Indecent (The Cage Sessions Book 1) Read online

  I think this is the moment I truly fall in love with Damien Cage.

  "So what do you think of that, Annika Spenser from MiamiImproper.com?" he says.

  "Wow," I say. "Cool."

  Shit, that speech made me a mound of goo.

  Come on, Annika! Get it together! Ask something smart!

  "So," I say, "what is it you want to do next?"

  "Excuse me," says Jasmine. "Damien, I can't let you do this. You're going to ruin everything."

  "Jaz, go jerk off your big uncut cock," says Damien.

  "Fuck you, Damien."

  Jasmine stands up, grabs her laptop, and turns to me.

  "My apologies, Annika," she says. "Pleasure to meet you."

  She storms off toward the house.

  Oh God, I'm alone with Damien Cage!

  I gulp.

  "I love her," he says, "but she doesn't get it. I want to make an impact on the world, not just sing songs."

  "I get it," I say. "You want to give back. You want to inspire."

  "Yes! I want to show people how it's really done. Get them off their ass, away from the XBox and YouTube, and stop complaining that the world isn't giving them enough. I want to teach them how to go take it themselves! Without anyone else's permission."

  "Well, I, for one, love it."

  Damien Cage stares at me. And when I say stares at me, I mean he cuts a laser into my brain.

  "Do you, Annika Spenser from MiamiImproper.com? Do you really? Or are you just saying that to get a scoop?"

  My brain goes into overdrive thinking of something to prove to him I believe in him.

  It finds something tucked away in a file in a back cabinet where I shoved it years ago.

  "My dad," I say. "He ran for local office. Wanted to be mayor of Coral Gables. But he never wanted to work for it. He thought his ideas were enough. He would give a speech and then figure everybody was going to vote for him because he 'nailed it.' But he lost because he wasn't willing to go to the next venue and give the same speech again. Then get up early in the morning and give the same speech again. Then give the same speech twenty more times in twenty more places the rest of the day. If he had, he would have been mayor. Instead, he lost."

  Damien Cage continues to stare at me. God, I can't believe I'm telling him this! He seems to really be listening.

  "So what happened to your dad?" says Damien.

  "He abandoned my mom and me," I say. "Built a life of smoke and mirrors from afar. Convinced my mom he got rich doing oil deals in Kuwait. She believes him. I don't."

  "Do you still see him?"

  "No. I told him off a couple years ago. In no uncertain terms."

  Don't know why, but tears start to form in my eyes. I reach into my purse.

  "You're hired," says Damien Cage.

  "Hired?" I say.

  "Yes, I want someone to write a book for me. A book about life and winning. Part autobiography, part self-help. And you're perfect for it."

  Holy shit.

  "Ummm..." I say.

  "Don't answer now. Come to my party this Friday night," he says.

  Sweeter words were never spoken.

  "Oh, I don't know," I say. "I've heard about your parties. I know what goes on."

  Damien Cage just smiles.

  "You don't have to go to the private show," he says. "Although I'm putting you on the list. But I'd like to see you at the main one."

  Damien Cage's Friday night parties are famously decadent. He converts the entire outdoor area into a nightclub for the main party.

  At midnight, select guests go inside to watch a private show. Nobody ever talks about what goes on at the private show.

  Then he invites a handful of girls to join his own private after-party in his lavish bedroom. And he has a rule for any girls that attend the private after-party. A rule that I'm not ready for yet.

  "I know about your rule," I say.

  Damien leans forward, laughing, and puts his hands together. Then he gives me that damned Lord Byron underlook again.

  "You know you want to come," he says.

  He had to phrase it like that, didn't he?

  I search my brain for a word, but I can't find anything in English. Just grunts.

  "In fact," he says, "you're wet right now just thinking about it."

  My mouth hangs open. Still no words.

  "But who am I kidding?" he says. "You've been wet ever since I walked out of the house and talked to the girls at the pool, haven't you? They're nice, aren't they? Not much in the boob department, but as I'm sure you know I'm an ass man. They've all followed the rule. That's why they're allowed to stay and play in the pool. Funny thing is, once they succumb to the rule, they never seem to want to leave."

