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The thought arouses me.
What will she think?
Bringing a new person to the club is always an adventure, but with Skye, I’m excited to new heights. Already I’m burning for her—burning at what we can do here.
When the elevator doors open, I gesture for her to step inside. I follow. Then I take a second card out of my wallet and slide it through the device inside the elevator.
“Why do you need a card?” she asks. “Aren’t we going to the lobby?”
“No.”
“Then where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
The elevator descends, and when the doors open, she gasps.
“Welcome,” I say, “to Black Rose Underground.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
We step straight from the elevator into a luxury nightclub, with one blatant difference.
Wardrobe.
Instead of skimpy club dresses, the women are dressed a lot like Skye, some of them more scantily. Several of them are showing their nipples.
And the men? Some are dressed in suits, as if they just came from a workday. Others are dressed in leather, some bare chested. One man even has pierced nipples, which draw Skye’s gaze.
Interesting.
I won’t be piercing my nipples, though. Not even for Skye Manning.
Jazz music wafts from the sound system, not too soft and not too loud. I worked for days with an acoustics professional to make sure the music could be heard but was soft enough that people could carry on normal conversation without having to shout.
After all, sound is a big part of anything sexual.
“What do you think?” I ask, my heart already pounding.
“Where exactly are we?”
“The bottom floor of the building. It’s a private club.”
“Who are all these people?” She darts her gaze about the room rapidly.
“Members, of course.” I walk her to a desk where a burly man sits. “Hey, Claude.”
“Good evening, Mr. Black.”
“This is Skye Manning, my guest.”
Claude nods and pushes some papers toward her. “You’ll need to sign these.”
She lifts her eyebrows at me.
“It’s a nondisclosure agreement. Everyone who comes to the club must sign.”
“You mean I can’t tell anyone what I see here?”
“More than that,” I say. “You can’t even tell anyone you’ve been here.”
“Not even Tessa?”
“Not even Tessa.”
“But I tell Tessa everything.”
“Not this.” I hand her a pen. “Read through it if you’d like, or I can explain it to you.”
“I’m capable of reading a legal document.” She hastily glances over the papers.
They’re pretty straightforward.
Then she scribbles her signature. “Everyone here has signed this?”
“Yes,” I say.
She looks around. A dance floor lies to our left, but no one is dancing. Straight back is a full bar. Two bartenders, one a topless female, mix drinks for guests. Several guests sit on black leather barstools. Others mingle, chatting, flirting. One man has his woman on a leash.
I expect Skye to react to the leash. She doesn’t seem to.
Not that I’ll ever put her on a leash. I’m not that kind of Dominant. But I’m intrigued that she doesn’t give me so much as a brow lift.
“We’re all good, Mr. Black,” Claude says. “Enjoy your evening.”
“I plan to. Thanks, Claude.” I turn to her. “Skye? Shall we?”
She bites her lower lip. “Sure. I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Well…yeah.”
“If you’re not all in, Skye, we may as well leave now.”
I’m asking a lot of her, and I mean what I say. If she’s not ready, we will go. The selfish part of me hopes she won’t ask me to take her away from here.
“I’m in. I just don’t understand. People are dressed like me, but nothing is happening here. I don’t get it.”
I smile. “This is only one part of the club. Would you like a drink?”
“God, yes.”
Not a bad idea at all. Skye never gets drunk, but one drink may help put her a bit more at ease.
“Only one,” I say. “I want your mind clear for tonight.”
She nods, and we head to the bar.
Laney, tonight’s topless server, jiggles toward us. “Nice to see you, Mr. Black.”
“Good evening, Laney. Two Wild Turkeys, please. Neat.”
“You got it.”
Laney is an excellent bartender. The drinks appear in an instant. I push a fifty-dollar bill toward her.
Skye takes a long sip of her bourbon. Then: “What is this place, Braden?”
“It’s a leather club.”
“Which is…”
“A place where people who enjoy the BDSM lifestyle can come and play together.”
“Who knows about it?”
“Only the people here. It’s very exclusive. Membership by invitation only.”
“Oh? Who invited you?”
“No one.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s my club, Skye. I own it.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“You own it?” Her eyes are circles.
This is the reaction I expected when she saw the woman on a leash.
“I own it,” I repeat.
“So this is…”
“This is where I practice my lifestyle in New York.”
“And you don’t do this stuff in Boston.”
“I do not.”
“Why?”
“I’ve told you. Boston is my home. Where I grew up.”
“So?”
I take a sip of my drink. “I prefer to keep this side of me private.”
“And you can’t do that in Boston?”
“I could. I choose not to.”
I expect her to ask me to elaborate, but what would I say if she does? It’s simple, really. New York is not my home, and this club represents a very private part of myself. Yes, I let others enjoy it as well, but by its very nature, Black Rose Underground is a secret.
