Only For Him, page 6
I offer up an observation, testing the tension between us. “Tonight’s entertainment is one of the more popular shows.”
One look down, and it’s evident her nipples are hard. Were they like that when she walked up here? The thin lace can’t hide her desire.
She’s quiet, only nodding at my commentary. “Are you curious?” I ask her.
Her dark eyes meet mine and this time there’s fire. The flames of it consume the oxygen around us. Fuck. What that look does to me is positively sinful. The heated stare doesn’t deny the pull between us. I could get lost in that gaze of hers and abandon the boundaries we’re toying with altogether. She hesitates at my question, but settles on one of her own. “Curious or scandalized?”
“If that scandalizes you,” I start, lifting my drink to the stage, “you may want to reconsider your employment here.” It’s meant as a joke of sorts, or perhaps a warning but as she glances back at the stage, without her expression easily seen, my body heats with an anxiousness that she could leave. She could so easily walk out of those doors and never come back.
The cords in my neck tighten, but then surprise takes hold of me at her response. “Is that what you like?” she asks in a soft murmur.
Depraved thoughts filter into my mind.
The ice clinks in my glass as I face her and say, “What did you ask?” My tone is deathly low as the background music continues to play, the whip cracks and Braelynn’s eyes close, her shoulders shuddering as if the tanned leather strips had stuck against her flesh. I can imagine how her olive skin would brighten, how the rush of fresh blood would be pulled to the surface. How sensitive she’d feel on every inch I played with.
She stares back at me, seemingly unaffected as I imagine her plump lips parted with a strangled cry of pleasure. “Is that what you like?” she asks again, quieter this time, tilting her head in the direction of the stage.
The woman on the stage is wrapped tightly in rope and at Braelynn’s question, my eyes easily undress her, imagining her gorgeous tan skin decorated in black satin binds.
“If it crosses a line—”
Rather than answer her, I ask my own question. “Do you like the idea of being bound?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she answers and then glances past me, checking on Mia and the state of the drinks I imagine she’s waiting on.
“Do you think you’d like to give up control, to be a fuck toy to whatever a man like me would want?” I question her, expecting the phrase fuck toy to throw her off. To send her back to the other side of The Club.
It doesn’t, though. Her body tenses slightly, her thighs subtly clenching. My grip tightens on the glass as my throat dries. She seems to ponder it and my cock gets impossibly hard. Pulling her bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth, she hums softly before looking back up at me.
Tease. She’s nothing but fate’s temptation for me.
“Would you want to do it in front of others … on a stage like them?” she asks and the world pauses around us. Not a sound can be heard. It all blurs as I peer down at her, curiosity evident but so damn innocent.
She has no idea how I’d love to shove my cock down her throat, her hands bound behind her back, that black dress ripped down the front. If I could have her on her knees, struggling to catch her breath as her mascara ran down her face and her eyes brimmed with tears … I would have her every fucking day just like that.
Every instinct in me wants to drag her back to my office and show her exactly what I’d do to her. If she were my pet, mine to toy with. Mine to do whatever I desire.
“Would you?”
“I don’t know … I guess,” she answers as I stand impossibly still, not trusting myself. The reminder that she could be undercover and playing me screams in my head. Screams at me that if I wanted, she’d let me, that she’d do it just to get closer to me.
This beautiful, innocent woman would allow me to do every sordid thing I’ve ever wanted.
“Stop it,” I say, pushing out the words and then finish my drink, sucking the whiskey against my teeth.
“What?” She whispers the word with disbelief, taking a step back. I watch her from my periphery as I slam the tumbler down on the bar as gently as I can, although the adrenaline rushes through me, its intensity demanding I let it take over. Without looking at her, listening to the applause, I know not a soul in this room has any idea how on edge I am. What this woman does to me isn’t justifiable.
“Don’t say another word,” I command her and then move my gaze to meet hers. Her dark eyes swirl with a mix of emotion. The cords in her neck tighten as she swallows thickly. “You need to stop before something bad happens to you, Braelynn.”
BRAELYNN
Yesterday’s conversation plays back in my mind as I stand here, remembering last night.
The whips and the couple on the stage who performed all manner of sinful deeds for the crowd barely penetrate my consciousness as my body heats. All I can think about is the warning tone from Declan for me to stop.
Swallowing down the memory, I choose to ignore it. Just like I did last night, even if the thought of him doing whatever he’d like to me is exactly what I dreamed of last night. And exactly what I touched myself to this morning. My imagination runs wild with wondering about the things Declan enjoys in the bedroom. I have no right thinking of him like that, but every bit of my intuition begs me to submit to him and let him engage in all manner of depravity. There are whispers about what Declan enjoys.
Clearing my throat, I hover at the bar waiting for Mia to refill the drinks for table six. She does it quickly, her hands working efficiently. It’s then I note, Mia always wears black. I wear black now too. Declan’s orders, of course. I wonder if he ordered her to as well, or if that’s her preference. The question stays in the back of my mind; I wouldn’t dare ask her.
It’s a slow Wednesday afternoon. Other than Mia, expertly mixing the cocktails, not a soul is in a hurry.