  Damien Cage or not, I'm not just a dumb number. My inner bitch comes alive, overriding my pussy. Thank God I do have some self-respect.

  "I think I'd better go," I say.

  "You need it," he says. "You'd be happier. I can bring you there."

  I look over at the bouncing nymphs in the water. One screams as she falls trying to grab the ball.

  "And become one of them?" I say as I tuck my notepad into my bag. "No thanks, Mr. Cage. That's not the life for me."

  I throw my voice recorder in my bag. I stand up and extend my hand.

  "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cage."

  He stands up and takes my hand. He pulls me closer to him. I can smell his breath. It's fruity with a hint of rum.

  My knees go all wobbly.

  "You could never be one of them," he says. "Not even if you tried. You're worth a thousand of them. Girls like you are rare."

  He leans in and whispers in my ear. I am paralyzed.

  "The most intelligent girls respond best to the rule," he says. "It opens up something in their souls. They start to think better. They create better. They expand their minds. It's like a smart drug. One hit and you can see the matrix."

  "I..." I say, "um... really... ought... to..."

  He lets go of my hand and pushes me away. He picks up his drink and turns toward his house.

  "Friday night ten p.m." he says. "Think about it, then come."

  I watch him walk away, his calf muscles flexing with each stride. His back is a monument of stony rippled delight. There's a new tattoo on his left side. I didn't notice it before and now he's too far away for me to read it. Looks like writing of some sort. I know he's an avid reader so I bet it's something literary.

  I take a deep breath, pick up my bag, and attempt to teach myself how to walk again.

  I stumble to my car like an old wino, shaking all the way.

  God, I need some water!

  I get in my Toyota Corolla and just sit there for a second staring up at the house.

  Shit, can I? Would I?

  Fuck, I think I might.

  I start my engine.

  Friday night, huh?

  But I know his rule. Shit. I can't imagine doing that.

  But his words come back to me.

  The most intelligent girls respond best to the rule. It opens up something in their souls. They start to think better. They create better. They expand their minds. It's like a smart drug. One hit and you can see the matrix.

  I pull out of his long driveway and take a right.

  God, I want to see the matrix!

  But the rule scares me.

  I know what he teaches girls. I've heard the stories. And most of them say the way he does it is a life-changing experience.

  But I'm not ready for that.

  Or am I?

  Could I?

  Maybe.

  Damien Cage's rule is "Everybody must get fisted."

  Anally.

  Shit.

  Once I hit Main, instead of taking a left to go home I take a right and head downtown.

  I need to get fucked.

  And fast.

  Chapter 4

  My ex Jared works in one of those glittery shiny skyscrapers downtown. I park in the big garage underneath
.

  I get in the elevator with a tall black man in a suit carrying a briefcase. He holds the door for me and presses the button for Floor 13.

  "Floor?" he says with a smile.

  "Twenty-six," I say. He presses the button for me. "Thanks."

  "My pleasure."

  Shit, what if Jared doesn't validate my ticket? I was pretty harsh with him the last time we talked.

  I don't think I have enough cash to pay it. Hope they take debit cards.

  I can't believe I'm here. What am I, nuts?

  Shhh, don't answer that.

  But after that interview with Damien Cage, I need a cock in me ASAP. I'll do whatever it takes. My pussy could be declared a flood disaster zone by now, eligible for FEMA relief. Shit, I think I can smell it here in this elevator.

  The tall black man turns and looks at me with a little smile.

  God, he smells it too, doesn't he?

  The elevator doors open.

  "Have a nice day," he says with a smile as he leaves. The doors close.

  Yep, he definitely knew.

  Ding! Floor 26.

  Here we go.

  Lightpak LLC is one of those self-important little startups which design packages for things. Or maybe they design the designs that go on packages for things.

  Or something like that. I never paid much attention really.

