Page 51 of His Turn

And Quin. With his good-natured-all-American looks and upbringing. He did everything right and still came out like the rest of us. Deteriorating even as we rose in status and stature. I liked Quin more than Smith back then.

He was easier. Simpler. Honest. We almost fucked once. Back then when everything was new and exciting. Just the two of us sucking each other’s cocks one night in front of a girl. We did it to turn her on and it worked. We fucked her afterward instead of each other.

A momentary lapse, maybe. Or entirely deliberate. I never understood that night. Don’t even understand it now.

Two people are grinding on each other not far away, the boy’s hands on the girl’s ass, lifting up her skirt to reveal the fact that she has no panties on, giving everyone a peek. He looks at me, watches me watch him as their bodies sway together in the thumping music, then bends her over so I can see her pussy. His hand rests on the small of her back and then slides down between her ass cheeks, fingers reaching even before they enter her pussy, making it glisten in the lights. She’s wet from his touch.

I drag my gaze up to his and he smiles while I sip my brandy.

“Do you want to dance?” Nadia asks, pressing her body against mine. We’re already sweating. Already hot and we haven’t even started yet.

“What do you do here?” I ask her. “Just party? That’s it?”

“No,” she says, leaning in to kiss me again. “I do more than party.”

“Show me,” I say. We are reading each other’s lips mostly. The music is so loud. And it occurs to me that this is a very different kind of intimacy. Conversation that depends on watching the lips of your companion and not hearing the actual words that come out of her mouth.

“Let me out and wait here,” she says, her request mixing with the thumping beat.

I stand to let her out, her fingertips brush against my shirt, dragging along my chest. I look at them, then her face. She smiles, her hand dropping to my dick again. Squeezes it as she stands up and leans in to kiss me. “Remember our rule,” she says when she pulls away. “Don’t interfere.”

My heart beats faster as she walks away, her hips and shoulders swaying a little. Like her body can’t help but move to the beat. She is a dancer, after all. I should’ve said yes to the dance.

She stops a little way off, hands clasped behind her back. She’s in profile, so I watch—enthralled—as her back arches, pushing her breasts up and out, her peaked nipples in stark outline against the backdrop of flashing lights.

Then she points. I follow the line of her arm right up to the tip of her finger. Searching for her target.

A boy appears from the crowd. Young, handsome, shirtless. His chest rising and falling in rapid succession, like she makes him breathless.

He’s been dancing, I correct myself. He’s hot, and sweaty, and breathing hard from the dancing.

But I don’t believe it. It’s her who makes him breathless. His hands are on her body as soon as he’s close enough. Feeling their way up and down her slim waist, then reaching for her tits.

I almost walk over there, but her glance stops me. Don’t interfere.

She points again and another boy appears, then another. Same age as the first—Nadia’s age. Same hard bodies. Same handsome faces. Same undeniable attraction. They smother her for a moment. Their arms surrounding her. Hands seeking more. Knees pressing between her legs. For a moment I’m transfixed by the four of them. I see me, and Smith, and Quin with our chosen one, but with the power structure in reverse.

Is this how she plays her game? Is she me?

She turns away from them, walking back to me. They follow like dogs. When she gets back to our table she leans against it, like she needs help standing. I move aside, letting her have her space. None of the boys even bother looking at me. They only look at her.

Waiting for instructions, I realize. She kisses one. Her hands on his face. Like she needs to hold him. He kisses her back. I watch his tongue touch hers, his hands at his side, as if she gave a command, but I know she didn’t.

They know her. She has played with them before. And I don’t care what she says—she has fucked them before.

The other two wait patiently, still with eyes only for her. Her regular players waiting for her commands.

Nadia is a top, I remind myself. In her real life, she is a top.

She looks every bit her chosen role right now.

Her fingertips reach for the other two now, the first still kissing her as she plays with their chests, draws them into her. Closer and closer until they are nothing but a mass of bodies moving together. Writhing to the hard beat of the impromptu club.

Her hand presses on the shoulder of the one closest to me and he drops to his knees. The first one—the one she’s kissing—leans into her until she bends at the waist, letting her back rest on the table.

My cock is so fucking hard.

He—the first one—lifts up her top. A silky, pale chemise that belongs in the bedroom. He exposes her breasts. Squeezes them as she closes her eyes and opens her mouth. I can’t hear the moan that passes through her lips, but I feel it. I moan too.