Control: XXX Vadim Book 1 (Club XXX 4)
Page 6
I wake up and order from room service, half-convinced that the card on file will be declined, and Vadim Gorgoshev will have the last fucking laugh. But not even ten minutes later, my meal arrives steaming hot and I feel bold enough to write a generous tip on the napkin afterward with a message to charge to the account.
After changing into the blue dress from my shopping spree, I head down to the concierge and request assistance in finding a flight straight back to California, ASAP. Sure, I told Vadim I’d go to his little sex club and orgy myself silly. But that was just a boast made in the heat of the moment, right?
“I’ve found two flights, Miss,” the concierge says, drawing my attention. “Both don’t leave until tomorrow morning. Should I book one for you?”
“There isn’t one sooner? Tonight, at least?”
He shakes his head apologetically. “I’m afraid not. Though, if you’re looking to kill time, I’ve been informed that you are still authorized to use the town car should you require it.”
“Alright, I’ll take the earliest flight. Thanks anyway.” Frowning, I accept the booking information he gives me and then return to the room, feeling more trapped than free.
But then I spot it. It being a platinum, no-limit, fancy smanshy credit card that Vadim gave me for my dress. I could have sworn I’d returned it to him. Even thinking about using it now would be both illegal and reckless. Not to mention petty as hell.
Minutes later, I’m in the town car, directing William to the shopping district I’d scoped out yesterday. I find my favorite designer—whose clothing I couldn’t afford guilt-free, even while on my parent’s tap—and I march in, guns blazing.
I buy the sexiest dress I’ve ever seen in my entire life and shoes to match. And the purse. And the complementary faux fur stole and diamond-studded belt.
It’s the outfit heist of the century, and I’m fully resigned to have the card declined as the salesgirl goes to ring me up. It’s the thought that counts—one last screw you to the bastard who hurt me way more than I’d like to admit. Not just the whole “I used you to embarrass my brother and his family because I am a dick” thing. Maybe my irritation has less to do with that and more to do with…
The whole “I don’t want to fuck you, or get sucked off by you, and by the way, you’re not even my type” thing.
Hurt pride is a vengeful, nasty animal—one best soothed with lots of retail therapy.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt as the saleswoman returns, brandishing the card. “My husband probably cut me off. It’s for the best—”
“Having cold feet?” she wonders, glancing at my spoils of war. “It went through, but if you like, I can cancel the charges?”
“No!” I lurch to my feet, my thirst for vengeance suddenly renewed. “I’ll take them all, please. And let’s throw in one or two of those brooches to match. And I’d love to see your jewelry collection. And how about some more shoes?”
William drives me to the address listed on Vadim’s little sex club calling card, and my cheeks burn the entire trip. My heart skips too, partly terrified, partly excited.
I don’t know what to expect when the car finally comes to a stop before this mysterious Club XXX.
A place that looks like the gate to a sleek, exclusive corner of hell, isn’t it. My mouth falls open as I take in the remote building formed of bold, eye-catching lines. It’s a gothic mixture of the macabre and the modern. Turrets stab at the indigo sky, creating a striking silhouette against a forested backdrop. The entrance itself consists of stone columns framing a black door, trimmed in glittering gold. A stone path leads to it before forking into a massive circular driveway like some beckoning gesture.
Any doubt I felt dissolves as my lips part into a massive grin. Color me impressed.
I approach the door warily, discovering no doorman or bouncer waiting to deny entry. It’s as if the act of palming the handle itself is the only method required—a dare all on its own. Are you even brave enough?
I hold my breath as I push my way inside, entering a world of black marble and gray walls ripped right from my most deranged fantasies. Granite floors accent the circular foyer, making every footstep echo times a thousand. There is no sign, it seems, proclaiming “sex rooms this way.” Just three silver Xs adorning the space above a curving archway across from the entrance serving as the only advertisement. Two other arches frame it, each leading off into different directions.
