Nero and I exchange a look, but strangely enough, I’m not nervous. It takes me a second to realize that it’s because…I’m with him.
Whatever we’re about to walk into, I trust Nero will keep me safe.
The thought sets off a flock of butterflies inside my belly.
Nero snakes a protective arm around my waist and tugs me against his side. “All right. Let’s do this,” he mutters in a low voice.
Mischief flashes in the girl’s eyes as she pulls the curtain aside. “Welcome to Seven Lives.”
We step through the opening and…
I stop in my tracks.
Holy. Shit.
The room beyond the curtain is a lavish space. It reminds me of the photos I’ve seen of old European palaces. There are high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and intricately painted walls. But it’s not the grand bar that stretches along one wall or the gilded cages that hang from the ceiling, each with a dancer swaying to the heavy beat of the music, that capture my attention.
About ten paces ahead, on a small circular stage, a woman is tied to a cross. A man’s kneeling between her spread legs, devouring her pussy with intense fervor.
Her moans, loud and unabashed, can be heard even over the music.
“Umm.” My wide eyes jump to Nero. I’ve never been to a sex club before—it doesn’t take a genius to conclude that’s what this is—but has he?
What if this is part of the whole mafia schtick?
The tendons in his thick neck are taut as he stares at the scene in front of him. “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
I choke out a mildly hysterical laugh. “We sure are not.”
His eyes lock onto mine. “You okay?”
Am I? My cheeks feel as if they’re melting off. “I don’t know. This is—”
“Ohhh!” the woman exclaims, her moans getting louder as she starts to come.
Nero laces our hands together and tugs me forward. “Come on. Let’s grab a drink at the bar, and we can try to decipher why the fuck Maksim invited us here.”
We move through the throng of people gathered around the stage. Some of them glance at us as we walk by them, but for the most part, everyone’s attention is on the woman on the cross.
Nero and I are definitely wearing more clothes than anyone else in here. The women are in lingerie, and the men are in their underwear. There’s one man who’s wearing nothing at all, and his erection bobs as he shifts on his feet.
I avert my eyes and focus on the edges of the room. Velvet booths wrap around the perimeter, many of them occupied by couples in various stages of undress.
My blood pulses in my cheeks. I don’t consider myself a prude, but I need a few minutes to process all of this and acclimate. It’s a lot to take in.
At the bar, there’s a wooden sign that says, “Two drink limit.”
“I guess I can see why they wouldn’t want the patrons getting drunk,” I say quietly to Nero.
He orders me a gin and tonic and a whiskey for himself. “I’ve heard places like this often limit alcohol.”
“You’ve never been to one?”
He gives me a smirk. “No, Sunshine. Believe it or not, exhibitionism isn’t really my thing.”
The bartender, dressed in only a slinky negligee, comes back with our drinks and slides them over the counter.
I pick up the G&T. “We’re so overdressed.”
