Club Privé: Book I Page 3

  I'd touched myself before, and I'd had a couple dates who'd done some over-the-clothes groping, but I'd never had someone else's fingers between my legs. I bit down on Dax's bottom lip as a finger slid between my folds. The tip brushed against my clit, and I pushed my hips up against his hand, wanting more.

  “Damn,” he murmured as his mouth moved across my jaw. “So wet.”

  His finger slipped inside me, and I made a small sound. He pressed his lips against the side of my neck, and I closed my eyes, letting myself be lost in the sensations of his finger moving inside me, his thumb rubbing against my clit. I could feel his teeth worrying at the skin on my neck, the pull of his mouth, and I knew I'd have a mark in the morning. I might be annoyed then, but at the moment, I only wanted him to make me come. I could feel the orgasm building inside me, the way pleasure was coiling, twisting, waiting to explode.

  A second finger joined the first, and now my hips were moving in time with his strokes. Then his fingers bent, moved, and I cried out as they rubbed over my g-spot. Little white dots danced across my vision, and Dax swore as I dug my nails into his shoulders. His mouth closed over my nipple, and his attentions roughened. Hard suction, sharp teeth, and the sort of pressure between my legs that told me a climax was not far off.

  My muscles tightened, and I was there. I made a sound I didn't recognize, twisting my body this way and that, though I wasn't sure if I was trying to get away from Dax or trying to get closer. It didn't matter either way. He was the one in control. A second wave of pleasure washed over me, and I could barely breathe.

  I wasn't even aware that Dax had moved until I heard a tearing sound and forced my eyes open. He was kneeling between my legs, his jeans pushed down to his thighs so I could see that he wasn't wearing anything underneath. As I watched, he rolled the condom over the long, thick shaft that curved up toward his stomach. My pussy clenched at the sight of it even as I realized how much bigger he was than the toy I’d packed away in one of my bags. He probably wouldn't be able to tell that I was a virgin, but it was going to be a tight fit.

  He leaned over me again, pulling aside the now-soaked crotch of my panties. The rough material of his jeans rubbed against my thighs, and then the tip of him pushed against my entrance. I looked up to find him watching me closely. There was lust in his eyes, and I could feel the tension in his body, but he still took the time to make sure I still agreed to this.

  I nodded, biting down on my bottom lip as he eased his way inside. As I stretched to accommodate him, I slid my hand around to his chest, needing a distraction from the nearly overwhelming sensations rippling across my nerves. My fingers found his piercing, and as I began to play with it, Dax stilled, his body stiffening. I looked up as he growled, then cried out as he drove the rest of his cock into me with one hard thrust.

  I whimpered, nails scratching at his chest, muscles trembling. I didn't know what to feel. The edge of pain that came with a deeper penetration than I'd prepared myself for. The almost unbearable fullness of being completely and totally filled. Or the pleasure from the way his body pressed into mine.

  Before I was completely ready, he began to move, each stroke going deep. He wasn't being too rough, but there was no gentleness to it either. This wasn't making love or even having sex. This was fucking, pure and simple.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and began to move with him, urging him to take me harder and faster. I wanted to feel him inside me for days, wanted the memory of my first time to be branded in my mind. To be the standard against which all other encounters would be measured, even if there were no romantic feelings involved.

  He shifted, the movement causing the head of his cock to drag across my g-spot with every thrust. I kept my grip on him with one hand and moved the other down between us. I moaned as my fingers touched my clit, the bundle of nerves slick and swollen. Dax's hips jerked as I clenched around him.

  “Fuck.”

  He sounded like he was close to losing it, so I began to move my fingers over and around my clit, using the pressure and motions that I knew would get me off. His mouth closed over mine, and I parted my lips, letting his tongue mimic what his cock was doing. He slid one hand under my head, fingers tightening in my hair until it hurt.

  He tore his mouth from mine. “Fucking come, Bryne. I can't hold back any longer.”

