Dwelling in Desire Ch. 06

Notes from the author:

I don't know why I was surprised by the negative response to last chapter. I personally don't care for "other woman" chapters, but I thought I was one of the fewer clingy emotional women out there. How silly of me. Part of Tina's integration into this story was to add depth, and an element of conflict/discomfort, to add to the realism. Tina has certain needs that Curt helps to fulfill, but she is a woman in a group of women I have trouble understanding: women that can share. She has an emotional bond with Curt because of their history and friendship, but she is not the one-man woman sort. Yet. If I get enough requests, I might do another spin off for Tina, and her Happy Ever After. If you have read my first series, you know that despite the pain and harshness that comes with my Doms, I am a sucker for happy endings. Group sex is not the category, nor will it ever be the category I write in. Just try to be patient, and "ride the wave".

Peace Darlings. XOXO

--J

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Chapter 6

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In a half a mile, turn right.

Oh geez, what the heck had I gotten myself into? Every nightclub I'd driven by had a line that seemed to wrap around the block. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to park, walk in, have a few drinks, get picked up, and then get it done. If I couldn't even manage to get inside a club, how the heck was I going to get picked up?

There had to be a regular bar around here. Simple, basic. No dancing, just drinks. And men. It seemed like it should be easy enough to find, especially in the city. But I'd been driving for easily an hour and a half since I'd left home, and I was no closer to losing my virginity.

I was getting discouraged. And scared.

In a quarter mile, your destination is on the left. Destination.

Well, I had reached my fifth "destination" and it was surrounded by rough looking characters. No way in heck was I getting out of my car in this neighborhood.

After brief eye contact with a couple of the guys standing outside the bar smoking, I hit the gas. Turn right, turn left, it didn't matter anymore. I just had to get out of here.

I give up. I'm going home. I'll give it another shot with Jenny next weekend or something. Hating myself for chickening out, I pressed "Home" on my GPS screen.

Thank God I had filled up my tank this afternoon, because I definitely didn't need to run out of gas here. I didn't even know where "here" was, but it was bad.

In one mile, turn right.

Wow, I must have been driving a while.

I felt sad, relieved, and disgusted with myself all at the same time. I was such a freaking innocent, it made me sick. I couldn't even go to a bar correctly.

In a half a mile, turn left.

I was about to do just that when I spotted what looked like a nightclub on my right. It was a small place, but it had the sort of dim exotic lighting that seemed characteristic of a nightclub. And there was no line to get in.

I pulled up and paused, looking for a sign that showed the name of the establishment, but I saw none.

I was startled when I saw a man crossing in front of my car, until I realized he was the valet. Letting out a deep breath, I shifted into park.

The man opened my door, and offered me his hand.

I was still puzzled as to where I was, or what I should do, but it seemed like this was almost God's doing—my getting lost until I happened across a mysterious nightclub with a mysterious valet. Perhaps there was a mysterious man inside, waiting to offer me a night of insurmountable carnal pleasures.

Sensing that this was my last chance, I threw caution to the wind and grabbed my purse before allowing the man to help me out. He handed me a ticket and directed me to the sidewalk before driving off to what I presumed was a private garage. I hoped. My luck I'd never see my car again.

I took in the solitarily lit establishment. It was beautiful, and enticing. The steps to the front doors were lit in blue. I could hear soft music coming from inside. But the inside I couldn't see. Not clearly anyway. The double doors were glass, but it was that wavy rain glass. I saw colorful flickering lights and dark wavy shadows through the glass, but nothing more.

Realizing I was still standing on the sidewalk like a dope, I finally ascended the steps. Perhaps the up-lights on each step were not simply for ambiance, because the rest of the block was pitch black. I could easily have killed myself in these slutty four-inch heels, were it not for the lighting.

As I carefully approached the landing, I felt like Cinderella. A very naughty Cinderella. Risqué was a polite description for my ensemble, a far cry from Cinderella's gown.

When I reached the top, I was surprised by a man dressed in black. He looked like security. I froze.

"Good evening miss, may I have your name please?" the man greeted.

His outer appearance was intimidating, but his voice and eyes were warm.

"I'm Bethany, Bethany Jenkins," I stuttered.

The man pulled out his tablet, and scrolled.

