Red Velvet (The Velvet Rooms Book 3)

by Linnea May

I bite my lower lip, torn between the urge to respond and the way his intimidating tone prevents me from speaking. When I finally gather the words, they’re barely more than a whisper. “Yes, I understand.”

  He nods, looking satisfied if not happy with my reply.

  “You won’t regret this, little girl,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I promise.”

  The palpitations of my heart agree with him, though my mind is still clouded with aching doubt.

  Chapter 11

  Kade

  Her eyes grew wide as soon as we entered The Velvet Rooms, and they almost popped out of her head when I asked her to remove her coat. Her hesitation when she started to unbutton that single layer of protection is a telltale sign of her irresistible innocence. There might be a naughty nymph hiding behind that carefully built-up facade, but it’ll take time to free that side of her.

  She doesn’t know it yet, but I will ruin her.

  Not tonight, not tomorrow, not in a week. But I will wreck the person she is now and uncover something that might scare her as much as it enriches her.

  It doesn’t surprise me that she is good at following commands. Girls like her always are. It is in her nature to please, to do what is asked of her. I know that she was a good student, an obedient daughter and a reliable worker. She doesn’t have to tell me. That’s just who she is – and it’s that persona she is trying to break free from. I know her kind. I have seen it all before, but never in such a raw form, so untouched, so new to all of this.

  I fucking love it.

  Her little black dress is a classic that hugs her slender frame perfectly while showing off her legs just enough to see stockings underneath. Just like I told her to.

  I wonder if she obeyed my other demand as well.

  She’s hugging herself as if cold when we step inside the main area of The Velvet Rooms. A silent gasp escapes her O-shaped lips when she takes in the main receiving room and the open bar area, topped with lounges at the other side. Extravagant velvet-tufted button furniture rests on platforms lining the walls, allowing a little more privacy while overseeing the main room. They complement the overall atmosphere given off by the modernized Victorian décor of the interior and the castle-like appearance of the building.

  I’ve been here before, but it’s been a while since my last visit.

  Paying for pleasure gets old sooner than later. Even the sublime girls at this establishment were no different in that regard.

  Lila is the first date I’m bringing here, and she’s a perfect choice. I can’t get enough of her virtuous gaze as she wanders the room next to me, still with her arms wrapped around herself for security. Her tits are anything but big, but they’re squeezed together by her tense self-hug, revealing that she isn’t wearing a bra.

  What a good girl.

  I put my arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer as I lead the way to a secluded lounge area at the back of the room. She appears to be grateful to be closer to me, guarded and protected from the intimidating environment. We retreat to an upholstered love seat, and as soon as we sit, a waitress emerges to take our orders.

  “Bourbon, neat,” I tell her, casting a questioning look in Lila’s direction.

  Her wide eyes dart back and forth between me and the girl in the black skirt.

  “I, er… white wine?” Lila stammers, looking at me as if she’s asking for approval. “Dry white wine?”

  “How about a 2012 Faiveley Corton Charlemagne Grand Cru?” the waitress offers. “Dry on the palate, but with a very pleasant finish.”

  I can tell by the look on Lila’s face that she has no idea what the girl’s talking about, but she’s good at playing it cool.

  “Sure, that sounds all right,” she responds, fake confidence lacing her voice as she gives the waitress a polite smile.

  “Dry white wine, huh?” I remark once the waitress leaves. “I would’ve taken you for a champagne girl.”

  Lila huffs, and it’s the first time her shoulders have loosened up since we stepped inside the venue. She leans back against the soft upholstery, finally letting go of that shy embrace and placing her hands in her lap instead.

  “I have a diverse taste when it comes to alcohol,” she enlightens me. “But I’ll admit, I’ve never had a… whatever Grand Cru before.”

  “Neither have I,” I say, catching her nervous gaze. “But they only serve the best here. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

  Her expression hardens and she lowers her eyes before she speaks. “Have you been here a lot?”

  “No,” I reply. “And it’s been a while.”

  She looks concerned, more than she should. Girls like her have a tendency to compare when there’s nothing to compare. I wish she could just let it go, but instead she opts for an uncomfortable question.

  “Have you ever… hooked up with one of them here?” she probes. “One of the girls in black?”

  She’s referring to the girls walking around in black lingerie, the so-called devils. Unlike the angels in pure white attire, they’re the ones who accompany clients upstairs to play in the actual velvet rooms.

  I’m still contemplating a gentle way to respond when we’re interrupted by the waitress, balancing a silver tray with both our drinks. Lila bites her lip, coyly smiling at the girl as she thanks her while accepting the slim glass.

  We raise our glasses in a subtle cheers before sipping on the soothing beverages. She tries to be cautious and appreciative but is unable to hide her thirst for wine. I don’t blame her, but I won’t let her have more than this one drink before we go upstairs.

  If we go upstairs.

  “So?” she asks, looking at me from the side. “Have you?”

  Lying isn’t in my nature, so I respond with a simple nod.

  Disappointment spreads across her pretty face, unsurprisingly. But she doesn’t look just hurt at my revelation. There’s more to it, something that’s hard to put a finger on. Is it concern? Apprehension? What does she worry about?

