The garage doors had not even fully shut before Paxton and I were tearing each other’s clothes off.
His mouth was on mine as he held me with one arm and opened the door to the kitchen with the other. Against my lips, he muttered, “I can’t wait, Charlotte. I need you. Please say yes.”
Between kisses, I responded, “Yes, yes, yes.”
We fumbled in the kitchen, trying to get our shoes off, and then came back together to kiss some more. Paxton walked me backward down the hall.
I tried to get his buckle off, but he pushed my hands aside and pulled my dress up and over my head.
He groaned and stopped for a moment in the hallway. Pushing me up against the wall, he lowered his head to kiss the tops of my breasts. His hands reached behind me and gently lowered my panties so I could step out of them.
He kissed my belly on his way back up, and then he lifted me up so I could wrap my legs around his waist. His mouth was all over my chest and neck as he walked us further down the hall into his bedroom.
He was leaving a trail of my clothes behind. I whispered, “My panties.”
“We’ll get them later.”
It was pitch black in the room, and he stumbled into the door, lowering my feet to the ground. I stood in darkness.
“Stay right there.”
I heard him shuffling through the bedroom. Then a click as he turned on the lamp on the nightstand.
Prowling back toward me, he left me no time to look around. His mouth came crashing down to mine, his tongue skillfully dancing with mine. I remembered the feel of his tongue on my sex and moaned as he reached around me and unhooked my bra.
My breasts fell free, and he lowered his head to give each of them a lick, moaning in delight. He growled my name, “Charlotte.”
Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back and just let him love me. One of his hands roamed down my body, and then he gently slid a finger inside me. Then two. I gasped, my knees buckling.
“Oh, you’re so fucking wet!”
I couldn’t hold myself up any longer. “Paxton.”
“Right here, baby. Right here.”
He carried me to the bed and gently placed me on the end. Dropping to his knees, he put his mouth to me. I was so turned on, I came instantly, holding his head in place and calling out his name.
My feet dropped to the floor, and he whispered huskily to me to scoot back. He removed the rest of his clothes in a flurry and then climbed over me, so he was resting between my legs.
Bracing himself above me, he reached over me to get a condom out of his nightstand. I lifted my head to kiss his chest, gently touching his sides with my fingers, while he was busy ripping the wrapper open.
He paused briefly—his tip at my entrance—and I squirmed beneath him, granting him permission. Dark eyes bored into mine. I parted my lips on an inhale as he slowly penetrated me, filling me, burying himself in me.
“Keep your eyes open.” Slowly pulling out, he waited. Then, he pushed back in until he was pressed up against me with great control, rolling his hips and applying perfect pressure.
I couldn’t look away, but I also could barely keep my eyes open during this sweet torture.
Again. And again. He pushed into me, then out—taunting me, teasing me until my toes curled and that familiar tingle intensified. He thrust faster and then reached between us, rubbing his thumb over my clit. I came so hard my back arched, and I bucked beneath him, screaming, “Oh, fuuuucckkkk.”
Then I collapsed as he hammered against me. He tensed, lowered his head, and buried it in my neck, groaning my name.
Slowly, he climbed off me and went to the restroom. When he returned, he flipped me over and ran his hands all over my back. He rested them at my bottom—squeezing and massaging. He slapped me gently, then ran his hands softly over me, soothing. Finally, he slid his hands between my legs and pushed his fingers in me again. I was turning to putty, my mind in a foggy bliss. It only got foggier when he whispered,
“So sweet.”
He left me for a second. With my face pressed into the mattress—and my body buzzing from my recent orgasms—I couldn’t be bothered to even turn my head to see where he had gone. When he returned, I heard the foil of another condom being opened, and then he knelt between my legs, gripped my hips, and pulled me up onto his lap. My back was flush against his chest as he pushed into me again. I dropped my head back onto his shoulder.
His arms circled me. I was floating in a euphoric state. Enraptured by him, filled with him, I pushed myself down, taking him deeper.
His deep voice whispered in my ear, “Touch yourself. I want to watch you come.”
I reached between my legs and rubbed the spot that would spiral me out of control. Harder and faster, I panted and then crashed. I barely had time to relax before he was pushing me over and slamming into me from behind like a piston.
I’d never been fucked like this before. Now I knew why I’d felt branded that day at the studio when he’d looked at me—I’d known he would.
He came again, gripping my hips. Kissing my back, he whispered over and over again, “Beautiful. So beautiful.”
Gently, as if he was handling a fragile doll, he turned me over and kissed me on the mouth. Sweetly and lovingly.
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
He kissed my nose. I watched as he went into the bathroom and came out a minute later, dressed in drawstring pajama bottoms. He was holding a T-shirt and a wet towel.
Sitting down next to me on the bed, he caressed me with the warm towel. He wiped the sweat from my chest and shoulders, trailed down my hips and legs, and then rested between my thighs to both clean and comfort. I gazed at him as he lovingly looked at every inch he covered.
When his eyes returned to mine, I smiled tentatively.
