Page 71 of The Player's Club
Mac lightly rubbed my clit with his thumb. “Keep begging, baby.”
I did. I had no pride left. I felt my body tense, my climax just out of reach, but Mac knew exactly when to back off.
It was incredible. It was terrible. I didn’t know the difference between pleasure and pain now.
“PleaseMacpleaseMacplease,” I said in a rush. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I dug my fingers into the couch cushion.
“You want to come, Elodie?” He licked my thigh and then gave it a smacking kiss.
“Yes. I do. Please let me come.”
Mac just watched me, his eyes dark and sultry. He massaged my thighs, my ass, touching every place that wasn’t my pussy. I started sobbing in earnest now.
“Poor baby,” he crooned. “Maybe I’ll let you come now.”
I nodded. “Please, please, please.”
Then, before I could say another word, he parted my legs wide, latched his mouth onto my clit, and plunged three fingers into my pussy. I screamed. He fucked me hard and fast with his mouth and hands. The sounds of my squelching pussy filled the room. I arched and moaned and begged.
And then, I finally came so hard that I blacked out. Only the feeling of Mac petting my sides brought me back down to earth.
He pulled me down into his arms. I was as limp as a rag doll.
“Elodie? Can you hear me?”
I couldn’t speak. Words failed me. “Um.” That was all I could manage.
Mac kissed my temple. Then he gathered me into his arms and carried me upstairs.
When he put me to bed and climbed in beside me, I could only burrow into his embrace. I didn’t think I’d ever recover from that session.
“Sleep,” Mac whispered.
He didn’t have to tell me. I fell asleep the moment I closed my eyes.
MAC
The following Saturday, Elodie and I were in the car. I had no clue where we were heading because today was Elodie’s turn to show me some of her favorite things. My phone buzzed, so I dug it out of my pocket. Finding a text from my lawyer reminding me to call him, I frowned. He’d left a message yesterday telling me he’d gotten Elodie’s background check back. But I hadn’t returned the call. I was busy and told myself it could wait. Or maybe I was just in denial that there could be anything I should be worried about when it came to Elodie.
But right now, I didn’t want to think about background checks or contracts. I wanted to focus on the woman sitting next to me. So I stuffed my phone back into my jeans and tried to relax. Although when we pulled up outside a tiny theater in West Hollywood that looked like it’d seen better days, I was a little confused.
“Don’t worry.” She laughed. “It’s nicer inside.”
The theater was nicer inside—marginally. The old carpets were worn, and the floors creaked with every step. When I used the bathroom before we took our seats, it had one of those weird endless towels to dry your hands. I had only ever seen those things on the Internet. And it was pretty much a miracle that anything flushed in that bathroom.
Elodie and I took our seats near the front. Tonight was a showing of Hamlet, but a modernized take on it. Elodie had explained that this theater troupe was one of the best in the city.
“I didn’t know you were a theater geek,” I remarked.
“I don’t know if I would call myself that, but I’ve always loved Hamlet. Don’t give me that look. Shakespeare is mind-blowing for a reason.”
I could recall attempting to read Romeo and Julietin high school—or the CliffsNotes version. English literature had never been my strong suit. I’d wanted to be out on the ice, not trying to understand plays over five hundred years old.
The play began, and despite the strange language, having it acted out made all the difference. I was sucked into the story: Hamlet and his faux madness; Ophelia and her real madness; the treachery of Hamlet’s mother and uncle; Polonius’s absurd speeches.
The actor playing Hamlet somehow managed to imbue the role with a tragic regality. At least, that was how Elodie put it. To me, the guy was just interesting to watch.
During intermission, Elodie said, “Do you have any favorite authors?”