  “Is that how you know my sister?” she asks, catching me completely off guard.

  “Why the fuck would you say that?” I blurt, sounding a lot angrier than I intended.

  She looks up at me, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. “So… no?”

  I shake my head violently. “Why the hell would I—”

  But then it dawns on me.

  That’s how she knew about this place.

  Her sister.

  “Your sister, has she worked here?” I ask the obvious. “Before she met the young Mr. Graves.”

  Lila nods. “They met here,” she says. “He was her client.”

  Fuck.

  I can’t fucking believe this.

  How could I not know about this? Not even suspect it?

  “You didn’t know?” Lila probes, hope echoing from her words.

  I shake my head. “I had no idea.”

  “Oh,” she sighs. “That’s a relief. I really thought you might… but then, how do you know my sister and her husband? Why were you at their wedding?”

  “Business. My family is involved with Graves’ business. I was there to represent them.”

  “Oh,” she repeats, taking another sip from her wine.

  “So, what do you think?” I ask, eager to change the subject.

  Her questioning eyes meet mine.

  “Of this,” I clarify, adding a wide gesture toward the room.

  She clears her throat while scanning our surroundings as if taking it in for the very first time. The night is still young, so the place is still rather calm and empty. I knew it wouldn’t be crowded until later in the evening, as most clients tend to show up an hour or two before the midnight show. It’s exactly why I asked to meet her this early.

  “It’s very tasteful,” she assesses. “Beautiful decor, very good wine…”

  “Does it scare you?”

  She inhales sharply, throwing me a look from the side. “This? No. But that might.”

  My eyes follow as she points to the
spiral staircase at the other end of the room.

  “The playrooms are upstairs, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, they are,” I reply, nodding.

  “They have different colors. Black, blue and—”

  “Red,” I finish, and our eyes meet in a quiet understanding.

  “That’s where we’ll go,” she assumes, her voice softer than before.

  “Is that what you want?”

  She nods without hesitation. “I think that’d be appropriate.”

  “Appropriate?” I repeat, chuckling.

  I’m surprised at how serious her face is now, determination replacing all that nervous modesty from before. She presses her lips together, not elaborating, but not hiding her obvious eagerness either.

  “Did your sister tell you what the colors stand for, too?”

  She nods, and even in this faint light I can see the blush on her young cheeks.

  “So you know the red room is all about—”

  “Pain,” she finishes. “Spankings, whips, clamps—all that. Yes, I know.”

  Her voice is trembling ever so slightly, revealing how hard it is for her to utter these words.

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  She meets my question with a blank stare, her cheeks blooming red.

  “How do you feel about being spanked? Handcuffed and whipped?” I clarify. “Hard.”

  She releases a small gasp. “I-I don’t know.” Fear coats her words. She takes another sip of wine, shaking her head as she swallows.

  “I’ve never tried,” she adds. “How am I supposed to know how I feel about this if I’ve never done anything—”

  “There’s one way to find out,” I interject, moving closer to her.

  Heat radiates from her body, and I’m sure it’s not all due to the wine she’s had. Her chest heaves under deep breaths, her fingers tensing around the wineglass. But she doesn’t shy away from me, or seem bothered by being this close to me. On the contrary, I can feel her swaying toward me.

  “Yes,” she breathes. “We could try—”

  I silence her by placing my finger on her painted lips and she casts me a confused look.

  “Sure, that’s one way,” I tell her, shaking my head. “But I was thinking of something else.”

  Defeat flutters across her face, followed by a crease between her eyebrows. I offer a mischievous smile before continuing.

  “Just listen to me.”

  I lean in even closer, almost hovering above her as I place my mouth right next to her ear. Her lips are trembling as she awaits my words, her fingers curling in her lap, trying to hold on to the dark fabric that stretches around her waist.

  “Close your eyes.”

  We exchange one last reassuring look before she follows my command, shielding her curious gaze with fluttering eyelids.

  “Remember what it felt like when my hand closed around your throat, when I squeezed, when I threatened to choke you. When you had no control over what would happen next, that moment when you were at my mercy,” I whisper, enunciating every syllable. “Now imagine what else that hand is capable of. Imagine what it would be like to feel that same hand burn on your skin, leaving red marks as I take you like I mean it. Rough, ruthless, bringing you closer to that space you crave.”

  Her breathing has turned erratic, jolting her slim body. Her eyes are moving rapidly beneath her lids as if they were chasing a wild butterfly, bouncing from one side to the other with no way to run. I can tell that something inside her wants to run, that she wants to open her eyes and feel safe again, casting me an indignant look before she tells me off.

  But she does no such thing. She just sits there, her back straight, her chest heaving—and her hard nipples poking through the thin layer of her dress.

  She doesn’t flinch when I place my hand on her thigh, testing, waiting, observing before I move on, slowly sliding up to her core. A faint gasp, barely audible, hisses through her parted lips when my hand disappears beneath the hem of her dress.

  Her legs part on their own. I don’t have to tell her.

