Finding Jaime (12 page)

“It’s, um…” I think about all of the things I’ve witnessed and the people I’ve met. “You know what? It’s so fucking crazy, divergent, and unpredictable that I actually like the place.”

“That’s good,” she says and bumps me with her elbow. “I know a certain someone who likes that you’re here.”

Warmth prickles over my skin, and I lick my lips. I take a sip to wet my dry mouth and close my eyes at the rush of sweetness and alcohol running down my throat. “Are we thinking of the same person?”

Fuchsia touches my arm, gaining my attention. “You know we are, Bunny.” She bumps me again then sips her drink; her pinkie finger sticking up, and I watch her throat as she swallows. “Figured it out?” she asks and licks her red lips.
 

“That you’re wearing a wig? Fuchsia, I don’t think anybody believes for a second that that’s your real hair.” I reach over and rub the ends between my fingers.

She pats my hand, and it looks small under her larger one. “I think you’re the only one that’s noticed,” she says, and comically darts her eyes around the room. “Shh… Don’t tell anyone,” she jokes, with a long finger on her lips.

“Buy me a drink and I’ll think about it,” I say with a wink.

“Make that two.” Madame puts her hands on my shoulders and kisses me on the cheek. She uses her thumb to wipe away her lipstick. “It’s wonderful to see you, Bunny, dear.”

“You too.” Madame’s PVC, air-stealing, strapless dress laces all the way from the bursting neckline to her knees. “Thank you for my gift, I love it.”

“You’re welcome, honey. Just make sure you get some use out of it.” She winks.

“Do you know anywhere I’d find a willing participant?” I ask, straight-faced. The women snicker and I lift my glass. “Cheers.”

Two more drinks later and both Madame and Fuchsia need to go. I sit alone at the bar looking down at my gift. I pick it up and study the handle. A long strip of tiny crystals is wrapped in a corkscrew around the grip. The woven pink shaft ends at a square tip of the same PVC. I hold out my hand, and tap the end into my palm. It doesn’t sting at all, but I imagine with some force behind it, it would cause a lot of pain.

“Well, that looks promising,” Butterfly says from behind me, and I spin a little too quickly—almost falling off my seat—making her grin.

My pulse whooshes in my ears and throbs in my neck. “It was a gift from your mom,” I say, and place it down on the bar.

“It’s cute,” she says and sits down where Fuchsia sat only moments ago. “Have you ever used one?”

I shake my head. “No, you?”

“Of course.” Her lips quirk, but her smile doesn’t seem genuine.

I look down at her black knee-length dress. The soft bust gathers over her boobs—the thick straps holding them up—and the zipper continues down through the center of the bodice. The layered skirts bunch above each thigh with tulle flaring out underneath. I wonder who has had the pleasure of tapping her sun-kissed skin, or who she’s used it on.

“I’ve used almost every item here,” she adds. “I’ve just never used them on a real person.”

“So, how—”

“A mannequin. My mother insisted I should learn how to use some items regardless if I actually used them.”
 

That’s so fucking crazy!
“Your mom’s amazing.” I gulp some of my drink before I add more details. “My mom would shit kittens if she saw me here. Hell, she’d probably organize a blind date for me the very next day with plans for a wedding to follow.”

Butterfly’s head cocks to the side. “Why would she do that?”
 

I drop my head back.
I’ve said too much, but shit did it feel good to say that out loud.
“My mom’s a difficult woman, Butterfly. She always has been.”

She steps closer to me, lifts her hand, and strokes my hair. “Is that why you’re upset?”

My rapid pulse drops down to my stomach and rolls around making me nauseated. “What?”
How the fuck did she know?
I feel the hairs on my neck stand on end when the goosebumps turn my skin into sandpaper.

“You don’t look happy today, Bunny. Is it what happened here the other night?”

“No, I—” I stare at her and search for anything that suggests she’s mad about it, but I don’t find anything. “It’s nothing.”

