Three Hard Lessons (12 page)

“
Osoreirimasu,”
Dominic said. Then showed the man by leaning over and tapping his screen. I’m not sure which one of us was more surprised, the man or me, to hear Japanese come from Dominic’s mouth. The man nodded a thank you.

“What?” Dominic seemed puzzled by my reaction.

Obviously he spoke Japanese. I just hadn’t thought about it. “It caught me off guard, that’s all.” And the language was a weird fit on him. “How much Japanese do you know?”

“I’m not too bad. It’s hard to learn, but I’ve been studying it for a few years now. You speak any other languages?”

“Nope. I only learned a few phrases in Dutch while I was in Amsterdam. Everyone speaks English there.”

We lapsed into silence, and now that I was calm, I guessed Dominic wanted to try to scratch the surface of Payton McCreary again.

“You never answered my question about how you started working at the club.”

“I hit on Joseph one night when I was out with friends. He recruited me.”

“Joseph. Your . . . manager.”

I nodded and picked at my nails. I knew what he wanted. An explanation about why I was the way I was, but how could I give him one when deep down I had no fucking clue myself? “I like sex. Surely that’s not a surprise.”

“No, it’s not,” he gave an amused smile, “and don’t call me Shirley.” The
Airplane
callback.

“Before, I worked as a customer service rep for a media company. I goddamn hated it. At the club, I got paid to do something I like.”

“How long did you work for Joseph?”

“A little less than a year.”

He fidgeted in his seat, snapping and unsnapping the cover of his iPad.

“Ask it, Dominic.”

He still hesitated. Not wanting to know and yet desperate to. “How many guys have you been with?”

“I don’t keep count. You want the ballpark?” He broke off eye contact. I didn’t know why I cared what he thought. It never bothered me before. I’d dealt with slut-shaming since high school. “I saw one client a night, every Friday and Saturday. I didn’t work every weekend, but most, but sometimes I couldn’t reach a deal with a client. I had some regulars too.”

Dominic’s shoulders tightened. “Less than a hundred.”

“At the club? Yeah. There were some before, you know, my time in high school and college.” I clenched my teeth when I saw the disappointment in his eyes. Like he was embarrassed for me. Acid rose in my stomach. “And what’s your number?”

“Less.”

Obviously less. He hadn’t had any in the last year, during which I’d been a professional. “Don’t put that fucking double-standard on me. Do you know how many guys go trolling the bars for a new girl every weekend? Why is it okay for you guys to rack up numbers, but I’m not allowed to do the same?”

His eyebrows pulled together and he looked like there was a struggle raging inside him. Maybe he knew what I was saying was true, but he still didn’t like it. Oh, well.

“I’m not going to be embarrassed about it. At least
I’ve
never paid for sex.”

There was that sparkling Payton personality. His back snapped straight and he scowled. I’d hurt him, but he didn’t get to have it both ways.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but you don’t get to judge me for working at the club when you’re the one who walked through the door.”

He blinked oh-so-slowly, and the hurt from his eyes faded. It came out unsteady and hushed. “You’re right.”

That wasn’t what I expected. Most people got angry and defensive when they were called out. All he did was consider my statement, and then accept it. Perhaps with a bit of reluctance, but he accepted it anyway.

“Like you, I didn’t keep count, but I’d guess my number is somewhere around fifty. And not to sound like a cocky piece of shit, but it would be higher if I wasn’t in Tokyo.”

I couldn’t help it. My eyes raked over his body. Oh, yeah.

“Someone mentioned to me once,” he said, his eyes warming a shade, “that I could walk into a bar and women would be willing to drop their panties for me. I’m not sure if I believe her, though. She may or may not be a vampire.”

How did he do that? How did he readjust his emotions so easily? I was worked up, expecting an argument, and he just dissipated everything. Another sign I was in trouble with this one.

Shit, Dominic was dangerous.

chapter

ELEVEN

It was four in the afternoon Tokyo time when we landed, but it felt like two in the morning to me. My eyes were heavy and burning for more sleep, but otherwise I was charged and excited. We’d each gotten a decent nap in during the flight.

Japan. I knew nothing of it other than the glamorized version from movies and TV. It was supposed to be the mecca of the cutting edge, fashion and technology. But Dominic said that wasn’t quite true. Parts of Japan had less technology than rural, small-town America did. Cash was still king, not plastic. ATMs were inside the banks, which closed at six. Fax machines were preferred over email.

The airport was beautiful, modern, and bustling with travelers, and after we got through customs and immigration and claimed our luggage, Dominic led me to the counter and bought us train passes.

The station was mostly empty. Beneath our feet, glossy white tiles looked clean enough to eat off of. We waited behind a glass wall for the train. Chicago and Amsterdam’s public transit was nothing like this. The seats on the equally clean rail car were a deep red, stain-free, and plush.

“You tired?” Dominic asked as we rode through a tunnel. The darkness made me yawn.

“A little, but I’m all right. How far is your place?”

“Fifteen minutes on the rail, then a ten minute walk.”

He didn’t seem too tired, either. I wondered if he’d asked because he was working out his ‘lesson plan’ in his head. Halfway through the flight I’d made a mile-high club joke, and he responded by telling me to keep it in my pants until we landed.

The train approached the station, and I got my first look of Tokyo from the ground. The sun had set not long ago, but the lights were on. Gleaming steel buildings stretched to the sky. To be honest, it wasn’t so different from Chicago. Busy and corporate, with taxis and cars pushed up together while trying to navigate the streets, and pedestrians with heads down, buried in their cell phones.

But the signage. Everywhere, and the characters were unrecognizable to my American eyes. Once we stepped off the train and made our way from the impressive station, I began to feel like an alien. We looked like no one else, and the conversations that passed by were shocking. The European languages have some sort of familiarity to English, but not this.