“You’re beautiful, Charlotte.”
I tried to say thank you, but the words got stuck in my throat. I mouthed them.
He threw the towel on the ground next to the bed and quietly told me to sit up. Slowly, he put one of his T-shirts on over my head; I lifted my arms to help him.
His palm stroked my head, smoothing back my hair, pulling it free from the neck of the shirt. I watched him, transfixed, as his eyes skimmed my face. The soft material smelled like fabric softener, and it caressed my skin.
With mock seriousness, he said, “You’re going to need to stay the night.”
I giggled and said, “Now that I have been thoroughly debauched?”
“Not thoroughly—but we can fix that later. Scoot over. You wore me out.”
I slid over on the mattress. He crawled in behind me, snuggling up and wrapping me in his arms.
In the middle of the night, his hands caressed me. His fingers gently separated my folds and caused me to wake; I squirmed against him in my half-awake state.
The T-shirt was pushed up against my waist, and his hardness pressed up against me. I raised my leg just a bit and pushed back, inviting him in.
When he slid into me, I closed my eyes and let him take me. In my dreamy state, I felt him everywhere. In. Out. And again, until my orgasm roared, and I drifted back off to sleep, wrapped up in him like a cocoon.
I was momentarily disoriented when I woke up in the unfamiliar room, in the unfamiliar bed—alone.
The exposed wood-beam ceiling was visible above me. Lying on my back, I stared up at the ceiling fan and smoothed the covers over me, resting my hands on my stomach. The dark walnut headboard matched the executive-style desk placed in front of a large picture window looking out to the desert. An antique rose-patterned chair sat at the desk.
Gold lamp shades covered the bronze lamps, and gold-colored, Victorian-style curtains covered the windows. They should have looked feminine. Instead, they gave the room a cozy, romantic contrast to the bed and desk’s manliness. Multi-colored, Native American area rugs covered most of the tile flooring. This room was eclectic and yet perfect.
The house was silent. I rolled over to Paxton’s side of the bed, burying my head in his pillow and inhaling. Just his smell turned me on. I sighed and tucked the pillow into me.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
I lifted my head and saw him in the doorway, shirtless and sweaty.
“Hey.”
He came to me and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I thought we’d moved on to ‘Good morning, Paxton.’”
I lay back, stretched, and smiled. “Good morning, Paxton.”
He leaned down to kiss me. “Good morning, Charlotte.”
“You stink.”
“I went for a run.” He left the bed and headed for the shower. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll make us breakfast. Coffee’s on if you want some.”
The shower spray turned on, and I heard the familiar click of the door opening and shutting.
Pulling his T-shirt off, I threw it on the bed and followed him into the bathroom.
The laminated glass fogged from the steam. He was humming, and I smiled as I opened the door and stepped in behind him.
His face was to the spray. He rubbed his hands over his face and turned to look at me. “This is a nice surprise.”
My hands rested on his chest, massaging him. Then I trailed one hand down to cup and stroke him. He grew in my hand, and I smiled knowingly up at him.
Looking at him coquettishly, I said, “It’s Sunday.”
“Waffles?”
“You said, and I quote, ‘I will fuck you six ways from Sunday.’”
He reached around me, pulled me close, and then lowered his mouth to bite on my earlobe. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Mm-hmm. And by my calculation, you owe me two.”
He reached behind him, turned off the water, and lowered himself down to his knees. Pushing my legs apart, he ran his tongue up inside me. Then, pulling back for just a moment, he looked up at me wantonly and said, “Then I should get started.”
And he did.
Later that week, I found myself alone at the studio.
Not completely alone. Vivian was there, and a few dancers were in and out practicing routines. But Solara, Max, and Paxton had left the office together Tuesday afternoon, and they hadn’t returned on Wednesday.
Tuesday night, Story gave me instructions on closing the store and told me she would call the next morning to check on me.
“Are you sure you want me closing the studio?”
Story looked at me like she didn’t have any patience left. “You’re completely competent, Charlotte. I think you can handle it.”
I was taken aback by her abrupt tone. “Story, did I do something to offend you?”
She rubbed her temples. “No. Just family issues I’m trying to work through.”
I wanted her to confide in me, so I took a chance and said, “If you need someone to talk to, I…” I jumped right in, “I’m a good listener.”
Looking at me like I was an alien, she grabbed her bag and headed toward the front door. “I’ll call you later.”
I was left staring after her, not really sure what had just happened.
On Thursday, none of them had returned. We had a competition in Las Vegas that weekend, and we were supposed to leave Friday morning.
I texted Solara at noon: Coming in today?
They’d all deserted me.
Next, I texted Paxton: Hey.
That should get his attention.
Sitting at the front desk, I was reviewing the event agenda for the weekend when Vivian came running down the stairs screaming. “Charlotte, come quick, come upstairs.”
I jumped off the stool and met her at the foot of the stairs. “What’s the matter?”
“The girl… That girl that was practicing… I don’t know her name. She fell. She fell.”