Really slow, actually. There are only four tables occupied. My table is a two-top. Two men in suits, obviously doing business. The two of them were a little heated earlier, their voices rising above the soft music that floats through the room, but they settled down when I came over. They’ve been quiet and patient since. I can sense they’re both making an effort with each other, so I’ve been hesitant. I don’t want to interrupt an important negotiation.
I’ve learned some clients of The Club are … particular and handled more delicately than others.
When Mia hands me the drinks, I murmur a quick thank-you. I don’t think she even heard it. Her attention is elsewhere and I don’t take it as a slight. Something’s obviously on her mind, or maybe she’s hungover.
I opt to imagine it’s the second, and that she’ll be her normal self before the dinner rush. With the two drinks, a White Russian and a Tom Collins, balanced on the tray, I take it over to the men and slide it in front of the first one. He nods without stopping the flow of conversation, but the other man interrupts.
“Could we get more,” he questions as he brushes the empty white porcelain dish with his fingers. The mix of honey roasted assorted nuts and dried fruits has vanished since the last time I was here. Perhaps that’s a good sign.
“Of course,” I say and pick up the small bowl without hesitation.
Many men come here to do business. It’s been obvious the last few days, and Scarlet said she’s noticed too. She also said it’s best not to ask questions, or to linger around the tables. At The Club, privacy is a top priority. So I don’t stay longer than I have to, and I don’t ask questions. Half the time, I don’t want to interrupt at all.
Instead, I wonder about The Boss.
That’s what everyone calls Declan here. The Boss. Although he didn’t seem to like it when I called him it yesterday. A chill runs through me as I work without thinking, dropping the small bowl off, only to be asked for another White Russian.
The man’s already downed it.
With a nod and another softly spoken of course, I take his tumbler back to the bar.
“Table six again,” I tell Mia. She glances down at the empty glass in my hand.
“One second, Brae, I’ve got to grab more coffee liqueur from the back.”
While she’s gone, my attention drifts toward the black door that blends in with the wall. That door leads to Declan. The Boss. The man behind the red door. I’m enthralled with him. There’s no better way to put it. Every time I have a moment to myself, I think about him. I try not to, especially when I’m on shift, but I can’t stop. The images come fast and furious. Declan leaning against his desk, his dark eyes raking over me. The way he told me not to wear red … ever again. I think of him constantly at work, and when I lay my head down at night, I dream of him.
With the uncomfortable heat lingering on my skin and the conversation from last night coming back to me, I do everything I can not to recall the way he warned me away … because it only makes me want him more.
Standing up straight, I place my fingertips on the edge of the bar. The feelings I have for Declan Cross can’t be denied. Emotion rushes through me every time I think of him. A different emotion every time, it seems. Right now … I’m wondering what would have happened if I stayed in his office and stripped for him. After he told me not to wear red ever again, I could have taken the hem of that short dress and pulled it right over my head. What would he have done?
What would I have done?
In fact, I think of that very scene most of the time I’m here. Every quiet moment where the black door comes into view. That scenario where I’d stayed and been bold and given into the sordid desire he lights within me.
With my eyes closed, I remember exactly why that’s not going to happen.
And then every other little detail that pushes me away comes back full force. All of the warnings and fine print that come when you make a deal with the devil.
That hall downstairs scares me the most. It gives me chills to think about walking down it, and I’m not sure why. The image of that red door does nothing but excite me. The hall, though … the very thought of it causes a chill that elicits a prick of caution, lifting every small hair on the back of my neck.
Scarlet said not to worry about what happens in those rooms downstairs. She said that I’m welcome to go down there if I like. We’re all welcome. Then again, I’m not really welcome, am I? Declan said not to wear red, which means I’m not allowed to engage with anyone. Even if I want to. I’m still not sure I’d ever want to … not with any guest. When I think about taking someone down there, I can’t picture walking down that hall, or even entering one of the private rooms. All I can think about is Declan’s red door.
The sound of Mia clinking the glasses brings me back to the present.
As I gather my composure, she makes the drink I’ve been waiting for. I glance over my shoulder, but before I can leave to drop it off, she says, “Braelynn, wait.”
“Yeah?”
“After you drop that off, can you head downstairs for me? In the far back room, there’s a box of sugar crystals. It says sprinkles on the box but it’s not sprinkles.” She brushes the hair from her face, seeming even more tired than earlier. “Either way, I need it, and Benji is swamped. I’m trying to help him out. Can you?”
A chill comes over me. Those damn halls are toying with me today, but I smile back at her as if nothing is wrong. Everything’s fine. It’s just an errand on the lower floor, and nothing more. “Of course I will. Need anything else while I’m down there?”
“That’s it. Thank you.” She stresses her gratitude, taking in a long breath and letting out an even longer exhale before heading back behind the bar. Maybe the kitchen is short-staffed, I’m not sure, but I can grab a box from downstairs easily enough. It’s not like we’re busy.
With the tray in hand, I deliver the drink to the businessman at my table.
They’re both stiff and quiet, staring at each other. It’s tense. My simper is plastered on as if I can’t tell. As if it’s not suffocating being within ten feet of them. If I had to guess, the negotiations aren’t going well. “Do you two need anything else?” My voice is too bright, a little too loud, but it seems to shake them out of it. The mood lightens slightly as I stand at the side of the table, the tray tucked under my arm.
