Page 51 of Taking Turns

The car is waiting outside and the driver doesn’t get out to open the door. Smith opens it instead, and we slide in. His phone rings, he takes the call, and then proceeds to have a conversation about things that have nothing to do with me or this arrangement. Business, I suppose.

But as soon as we get to Turning Point Club, he ends the call and takes my hand.

“No touching,” I say, pulling it away.

“Rules don’t apply during meetings. Just wait. I’ve got something fun planned.”

Oh. I feel a little heat between my legs.

The lobby is crowded and everyone turns to look at us as we enter. Smith doesn’t talk to anyone. Not the valets, not the coat-check girl, not the maitre d’. He keeps hold of my hand and leads me into the White Room, past all the gawking people already eating, and towards the back of the restaurant where Quin and Bric are sitting at a private elevated table, surrounded by so many gigantic flower arrangements, I can barely make them out.

Bric sees us first and stands up, smiling. It takes Quin a few seconds to stand up, but he does, half-heartedly, and doesn’t send me a smile.

He does notice the outfit when Bric offers to help me with my coat, just like Smith predicted.

Smith pulls out a chair for me, I sit, and then they do too.

“You’re late,” Quin says.

“Cereal?” Smith says, looking across the table at Quin’s choice of breakfast food. “What are you, fourteen?”

Quin doesn’t look up, just starts shoveling cornflakes in his mouth.

“Did you have a nice night, Chella?” Bric asks, ignoring everything going on between Smith and Quin.

I open my mouth to reply, but Smith beats me to it. “Chella has nightmares.”

“What?” I ask, looking at him. “I don’t have nightmares.”

“She walks in her sleep.”

“I do not. Why are you saying that?”

“And she plays with herself all night long. Her hand never stopped.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” Smith says, hint of annoyance in his voice. “How would you know anyway? Were you awake? Because I was.”

I let out a long sigh as I turn away and look at Bric. “Do you have nightmares?” he asks.

“No,” I say.

“She’s lying. But anyway, it was a good night. I fingered her and kissed her before we discussed the rules. Afterward, it was strictly hands off.”

“We’re having a play-by-play?” I ask, completely embarrassed.

“It’s OK, Chella,” Bric says in his calm, authoritative voice. “We don’t normally, no. But we have to make sure everything is proceeding well the first week. It’s a critical time.”

“She comes so fucking fast, you guys,” Smith says, a new playfulness in his voice I haven’t heard yet. “Demonstration?”

And then Smith’s hand is between my legs, his fingertips playing with my clit.

I’m watching Quin concentrate on his cereal as this happens, but he looks up from the cornflakes and his eyes meet mine.

He smiles. Sits back. Drops his spoon, picks up his napkin, and reaches under the tablecloth to…

I look around nervously.