  Lisa is at the reception desk when I walk in. She is wearing a leather outfit with large buckles. Lots of cleavage. Goth tats above her boobs. Lip ring. Black lipstick. Purple hair, shaved on one side.

  "Annika!" she says in her annoying nasal voice. "How are you? I haven't seen you in a while."

  "Lisa!" I say with faux joy.

  "I thought you and Jared–"

  "We did. I just want to... uh... talk to him about something. Can I go in?"

  "Sure."

  I really didn't need to ask. At Lightpak LLC there are very few rules. Every day is "casual Friday." Anyone can walk in or walk out. Everybody looks dingy and un-showered in T-shirts and jeans. Oh, and they're animal-friendly so the place smells of wet dog.

  I find Jared at his cubicle, which is a shrine to Star Trek. A model of the 1960s-era Enterprise sits on the top of the left side and a Mr. Spock figurine making the Vulcan salute stands on the right.

  Before I blossomed as a teenager, I was a big geek myself so I still have a soft spot for them.

  Jared is actually quite good-looking underneath his plaid shirt and Dockers with old Nikes. And smart. We met about a year ago when Steve hired him to do some freelance web design for MiamiImproper.com.

  We dated for a while, but he got too clingy so I had to cut him loose.

  Which means what I'm about to do is selfish, mean, and horrible.

  But I'm desperate.

  "Annika!" he says as he leaps up and spills his coffee. "Shit!"

  I take a wipe from my purse and walk up to him, dabbing his T-shirt. I stand a little too close to him while I brush his chest. I notice two plump girls giving me the evil eye from their own cubicles.

  "There," I say. "All better."

  "Annika, what's up?" he says. "I mean, good to see you. How've you been?"

  "Remember that room you showed me here once?"

  "The server room."

  "Shhhhh. Not so loud. Yes. Can we go there?"

  Jared laughs while looking around.

  "Um... sure," he whispers. "Why?"

  "I just need to talk to you," I say while staring up into his eyes.

  That gets his attention.

  "Oh. Okay. Um, let me just... um... close this screen."

  He shuts down League of Legends. Getting a lot done today, Jared, huh?

  "It's right back here," he says as he walks down the little hallway that leads out of the main cubicle area. I follow him.

  We walk past the rows of salespeople, who thankfully are better-dressed. Everybody's head looks up as we pass. I get a smile from a smarmy sales guy. I look down with a little smile as I pass him.

  We arrive at the end of the space and turn left. There is a secure exit on the right and a glass door with an electronic lock on the left. Jared swipes his card, opens the door, and we're in the big server room. Lots of servers. Why does a little packaging company need so many servers?

  "So what's up?" Jared says. "Is everything okay?"

  I leap forward and kiss him. Hard. My glasses scrunch up. I take them off and put them in my purse.

  "Wow!" he says. "Annika, I–"

  "Shut up!" I say and kiss him again. Our tongues dance.

  His arms find their way to my naked waist underneath the blouse. I spin him around, pushing him up against the wall.

  I reach under his shirt and begin undoing his pants as I sink to my knees.

  My own pussy is alive with excitement, although she's confused. She's still seeing and hearing Damien Cage. Maybe if I close my eyes I can trick her.

  Jared's pants are down and his cock pops out.

  Six inches, curved a little. Nothing to write home about. But nice and hard. My gush kicks back up as his tip brushes past my cheek.

  I take him into my mouth and suck.

  "Annika!" he says. "Oh, Annika! I knew you'd come back to me."

  This isn't right. This guy had feelings for me that I couldn't return. I really shouldn't be doing this. I'm a very bad human being right now.

  But I really really really need to get fucked!

  I suck for about a minute. Jared moans. What can I say? I'm pretty good at cocksucking.

  I reach into my purse and pull out a condom. Expertly, I get it on him. I stand up, pulling my panties down, and press myself into him. I spin him around so I'm the one up against the wall. We kiss some more as I get into position.

  "Oh Annika!" he says. "I've been dreaming about this."

