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His touch was a reassuring connection. This was her choice, but he was here, with her, supporting her. Knowing that, she took a step forward.
Initially, she was blinded by the rolling stage lights, the flickering strobes that cut through the dark. With Julian’s hand to guide her, she continued forward, past the heavy drapes and into the dark space. She blinked, taking in the luxurious tufted leather couches scattered across the dark room, the layered hand-knotted Persian, each that probably cost upward of ten thousand dollars, the walls covered in crushed velvet, the chandeliers sparking in the dancing lights. This was the goddamn Versailles of strip clubs.
A beautiful woman in nothing but a bow tie worked a DJ booth on a stage. The music coming from the speakers was loud but oddly hypnotic, a pulsing beat under a soft spotlight in the corner for the women on stage to dance to. As Skylar glanced around the room, taking in the men in fine suits drinking expensive whiskey and smoking Cuban cigars, a barely clad woman with the most enviable body she’d ever seen sauntered toward them, two champagne glasses on a silver tray.
“Nice to see you, Jay,” the woman said with a wry smile, her voice as rough as a shot of tequila without lime.
A spike of jealousy pierced Skylar’s stomach. She glanced between the two of them and wondered if there was a history there.
Julian didn’t react beyond taking the champagne glasses from her tray and handing one to Skylar. Only after ensuring Skylar had her drink did he turn back to the woman. “A private room, Tiff,” he said.
This surprised Skylar. She thought they were going to watch strippers empowering themselves. How could they do that if they were in a private room?
Horror washed over her.
Did Julian expect her to sit while he did things to a stripper to prove that it was only happening because she would allow it?
“Julian—” she began.
“Trust me, Skylar,” he said, staring into her eyes.
His expression was oddly steadfast, warm, and reassuring, given where they were and where they were going, but when the woman started walking down an adjacent hallway, Skylar followed.
At the end of the hallway, the woman pushed open a shiny black door and gestured for them to enter.
Julian guided Skylar inside, and Skylar was grateful for the reassuring pressure of his hand on her back.
Plush cushions and pillows covered the floor, but other than that, there wasn’t any furniture inside the room. Instead, a silver stripper pole stood in the middle of the space. A multi-colored light on the ceiling twisted and turned, bathing her in red, purple, yellow, blue, and green before plunging her into darkness.
“Who should I send in?” the woman asked from the doorway.
Julian swallowed the rest of his champagne, then took Skylar’s now empty champagne flute and handed both to the woman. “No one.”
The woman winked, then turned and shut the door behind her, leaving Skylar and Julian alone.
Skylar looked at Julian, trying to read his intent. No stripper? Then why were they here?
Julian closed the door behind them and leaned back against it, eyes on her and her alone. The red light illuminated his hand as he reached behind him and locked the door. He disappeared into the darkness before she saw him again—this time bathed in purple. He watched her, silent, unmoving. Still. Waiting.
“You don’t want a girl to dance for us?” Skylar asked, her voice softer than she intended. The lights continued moving over her and Julian. A rainbow in the dark. He remained silent, and she grew frustrated. She’d thought watching a stripper was the point of this whole adventure. Let her see how women used their bodies. How they took control of their sexuality.
“There are only two rules here,” Julian said, his voice husky as his gaze trailed lazily up and down her body. “Two rules alone, and anything else goes. Anything . . .everything.” Julian’s eyes flashed a deep purple, then the dark took over.
And suddenly, his lips were inches from her ear. “Rule One— do not share your code.”
A sudden burst of yellow light showed her that Julian hadn’t moved, but his voice seemed so near that it sent goosebumps up and down her spine.
“Rule Two— do not touch the girls without express permission.”
Skylar stood frozen in the center of the room as the light swirled around them: the deepest black waters, the farthest glowing galaxies. God, this was magical. Ethereal. Were they still in the city or in a realm of fairytales?
Julian was quiet for a long time as the pounding beat from down the hallway rattled against the locked door. “So I am not going to touch you, Skylar, not without your permission,” he finally said, his voice strained. “The rest of the rules you make yourself. You, princess, are in complete control.”
36
Skylar could see Julian swathed in a multitude of different colors as he moved slowly toward her. His eyes never strayed from hers, and she held her breath as he shoved off the door and walked past her, a hair’s breadth of space separating them. But he didn’t touch her. Where was he going?
She glanced over her shoulder, still frozen in place, to watch Julian slip his coat off and toss it haphazardly in the dark corner of the room. She didn’t move, barely daring to even breathe as he slowly folded up the sleeves of his jet-black button-down. Then he eased himself down to the floor, of all places, stretched out his legs, and pulled out his phone.