Pulsating music emanating from the leftmost one serves to cast a mysterious aura, and all I can do is see where it takes me.
I follow a wide hall to another archway and discover my first clue that the place isn’t entirely deserted. A man stands beside it, dressed in a black shirt and slacks. Authority radiates from his stern gaze and, without thinking, I hand him the business card.
“Vadim sent me?” Why I make it a question, I have no idea.
He looks it over and then nods, presumably giving me permission to enter.
Here goes nothing…
I take a few steps forward and nearly faint. What at first looks like a typical—though decadent—lounge turns out to be so much more on second glance. A long ebony-topped bar dominates one end, and an L-shaped stage divides the room in half on the other. Crowning the space is a row of floor-to-ceiling windows providing a view of the darkness beyond.
And it is better than I could have hoped.
Décor consisting of black leather with bright drops of blood-red accents crafts such a sexy allure I almost squeal. The icing on the cake, however, is the clientele milling about the massive room. Everyone here makes my red party dress from last night look like a nun’s frock in comparison. Beautiful women wear strips of leather and silk masquerading as dresses while men shamelessly parade in a mixture of suits or less.
I instantly feel oddly…at home. When an elegantly clad server comes to take my jacket, I relinquish it eagerly. And with renewed determination, I delve into my newly found freedom.
Chapter Eight
I know firsthand that the absolute worst thing you can do to someone is pretend that they no longer exist. Not in the petty, childish way you might ostracize them on the playground. No. This level of indifference requires skill and tact. You acknowledge the person, of course. You simper and utter all the right niceties as if they were anyone else—that’s the key to it. As if they were anyone else. Someone meaningless without a string of memories attached to them.
Someone whose name didn’t require remembering.
Someone worthless. Thus, such is the ultimate blow I swore I would never ever inflict upon someone no matter how much I hated them.
Until now. Hate has nothing to do with it, just pride. So the icy cool businessman came to see how I would play in his world? Well, I can thrive, regardless of his presence.
Let him watch and learn.
He arrives just when I start to let my guard down enough to take a stool at the bar. Acclimating to a debauched club is a surprisingly gradual experience. One can’t merely jump in and star in a six-person gang bang right out of the gate. Fitting in requires confidence and finesse—like the time when I felt old enough to enter the sauna at my parent’s country club. I couldn’t let my unease show on my face or Barb—a bitchy socialite who liked to gossip in said sauna—would have sent me out on my butt the second I entered.
No. I had to play the game and meld seamlessly into the background. Which I’ve been doing here, until now. It’s not like I’m waiting for him to show up—but the entire room notices when he does.
Dressed in a black suit tailored close to his frame, the bastard arrives with an aura comparable to a king making an entrance with a full retinue. Though alone, he oozes…ownership. Like he’s too good to step foot in this club, let alone fuck anyone in it. He’s merely here to observe, for his own entertainment.
And it seems I may be his main attraction. Is his aim to gloat? His eyes dart in my direction, and I turn away, keeping my smile intact. Inside, I’m seething, and when the bartender appears
before me, I order my Achilles heel.
“A sangria, please,” I say. “Don’t water it down.”
He nods, and then I scan my nearest surroundings for someone, anyone. I told him I was going to spend my night sucking cock. Well, darn it, that’s just what I’ll do. On my third perusal of the room, I notice a man advancing in my direction. Dressed in a tailored suit, he’s probably a businessman and disgustingly rich.
When he raises a sensually questioning eyebrow, I simper in response. Target acquired. I beckon him over with a wave just as my Sangria arrives to provide my reckless impulses extra ammunition.
He’s tall. Blond. Not my type, but why does it matter? His body isn’t bad to look at, and when he smiles, he’s easy on the eyes if a bit older than I would have aimed for.
“I’m Tiffy,” I tell him, extending my hand.
“Geoff,” he replies in a husky baritone. “Pleased to make your acquaintance—” He breaks off suddenly and smoothly withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here with someone.”
