Title: His Turn
Series: Turning #3
Author: JA Huss
Genre: Dark Erotic Suspense
Release Date: July 4, 2017
I look her body up and down as I circle her.
I smile a devious, deviant, I’m gonna make you sorry you ever started playing this game with me smile.
And then I take her hand.
I lead her to the elevator.
We go up to my apartment.
I tie her wrists together with rope.
Raise her arms above her head.
And chain her to the ceiling.
It’s my turn.
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I spend the whole day stewing about Nadia and her covert attempt to take back control. I have gone through every emotion. Anger came first. Bitch. Why is she even playing if it’s just gonna be a mind fuck?
But then I got to thinking about that. The mind fuck part. Because I’m kind of an excellent mind-fucker. I mean, shit. I went to school to be a psychiatrist. I got pretty far into it before I dropped out. I have a medical degree. I run a sex club. I’ve been playing this goddamned game for more than a decade. And even though I’ve been on a losing streak for a while now, I’m damn good. I’m due for a win. I will win this.
The key to a proper mind fuck is the element of surprise. The target thinks they’re ready for the unexpected, until they’re not.
Nadia was probably pretty pleased with herself last night. She probably ended that call with a huge smile on her face. One hundred percent satisfied.
And she’s expecting retaliation. She had to know I’d tell Jordan about it. She had to know I’d find out she never called him. She had to know I’d be pissed off today.
When I realized that… well, that’s when I calmed down and started piecing together a psychological profile on her.
Nadia Wolfe. Twenty-something. Beautiful. Talented. Ballerina. Control freak. New in town. Rising star. Player of games.
She’s so stupidly simple to figure out, I almost feel sad that she’s not more of a challenge.
I decide the ballerina aspect is my best first move. They are a different sort of person, so most of what I just described probably stems from her choice of occupation. She likes control because she’s forced herself to be in control of things to get where she is in her art.
Think about it. Ballerinas, right? They get up early to go to class or rehearsal or whatever the fuck it is they do first thing in the morning. They have to control themselves in very specific ways. They have to control their muscles, their emotions, their pain threshold, and the pleasure center in their brains. They have to psych themselves up to fit their bodies into the mold of dancer.
They have to conform in many ways. Deviation from the standard is unacceptable, even though they are expected to excel and stand out.
They must look a certain way, behave a certain way, and submit to the whims of those who control their future.
Success, therefore, is not defined by their own perceptions of themselves, but by the perceptions of others. And those perceptions are directly related to athletic skill, beauty, and youth.
It’s a trifecta of psychological disorders waiting to happen.
I’ve got you, Nadia Wolfe. I have your ticket, darling. I know what drives you now.
“Why are you so nervous?” I ask Jordan. We’re sitting in Smith’s bar. The table is elaborately set for a nice dinner, our glasses are full of expensive alcohol, and our cocks are happy. Why does he look like shit is about to hit the fan? “She had a good time,” I say, sipping my brandy.
“Yeah,” Jordan says. His eyes are glued to the elevator doors, just waiting for her to come downstairs. “But it was sneaky, ya know?”
“What was sneaky about it?”
He shoots me a look that says, Come on.
“She gave in, Jordan. We didn’t make her do anything.”
“Right.” He sighs. “But you’re what, just pretending we didn’t have that conversation this morning? You know, the one where you said, ‘I’m gonna fuck with her head so bad, she’ll spin like The Exorcist?’”
“It was a joke.” I laugh. “All we did was make her feel good tonight. She loved every fucking minute of it. Even when I choked her with my cock. She couldn’t get enough.”
“That’s because she was drunk on your dick at the time, Bric. But that feeling is gonna wear off and she’s gonna run the entire night through her head, and then—”
“Then she’s gonna realize we know what the fuck we’re doing. That’s all.”
“No,” he says. “She’s gonna realize you’re just playing with her emotions. Like you do with every fucking woman you’ve ever been with.”
“So then she’s gonna up her game, Bric. And this is gonna turn into a mind-fuck shit-fest. I like her,” he says. “Maybe more than like her, OK? I don’t want her thinking I’m like you.”
“You are like me,” I say, getting pissed off. Why the fuck is he sharing her with me if he likes her so much?
But I don’t ask that question.
Because I like her too. Just not in the same way.
“See,” Jordan says.
“See what?” I ask
“That fucking evil grin you’ve got on your face. I know you well enough, Bricman. Well enough to see the Machiavellian wheels turning inside your head. Do not play with her emotions.”
“Why?” I ask, my temper rising. “Is she some kind of fragile flower?”
But then I realize this intrigues me.
“Stop it,” Jordan says. “She’s not a puzzle, OK?”
“Then why are we even playing?”
He huffs out some air. Runs his fingers through his still-wet hair. “Because she’s not…” He trails off.
“She’s not what?” I ask. What the fuck is wrong with him tonight?
“She’s not my type.”
“OK,” I say, not really understanding.
“I mean I’m not really her type.”
“Hmm,” I say. “Do you love her?”
“No,” he says. “Definitely not. But I like her. I could see myself playing with her for a long time. And if you fuck it up, that won’t happen. You, of all people, understand how fucking hard it is to get a girl you can trust in this game. One who just gets you, ya know? We get each other, Bric. I realize it’s only been a few weeks, but we know each other. I just like her. And we have an understanding. I get to boss her around and be a dick, but she knows I’m not a dick, right? She knows I’ll show up the next day and treat her nice and give her a gift. She knows I’m just playing. We’re playing.”
“It’s a game. Same as this,” I say.
“Dude, come on,” he says, almost fully exasperated now. “You are a sick motherfucker, OK? You know this, right?”
“Then why am I even here?”
“Because we’re good together, ya know. Not great. Yet,” he adds. “Not what you had with Smith and Quin, obviously. But we understand each other. We work well as a team. She liked that up there.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is you’re in a weird place right now and I’m afraid you’re gonna take it out on Nadia. Don’t do that, OK?” He stares at me. “Just be…”
“Just be your back-up?” I ask, huffing out a laugh.
He shrugs. But that’s it. That’s what he wants. Don’t overpower him. Don’t take her away from him. Don’t make her rethink her strategy. Just help him keep her.
It takes me a minute to decide if I’m angry or not.
I decide I’m not. I don’t give two fucks about this Nadia girl. And my goal really was to break her. So I shrug. “Fine,” I say. “You want a wingman. Fine. I’ll help you out, Jordan. But when I need a favor, I’ll expect the same in return.”
ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE TURNING SERIES
#1 Taking Turns
#2 Turning Back
JA Huss is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than twenty romances. She likes stories about family, loyalty, and extraordinary characters who struggle with basic human emotions while dealing with bigger than life problems. JA loves writing heroes who make you swoon, heroines who makes you jealous, and the perfect Happily Ever After ending.
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