Frowning, the man said, "I'm sorry miss, I don't see you on the list. This club is for members only, or by private invitation. Were you invited by one of our members? I can check with the manager to see if there was a mistake."

"Oh! No, I'm sorry. I'm not a member, and I wasn't invited. I...I didn't realize this was a private club. I was just..."

"That's quite alright miss, if you'll just wait a moment, I will have your car brought back. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience."

"No it's my fault, but thank you for being so nice about it," I muttered sheepishly.

"Not at all, Miss Bethany. It's a shame you're not a member. We'd be lucky to have you," he winked. "I'm Edward by the way, should we ever cross paths again."

I blushed, and was debating how to respond to his flattery when I noticed a dark shadow in the shape of a man behind the glass doors. It reminded me of the phantom from my dream.

The door opened, and I damn near swallowed my tongue.

---

"Well goodnight Edward. I'll..."

I did a double take. The girl standing with Edward was not just any girl.

Good God.

"Bethany??" I gushed.

It was her. It was definitely her. But she looked...different. And terrified.

"Mr. Donovan, hi," she practically whispered.

I shook my head in shock. Bethany was definitely not a member here, and I couldn't fathom how she would come by an invitation. So why the hell was she here? And what the hell was she doing dressed so...provocatively?

"What are you doing here?" was my unfiltered response.

"I...umm," Bethany stammered.

Realizing I probably wasn't going to get a straight answer out of her, I turned to Edward.

"Have her car ready in an hour."

"Yes sir," Edward replied. Touching his earpiece, he paged Juan, "Please bring Mr. Donovan's car."

Turning back to Bethany, I took a moment to observe her...outfit. Jesus.

Her skirt was brazenly short, and her heels were way too high for such tiny feet. And her top was so low cut I was surprised Edward had not just fucking let her in. No man would have blamed him. And no man inside could have resisted her. The question was, could I resist her?

I'd been certain my cock wouldn't stir for days after my session with Tina, but the fucker just couldn't be decent.

Bethany was absolutely lethal in her outfit, what there was of it. I could not get over her breasts. This was the first time I had been able to appreciate them in person, and I was without words.

Edward clearing his throat snapped me out of it. Realizing that I was not the only heterosexual male present, I immediately removed my jacket and covered her with it just as Juan pulled up with the Jag.

Bethany was still staring into the concrete, so I gently guided her down the steps, cautious of her high heels. She was moving so slowly when I opened the door for her, I began to wonder what was wrong. Looking down at her, gingerly maneuvering into the seat, I realized what the problem was. Holy shit.

Her skirt was so short that she was struggling to get into the seat without flashing me. Fortunately, and unfortunately for me, she failed in her efforts. I got a generous look at the crotch of her panties. God in heaven.

Damn it Donovan! Help her in, get in the car. Help her in, get in the car. Help her in...

Shutting the passenger door as hurriedly as I could without hurting her, I tipped Juan and briskly walked around to the driver side.

"Buckle your seatbelt," I ordered, and I did the same.

Flying by the seat of my ever-tightening pants, I drove. I headed into a less dangerous area, towards the heart of downtown. Spotting an all night diner, I parked quickly, and circled to help Bethany out. To my chagrin, the same incident occurred. I saw her panties. And sick horny maniac that I was, I looked harder this time, searching for traces of wetness.

She still wouldn't make eye contact, but allowed me to steer her inside and into a booth.

My heart was pounding. I couldn't fathom how this was happening. The most plausible explanation was that this was all a dream. She would slip under the table, undo my pants, pull me free of my boxers, and then I would wake up.

We sat there for several moments in silence before I couldn't stand it anymore.

"So Bethany, do you want to tell me what the hell you were doing at Consent?"

I wasn't angry per se, but I sounded it.

"What?" Bethany looked at me, seemingly puzzled.

"Why were you at Consent?" I repeated.

"Consent? I don't understand. Mr. Donovan, I was lost. I had driven into the city tonight to go clubbing, and I got lost. I was just about to give up and go home when I saw the place."

"Are you saying that you didn't even know where you were?" I blinked.

"Yes! I was lost. But I saw the colorful lights on the building. It looked like a nightclub, which was what I was looking for, and the valet just came right up to my car to help me out. Edward was so nice too. But he said it was invitation or members only. I was just about to leave when you came outside."