  He slammed into me hard enough to make me cry out, then did it again, forcing my orgasm to break over me. The pleasure was sharp, almost brutal, and I clung to Dax as he pushed himself deep, his muscles tensing. He let out a groan and pressed his face against the side of my neck.

  We stayed locked together until the sensations began to ebb, and then Dax rolled off of me. I stared up at the ceiling, suddenly sober, and trying to figure out what I was supposed to do now. I was mostly naked and completely uncertain about whether or not I should cover myself or act like the nudity was no big deal.

  I clearly hadn't thought this thing through as much as I thought I had.

  Dax sat up, pulled off the condom and tossed it into the trashcan next to the bed. Without looking at me, he stood, pulled his pants up, and then bent to pick up his shirt.

  “That was fun.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “See you around, Bryne.”

  I watched as he walked out without a backwards glance. As the door clicked shut behind him, I wondered if I'd just made a horrible mistake.

  Chapter Four

  Okay, so I'd told myself that I wouldn't get all upset when the one-night stand I'd initiated was over. And I wasn't upset. Not exactly. I wasn't all weepy and wondering why Dax had walked out with barely a word. After all, he hadn't pretended this would be anything other than what it was. I wasn't angry at him or anything like that. And I wasn't really angry at myself.

  I just wasn't sure if sleeping with a guy I'd just met on my second night in a new city had been the best move. Still, it had at least been my decision, made free of all the pressures that came with living in DC. It wasn't upset, I finally decided, but rather regret I was feeling, and regret I could handle.

  As I finally started to fall asleep, I reminded myself that at least the sex had been good. All right, beyond good. My entire body was still humming.

  When I woke up the next morning, I felt better. Yes, I'd had sex. Great, toe-curling, sex with a smoking hot guy. It hadn't been pity sex or sloppy drunken sex. It'd been two consenting adults who wanted each other. A decision I'd made for myself, and one I refused to let myself regret.

  First things first though. I needed a shower. By the time I got out, I felt more prepared to figure out what I should do next. For most people who moved, getting a job would be first priority, but thanks to the inheritance I'd gotten from Nana and Papa's estate, employment was only as much of an issue as I wanted it to be.

  Which meant that I could focus on the other reason I'd chosen New York City as my destination. I wanted to act, but I was hoping to make it on Broadway rather than in film or on TV, so NYC made sense. What had solidified it for me, however, was the letter my mother and I had found while going through some of Nana and Papa's things.

  As I worked my brush through my hair, I paced, trying to figure out how to get the information I needed without risking seeing Dax again. I wasn't angry at him, but I didn't want him to think I was a stalker or some pitiful girl who couldn’t let go. If I went back to Club Privé tonight, I was sure that's what he'd think. But I had to go back. It was the only lead I had.

  My bare foot hit something, and I looked down. A wallet. I bent to pick it up even though I already knew who it belonged to. It was a sign. Now, I had good reason to go, but I wouldn’t wait until tonight. The club probably wouldn't be open on a Sunday morning, but it was as good a start as any.

  The bouncer wasn't there when I arrived, so I walked around the building to look for an employee entrance. I still didn't have a plan for what I'd do if no one was there, but I wasn't in a rush. As I neared the back door, however, I saw a woman coming from the opposite direction. She was
a little taller than me and probably six or seven years older.

  “Excuse me!” I called out as I hurried toward her. “Excuse me, do you work here?”

  She looked startled, but not alarmed. “I do. How can I help you?”

  “Is Gavin Manning here?”

  I felt her stiffen more than I saw it, but I recognized the look in her eyes. Gavin meant something to her. The sunlight glinted off a diamond on her left hand, and intuition told me that she was married to the man I was looking for.

  “Who wants to know?” she asked, her tone a little less friendly and a lot more cautious.

  “My name's Bryne Dawkins.” I put out a hand.

  “Carrie Manning.” She shook mine, but I could see that she still didn't quite know how to take me. “Why do you want to see my husband?”

