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For the thrice-annual Ashen Rose poker game, there’s no latex and leather tonight. Instead, there’s a box waiting for me in my dressing room, courtesy of Nikolai, who sent up what he wanted me to wear tonight. It gives me a small flutter that I shouldn’t feel, seeing the box—there was a time when he gave me things to wear for his personal pleasure, and he’ll see me in this tonight, too. But there’s nothing intimate to it any longer, nothing personal. It’s just a boss giving his employee a new work uniform now, and I know that’s how he sees it.
It would be better if I pushed any other thoughts out of my head, too.
Still, when I take the silvery-grey lace out of the box, I can’t help wondering what he’ll think when he sees it on me. It’s a gorgeous lingerie set—a sheer corset embroidered with blood-red thread and piped with velvet over the boning channels that sit just below my breasts, a balconette bra that matches made of silver-grey lace embroidered with blood-red flowers, and a pair of sheer panties in the same shade that curves invitingly over my ass, clinging to my hips. They split between my thighs, the opening hidden until I part my legs, a surprise for the players who won’t see it coming until I choose to distract them. It suits me perfectly, a soft contrast to my pale complexion and dark hair and eyes, flattering the curves of my figure in a way that will make itveryhard for the players to concentrate on their hands…or rather, anything but where they wish their hands could be.
I like to think I’m not overly vain, but after years of working in this industry, it’s hard not to be aware of my looks. I put in the effort to stay in shape, and the corset flatters my hourglass figure and full breasts in a way that I know Nikolai must have envisioned when he picked this out.In a professional way,I remind myself, trying to get used to the prick of disappointment I feel every time I think that. It used to hurt more. Now, it feels more like an irritation, a feeling I wish I could get rid of.
The last part of the outfit is the part I’d prefer not to put on—a slim grey leather collar with a silver ring hanging from it, a symbol that I’m playing a submissive role tonight. I buckle it on anyway, making a face in the mirror before I go back to my vanity to finish my makeup and find a lipstick that matches the red thread in the lingerie.It’s just for the night,I remind myself. The other two men who pay for my submission won’t be here for another two weeks. Until then, I have two weeks of nothing but men paying to submit tome, the role I feel most comfortable occupying. And tonight even has a little of that flavor, with the show I’ll be expected to put on. I’ll be the one with the power for the duration of the game, at least, teasing the men mercilessly until one of them has the winning hand.
Maybe I’ll get lucky, and it’ll be someone I’m actually into.The odds are low, but I’m trying to stay hopeful. It will make getting on my knees for whoever wins more tolerable—I’m sure that’s where I’ll end up at some point in the evening. They all want that, every single one of them.
Men are terribly predictable, I’ve found. And the ones who want me to submit are usually the type I dislike the most. The sort of men who buy into a game like this are even worse—but at least they typically tip well.
I cap the lipstick, slipping it back into my makeup bag, and take one last look in the mirror.How long has it been since I’ve enjoyed sex for my own pleasure?I want to say that I’ve enjoyed it withsomeonesince Nikolai—but the truth is, I haven’t. That last night together in his penthouse was the last time I remember someone besides myself actually making me come.
The memory makes my breath catch a little, and I reach up to touch the silver ring. I remember him grabbing a collar just like this, fingers wrapping around it, pressing against my throat as his cock slammed into me, dragging my mouth up to his as he groaned out his orgasm—
Fuck, Asha. Stop it.I feel a wave of guilt for thinking of him like that, so vividly. I’vemetLilliana, briefly, when Nikolai showed her around the club—probably assuming his new wife would feel better about his evenings spent overseeing the sex dungeon he owns if she’d been there personally. She’d been calmer about it than I expected, not upset about Nikolai spending time here, friendly with all of the girls. I have no idea if Nikolai told her that he and I used to sleep together or not, but she was friendly with me, too, and I decided it was better to stay that way—not knowing.
And now…it does no good to linger on the past. I know that very well.
So why does it feel so hard to let go of this time?Nikolai was never going to be mine forever. I knew that from the very beginning. It makes me feel foolish to still think of him like this.
I’ve never been a foolish woman, and I don’t want to be one now.