Butterfly runs her fingertips down my wrist to my hand and picks it up. “Come with me.”

I follow her through the dancing members towards our seats, but she surprises me when she changes direction and heads towards the archway at the back.

“Where are we going?” I yell to be heard over the music.

She looks over her shoulder, and her dark red lips turn up at the corners. “You know where.” We reach the bottom of the stairs, and she pauses in the corridor. “We can talk better where it’s quiet,” she says and reaches for the handle of the door to the left.

I don’t want to talk, but the thought of being alone in a room with her gives me chills over my skin, and fire between my legs.

God, this is so fucked up.
“Talk about…what…?” My voice trails off as we enter the dim room, the lighting dark and seductive.
 

A king-sized bed sits against the back wall, surrounded by heavy drapes that curve deeply between the four posts, almost disguising the matching navy blue covers. The pillows are high, and I fight the urge to rush over and dive face first into them. Black nightstands sit either side of the bed with crystal table chandeliers that barely illuminate the room. A huge armoire stands off to the right with the same blue with metallic leaf designs covering the doors.

There’s a click behind me; then Butterfly leads me over to the bed and gestures for me to sit next to her.

“You can tell me anything, Bunny. Whatever you say won’t leave this room, I promise.”

I look around, searching for any cameras.
There won’t be any cameras! That’s too freaky even for a place like this.
“It’s darker in here than the club.”

“Yeah. It’s to keep anonymity high,” Butterfly explains. “A lot of members prefer not to know the identity of their ‘playmate.' That’s what appeals to them. Their private life and public life remain separate in all aspects.”

“It makes sense when you put it that way.” I fall back until I’m lying down on the impossibly comfortable mattress and close my eyes.

“What is it?” Butterfly’s voice is as soft as ever, and it only makes me wonder how she would sound with her usual tone.

I didn’t even think to disguise my voice, and why would I? My first night here was an accident, and I never thought I’d ever be back.

I release the breath I’ve been holding. “I don’t know. I blew up on my friends earlier, and I don’t even know why I did. J… uh, the friend I told you about, well she said I was rude. Me! Fuck, they all know me better than that.”

Without naming names, I give Butterfly vague details of my outburst in the coffee shop. I regret how I acted, and I feel a sting in the bridge of my nose as my eyes mist.

“It’s just so fucking hard, you know? Not being able to be yourself around the people you trust the most, especially with the person who gave birth to you.” I rub my temple, and I turn my head when the bed dips.
 

Butterfly lies next to me, propped up on her elbow. “Your mom doesn’t accept who you are?”

A strangled bitterness flies out of my mouth. “Fuck, no.” The years of pent up frustration threatens to surface, but I hold it back like always. “I’m having a bit of a hard time accepting it myself.” Inside my head, my mother’s scolding voice chimes in with her disapproval and I bite down on the building pressure in my chest.

“Bunny,” Butterfly whispers next to my ear, causing my skin to flush and my pussy to clench. “You’re accepted here, no matter what, and I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“You don’t even know me,” I say, wanting to be able to take off her mask to look her in the eye. “How can you say that when you have no idea?”

She lifts her hand, and I stop breathing. Her fingers stroke through the strands of my hair at the side of my face and she pushes them behind my ear. “I know enough, Bunny, and what I do know, I like.”

I stare at her, and she strokes her fingers over my cheek. I know what I want, and I have no doubt I can get it here, but taking the extra step—no, the giant leap—into that territory has me quivering inside. My thoughts are conflicting, telling me I need to get over it already, but then also telling me I shouldn’t be so stupid and to just go home.

“Can I touch you?” My words barely make it past my lips, and the rush in my stomach has me ready to bolt out of the room just like the first time I came to House. I swallow hard and the deep breath I take sits in my throat. I release it slowly, the sound shaky in the air between us.

Butterfly licks her full, shining lips and my eyes try to close with the tightness of my chest.
 

