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“You wish.”
I end the call and climb out the car, sending Christopher off to his family, before I walk toward the main entrance of the brick building. The large wooden doors are topped with an elegant canopy with pillars on both sides, shielding the entrance just enough to provide a hint of mystery.
I don’t know whether the boys would be jealous or disgusted if they knew where I am tonight. Probably the latter. My old college friends never ventured to the darker side of life, whereas for me, it’s the only place I know. Murky waters, full of secrets and sin.
Just like this place—The Velvet Rooms. The owners don’t like to label it a kink club, claiming that it’s more than that, more luxurious, more exclusive and sublime. I’ve been a patron at their main location in Boston for years and when the madame, Miss Barry, announced that she was looking for investors to expand with another location in DC, I saw an opportunity.
An opportunity to turn my dirty money into... well, a little less dirty money.
One step ata time.
I missed the club’s official opening last weekend, because it collided with Aston’s 30th birthday—an occasion that I couldn’t miss. But I had to promise Miss Barry to stop by as soon as I could.
The building itself is an old Victorian mansion, massive in size and restored beyond its former glory. Red-cushioned interior is matched with a hint of boudoir, drinks served in golden flutes and elegant tumblers,and the floor-to-ceiling windows, adorned with heavy curtains, add to the lavish allure of this place.
The dim light immerses the room in varying scarlet tones, accented with large candles and an oversized chandelier floats in the center of it all.
I meander through the room, taking in the sight of the hall and the girls who work here. Angels, dressed in white and not to be touched, and devils, dressed in black lingerie and open for business—the same concept I know from Boston.
However, I am not here to play or to get laid. I’m here to check on my investment.
And to have a drink. Just one drink.
It’s still early and not too crowded yet, so it’s easy to find a quiet place to sit and observe at the far end of the room. Button tufted leather seats, red as blood and soft as skin, welcome me in a dark corner next to an old fireplace. I sink down in one of them with a heavy sigh, placing my elbows on the soft leather as I scan the room.
And then I see her.
Tall and slender, with long dark brown hair, sleek as silk, cascading down to her slim waist in a strong contrast to the white lingerie her delicate body is wrapped in. She’s dressed as an angel, showing a little less skin than her devil coworkers, but still enough to draw attention to herself.
But it’s not just her alluring outfit and the body it adorns that keep my gaze fixated on her.
It’s her face. Or rather, her expression. She’s beautiful, stunning actually, but unlike the other girls, she doesn’t sport a plastic smile topped with wide puppy eyes. Instead, she looks focused, grim almost, with her painted lips pressed into a thin line and the hint of a crease between her brows.
I wave her over when our eyes meet. Instantly, her lips curl into a friendly smile, but her eyes remain apathetic when she stalks over to me on her plateau high heels.
“Evening, sir,” she chirps, tilting her head to the side as she comes to a halt before me. “It’s a pleasure to welcome youtoThe Velvet Rooms! Would you care for some company?”
She’s even more tantalizing from up close. I study her from head to toe, taking my time as I indulge in the sight of her shape, adorned with white lace, matching sheer stockings and jewelry, earrings that look like silver teardrops and a delicate necklace, barely noticeable. Her eyes are framed with thick fake lashes and too much glittery make-up, her lips painted in a rose-colored tone, a bit lighter than most other girls in here. A white hairpin with a single pearl keeps her smooth hair in place on one side, while the chocolate streaks partly shield her face on the other.
She is devastatingly beautiful—and visibly uncomfortable.
“A drink,” I tell her. “Scotch, neat.”
A frown flashes on her face. “I’m not a waitress.”
She bites her lower lip, seemingly regretting her response in an instant.
Bad girl.
“You’re here to entertain me, aren’t you?” I retort. “Bring me a Scotch and whatever you like for yourself—and join me.”
She utters a low “Yes, sir,” followed by a demure nod, before she turns around and walks away to the bar, swinging her hips for my benefit.
Looks like shecanbe a good girl, if she’s put in her place properly.
Very promising.
Chapter 3