Downstairs, the floor is being set up for the night ahead. There’s a small stage with a black velvet lounge for me—one of the stages the dancers typically use on a normal night—and in front of it is the oval table that the players will sit at, a gilded mirror on the other side so that the ones with their backs to me will still be able to watch the show. The bar is just to the left, gleaming mahogany with the bartenders already getting ready for the night, which will likely be a busy one. There’s always the highest member turnout on the nights when there’s a show, and Nikolai usually gives out a few guest passes for these nights, too, hoping to draw in new members.
That means I’m putting on a show for free for them, which always annoys me a little. But at the end of the day, I’ll still be paid. It’s money out of Nikolai’s pocket, really, not mine.
I just don’t like giving anything away easily. It makes me a good domme—it makes submitting so much more difficult.
“Asha. You look gorgeous.” Nikolai’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn in my silver heels, my heart doing the usual flip at the sight of him. He’s all business in a dark grey sharkskin suit, tie done up perfectly, hair smooth against his head, eyes dispassionate as they slide over me. But then again, they always are now. He hasn’t looked at me with desire since that last night. Even the night he came to the club and told me about his engagement—there was a little heat there, a memory of what we’d been, but Lilliana was on his mind even then.
I knew as soon as I saw them together that once she was in his life, there was no chance for anyone else. She swallowed up everything else when she was in a room with him, like all he could see was her. I’ve never seen him look like that with anyone—not even me. And I’m happy for him—for both of them. Nikolai deserves happiness.
There was a time when I thought I did too—long before him. But that’s long gone, and now Nikolai is too. I don’t know if there’s a third time that I get to meet someone who makes me feel that way.
It seems like too much to ask.
“You picked a good outfit.” I force a smile. His gaze never dips below my eyes, and while I’m glad for Lilliana’s sake—and for my friendship with Nikolai—that he’s not tempted, it does sting a little. No girl likes to be easily forgotten.
At the very least, after seeing the two of them together, I have the reassurance of knowing it wasn’t just me. The way he looks at her—he would have forgotten anyone, once she came into his life. The connection between them is undeniable.
Nikolai checks his watch. “You might as well get set up on stage. The players will be here soon, and then we’ll start letting in guests. Some of them are already at the lobby bar. Grab yourself a drink if you want,” he says with a grin—he knows these nights aren’t my favorite. But it’s a part of my job.
I take his suggestion, going to the bar and getting a limoncello shot from Jason, the head bartender tonight. His gaze sweeps over me in an appreciative way—Jason prefers men, but as he once told me, you can appreciate art in a gallery without wanting to bring it home. It’s flattering—he also once said to me if he ever was going to try sleeping with a woman, it would be me. He’s never followed through on that thought—though if he did, I’d probably take him up on the offer. He’s gorgeous—dark blond hair and hazel eyes, with a body to die for. Nikolai has often asked him if he wants to work here in a different capacity, but he’s always insisted he’s fine behind the bar, despite how much more money he could make.
“Sure you don’t want two?” Jason grins. “Been a while since you’ve been up on stage.”
“Don’t remind me.” I nudge the shot glass back in his direction. “Better not. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything other than a glass or two of wine at night.” I don’t usually drink at work. But Nikolai and Jason are both right—ithasbeen a while since I’ve put on a public show at the club, and having a little something to take the edge off won’t hurt.
Still, I stick to the one shot.
I’m headed up the steps to the stage when the players begin to assemble around the table. I stretch out on the black chaise lounge, the velvet rubbing sensually against my skin, the soft pillows at one end propping up my back and shoulders so that I’m shown off to the guests on the floor at the perfect angle—my breasts pushed up and showcased above the corset, my thighs pressed together for now until I decide when I want to show off what’s between them. The music is beginning to pulse through the club, a soft beat that can just be heard below the low din of conversation as the guests begin to fill the floor, enough to set a mood without dominating it.
The show begins when the cards are dealt. I don’t know much about how poker is played, but I don’t need to. All I need to know is how to distract, and I’m good at that—at the slow build, the tease that slowly escalates until I’m doing things to distract the men that most of them won’t be able to ignore. The one who does—or who does the best job at it, will be the one who wins me for the night.
I see immediately that Matvei is at the table. He’s impossible to miss, though he looks more imposing in person than in his photo—not in physical size, but in presence. If Nikolai met him, then I understand why he’s concerned. There’s arrogance in his every movement, in how he holds himself, in the cant of his head and the way he speaks, and I can see that he’s a man who thinks a great deal of himself.
