Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Also by Jeana E. Mann
About the Author
1
HENRY
With a smile meant to please, the masked hostess shoves open enormous double doors into New York City’s most exclusive sex club, the Devil’s Playground. The vaulted ceiling soars upward, giving the twentieth-century warehouse the illusion of a castle. Women in colorful gowns flit like butterflies beneath glittering chandeliers. Men in tuxedos carry cigars, sip brandy from crystal snifters, and discuss the stock market. Excitement swirls in the air.
“Are you enjoying your evening, sir?” she asks.
“Yes, thank you.” Even though I’m wearing a mask, I wait for her to recognize me. I have reason to be cautious. I’m the Crown Prince of Androvia. The one who lives in a castle, the one with a different car for each day of the week, the one who dampens panties with a smile. My face graces hundreds of tabloids each year. Someday, my portrait will hang in the Hall of Kings next to seven generations of monarchs. If she knows who I am, she doesn’t let on, and the tension leaves my shoulders. “This is my first visit. Do you have any recommendations?”
“Are you looking for a companion or are you here to observe?” The brilliance of her smile increases as she gazes up at me.
“Observation only.” Although an anonymous fuck with one of these lovely women is tempting, I’m here to meet with Roman Menshikov, co-owner of this fine establishment.
“You’re in luck. This is a special night. All twelve of our custom playrooms are booked and available for your viewing pleasure.” She sweeps a hand toward the nearest exit. “Through those doors. Enjoy.”
A crowd swarms around the two-way glass of the first observation window. At six foot four, I can see over everyone’s heads and straight into the playroom. No expense has been spared to recreate the interior of a medieval dungeon. Stone walls and floors and crude wooden furniture provide the perfect backdrop for the fantasy. The crowd presses closer to see the couple inside. I press closer too. Never in my twenty-seven years have I seen anything this primal, so erotic—and believe me, I’ve seen a lot.
The woman twists away from her shackles, muscles taut with pleasure. Jesus, she’s stunning. Perky, bouncing breasts. Pale pink nipples. A waterfall of luxurious auburn hair cascades over her pale skin. Like everyone else in this place, a masquerade mask hides her face. She turns her head to the side, biting into her full lower lip with even white teeth. Her companion spanks a hand on her ass. His fingers leave red marks on the firm white flesh. A dizzying rush of blood evacuates my head and hastens to my dick.
“Can I help you with that?” The petite brunette at my elbow nods toward the erection tenting my tuxedo pants. Her invitation yanks me out of the spell cast by the scene. The whole point of this evening is to see and be seen. If I say yes, no one will care. On the sofa behind us, a man has his head buried beneath the hem of a voluptuous woman’s evening gown, one hand on his cock and the other on her bared breast.
“Not tonight.”
“Are you sure?” The brunette smiles up at me. Below her jeweled mask, full lips pout.
“Yes.” My gaze flits over her shoulder to the dungeon window. Her prom queen beauty pales in comparison to the goddess chained to the wall.
“Too bad. Your loss.” She smiles then disappears into the shadowy corners of the hallway.
The man next to me pushes closer to the observation window, transfixed by the exhibition of submission and dominance. “She’s perfection,” he mutters. I can’t agree with him more.
The couple on display is oblivious to the spectators. The woman pulls against her restraints, begging for discipline. Discipline I could give her. The need to punish and dominate is a smoldering ember in my subconscious, a hunger that no amount of vanilla sex has ever been able to satiate. I imagine the redhead’s groans of pleasure. Tiny whimpers of ecstasy escaping her pouty mouth. Her partner turns his head to the side, giving me a good view of his profile. Even with a disguise, I recognize the straight nose, square jaw, and perfect brown hair of my former college roommate. Wanker. I hate Nikolay Reznik, also known as Nicky Tarnovsky, for a hundred reasons. First, because he’s got something I want—this gorgeous redhead. And second, because the last time I saw him, he was balls deep in my fiancée.
EVERLY
Reeking of sex and shame and more exhilarated than I’ve been since my divorce, I wait for Nicky in the hallway. Nicky with his gray bedroom eyes, his hint of a Russian accent, and his large cock. The last place I ever intended to be was at a New York City sex club. Until he asked me. Until he whispered in my ear like Satan himself.
It’s been at least thirty minutes since he left me in the dungeon room to deal with a work emergency. More than enough time for him to reach his office and come back for me. I sigh and dig through my clutch for a compact mirror to recheck my lipstick. That’s the problem with dating one of the club owners. Business is always on the agenda. Although his absence is annoying, the extra minutes give me a chance to pull my head together. Minutes I need to clear the confusion caused by my first Devil’s Playground experience.
“Pretty dress,” a woman remarks as she passes by on the arm of a masked gentleman. The tail feathers of her mask jerk with each of her steps. She tilts her head toward her companion. “Isn’t she lovely, darling?”
“Yes. Exquisite,” her companion replies. He nods his head in acknowledgment. Like all the male guests, he wears a black tuxedo and mask.