Running my hands through my hair, I muttered, "I don't believe this."

"What? Mr. Donovan, what did I do wrong?" Bethany pleaded.

"Oh for Christ's sake just call me Curt!" I snapped.

I could have stabbed myself in the leg for the hurt look that appeared on her face.

"I'm sorry Bethany, I'm sorry..." I shook my head. "I was just surprised. I never would have expected to find you there. I was surprised. It's not your fault."

She nodded, resuming her study of the gray Formica table.

"Good evening, what can I get you?" greeted the tired looking waitress.

What else could one expect from an all-night diner at ten thirty in the evening?

"I'll have a coffee, black. Bethany?" I prompted.

"Umm, I guess the same," Bethany said softly.

Jesus, had I really been that much of a douche?

I nodded at the waitress, and she turned to head back to the kitchen.

"Look Bethany, I'm sorry," I offered again, reaching out to take her hand in mine. "You've got to admit it's weird though, just running into each other like this."

She flinched as I gently squeezed her hand. I frowned. Perhaps this was unprofessional. But this whole situation was ridiculously fucked up. Who was to say what was professional and what wasn't? But I released her hand anyway, mindful of her sensibilities.

"Yeah, it's really weird. And I'm sorry for, well, I know you're not used to seeing me this way."

"This way...as in fucking sexy?" I supplied, before I could catch myself.

"Sexy?" she laughed. "No, I was thinking more like slutty."

I chuckled as well at her candor.

"Which begs the question, why? Why are you dressed this way Bethany? You didn't strike me as the sort to go clubbing and shit."

"Well, I'm not," she shrugged. "I guess I just...wanted to see what was out there."

I frowned in realization.

"Well I'm glad you didn't get very far Bethany. Because what's out there is a bunch of drunk assholes who won't treat you with the proper respect."

She nodded.

"I know."

She knew? Something wasn't right.

"Well then I guess I still don't get women," I shook my head. "I'd grill you some more, but I'm not your father. It's not my place."

"Yeah, my dad wouldn't be very pleased with me," she replied with a weak smile.

My cock twitched at her words.

Dad. Dad. Just one tiny syllable away from...

"No I don't imagine he would be. You're a beautiful young woman Bethany. You put it all on display like this, and you will get hurt. I would hate for that to happen."

"Thank you," she whispered.

I shook my head, still floored by God's latest practical joke. He sure loved to fuck with me.

"Didn't you get over the whole 'see what's out there' phase in high school? Or college?" I asked.

"Well unlike many apparently, I was too busy studying and helping out at my church. My parents were very strict."

My cock twitched again. This was dangerously indicative of one of the classic male fantasies. But I dared not hope. Even if it were true, I may as well not even think it. Bethany was off limits. Period.

"Are you saying you're twenty five years old, and you've never been to a nightclub before, or a bar?" I asked, not daring to breathe lest I give my excitement away.

"Of course not! I've been, a couple times, with some friends in college. It's just..."

I sat on the edge of my seat.

"Nothing ever came of it," she all but whispered, still staring into the table. But even her downcast face couldn't hide her intense blush.

I swallowed hard, my fists clenched beneath the table. Was she saying what I thought she was? It wasn't possible. Bethany was a gorgeous girl, and twenty-five years old to boot. Strict parents or not, it didn't seem plausible that she was...inexperienced.

"Here you are," the waitress arrived with our coffees. With a knowing smile at Bethany, she pulled a few creamers and sugar packets from her apron.

"Can I get you anything to eat? Do you need some time to look over the menu?"

I cleared my throat, "Bethany, are you hungry?"

She shrugged.

"Sorry, can you give us a minute?" I asked the waitress. She nodded and retreated to the kitchen.

"I don't want you to feel obligated to buy me dinner just because we happened to run into each other on a fluke," Bethany stated plainly.

"I don't feel obligated Bethany. I want to. Besides, is it really dinner if I want..." I snatched a menu and picked one of the first items I saw. "Pancakes?"

An adorable smile tugged at her lips.

"I guess not. Pancakes sound good actually," she admitted.

I flagged the waitress as she came back through the kitchen door.

"We'll have two short stacks of pancakes please," I ordered, winking at Bethany.

She blushed again. God, there was nothing like her blush.