  “Just imagine,” I continue, my fingers caressing the soft skin on her naked inner thigh. “That choking, that was nothing. Imagine what real confinement could feel like, what it would be like to be tied up, cuffed, powerless and at the mercy of my will. Your senses heightened, your skin prickling, your mind screaming at the pain, but your body still wants more.”

  A sigh equal to a moan fills the air between us when I reach her center, pausing for a moment before my fingertips meet her soft lips. I let another moment pass, watching the beautiful sight of her heaving beneath my touch, before I gently spread her lips with two fingers, letting another slide between them.

  I knew it.

  She’s dripping wet.

  Chapter 12

  Lila

  I’m so terribly embarrassed.

  And so turned on.

  I can feel his eyes on my ass as we climb the stairs, a stare so intense that it almost feels like a touch. Darkness greats us as we reach the upper floor and I squint, trying to see more than vague outlines while he comes to a halt next to me. He stands so close that our arms touch, mine naked while his is covered with the heavy fabric of his suit jacket. I wish he was wearing as little as I am. I feel so exposed next to him, so little and defenseless.

  A loud inhale speaks of my surprise when he puts his arm around my shoulders, squeezing gently before he pushes me forward. We only take three steps before we come to another halt in front of a fork. The floor splits into several hallways leading away from the stairs, each of them lined with velvet curtains. I can’t see any doors, but there are little lightbulbs along the way, attached to the ceiling in consistent intervals. Most of the lights are switched on, gleaming in different colors: white, blue and red.

  Kade moves his hand down my back, placing it just above my ass when he gives me a gentle push forward.

  “Red light on the left, far end,” he whispers as we walk down the corridor.

  The heavy curtains barely move as we walk past them, and while I still can’t see any doors behind them, I hear voices coming from behind one of the curtains, right beneath a bulb that’s switched off.

  Someone is whispering.

  Followed by moaning.

  I slow down without realizing it, swaying toward the noises coming from my right. Kade lets me listen for just a second before he pushes me to keep moving.

  I blush, feeling like a creep.

  There are obviously people having sex behind that curtain.

  Why would I listen? Why would I stalk behind the curtain like a pervert?

  Would other people listen to us?

  Would they watch?

  Would he invite others to watch?

  “Lila.”

  He says my name as if we’ve known each other forever, confidence and intimacy seeping through every syllable. I didn’t even notice that we’d reached the red light at the far end of the corridor. We’re standing in front of a thick velvet curtain in a deep bloodred color emphasized by the crimson light above.

  “After you,” he whispers, his hand still resting on the small of my back.

  I take a deep breath and reach forward, unsure what to expect when I push the curtain aside. I need both hands to move the heavy fabric out of my way, but I’m glad to find out that it takes so much labor to reveal the secrets behind it.

  Because there is no door, the velvet curtain the only thing that will grant us a hint of privacy.

  I step inside and he follows closely, towering behind me like an oversized shadow while I take in the room.

  Words fail me as I assess the view in front of me.

  I wouldn’t say I’m shocked, not even surprised. The room looks exactly as I imagined.

  But it’s bigger than I expected, and it has to be spacious like this to make room for all the furniture inside. Red button tufted upholstery lines the walls, giving the room an eerie atmosphere despite the cozy illumination. The light is stil
l dim, red of course, but just bright enough to get a good idea of the promises this space holds. A queen-size bed sets against the wall to my right, covered with black silk linen. Everything in here is either black or red, it seems. The glass vitrine in front of me offers a variety of noble-looking sex toys, most of them made of silver steel that reflects even the tiniest arrays of light. I step closer, scanning the plugs of different shape and size, my eyes resting with worry on other items, sharp-looking objects that appear as if they are meant to cut into flesh.

  “I don’t want to bleed,” I hear myself say before I can control the stream of thought evoked by those images.

  He steps closer, resting his hand on my shoulder when he replies in a soft whisper, “I can’t promise that.”

  A hot clamp closes around my heart.

  Did he really just say that?

  “But I can promise you to never use any of those on you,” he adds, pointing at the knifelike instruments before us. “I’ll never cut you. I won’t use steel on your skin for the purpose of making you bleed.”

  “Good,” I say without looking at him.

  He retreats when I turn around to take in the rest of the room. Right behind us, next to the entrance, is an X nailed to the wall, with shackles at each end.

  “A St. Andrews Cross,” I breathe.

  “Correct,” he responds. “Looks like you did your research.”

  I did. Long before I ever met him. I may have never done anything even remotely kinky, but I have a sister who worked in this business for years, and her tales sparked my curiosity long ago.

  That’s why I also recognize the leather upholstered piece of furniture in the other corner of the room. It’s a bondage bench. Hanging along the wall next to it is a display of several items meant for whipping. He doesn’t stop me when I approach the wall to take a closer look at the leathery whips and floggers, carefully caressing one of them as I try to imagine what it might feel like to be whipped with it.

  Slow and deliberate steps behind me announce his impending touch. I lean back into the warmth of his body when he places a hand on my shoulder once again, squeezing ever so slightly.

  “Pull up your dress.”