first time in a long time, she’s not the one I want by my side.
I’m safe when I’m with him. It’s not something I understand, just an intuition, but I have a sense that I can trust Jeff. It’s in the way he looks at me. The way he stands close without infringing on my space. The way he accepts my craziness. The way I feel that I can trust him with my soul.
I accept his offer.
As we drive to his house, he grills me on the situation and I go as in-depth as I can, which gives no more answer than the brief version I gave it first.
The complication of our arrangement becomes apparent when we get to his house.
I have no clothes, no toothbrush, and no condoms if I’m totally honest. The intimacy of being in his arms makes me crave more with him, to deepen our connection. Is it nothing more than a reaction to how I’m feeling vulnerable right now?
He’s the perfect host, offering me water, food, and his bed, while he mentions that he’ll sleep in the guest bedroom. His home is huge and elegant and has a security system which adds comfort.
“I don’t want you to think I brought you over for anything other than to keep you safe.”
Swoon. All the more reason to trust him. “You’ve successfully kept me safe. And the guy was probably nothing. I’ve just never messed around in public, it’s nerves.” My voice even sounds convincing to me.
“But someone’s stalking you?”
“Maybe. Probably not.” I wave my hands dismissively.
“I want to—”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’d rather revisit the moment you cut me off in the movie theater.” I glance at his crotch as a reminder.
“I don’t want to rush you.” He laughs as he pulls a shirt from a dresser drawer. “You can sleep in this if you want. I’ll set a towel and washcloth out for you as well.” He disappears into the master bathroom.
I’m still taking in the grandeur of his bedroom, the large windows, and the furniture that appears to be solid wood, not the cheap laminate knockoffs I have in my house. I stroll toward the shirt he set on the dresser.
I have no intention of being snoopy when he’s going above and beyond but a paper, a contract, on the credenza catches my attention.
The header on the paper doesn’t allow me to ignore the name: Club Sin.
In my periphery, I’m aware he’s returned to the bedroom and I want to look away and respect his privacy but I’m curious.
He clears his throat. “It’s a club I belong to.”
“Clubs Sin?” I ask as if the name is unclear.
“It’s a sex club. It requires membership like the bar where we met, but instead of mingling and meeting people, Club Sin offers a safe place…for more.”
My teeth are digging into my lower lip while I try to sort the myriad questions I want to ask and the ones that can’t quite form themselves yet.
He picks up the contract, a renewal for him, and explains it to me. Bullet points clarify the rules of the club, the safety that it offers and that everyone undergoes screenings and health checks, and that there’s no kink-shaming, which apparently is important because vanilla sex might not exist in this place, but presumably that couldn’t be shamed either.
The pounding of my heart prevents me from fully listening.
He caresses his hands over my upper arm. “We can talk about it.”
Where to start? “Is it a sex dungeon?”
A genuine smile crosses his face. “Just a club. Membership, rules, enforcement…”
“Do you have sex in front of other people? Sorry if these are stupid questions?”
His chest expands with a deep inhale and he walks me to the bed where we sit on the edge and he takes my hands. This is good because the room had started to sway.
“There’s nothing wrong with asking? People only watch if that’s the kind of room you want. I use the private rooms.”
“So it’s just you and a woman? Why not bring her home?”
“Neutral ground, but there’s more to it.”
Perhaps it’s my years of not being with a guy, but wet heat pools between my legs and I’m extremely turned on by the idea of a sex club with private rooms and a contract.
His body tenses and a thrill shoots through me that he’s about to share something intimate although I’m not sure what kinks he would be into. I’m not even sure if I can name more than a handful. I should tamp down the excitement but intrigue is winning.
“I have friends that I share with…but we haven’t had a woman in a while. It takes the right woman to be comfortable with the three of us.”
I steel my expression as his bomb explodes in my mind. Three?
Dropping my gaze to the carpet, I ask, “Were you going to take me there to be with your friends?”
He runs a hand through my hair pushing it away from where it had fallen between us. It had been a barrier protecting me from the insanity of what he revealed.
“I was going to tell you about them and the club. We’re like brothers, incredibly close.”
Steepling my hands in front of my mouth, silence cloaks the room. I thought it was crazy to let him get me off in a movie theater but three guys in a sex club?
“I’d like to take you.” His words are soft and gentle, not demanding. “It’s very discreet.”
“What if I only want to be with you?”
“I would at least have to let my brothers know I was taking you alone. We share everything.”
“Why?” Is that normal? How does someone get into that?
“We go way back, did time in the Marines and saw some horrible stuff, lost a lot of friends. Life is short. There are no guarantees. And we run a security company together. All we want to do is protect people.”
Interesting that I picked up the strong protection vibe from him. He stands and paces so I wait for him to continue.
“Too many widows were left to fend for themselves. There’s no amount of money an insurance policy can offer that takes the place of a man’s need to protect his woman. The agony and the helplessness weren’t things we ever wanted to leave a woman to deal with. It just sort of happened that we realized we could count on each other.”
“I’m sorry you’ve been through that.” I shake my head. “That’s a lot to process.”
“It’s okay Tabby. Sleep here tonight. I’ll keep you safe, and if you want to talk about it tomorrow or another day we can.” He plants a long kiss on the top of my head and steps toward the door.
“Jeff, will you sleep in the bed with me please?”
He tips my head up. “Yes, but we’re only going to sleep.” His firm line in the sand is confusing but oddly comforting.
“Okay, but what about the movie theater? That was more than sleeping.”
“I can’t do more than that without telling my brothers about you. We’re a package deal. Would you consider meeting them?”
“I need to think about it.” Have I lost my mind that I’m not asking him to take me home?
“Just sleep, for now, we can talk tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
He steps to the dresser, grabbing the shirt he offered and as he hands it to me, he says, “We’ll protect you, Tabby.”
