Page 47 of The Producer: Aaron

“Not a problem. I left here drunk while she stayed. I figured that she had ordered and that it had not been stolen.”

She shakes her head again. “It’s better if you lose a friend like that.”

“I have every intention of doing so! By the way, she is not twenty-one. If you serve her alcohol, you could get into trouble.”

She wrinkles her forehead. “She shouldn’t even be in here.”

I raise an eyebrow, asking her if she really thinks we got carded at the VIP entrance. She shakes her head again and walks away to prepare an order. I get up and leave the club, already tired of this place. I don’t think I’ve ever left here sober, and not even half an hour after I’ve entered. All the charm that this place has always inspired in me seems a little less magical than I remembered it. I stop at the club’s corner, waiting for the Uber I called to pick me up.

A few minutes later, I hear Serena’s shrill voice cursing while one of the bouncers escorts her out of the club. She is furious, perhaps because the bartender asked her for an ID and kicked her out. The people in line sneer, and I feel a little sorry for her, at least until she starts stomping her feet and insulting the guy who is just doing his job. Her arrogant attitude is so annoying that I’m glad to see that some are filming. I hope her scene goes viral, so at least she understands what it means to be pilloried and not be able to do anything to stop the humiliation.

***

I enter the house, and I am surprised to find everything is dark.It’s not even ten o’clock, and I feel a little disappointed. For some stupid reason, I expected Aaron to be here feeling guilty for making me angry. The irrational part of me would have liked him to be here, basking in the desperation of letting me go when he wanted to keep me all to himself, between the reassuring walls of this place.

I realize it looks a lot like a teenager’s dream at the first crush, but I can’t help but think that the kiss meant something to him, too. Maybe it was just a matter of physical attraction, but I felt the possessive desire when he sank his fingers into my flesh. I didn’t imagine it. Just like I didn’t imagine when he threatened to tear off the guy’s hands at the club.

The point is that it’s Saturday night and, most likely, Aaron has gone out with friends, maybe with a woman, because he’s a thirty-six-year-old man even though I haven’t noticed much of his social life since I’ve lived here. He doesn’t wait for me to return after a night out. Now he is probably smiling at someone, laughing at something she told him. He will approach and kiss her and then continue his night elsewhere, where he can undress and sleep with her.

The mere thought that he is with someone makes my blood boil in my veins. A discouraged half-laugh slips from my lips because this jealousy is stupid since Aaron is not my man, and I have no right to feel these feelings. Being aware of this, however, doesn’t hurt any less.

I take off my sandals, take a bottle of water from the fridge, and open the door to the pool where I sit on the deck chair and inhale thoroughly, watching the city lights. The view is magnificent, and I will miss it when I am forced to find another place.

I look up toward Aaron’s room and my heart almost comes out of my chest when I find him sitting on his balcony watching me.He wears elegant trousers and a white shirt with the first buttons unfastened. He is sitting in his usual armchair, leaning against the back with his legs apart holding a glass of some liquor.

His eyes run over my figure, burning every inch on which they rest. My heart bounces in my chest and the excitement his gaze causes me almost makes me explode with pleasure. Only he can make me come just by looking at me. The arousal is such that it makes my head lighter than alcohol could. Aaron is like a drug I can’t do without. I’ve tasted just a pinch of what he can give me, and I’m ready to put my heart under a train if that means having a little more.

This thought makes me angry. I am the one who is willing to get involved. It’s my reputation that will be compromised if this story ends up in the newspapers, yet I am the one that wants to see where this story leads. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life regretting something that might have happened. I don’t want to put my heart in a box and let it die of starvation, waiting for Prince Charming to arrive. Maybe Aaron is not the stereotype of the boyfriend you show up with at your parent’s house, but he doesn’t have to be wrong just because the gossiper will talk.

I get up and turn to him, staring back as I begin to unfasten the buttons on the front of my dress. I do this slowly, enjoying the anticipation on his face as he watches my hands descend lower and lower until I undo it completely and slide it down my shoulders to drop at my feet.

I can’t see his eyes from this distance, but when he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees to better enjoy the show, the euphoria growing in my chest almost makes my head spin.

With a slow gesture, I bring my hands behind my back and unfasten my bra, dropping it with the dress. I don’t know whathe’s thinking, but his gaze on my skin sets me on fire. Knowing that he doesn’t look away is such a powerful feeling it arouses me more than any other man has ever done with his hands. He could get up and leave. He could tell me to stop, but he remains there, enjoying the show, following my hands that go down my hips until they slip under the edge of my panties and pulls them off without ever losing eye contact with him.

I approach the ladder to the pool, and without hesitation, dive in swimming to the far edge in front of his terrace. When I re-emerge, a smile spreads on my lips. Aaron is standing, his hands resting on the glass balustrade as if that were the only barrier that keeps him from reaching me.

I rest my head at the pool’s edge and let my hands slide over my body, my breasts, then down until they slip between my legs, sinking my fingers between the folds of my pleasure. This house has always been a happy oasis where no one can reach us, stick their nose into our business, or judge what we do. Here I feel powerful, uninhibited, that woman Aaron refuses to see.

I succumb to the temptation to close my eyes, moving my fingers slowly, trying to prolong this pleasant torture I am inflicting on myself. I’ve never been so wet and ready for a man as I am right now.

When I open my eyes again, my heart sinks into my chest. Aaron is no longer on the balcony. The fear of crossing a line creeps into my chest, but when the patio door opens, my heart begins to pump into my chest. A mixture of fear and excitement overlaps in my stomach, leaving me breathless. I am afraid he is going to order me to cover myself. But if he tells me not to…

He approaches me, striding like a predator that chose its prey. Slow. Savoring every second of this agony. His gaze never leaves mine as he reaches and observes me from above. The heat thatemanates from my lower abdomen makes my cheeks flare up. I am surprised to realize that it is not shame that I feel. I have never been so uninhibited with a man.

When our eyes meet, my whole world stops.

“Get out and lie down there,” he orders, pointing to a deck chair with a voice so hoarse and full of excitement that it enters my chest until I vibrate. He doesn’t move. I don’t even know if he’s breathing. I certainly don’t.

I get out of the water and walk over to the deck chair he pointed to. He follows me with his gaze that sets me on fire. He has his hands in his pockets, and he is barefoot. I move my eyes from his face down to the erection stretching his pants. I am craving, trembling, thinking about when he will sink between my legs as I lie down as ordered and look at him as he takes in every inch of my body. Those eyes, as gray as ice, have become a storm that makes me quiver.

“Open your legs and continue what you were doing,” he orders in a low, dry tone.

I watch him for a few seconds, unable to process his words, waiting, perhaps, for him to strip off his clothes. I’ve never dealt with someone like him. Resolved. Sexy. Dominant.

“I said,” the sound comes out of his chest like a subdued roar, “open your legs and continue what you were doing.”

His order comes as a wave of pleasure pours out of me, making me shudder. His gaze is hooded, his jaw contracted, and his hands are in his pockets as the erection he cannot hide stretches the thin layer of fabric. I spread my legs by sliding them to the side of the deck chair, resting my feet on the concrete and letting his gaze explore my most intimate parts.

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