One of them smiles and laughs a little, sipping at his drink.
The other, the man who’s downed his White Russians without taking time to taste them, slides his hand onto the small of my back. “Maybe some …”
My spine stiffens and without my conscious consent, my gaze is ripped away to the black door. As I take a small step back, the man blinks, seeming to take in my dress for the first time. He yanks his hand away like I burned him. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“It’s okay,” I reassure him, although everything in me is on high alert.
His hand barely touched me, but it was more than obvious and I know Declan watches. The last thing I need is for Declan to be upset. I don’t know exactly what happened the first night, what set him off, but I don’t want that again. I wonder if the man knows what happened the other night. “My apologies, sincerely.”
“It’s fine, really.” I play it off and swallow down any fear. The color has already drained from the man’s face. It’s even more obvious because of his dark suit. Both men seated at the table are dressed in what appear to be expensive suits, custom tailored to their frames, but both men are rough around the edges. There’s nothing smooth or charming or … well-bred about them. They’re gangsters, is what they are.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“No. You’re perfect,” the second one says. Now he’s making a point to smile at me, leaning back in his chair to put space between us. “We’re all good.”
With the anxious bundle in the pit of my stomach, I flee to the black door.
I head down to get the sprinkles. Down those hard iron stairs. At the bottom I pause and take stock of my options. There’s Declan’s red door, down one part of the hall, but which room is the back room?
Fuck. My head’s a mess and I didn’t bother to ask which room is which. The last thing I want is to open the wrong door. I should have asked Mia for specific directions. Not that anyone is here, I remind myself.
It’s not like I’m going to walk in on anyone. Ridding my clouded head of the apprehension, I pick the first door I come to. I’ll find the damn back room myself.
It’s dark when I open it, and I reach inside, fiddling for a light. The second it snaps on, I know it’s not the right room.
My eyes widen and my lungs still.
This is one of the sex dens. I’ve never seen a room with so much red silk inside it. The room smells fresh and new, but everything is elegant, luxurious and red, red, red. And perfect.
Not a single thing is out of place. It’s an invitation for sin and indulgence. My gaze moves from piece to piece, imagining what goes on in each corner of the room.
I’m breathless with the shock of it. I knew the rooms were down here. I didn’t think seeing them would have an effect on me. It’s not like I’ve never seen a four-poster dark wood bed before. Apparently, the cuffs attached to them have more of a hold on me than I thought something like this would.
Suddenly, a hand on my back startles me. It’s firm. Possessive. Hot, like fire.
Gasping, I’m quick to move away from it.
“Braelynn.” My name is spoken lowly, and shivers run all through my body. Declan’s close. The closest he’s ever been. “Did someone say you could come down here?” The deep rumble of his voice holds a playful note to it. He’s teasing me, I think, and I’m torn between a mixture of fear and desire, and the urge to laugh and break the tension.
“I’m just looking for sprinkles,” I say and swallow, forcing myself to look at him. He arches a brow. “Not sprinkles. Sugar crystals for Mia. For the bar.” I take another step back and another steadying breath. “For drinks.”
Declan’s gaze doesn’t leave mine, but I can feel the clothes peeling away from my skin. I can feel his eyes on the curves under my dress as if I’m naked in front of him. Like he’s undressing me with the force of his dark eyes alone.
“The back room is at the other end, down the other hall,” he says. “There’s nothing to the left of my office, unless this is what you’re after.” Heat flushes over my face and everywhere else. With another deep breath, I do everything I can to remain professional.
Declan isn’t trying, though.
In his sharp suit and a deep red tie, he’s the very essence of professional … yet somehow he could occupy the title of sex god at the very same time.
His gaze slips down to my nipples, which are hard through my dress. This dress doesn’t allow for a bra, so I didn’t wear one. He knows now. He knows everything. “Is this what you’re after, Braelynn? You came to play rather than work?”
“No, Declan.” I step aside, my sights focused on remaining professional. He barely moves, so my skin brushes his sleeve as I go. His footsteps follow me down the hall.
With every hard thump behind me and within my chest, all I can imagine are the two of us in that room. In my fantasy I’m bound and he does whatever he wants to me.
“Didn’t your friend tell you not to come down here?” he questions. His voice is so deep and rough. Every time he speaks it goes right to my core. “Scarlet.”
“No.”
“Are you two not close then?”
“No, we’re—we’re close. I’ve known her for about three years now.” My mind spins back through all the history I’ve shared with Scarlet. It doesn’t seem possible for it to have been three years already, but it is. I’m barely thinking when I answer, “She was a good friend to me when my father died.”
“Your father passed?” His tone completely changes with those words. I hear the sympathy in his voice, and it surprises me. It changes everything. The atmosphere, the tension. It’s as if his concern has washed away all else. Stopping where I am just outside his red door and nearly back at the winding iron staircase, he tells me in a murmur, “I’m sorry to hear that.” Glancing up and over my shoulder, I look into his eyes to find sincerity there too.