  I was right, and my heart gave a funny skipping beat. I'd been prepared to spend weeks searching at the very least, but instead, I'd accidentally stumbled across the person I'd come here to find.

  “It's...complicated,” I said, biting my lower lip, uncertain what to say or even how to begin.

  A brisk wind blew through the alley, and I shivered. The expression on Carrie's face softened.

  “Come on in.” She swiped a card and then punched a code into the keypad next to the door. She opened it and walked inside.

  I followed and found myself in a hallway rather than the open space I'd seen last night. It was dimly lit, but enough that I didn't have a problem following Carrie to a set of stairs that led up to the second floor. I remembered hearing that the upper floor was for VIPs, but Carrie didn't ask me to wait, so I went after her.

  We stopped in front of a door, and she knocked, opening the door a moment later. When I stepped inside after her, she moved to the side so I could see the man sitting behind the desk. Dark hair, deep blue eyes. His features weren't familiar, and for a moment, I doubted that he was who I'd come to find, but I'd never know if I didn't speak up.

  “Gavin, someone's here to see you.” Carrie took off her coat, and I saw that she was pregnant. Probably four or five months. Her winter coat had hidden it. Her hand automatically moved to her stomach as she turned, the gesture protective.

  Gavin gave me a puzzled look, but that was no surprise. Even if he knew of my mother's existence, I doubted he'd know of mine. He stood. “Can I help you?”

  “I'm Bryne Dawkins.” Straightforward was probably the best way to go with this, but I had a feeling it would come as quite a shock however I worded it. “I'm your niece.”

  Gavin's eyes widened, and he looked from me to Carrie and back again. “Say again?”

  “I think I'm your niece,” I clarified my statement. “Is your father's name Chauncey Manning?” At his nod, I continued, “And he worked at the US Embassy in Sweden like thirty years ago?”

  “Yes.” He gestured to the chair across from him. Carrie moved to lean against him, and he took her hand. “But I'm still lost.”

  I sat down and took a deep breath. “My mother's name is Allison, and her parents were Nancy Lyons...and Chauncey Manning.”

  Gavin gave his head a little shake. “I'll need a little more than a couple names here, Bryne. My parents never said anything about a half-sister.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out both of the things I'd brought with me. The wallet I set on the desk. The letter, I held out to Gavin.

  “After my dad died, my mom and I went to live with my great-grandparents. A few months ago, we were cleaning some things out of an old desk, and we found this letter. Your dad wrote it to my grandmother about thirty years ago. In it, he says that he met someone in Sweden, that they married and had a son. Gavin.”

  He unfolded the letter and began to read, so I shut my mouth and let him. For me, this wasn't really a shock. I'd never known my grandfather. Hell, I'd barely known my grandmother, and my memories of her weren't fond ones.

  After a couple minutes, he folded the letter back up and held it out to me. When he looked up at me, his expression was unreadable. “I believe you, but I think I'd like a couple minutes to call my dad. He has some explaining to do.”

  I nodded and stood. Completely understandable. I glanced down at the desk and saw Dax's wallet. I gestured toward it. “By the way, that belongs to one of your employees. Dax Prevot.”

  One eyebrow went up, and something flashed across Gavin's eyes. “May I ask why you have Dax's wallet?”

  “Gavin.” There was a note of amusement in Carrie's voice.

  I folded my arms and gave him a hard look. “I'm an adult.”

  One corner of Gavin's mouth twitched. “Barely.”

  Carrie smacked his arm. “You've just met the girl. I think it's a bit early to be going all alpha male on her.”

  “Stay away from Dax,” Gavin said, his gaze fixed on me.

  I wasn't entirely sure how to take him, but I'd never been one to shy away from asking questions. “Why?”

  “Some of his acquaintances aren't exactly the most trustworthy of people,” Gavin said. He glanced at Carrie, who seemed to want to say something, and then added, “And he's not exactly known for his fidelity.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If I was looking for a boyfriend, that might be an issue.”

