He shrugs.
“An opera. The symphony. A Goth wedding,” Trick says from his place on the couch. I think he’s been to his own room because his suitcase and garment bag are gone. I’m not sure when. While we slept, I guess. I would’ve thought it would be unnerving to go to bed with him in my temporary living room, but it wasn’t. He’s with us as added security for me, and that’s reassuring.
“The point isn’t where you’ll wear it,” he says.
I turn. “What is the point, Trick?” After so many hours, I’ve become completely comfortable with having him around.
“The point is that you don’t need Frank Palermo to buy your clothes.”
I look down at the dress. “Because I have C Crue? Is that a good message?”
“C Crue?” Trick says with a laugh. “If we all got a vote, you’d have three times as many outfits in three really divergent styles.” Trick gets off the couch. “‘Vil, I’m going to the gym and then out to have some fun. You need the car?”
“No.”
He leaves, and I hang the dress in the closet next to the other expensive moody clothes. I glance down at the plush white hotel robe I’m wearing, which swallows me up. I shrug it off and hang it on a hook. There’s one pair of black pants. I reach for them.
“Don’t bother,” Sasha says, hooking the hanger back on the closet rod. He closes the closet, then goes to the suite door and puts the ‘Do Not Disturb’ tab on the outside handle.
I watch him. He hasn’t touched me much since the night in the shower. It’s been very different than when he first took me and seemed to find every excuse to put his hands on me.
I was grateful that he could be careful with me after a trauma. But I also missed the way he was before it happened.
He grabs a pillow and sits on the couch. “Come here.”
I cross the room, stopping next to his knees. He reaches behind me and unclasps my bra. It springs open, and he slides the shoulder straps forward so it falls to the floor.
I take a slow breath in and exhale as he brushes a thumb over my nipple. It pebbles at his touch. His hands grip my waist, and he lifts me, bringing my breast to his mouth. His tongue licks me in slow strokes. I shiver.
He sets me back down and puts the pillow over his thighs. “Lie down,” he says.
“Why?” I ask. We haven’t had any fights.
He doesn’t answer.
“Have I done something?” I think back to the way I spoke to him in the auditorium before I left with Alberto. I’d thought at the time that if he ever got his hands on me again, he’d likely make me pay for that. But so much happened afterward, and he’s treated me since like I’m made of blown glass.
“Not discipline. Foreplay.”
“That’s not my kind of foreplay,” I say.
“How would you know?” he says, so cool and calm that it rattles my nerves.
“I think I would know.”
He flicks the pillow, effectively dismissing my protest.
I draw in a breath and stare into his eyes. “Will you stop if I ask you to?”
He nods.
I climb onto the couch and position myself. There’s something darkly erotic about lying over his lap with my ass pushed up.
He rubs my low back and then fondles my ass through the thin panties. It feels good, and I settle deeper onto the pillow, trying to relax. He strokes the back of my thighs, and the touch is tantalizing. This is already very different than the other spankings he’s given me.
He takes his time, caressing between my legs until I ease my knees apart and try to press against his fingers.
“Sasha,” I say in a plaintive whisper. “I’m ready.”