“Huh?” Following his alarmed gaze, I look over my shoulder and stiffen. Perched on a black couch nearly halfway across the room, Vadim sits facing my direction, a whiskey glass in hand. Judging from his casual, relaxed position, I don’t think he’s moved or said anything to give the impression we were together—but the expression on his face…
I feel a tug in my belly as if an invisible hook has caught the flesh and yanked. It’s certainly not how he looked at me in the Six lounge, that’s for darn sure. Mocking. Daring. …Possessive?
Easy, Tiffy, my inner bitch warns. Eye on the prize.
I blink innocently and squint at the aloof billionaire. Then I sigh and shake my head. “I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken,” I tell Geoff, turning back to him. “I’ve never seen that man before in my life.”
“Oh.” He frowns, confused, only to blink in shock when I palm his bicep, testing the give of the muscle. He’s no surprisingly-built, slender waif, but he feels solid enough. Satisfied, I shift toward him and let my eyes glaze over, my smile warm.
“I’m here all alone,” I tell him. “Keep me company?”
He grabs a nearby stool and pulls up beside me while I sip frantically on my sangria. By the time he brushes my hand, drawing my attention, my confident grin is back in place.
“Come here often?” he wonders, while internally, I cringe at what had been my tired and worn pick-up line not too long ago. Had it sounded so darn cliché when I said it?
No wonder Vadim lost interest.
Still smiling, I shake my head and eye him through my lashes. “This is my first time,” I say, utilizing my sexy purr once more.
He falls for the bait hook, line, and sinker. His hand grazes my thigh as he grips the edge of my stool and tugs me closer to his.
“I could tell,” he says confidently. “You look fresh. There is nothing like your first time, eh? I’m curious as to how a girl like you even found your way in a place like this.”
Gag. Maintaining my simpering grin suddenly takes more effort, my teeth clenched. “I know a guy,” I say.
Geoff raises an eyebrow, impressed. “You must have friends in high places. I feel like I had to sell my soul just to get an invite. The owner is selective as hell.”
I file away the information for later. For some reason, I suspect he isn’t referring to Vadim, given he didn’t seem to recognize him. Who could his business partner be, I wonder?
“There are several owners actually,” Geoff adds. “But Maxim runs this part of the club. If you’re here, I assume you’ve heard of its reputation?” He glances me over, lingering on my cleavage while I take another sip of wine to disguise my shock.
Maxim owns this? His brother. I risk sneaking a glance at Vadim, more confused than ever. Zap! Our eyes meet with a jolt—it’s like he knew I’d look at him. Knew I’d jump and turn away just in time to catch him sipping from his glass.
Damn it.
“Are you alright?” Geoff tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, his tone concerned.
I nod, fighting to stay focused. “I’m fine.” To prove it, I fixate stubbornly on his mouth, refusing to look anywhere else. Even as the back of my neck prickles with the uncomfortable knowledge that someone is watching me, daring me to notice.
“I’m looking for a teacher,” I murmur, inclining my head to display my throat. “I’m very, very eager to learn.”
“Good,” Geoff murmurs, his smile dashing.
This is good. Better than good. Barely ten minutes in, and I’ve successfully infiltrated my first sex club. I even scored my first test subject. All is well.
As far as my list is concerned, check, check.
So why the hell am I shaking?
“I could oblige you,” Geoff says with a resonating laugh. “I take it you don’t have a private room yet?”
I sit forward, curious enough to ignore everything else. Private, he says? Whatever it is sounds absolutely delicious. I decide on the spot that I must experience one before the night’s end. “No,” I say. “For now.”
“Good.” He grabs a napkin and fishes a pen from his breast pocket. After scribbling a number onto the corner of it, he hands the napkin to me. “Come join me when you’ve finished your drink. I’ll head up first and…prepare it for your first lesson.” He looks me over from head to toe, and any other day I would be elated by the attention. Actual, lustful male attention.
As it stands, all I feel is…anxious. My palms are slick, my heart racing. I must still be hungover.