  I wasn't going to let myself think about how nice it might be to go to bed with Dax again. I would probably have some other one-night stands, some casual relationships, but my time with Dax was done. I wouldn’t go there again.

  Carrie broke the silence before it could become uncomfortable. “Bryne, why don't you and I give Gavin some time alone to make his phone call. If he wants to play overprotective uncle, he can do it later.”

  We walked toward the door, and I glanced over my shoulder. Gavin's eyes were fixed on Carrie, and I felt a sharp, painful longing. I'd never been one of those girls who spent time on romantic daydreams, but in that moment, I wanted someone to look at me the way Gavin was looking at Carrie.

  “So, Bryne,” Carrie said as we walked into the hallway, “where are you staying?”

  Chapter Five

  The only thing my newfound uncle told me about his conversation with his father was that I was right, and we were related. I didn't press the issue. If he and my mom wanted to go into detail about their childhood, and the ways their father had screwed them both over, that was between them. I hadn't come to find Gavin for some sort of closure.

  I wanted family.

  Considering I was staring up at the same ceiling for the third morning in a row, I was pretty sure I'd found it. As soon as I told Carrie that I was staying in a hotel until I could find somewhere more permanent, she'd insisted that I move into the guest room in their loft. I told her that I could afford to stay in a hotel for a while, but when she told Gavin, he made it clear that it was pointless to argue.

  I supposed I could've shown them both just how stubborn I was, but if I was completely honest, I didn't want to argue. I liked Carrie and Gavin, and I wanted to get to know them. I'd loved Nana and Papa, and I loved my mother, but I'd always been a little sad about the fact that I didn't have any extended family. The kids from the families who ran in the same social circles as my great-grandparents weren't exactly the friendliest to the daughter of a dead boxer.

  Carrie and Gavin were older than me, but not so much that I felt like I had parents hovering. Sure, Gavin was a bit overprotective – he'd stuck to his insistence that I needed to stay away from Dax – but he wasn't condescending about it, so I didn't take offense.

  By the time I made my way into the kitchen, I could smell coffee and knew that Gavin and Carrie would be waiting. Since I'd moved in, we'd eaten breakfast together every morning. Because Gavin ran Club Privé, and Carrie had her own law practice, they more or less set their own hours unless they had an appointment scheduled, so we were spending most mornings together. It was a nice combination of getting to know them without being overwhelmed.

  “Krissy called,” Carrie said as soon as I came over to the table with my mug of hazelnut coffee.
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  A flare of hope shot through me, but I kept my expression neutral. When I told Carrie and Gavin that I wanted to pursue a career in acting, I'd expected the same brush off that I'd gotten from my mother and teachers back home. Instead, Gavin had told me to let him know if I wanted any help finding a job that would be willing to work around an acting schedule until I landed a full-time gig, and Carrie had offered to contact one of her closest friends, who apparently ran a talent agency in Los Angeles.

  “That was quick,” I said as I sat down across from her.

  “When Krissy gets something in her head, she doesn't let go until she gets what she wants.” The amusement on Carrie's face told me that she was thinking of something specific. “Anyway, she gave me a couple names and some casting calls that you might want to check out.” She pushed a piece of paper across the table.

  “Thank you so much,” I said. “Seriously, I can't thank you both enough.”

  “It's what family does,” Carrie said.

  I skimmed the list, my heart skipping a beat when I saw that one of the casting calls was this afternoon. “This is really happening.”

  Carrie smiled at me as she reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “As soon as you're done, come by the club and tell us how it went.”

  “You're sure that's okay?” I glanced at Gavin.

  He'd made it clear that he didn't want me at Club Privé, but it hadn't just been him being protective. If word got out that a nineteen-year-old had been drinking in his club, he'd lose his liquor license and possibly even the club itself. He'd given the bartender, bouncer, and Dax all warnings that the next time they didn't check an ID, they'd be fired.

  I'd gotten the impression that the warning to Dax was as much about staying away from me as it had been about being diligent regarding keeping people under twenty-one from drinking.