  My river begins to ebb.

  Shut the fuck up, Jared! You're ruining this! Just fuck me!

  I feel him enter me. That kicks me back up again. I pull his face back into mine and shut my eyes.

  As Jared fucks me, I reach up to his shoulders. Not bad, but I imagine they are the striated muscles of Damien Cage, that tattoo stretching and bulging as he pounds me.

  "I love you, Annika," says Jared.

  All stop.

  My eyes open.

  Jared keeps pumping but I'm frozen. Can't move. No sensation.

  He notices.

  "What?" he says.

  I just stand there staring up at him. His good-looking face looks like a lost puppy dog. He's still moving inside me, but more slowly.

  "Stop," I say.

  "Stop?" he says.

  "Yes, stop!"

  I push him back off me. I reach down and pull up my panties. I pick up my purse.

  "Pull up your pants," I say. "I'm sorry. I gotta go. This was a mistake."

  He gives me a confused look, then takes the condom off, and pulls up his pants. I move toward the door.

  "Annika, don't go!" he says. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. It just blurted out. I–"

  "No, Jared," I say, "I'm the one who's sorry. This isn't fair to you. I shouldn't have come here. I'm a terrible person."

  "I don't get it."

  "I'm... it's... complicated."

  "Well, whatever it is I'll help you through it. I want to help. I care about you."

  God, what's wrong with me? Jared is a great guy. He's tall, smart, and good-looking. And nice.

  Nice.

  That's his problem. He's too nice.

  That makes no sense. I should like nice. What's wrong with nice? Why do nice guys bore me and bad guys light my fire?

  "Jared," I say, "I do care about you. Which is why I said stop. Because I can't be the person you want me to be, and..."

  "And what?"

  "I don't know. I just can't explain it. I'm sorry. I never should have come here today."

  I walk out of the room, heading for the alternate exit. For a tenth of a second, I think about finding the smarmy sales guy who smiled at
me. But no, that would be beyond evil.

  "Annika!" Jared says.

  "Jared, I'm really sorry," I say.

  The door slams behind me and I head to the elevators.

  God, I can be a real bitch sometimes.

  Chapter 5

  Traffic violation ticket on the seat next to me, I turn right down the tree-lined middle-class street on which I've lived my entire life in Coral Gables. It's lined with low tiny square houses.

  Sky is getting dark. A flash of white here and there. Afternoon T-storms rolling in.

  I look at my dashboard clock. 4:50. My mom doesn't get home until five-thirty which gives me a little time to get myself off with my new electric blue cock.

  Oh shit!

  My mom's car is in our driveway!

  Shit fuck shit!

  She must have gotten off work early.

  Seems like the entire planet is conspiring to keep me from getting off today.

  "Grrrrrrrrrrrr!" I shout and bang my steering wheel.

  I pull into the driveway and consider options.

  I work part-time at a hotel. Which means I could get a free room.

  But that's just pathetic, isn't it? Getting a hotel room just to masturbate?

  Shit.

  I stuff the bag with my big new electric blue friend that I've now shared with an audience into my hipster satchel. That's what Isabella calls it anyway. I don't think it's that bad.

  I get out of my car and walk up the tiny driveway. Our house is one of the L-shaped ones you see all over Florida. 1950s style.

  Translation: no style. If an office cubicle were a house, this is what it would look like.

  One floor. Cinderblock. A big ugly floor-to-ceiling patch of glass block tile. No pool. Everyone I know has a goddamned pool except me.

  I open the door and walk inside.

  “Annika!” says my mom. “Where’ve you been? I thought you'd be home already seeing as you had today off."

  “Hi, mom” I said. “I wasn't off. Today is my Miami Improper day. And I was… uh... at the library doing research.”

  "That's not a real job, dear. It doesn't pay."

  "But it will pay, Mom! I'm investing in myself. Once I build a reputation as a journalist, I'll get hired at a real magazine. But I've got to do this to start!"

  She was unloading a large load of groceries, putting them away.