“Let me walk you out,” I suggest as Geoff starts for the exit. I step up to him, linking my arm with his. “So, I can see which direction you go.”
We start for the main hall and nearly run smack dab into a man who seemingly appears from nowhere to rudely block our path.
“Pardon,” Geoff hisses.
I merely smile sweetly and pat the stranger on his arm as I would do for anyone who nearly ran me over. “Excuse me,” I say, slipping past him.
Deep down, I sense something in the atmosphere shift—a warning drop in the air pressure like the kind that proceeds a bad storm. Oblivious, Geoff runs his fingers down my arm and then enters the hall, heading for an archway opposite the club floor.
“There are the stairs,” he tells me. “The rooms are on the second floor.”
“Ah,” I nod and flutter my eyelashes. The second he’s gone from view, I retreat to the bar and down my sangria as if it’s the antidote to nerves. I’m not approached once. When I finally finish, I enter the hall while telling myself with every step that I can do this.
I had sex with one stranger on a drunken whim. What’s another? And hopefully another?
But this pang in my chest won’t ease no matter how many ways I envision sucking off Geoff. The stairs he referenced lurk at the end of another hall and curve to join a split-level landing that overlooks the main foyer, unseen from the first floor. The rooms themselves must be behind a row of polished, ebony doors. Geoff’s is apparently near the end.
Sighing, I square my shoulders and march forward. You can do this, Tiffy. One step after the other…
Or not. A hand grabs my arm, and someone drags me into a room at least four doors away from Geoff. Stunned, I wrench away from them and whirl around, a scream poised at the back of my throat.
In the end, it escapes my lips as a hiss instead.
Vadim glowers, looking so beautiful it hurts. His eyes are even more electric, his jaw clenched, his posture broadcasting authority. It’s such a contrast to his icy, closed-off persona from the other night. I feel my throat dampen.
At least before I remember that I hate him.
“What do you want?” I demand when he doesn’t speak. “To have me mentally scar a few more children?” I gesture to my outfit—it’s ten times more revealing than my ensemble from last night. A black, skintight mini dress leaves little to the imagination, and two slits on either side go up so high they might as well touch my armpits.
“Leave me alone,” I snap, ignoring how his gaze lingers over my partially exposed breasts. Turning on my heel, I march for the door.
“Wait—” He grasps my wrist, yanking me right back.
“What?” I whip around to face him again, snatching my hand back. “Why are you even here?”
“Curiosity,” he grates coldly, though I get the sense that he responded to me without thinking. His attention is otherwise consumed—rapt, his gaze traces me again, and I can’t suppress a shiver in response. “I wondered if you were serious,” he murmurs, eyeing an exposed sliver of my hip. “Or…”
“Ha!” I throw my head back for a nasty laugh. “Or if I was bluffing? Oh, I was so serious. Bachelor number one is already lined up. Curious as to how you stack up? Stick around, and you just may find out.”
“I…apologize,” he grits out, as if it physically pains him to admit as much. “If you were offended.”
“Offended?” I don’t know whether to laugh at him or give him the finger. “You treated me like a stupid slut. Of course, I was offended. Now get out of my way!”
“Ta gueule,” he hisses, shifting to block my path once more. “Let me speak—”
“Don’t you dare cuss at me in another language,” I snarl, recognizing his tone though I don’t understand the term. French? “And listen to you? I think not. Now, excuse me, stranger whom I’ve never met before. Stop following me.” I wave him off with a haughty flick of my fingers. “If you don’t mind, I’m about to get laid—”
“Wait!” He snatches my forearm the second I take a step toward the door. This time I lash out, gasping as my hand bounces harmlessly against his chest. He steps into me, grasping my chin. Before I can react, his lips capture mine, silencing me with a brutal kiss that leaves my mind reeling.
It’s…hot. Really hot. He grips my hips, his fingers fanning out. Then he breaks off and shoves me toward a leather chaise. I lean over it, scrambling to find my balance.