As Dominic approached a set of double glass doors, a doorman nodded and pulled it open.

“
Konnichiwa
,” Dominic said, and the doorman echoed it back, a pleasant expression on his face. The lobby of the apartment building was elegant but generic. We paused at the desk for Dominic to pick up his mail, and then rode an elevator up.

“I’m in Japan,” I said out loud.

Dominic smirked. “I’m aware.” He shifted his weight so he was close, his body leaning into mine and his voice dropping low. “Every part of me is aware.” I tried not to shiver from that delicious voice.

Like the lobby, his corporate apartment was elegant and generic, but western style. No sliding paper doors or tan mat floors. It was small by Chicago standards, probably even New York standards. When we stepped over the threshold, Dominic’s shoes came off in Japanese tradition. I followed suit.

To the left was a tiny kitchen space, not much more than a sink and the stove top, separated by a foot of counter. Cabinets overhead and below, a pantry, and a small refrigerator beside that. The square, black dining table divided the kitchen from the living area, also known as the couch. This room was smaller than Evie’s old apartment, but more effective at maximizing space.

“The master room’s to the right,” he said, sorting through the mail and dropping it on the table. “The guest room’s there.” He gestured to the doorway beside the fridge. “You want something to drink?”

“Sure.”

It was abruptly awkward for me as he pulled two clear, odd-shaped bottles from the fridge. I was at his place, completely dependent on him. At his mercy. Oh god, I hadn’t thought this through.

“What happens tomorrow?” I asked while he opened the bottles and something rattled.

“What do you mean?” He extended it to me and I took it. Soda of some sort, but there was a weird clear orb in the neck of the bottle.

“You have to work, right?” I took of a sip of the drink, but the ball floated in the neck and clogged it so I only got half a sip. Lemon-lime, and not too bad.

“I do. There are lots of different tours you can go on. I’ve got some brochures left over from when my parents were here.”

I tried again to take a sip, but the stupid thing rolled right back into the neck. “This drink is defective.”

“You don’t like the marble soda?” There was a gleam in his eyes. Arrogance. Hot, but annoying.

No dice on my third attempt. “I can’t get it to work.”

“That must be
frustrating
for you.”

The air grew thick between us in an instant. His lesson had begun. There was a thunk as he set his bottle down on the table and stalked toward me. My pulse jumped. I sure as shit wasn’t tired now. A wicked expression twisted on his face. Lust. He pulled the bottle from my hand. Another thump of glass on wood as it was set down.

“I just realized I didn’t give you a proper tour.”

His arms banded around my waist and squeezed, lifting me up until my feet no longer were on the floor. He was carrying me to his bedroom, and I figured I’d make it easier on him. That way we could get there faster. My legs wrapped around his hips.

He took a hand off me to quickly flip the switch on the wall when we were through the door, and I got a brief look at the room before I sailed down onto my back on the bed. Purples and golds, with boring artwork on the walls. He lived here, but it seemed like he’d made no effort to make it his home. The room barely fit the bed, which was thankfully a queen-sized one. I was going to fuck him all over this apartment, but I was happy to start here.

He stood at the edge of the bed and peeled off my socks while I rose up on my elbows and yanked the scarf over my head. It made no sound when I flung it away. His fingers slipped under the hem of my lightweight sweater and forced it upward. It was cast off. It was a mad dash to get naked after that. Or so I thought. I jerked at the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head as his hands fumbled at the button of my jeans.

We were both down to our underwear when I began to scoot back up on the bed to put my head on a pillow.

“Wrong,” he said. His hands grabbed fistfuls of the comforter I was lying on and dragged it toward him, carrying me along with it. His hands closed on my knees and slid upward. Over my thighs, over the baby blue lace band covering my hips, and up. The coarse skin of his palms brushed over my ribs and his hands splayed as he continued. Thumbs trailed over my bra-clad breasts, to my shoulders, and slowed at my neck.

They reached their final destination at my jaw. His fingers skimmed over my cheekbones in a soft caress. He leaned over me, lowering to deliver that mesmerizing kiss. I tipped my head into it, my eyes falling shut as the warmth of his skin closed in.

My eyes fluttered open.

He’d stopped, just a breath away. I lifted my head to meet him—

Nope. Those hands cupping my face had a purpose, and it was to prevent me from doing that. He’d locked my head in place, teasing the kiss I originally claimed I didn’t want, and he already knew I was desperate for.

I shifted. I struggled against his hold, but he was prepared. When I decided to employ distraction, he was ready for that, too. The moment my hand touched his thick cock through his boxers, he stepped back from the bed.

“Give me your hands,” he demanded. There was something yellow in his. My scarf. Oh, he was feeling comfortable with me now. Here in his bed where he was going to own my ass for the next two weeks.

“If I don’t?” My voice was filled with excitement and sex.

“Your lesson will last longer.”

I pretended to be reluctant about surrendering my control, but surely he could tell this was a lie. He took the scarf, which was nothing more than a giant loop of fabric, and knotted it, cinching my wrists together.

“Too tight?”

“It’s fine.” I was a little surprised he hadn’t pussed out and gone easy. The knot was kind of tight. He pushed my arms over my head and took a knee beside my hip. He left one hand on my bound wrists, just resting there. Like it was guarding them.

Soft lips skimmed over my chest. The whiskers on his chin tickled me as he worked lower. His mouth opened and his tongue traced the edge of my bra, and the plan was kind of transparent.

“How slow are we going to go tonight?”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, his head lifted and locked eyes with me. His gaze dripped with seduction. “Until you think you might die.”