“Yes.” I turn on my side and face her. “But—” she says before I can lift my hand, and I think she’s going to tell me where. “I want to touch you at the same time.”

Moisture leaks out of me, dampening my panties, and my nipples pinch tighter than ever. I never thought it possible to be so turned on without any physical contact.

“That seems fair,” I reply.
Wow, you couldn’t just say yes?

I lift my hand, her smile urging me on, and I rest my fingertips on her left cheek. I trail down to her chin and across to her lower lip. Her mouth opens, and I watch her tongue slowly dart out, and the pink heat licks just the tip of my finger. A jolt hits me between my legs and my entrance squeezes like a tightened fist. My shaky breaths are becoming heavier as I let my hand work down to her throat, and I suck in a lungful of air when I feel her hand on my waist.
 

“Is this okay?” she whispers, and I nod that it is.

She moves her hand upwards and over my ribcage. The black fabric comes to an end, and her skin comes into contact with mine. I stifle the moan that wants to be heard, and it’s harder to hold back when she reaches my shoulder. I let my fingers glide down her soft skin, closer and closer to her contained chest. A rosy blush flushes across her tanned flesh, and I pause. Butterfly doesn’t. Her hand moves back down to where she started, then shifts towards my stomach.
 

I’m trembling all over at her intimate exploration, but I don’t want her to stop. Images and actions run through my head, things that I’d always been told were wrong, were not what girls did, were not normal. Fuck, but I’m craving those things. I want them so bad that I try to push the self-doubt to the back of my mind.

I can’t hear anything but the sound of my own heart through the sensations of female fingers working their way up my covered body. The voice coming to me from a distance asks me if I want to stop. The word ‘no’ falls from my lips without conscience, and my own hand moves to what I desire.

A warm, raised, fleshy mound meets where my wrist joins my hand, and I look for any sign from Butterfly that she doesn’t want me to go further. That is knocked right out of my head when I feel her hand under the curve of my right tit, creeping closer, anticipation of where it’ll stop making me almost hyperventilate.

“How do you feel?” A breathy voice says to me, sounding as aroused and frustrated as I am.

“Good… It feels good.”

She slides her hand up and onto my large breast and shifts her hips where she lies. Her leg touches mine, so I lift it, and she slides her knee under my thigh. It’s the first time a woman has touched me in this way, and if she continues, I know I’m going to come. And, even though that thought should make me stop and think about what I’m doing, it feels so fucking good that I’m finding it hard not to rub myself against her leg.

I concentrate on what I’m doing, and I watch my hand move lower, the swell of her tit now under my palm. I slide lower until my hand is covering her mound. No hard corset underneath, just fabric between my skin and hers. Butterfly sighs as I massage her globe, and the feel of her roundness in my hand has me soaking.

“Why does this feel so good?” I ask, staring at my hand.

“Because maybe it’s what you’ve been looking for?” she suggests. “Bunny, I won’t lie to you, I’m so wet right now.”

Her confession has me gripping her tighter, and she lets out a squeak. “Sorry!”

“I liked it,” she moans. I grip her again, and she pulls her lip into her mouth. “Mmm.” She inches closer to me, and her hand releases its grip, then begins to move down over my stomach again. Further down until she reaches my hip.

I stroke my hand across her chest and over to the other side that’s pressed against the bed before stroking my fingers between them.

“Do you want me to stop?” Butterfly asks, and I freeze.

Do I want to stop now?
Fuck, no. This is too good, and I need it, I know I do.
“No.”

She licks her lips again, and God do I want to taste them. I want to feel what it’s like to kiss a woman’s lips, to feel just how soft they’re supposed to be, how sweet they’re meant to taste…

“Bunny,” she whispers, and I feel the heat of her palm at the top of my thigh.
 

My pussy is tingling, my nipples are practically cutting through my corset, and I don’t care that a woman has her hands near my pleasure center. I now have no doubt in my mind what I want because I have never felt like this before.