“Thank you.” Heat crawls along my skin. Do they know what I just did in the room behind me? Did they watch? I’ve never been secretive about my sex life. In my opinion, it’s a natural and necessary part of life, one to be celebrated. The Devil’s Playground, however, is way outside the normal limits of my comfort zone. It’s a venue built for fantasies, the perfect place to escape the ugly reality of my life. Behind a mask and the protection of the club’s twenty-six-page NDA, I can be anyone I like. No paparazzi. No judgment. No names or faces.
I want to blame my uncharacteristic wildness on a string of disheartening events. A husband who loved his administrative assistant more than me. The revelation that he fathered a child with this woman during our marriage. His betrayal chipped away at my self-esteem until I no longer know who I am or what I stand for. Months after our separation and divorce, I still feel the cracks in my confidence.
“Can I get you anything, madam?” Achilles, one of the club hosts, pauses at my side. He’s the only person here, aside from my date, who knows my identity.
“No, thank you. I’m just waiting for my friend. He said to stay here, but he’s been gone forever. Have you seen him?” I’m careful to avoid using names, one of the numerous house rules.
“He’s been detained by a—customer.” The hesitation in his statement sends a chill of foreboding through my body. “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in one of the lounges or the bar? I can have him meet you there.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“I insist.” He sweeps a hand to the left, encouraging me down the corridor in an unfamiliar direction. When I hesitate, his pleasant demeanor falters. “Please, ma
dam. We need to clear this playroom for the next occupants. I’ll have a complimentary bottle of champagne brought to you for the inconvenience, and I’ll notify your date of your whereabouts.”
“Alright.” I turn in the direction of the large reception area, the same route Nicky used to bring me here.
“Not that way.” Achilles steps in front of me. “The other way.”
An ill foreboding snakes down my body. This isn’t the way I came in. Then again, maybe I’m being rerouted to protect the privacy of a famous client. I don’t want to make a scene over something trivial, so I nod and move in the direction of his hand.
He escorts me to the end of the corridor but doesn’t follow me further. A glance over my shoulder shows him standing in the center of the hall, arms crossed over his chest. I feel his gaze burn into my back until I reach the next junction. This time when I glance at him, he’s gone. I reverse directions, head down, determined to find Nicky, and run into the hard, muscular chest of a man who smells like expensive cologne. His broad shoulders block my path. Through the holes of our masks, our gazes collide. The muscles between my legs clench at the glimpse of blue-green irises and the whiskey-over-gravel sound of his haughty, British voice.
2
HENRY
After the show in the dungeon room ends, I wander around the building, scanning the guests for long legs and silky auburn hair. I don’t know why. It’s not like I have the freedom to date anyone who isn’t a member of royal society. Even if I had the opportunity, my appointment calendar is packed from dawn to dusk with palace duties. Free time is dedicated to the gym, an occasional charity gala, and precious sleep. Sex is a scheduled activity with a regular who has been vetted, tested for STDs, and silenced by an NDA. A relationship is dead last on my list of priorities.
“Martini, sir? Champagne? Or can I get you something from the bar?” A waiter pauses at my side, his face hidden behind the white full-face mask required for staff, similar to the kind worn by serial killers in horror movies. It lends an eerie component to the lavish fantasy.
“No, thank you.” I brush past him to enter the nearest dark corridor. LED lights along the floor illuminate my path. I bounce from one decadent sexcapade to the next. Two-way mirrors shimmer from transparent to reflective, giving the occupants privacy or inviting voyeurs to watch. The mirror across from me reveals a 1950s kitchen, a naughty housewife, and the mailman who’s about to fuck her on the linoleum. Members cluster around, anxious for the show to begin.
It’s time for my meeting. I skip the exhibition and head for the reception area. As I round a corner, some woman slams into my chest, almost toppling both of us to the floor. On instinct, my fingers curl around her biceps. She places her hands on my pecs and gasps.
“Pardon me, madam. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” My breath catches at her upturned oval face, high cheekbones, and slender nose. Behind her sequined mask, blue eyes sparkle. A ridiculous flutter dances in my gut. It’s her. Nicky’s redhead.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” She wobbles on her tall heels, still clutching my lapels. Electricity pulses through her palms and the layers of fabric between her skin and mine. A woman’s touch hasn’t affected me like this since prep school. Which is ridiculous. I take pride in my lack of emotions where sex is concerned.
“No worries.” Let her go, Henry. With great effort, I release my hold. Her hands stay on my body for a fraction of a second too long.
“Yes. Well…” With a blush, she drops her hands to her sides. My gaze locks onto her face as she bites the fullness of her lower lip. A sweep of pink lipstick covers a mouth perfect for kisses. Except I don’t do kisses. Not for her. Not for any woman. Kisses imply feelings, a luxury stolen from me by my royal birth. Even if I could kiss her, I wouldn’t. Her kisses belong to Nicky. My hatred for him raises from a simmer to slow boil. Once again, he’s stolen something from me. In college, he took my fiancée. Tonight, he’s stolen my opportunity to acquire a beautiful woman.