"Besides," I joked, "It's a business write-off. I'm the well to do client, and you are the professional decorator, and this is a business meeting in which we discuss the project at hand. So tell me, how goes the planning for my house?" I demanded, crossing my arms, and making her giggle.

"Well Mr. Donovan," she began, sitting up straight, "Things are going very well. I've identified several candidates of furniture pieces, and am in the process of qualifying those pieces by color, quality level, and price point."

"It's Curt," I reminded her sternly.

"But you said this was a business meeting, did you not?" Bethany teased. "If this is truly a business meeting, and you are the well to do client, should I not address you in a formal and professional manner?"

"What if this client demands that you call him by his first name? The customer is always right, after all," I challenged.

"Hmm, you may have a point." Bethany grinned. "Well I suppose it would be alright. As long as we continue to maintain a professional relationship in all other aspects."

"Of course!" I chuckled. "How silly of you to suggest that I had anything other than professional intentions."

"Yes, my apologies," Bethany nodded with a knowing smirk. "Now, since you're so interested in the status of your project, perhaps you'd like to discuss the draperies. I'm not quite sure whether to do metal rods or wood rods in the downstairs. Would you care to weigh in?"

I swallowed and narrowed my eyes at her. Was she aware of the double entendre, or was this just the sick old man in me? Probably the sick old man.

"Well, Bethany, which do you recommend?" I asked, shifting in my seat.

"Well, Curt, they both have their benefits. The metal rods are virtually indestructible, and can span long distances without warping, but the wood ones are available thicker, and can sometimes be richer looking."

"Hmm," I stroked my chin in mock indecision, "That is a dilemma." Bethany smirked again at my sarcasm. "I'll tell you what, I'll defer to your professional opinion."

She sighed.

"I like to engage my clients a bit more than that to make sure their home is personalized," she countered genuinely.

"I understand Bethany. And I respect that. But I'm a very busy man. Very busy. And any time I have off work, I consider to be very precious. I would much rather spend the evening enjoying pancakes with a beautiful woman than discuss something so trivial as draperies."

"Mr. Donovan that is highly inappropriate," Bethany admonished, but a smile tugged at her lips.

"I thought we agreed you would call me Curt," I growled.

"Well since you violated the terms of the original agreement, that we keep things completely professional otherwise, that agreement is now void. I can ethically choose to call you whatever I want now," Bethany explained.

"Are you sure you aren't a lawyer?" I laughed.

"I'm sure," Bethany nodded smugly.

I sighed, "Well, as delicious as it is when you call me Mr. Donovan, I think I still prefer you to call me Curt. So I grudgingly withdraw my statement."

Her eyes widened. I don't think she'd had any idea that it turned me on when she addressed me formally, until now.

"Thank you," she whispered, just as our waitress arrived with our plates.

"Here we go, two short stacks," said the tired waitress. "You two enjoy!"

I tried to check her name tag, but she departed before I could manage to thank her by name. The charm factor of all night diners seemed to be nothing more than a myth.

"Mmm, dang this looks good," I declared, immediately smothering the cakes with butter and dumping on the syrup.

Bethany actually laughed, making me look up in surprise.

"Sorry, you're just very eager," she giggled.

"Of course I'm eager! I'm having delicious albeit pre-mixed pancakes with a beautiful, intelligent woman," I explained.

"Curt," she warned.

"Sorry," I winked before shoveling in my first mouthful.

I observed her as she daintily spread her own butter and drizzled the cakes with syrup, careful to make sure they were evenly covered. I wished I'd just focused on my own plate, because my eyes inadvertently met hers just as she was putting the first bite in her mouth. I nearly groaned as I saw her little pink tongue dart out to collect the stray syrup on her lip.

I had to avert my eyes, and was probably pretty obvious about it, because I heard a soft muffled giggle.

We ate in silence, and with all my focus on my plate, the pancakes disappeared way too quickly.

When I finally looked up, Bethany had made a reasonable dent herself. I smirked in amusement. Sweet dainty Bethany might be able to hold her own in a pancake-eating contest.

She avoided eye contact as she finished, and I had little to do but stare at her, figuring she wouldn't think it was proper to talk with her mouth full.

Her mouth. Full. The words. The idea of it. It made me hard...er. Jesus, I felt like a fucking teenager, associating every little thing with sex.