Her words were broken, and I told her to calm down. “Take a breath. Tell me what happened.”
She talked as she led me back upstairs to the larger of the two-pole studios. “She was practicing a split hip hold. You know what that is, right?”
We continued to the top of the steps. I nodded and rolled my arm in a “keep going” gesture.
“Right. Well, she was practicing the hold, and somehow, in transition, she slipped and fell from the top. She definitely broke her arm, but she might have also cracked her collarbone.”
I entered the dance room, and the girl was on her back crying. I knelt down beside her. “Hey. Hey, you okay?”
Tear-filled eyes met mine. “I think I broke my arm. And my hip hurts too.”
Oh, goodness. I looked around for Vivian. “Vivian, will you run back downstairs and get my phone?”
She bolted from the door, and I looked back at the girl on the floor. “I’ll get you taken care of. Get you to the hospital.”
When Vivian returned with my phone, I immediately called Paxton. No answer.
“Ugh! Where are you guys?” I said to myself.
I tried Solara. No answer.
I tapped my phone in my palm, looking at the girl but not really seeing her, trying to figure out what to do.
“Do you have someone you can call…?”
I looked at the girl with raised eyebrows, and she responded, “Hope.”
“Do you have someone you can call, Hope?”
Her eyes teared up. “No.”
“I need to call 911.”
“No, please don’t.”
There was fear in her eyes. And then I realized. She was a stripper. She didn’t have anyone, and she probably didn’t have any way to pay for an expensive ambulance ride. My heart hurt.
With as much consolation as I could muster, I told her we needed to get her to the hospital.
Tears welled in her eyes. “I know. Okay.”
I turned to Vivian. “Vivian, can you please drive Hope to the hospital?”
She whispered, thinking Hope couldn’t hear her. “I can’t, Charlotte. I have class this afternoon at three.”
Unbelievable. “Okay.” I turned to Hope. “I guess it’s you and me.”
Vivian asked, “Why don’t we just call 911?”
I stood from my kneeling position. “Ambulances are too expensive, and I can’t let her go to the hospital alone.”
“I can stay until I need to leave for class, and then I can close up for you.”
“Yes, please. And can you call anyone registered for the evening classes and cancel them? I don’t know where everyone is—and emergency room visits always take hours.”
“I can do that.”
I turned back to Hope. “Can you stand, Hope?”
She tried to get up and winced in pain. Vivian ran to my side, and we both gently lifted her from the floor.
Vivian got Hope’s bag from the locker room, grabbed my purse and keys, and met us at the front door.
I texted her my cell number. “Call me if you have trouble locking up. If anyone complains about the cancellations, tell them we will give them a free private lesson with Story.”
Her eyes bugged out. “Are you sure?”
I laughed sardonically, “Oh, yeah, I’m sure.”
On the drive to the hospital, Hope told me she didn’t have insurance.
“That’s okay. They have welfare programs for these types of things. Don’t worry about it. Just…” What on Earth was I thinking? “Let’s just get you taken care of, okay?”
I parked in the emergency room parking lot and helped Hope inside.
It was, thankfully, not that busy. The administrator behind the desk checked us in and gave me a bunch of paperwork to fill out.
I sat next to Hope in the blue, wood-framed waiting room chairs and started asking her all the questions on the forms. “What’s your date of birth, Hope?”
She told me, and I put down the pen.
“You aren’t even eighteen.” My voice was laced with frustration.
Not getting a response from her, I sighed and continued with the paperwork.
When it came to the parent/guardian signature, I groaned and put my name. My life was getting messier and messier.
I returned the packet to the lady behind the desk and sat back down to wait with Hope.
“Charlotte, my arm hurts.”
“I know it does. They’ll get to you in just a few minutes.”
Or hours, I thought.
She leaned her head on my shoulder, and I stared blankly at the TV mounted on the wall. One of those real-life court drama shows was playing, and I was momentarily grateful I had a day job. Then again, I didn’t. Not really. My life had been so much neater before.
Without disturbing Hope, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and tried to send another text to Paxton and Solara. The signal just kept spinning.
“Hope? Sit up, sweetie. I need to get some coffee.”
“Should I wait for you if they call me?”
“No, go ahead and go in. I’ll be right back. I’ll find you.”
I left her sitting by herself and meandered down the hospital hallways, trying to find the cafeteria or a Starbucks.
Following the signs that pointed toward the cafeteria, I came around a corner and saw Paxton staring into a vending machine.
He wasn’t moving. Just looking blankly at the selections. His hair was mussed, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved since last weekend.
I walked toward him.
“Paxton?” He wasn’t even registering that I was calling his name. I said, a little more emphatically, “Paxton!”
When he lifted his eyes to me, I jerked back in surprise. His eyes were haunted. Pained. Despondent.
I ran to his side and held on to his arms. “Paxton, what happened? What’s the matter?”
His eyes were glassy. He swallowed a few times before speaking.
“It’s… She’s…”