Cream: An Erotic Romance by Lana Fox

Author:Lana Fox
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: BDSM, Erotica, Jazz, Erotic Romance, Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Go Deeper Press LLC
Published: 2015-02-10T00:00:00+00:00

Part 2

12

Dirty Pet

I took the “friends” thing seriously. Marcus Sir and I spoke by phone every week, catching up on the latest news. He’d started therapy, and he talked a little about it. I was touched that I had something to do with this decision, and I was also impressed that he kept on going, in spite of how hard it was. “I’m making good progress,” he told me one night. “It’s slow, but steady. I’m getting somewhere.”

He always asked after my singing, and we talked about his work, too, which had taken a turn for the worst—he was covering for a teacher on long-term sick leave, on top of all his usual duties. Sometimes, I’d sing a few bars from a new song I was practicing. He always said sweet things and I loved to hear his praise. But he didn’t turn up for my performances any more, and while I saw the logic in that, I scanned the audience every time, hoping he’d be there.

This, in fact, is how I met Kyle.

I’d felt that familiar gaze on me for weeks now. The vivid blue eyes that usually fixed me with intensity seemed to be growing stronger, more passionate, and now that Marcus Sir was off the menu, I felt magnetized by this committed fan. Once I’d started returning his gaze, I began to feel him all over me. Even when I turned away, I felt him watching—his gaze hot on my bare back—and it was a delectable distraction. I realized the red roses I’d been receiving for weeks were surely from this guy. I got the sense he was posh and entitled like Luke—and perhaps that’s what I needed right now. A rich dom to spoil me and cuff me like Marcus Sir had.

So, one night, once my performance at Cry River was finished, I set off to the bar to get myself a cocktail. I didn’t usually do this—if I wanted a drink, Nora would often bring it to me to avoid my being snared by the hoards, or I’d wait until I got home to pour a gin and tonic. But tonight, I wanted to meet this blue-eyed stranger. I’d pined for Marcus Sir for a whole month now, and much as I longed for his kisses, his hands, his deep voice, and his dry smile, it was time for me to move on. Time to live a little. So I braved the few fans who tried to buy me a drink, telling them no, I’d get it myself, thank you. Only when I’d gotten to the bar and ordered my martini did Blue Eyes sweep in so that he was standing at my side. He leaned sideways on the bar, his fingers brushing my bare arm, and said, “Allow me,” in a smooth-as-velvet American accent.

“Thanks,” I said, taking my drink.

I watched him pay. Up close, he smelled of expensive cologne that was cleaner, sharper, than Marcus Sir’s, and the way he was using his eyes, holding my gaze, was perfect.

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