“I’m afraid I’ve lost my way. Could you point me toward reception?” I’m not lost, but I’m desperate to hear her voice once more. I peel my gaze from her mouth. The thought of her swollen pink lips wrapped around my dick rockets to the top of my filthy fantasies. A step backward puts space between us. Standing too near her stirs my blood and my cock—a dangerous combination. The monster between my legs is a greedy bastard. He doesn’t care about Nicky or business. He just wants to get off. As much as I want to toy with her, I can’t. She’s not the purpose of my visit. My meeting with Roman requires all my attention. The future of Androvia depends on it.
“To be honest, I’m completely turned around.” Her voice is low and smooth and made for naughty whispers in the dark. My resolution to keep my dick in my pants waivers. What I wouldn’t give to dig my hand into that thick tangle of hair and fuck that mouth. My erection throbs in agreement.
“We can find the way together.” I adjust the cuffs of my tuxedo. Lord have mercy, what is she wearing? Some kind of slinky, silky gown clings to her breasts like a second skin, rising and falling with each breath, outlining the tight points of her nipples. The cornflower hue contrasts with the dark reddish-brown of her hair. Long slits on the sides reveal legs I’d like to have wrapped around my waist. She’s stunning. Vibrant.
“I think it’s this way.” She points toward the next junction, unaware of the war raging inside me. That’s when her gaze flits to the scene in the adjacent playroom. Two women in rubber catsuits spank a man wearing nothing but a dog collar and a smile. “Oh, my. Goodness. Um—” Her voice fades. An adorable blush races up the graceful column of her neck. It’s an odd reaction from someone chained to a stone wall less than an hour ago.
“That’s not something you see every day, is it?” My fingers clench. I’d love to wrap them around her milky throat while I fucked her from behind. To see the flush of sex spread over her alabaster breasts when she came. A laugh, something rare for me, bubbles in my chest. “They seem to be enjoying themselves.”
“I don’t want to watch it, but I can’t look away.” We stand shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the window. She cocks her head sideways to get a better perspective. “I wonder how they get into those rubber suits?”
“Lube,” I reply. “Lots of it.”
“Really?” She moves away from the playroom. I fall into step beside her, drawing in her scent—something sweet and floral with a hint of citrus. Her smile hits me like an unexpected punch to the gut. Mischief radiates from corner to corner. “Do you wear rubber often, sir?”
Sir? My heart skips a beat at the submissive address. Without knowing it, she’s triggered my barely contained need for dominance. Beads of perspiration gather on my forehead. I clear my throat, ignoring the desire to adjust my thickening cock. “Never. But I’ve been in the company of those who enjoy it.” A wisp of hair flutters across her cheek, begging me to brush it away. I clasp my hands behind my back.
“Is that a thing where you’re from? I thought the British were stodgy and conservative.”
“I’m not British.”
“Oh? I’m sorry. It’s just—” She’s still smiling. It brightens the shadowy recesses of the corridor. Very few people smile in my world. “Your accent reminds me of Oxfordshire.”
“I attended boarding school near there. Are you familiar with the area?”
“I have family in England.” At the next junction, her footsteps stall. “I think we want to go left here.”
It’s the wrong direction, but I’m not going to tell her. The longer we’re together, the more I can learn about her. I’m curious to know what she sees in Nicky, how he found her, if she enjoys power play as much as I do. “Is this your first time here?” Our shoulders brush. The accidental contact sends goosebumps racing up my arm. Does she feel it? The sexual attraction? Maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part, projecting my desire on her. After all, she had another man—my sworn enemy—inside her less than an hour ago. I should mind, but I don’t. In my
situation, an experienced woman saves time—something I don’t have a lot of these days.
“Yes.” She rubs her bicep, where my sleeve grazed her bare skin.
“I— Do you— That is, are you—” My tongue trips over itself. I’ve never had trouble making conversation with a woman before, yet one touch from this girl has me in a tizzy. Pull yourself together, man. I swallow and try again. “Will I see you here in the future?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not a member, just a guest for the evening.” She quickens her pace, seeming intent to leave my company as soon as possible. I can’t let that happen. Not until I know who she is. In the back of my mind, I calculate the odds of seducing this woman. Fucking her would serve two purposes—quench the ache in my balls and satisfy my vendetta against Nick the Dick.
“How else will I get to know you? Unless…” It’s a bold suggestion, but I can’t let her get away without knowing more. “Unless you tell me your name?”
“Breaching the NDA here is a serious offense.”
“I don’t play by anyone’s rules but my own.”
Although the hall is empty, she glances from side to side, like she’s afraid someone might hear us. Her voice lowers to a whisper. “I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I’ve heard that people disappear when they talk about this place to non-members.”
“Roman Menshikov and Nicky Tarnovsky don’t frighten me.” I dip down, placing my lips next to her ear, enjoying the clean scent of her shampoo. “I’m great at keeping secrets. In fact, if you slip your phone number into my pocket, I can keep that a secret too.”
The Royal Arrangement: Prequel to The Rebel Queen Page 1
