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I stared at him. “And what is it, exactly, that you want from me tonight?”
“I want to rip off those garters with my teeth. Other than that… I’ll tell you if there’s something I want.”
I sat back and tried to just calm down, relax. You know, enjoy my lottery winnings.
He’ll seek your submission through pleasure.
If that was true, then this really wouldn’t be hard.
Pleasure is good,I tried to tell my anxious, keyed-up self.Just submit to it.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Jolie
When we pulled up to the Bliss estate, it was a total thrill rolling through the gate in Shane’s car. One of the guards at the gate—there were several of them tonight—checked his ID with a flashlight, while another one looked something up on a tablet, and then we were in.
When we took our turn pulling around the big driveway loop and up to the front steps of the mansion, a valet took the car.
Then Shane escorted me up the steps with a hand on the small of my back.
If I felt nervous and excited on the way here, that was nothing. The mansion was way more grand up close. Big, but also the French chateau vibe of the architecture was detailed, authentic and so glamorous. Whoever owned this place was seriously rich.
I could totally see Aunt Madeleine hanging out in a place like this.
Shane, though? It seemed a bit… ostentatious for him.
But then again, so did the Lamborghini and that woman he’d draped over it.
As we walked in through the open front doors, there was marble everywhere. The expansive foyer featured a welcome desk along one wall, like in a grand hotel, where staff were working to greet guests and process them in.
A woman there greeted us, and Shane spoke to her while I looked around. Mostly, I looked at the other guests.
Many of the women wore revealing dresses or straight-up lingerie. A saw women and men in kinky-looking leather getups. And a lot of men in suits. There were women in beautiful, classy evening wear, too.
We surrendered our ID and our phones when the woman behind the desk asked for them, and as I handed my ID over, I started sweating a little. Because I’d forgotten what that security guard told me when he caught me scaling the fence: that everyone had to show ID. Would she scan my ID or something, and somehow discover that I’d been here before—as a trespasser? Because they could match some security footage of my face with the image on my ID?
Would she deny me entry in front of Shane? Would she call security and have me removed?
But all she did was glance at it, checking my age, probably. Then she put the IDs and the phones into a secure box, and gave Shane a key in exchange.
“The party’s in the ballroom,” he told me, steering me along with a gentle hand on my back. We fell in behind other partygoers who were heading through to the back of the foyer. There, several sets of doors stood open and music flowed out. Sexy dance music, like something you’d hear in a good nightclub.
“Why did we have to give up our ID and phones?” I asked him. “I wasn’t going to take pictures and post them on the Gram or anything.”
“Anonymity. They know who you are, but you don’t know who they are. Or who anyone else is. That’s how it works here.”
“They?”
“They.” He pointed up a long, curving staircase at one side of the foyer, as we passed under it on our way to the ballroom. Up at the top was a dark passageway, with a railing overlooking the foyer and the ballroom beyond. A few men stood up there. Definitely security, and they all seemed to be gathered around one man in a sharp, dark suit whose face I couldn’t see in the shadows. “That’s the owner of the club,” Shane told me when he caught me staring.
“Who is he?”
“No one you’ll ever know. If he asks to meet you, we’re leaving.”
I looked at him in alarm. “Why?”
“Because if he asks to meet you, he wants to fuck you. Ask me how I know.”
