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My eyes widened. Maître. The legendary master of the club.
“Yes, Maître,” Sir said and hung up the phone. He turned to me. “Maître has requested your presence.”
I was rooted to the spot. Maître wanted to see me. The maître. I’d heard of him, of course. Rumors of NOX in New York were nothing to the secret whisperings about the man that ruled the club with an iron fist. The mysterious Frenchman who ruled his sexual kingdom from his throne, his loyal subjects worshipping at his feet.
The door behind us opened, and Bunny came through. “She is to be taken straight to him in his quarters,” Sir said to her.
“Yes, sir.”
Bunny led me from the room and toward black padded elevator doors. As the doors opened, it was to find the elevator covered wall to wall in red velvet.
Bunny pulled me inside and pressed the button for the top floor. “Be honest,” I said, “am I getting kicked out?”
“I have no idea what Maître wants. He’s not an easy man to read. He mostly keeps to himself.”
Great. That didn’t help me at all.
The elevator opened, and Bunny led me to the landing. I looked around the impressive upper floor. There was only one set of double doors to be seen. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling.
We arrived at the doors, and Bunny rang a bell. A green light flashed and she led me inside. The perfect sound of Andrea Bocelli hit me first, his beautiful voice sailing into my ears. It immediately made me feel calmer, my nerves settling some.
Through the cover of my veil, I peeked at my surroundings. The room was large and gothic in style, in keeping with the rest of the house. Erotic pictures, as in the foyer, hung on every wall. I swallowed hard as all the contraptions I’d seen on the main floor were scattered around the room. And then some. Certain devices in this room looked straight from The Spanish Inquisition’s High Inquisitor’s torture chamber.
Maître was prepared to play. He was prepared to play hard.
“Kneel down,” Bunny ordered, then whispered, “Maître is a master in every sense of the word. He is a dominant in the bedroom. If he wants to play, and you agree, he will require you to be submissive to him. You must decide whether or not that kind of pleasure appeals to you.” Bunny’s words circled my mind as I dropped to my knees. A submissive. Could I be a submissive?
Then I heard a creak on the wooden floor.
“Maître,” Bunny said, awe thick in her voice.
“Pars,” a hard voice said. I held my breath as the word rang out, in stark contrast to the beautiful classical music lacing the air around us.
“Yes, Maître,” Bunny said and left the room.
In the heavy silence, I could hear myself breathing heavily in anticipation of meeting the infamous man. Then, “Look up.” The command was spoken in a thick French accent.
Obeying the Maître, I looked up and saw a man casually sitting on a large wooden throne-like chair, one leg draped over an ornate winged arm. I lost my breath seeing his entire torso exposed, his chest and abdominals tanned and blessed with tight muscles. He wore black silken pants and nothing on his feet.
My eyes roved to his face. As with the other men, a cloak covered his head and a mask covered his face. It was a white mask similar to that worn by The Phantom of the Opera, but this version of the mask hid more of his face. Bright silver eyes pierced through the holes in the mask, staring back at me. Contacts. A curve of the mask near his mouth exposed one side of his full lips.
Maître, I thought, feeling my stomach clench.
I froze as he got to his feet, moving with the confidence only a man so sure of his power and sexuality could display. He bent down until his eyes were level with mine. I was transfixed by this mysterious man.
Maître pushed back loose strands of hair off my veil. This close, he would be able to see a glimmer of my face through it. As I met his stare head-on, Maître’s eyes flared and the exposed part of his lips curled up in amusement.
“So, you are the source of all the commotion.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded and sighed in defeat.
I waited for him to tell me I was banned from NOX forever more. What I didn’t expect was for him to say, “You will do, ma chérie. You will do for me very well.”
Chapter Seven
My chest rose and fell in quick succession. The deep scent of mahogany and tobacco swept around me as heavily as the cloak Maître wore. His head cocked to the side as he admired me from top to toe.
Maître got to his feet and moved back to his throne. I couldn’t take my eyes away from him. I had never seen someone so magnetizing in my entire life. His hand rested on his cheek, gently tapping the white porcelain mask. “You were scouted as a siren?”
