Page 103 of Blush
We breeze through the club, Jackson waving to a few people who say hello, and before I know it, we’re in the stark hallway after saying goodbye to Claude.
“Everything okay, Mandy?”
I nod.
“Why aren’t you talking?”
I say nothing. Did he forget that he told me to be quiet?
“Mandy…”
I lift my eyebrows at him.
“Why aren’t you—” A broad smile splits his face. “You may speak,” he says. “I’ll take you home now.”
I return his smile. “As you wish, sir.”
“You don’t have to call me that anymore.”
“We’re still at the club.”
“No, we’re in the hallway leading to the club.”
We don’t speak much as we get back to my apartment. Was it only last night that he camped out at my apartment? Only to leave before morning?
It certainly wasn’t the first time Jack showed up at my place. Itwasthe first time he ended up in my bedroom, staring at me.
Always the gentleman, he walks me to my door, takes the key from me, and slides it through the reader.
“You good?” he says.
“I am…”
Sir. The name sits so easily on my lips, but Jack told me not to call him sir outside the club.
Why do I want to?
It’s the strangest feeling.
“Yeah?”
“I’m fine, Jack.” I clear my throat. “Roger’s going to go nuts if we don’t open the door soon. You want some coffee or anything?”
He reaches toward me, fingers a lock of my hair. “No. Not tonight.”
“All right. Good night, Jack.”
“Good night.”
I walk in, give my dog a few scratches on the head, and then I unlace and unhook the corset, setting it on my table. Ah…sweet breath of air. I like the feel of the corset, but it’s nice to take it off and relax. I grab a jacket, zip it up, and take Roger down for a quick pee and poop. When I return to the apartment, I shed the jacket. Topless, I amble around the kitchen and make myself a cup of chamomile tea. I need to relax.
I need to get Jack and the club out of my mind. If I don’t, I’m never going to be able to go to sleep.
I sip the tea slowly, but then I jerk at the sound of my door opening.
I grab the corset and pull it around me, holding it in place by squeezing my arms, and then I inch my way to the kitchen and grab a chef’s knife.
The door opens and—