Relentless

by Skye Jordan

  A middle-aged man with a clean-shaven jaw, an expensive suit, and a royal blue half mask approached her-the third man to approach since she'd taken a seat. The blue mask indicated that he was a member, which meant he was elite and wealthy, possibly famous in some way. His hair was dark, but graying handsomely at the temples. He held a drink in one hand and offered her his other in greeting. “What do you think so far?”

  She'd been using her red mask and her newbie status as her out tonight, since she had no intention of getting involved in the activities.

  “Little too soon to tell.” She shook his hand-quickly, firmly-then deliberately pulled hers away. “I'm not ready to jump into the game just yet. But thank you for the greeting.”

  His grin widened, and he chuckled. “Don't think I've ever heard such a polite 'fuck off.'”

  “I didn't mean it that way.” She held his gaze and softened her smile. No one liked to be rejected. “I'm truly just trying to acclimate.”

  “I understand. Hope to see you again.”

  “Thank you.”

  As he moved on, Giselle let out a long, slow exhale of relief, hoping her disinterest in three different men would translate clearly to the other patrons.

  Movement near the door drew her gaze, and she glanced that direction as the devilishly hot stranger from the lobby strolled in. His mask was also blue, but his girls were visitors, if Giselle remembered the color-coding correctly. While his face was covered with either mask or heavy scruff, she could still get a feel for his strong, handsome features. And there was just no hiding that body. He wore black slacks and a white button-down, both fitted to all his lean muscle. He had each strong arm curved around a beautiful, built brunette, but his gaze was directly, purposefully, on Giselle as he entered.

  Her heart took an extra hard beat. Her breath hitched. And Giselle looked away again. But now she found herself caught between the live, erotic, passionate sex onstage and the stranger who made her think of Troy.

  Troy.

  Her heart constricted with a bittersweet squeeze. She let her eyes glaze over the empty wineglass in her hand as the pain vibrated through her body like a plucked chord, then slowly stilled, leaving a familiar ache. She'd met men who'd reminded her of Troy over the years-a smile, a voice, a laugh-but none quite as much as this man, yet she hadn't even met him.

  And she really didn't want to think about Troy tonight. Not here.

  Music thumped in her ears, something techno and sexual. The sounds drifting from the stage grew in frequency and intensity. Giselle glanced around for a shadow server. She met the woman's eyes and instantly knew her silent request would be filled.

  The level of nonverbal communication here awed her, and curiosity pulled her gaze back to the devil and his demons. He'd taken up residence on a small love seat on the opposite side of the seating area, but instead of watching the rising passion on stage or engaging in foreplay with his two beauties, his heavy-lidded dark eyes watched her.

  Giselle held his stare for an extended moment with a strange mix of fear and attraction melding into angst. The thought that he recognized her made alarm burn across her neck. She didn't care what the guide had told her about their strict confidentiality rules, didn't care how Chad had assured her that Rendezvous was secure. She still grew nervous she'd be identified and outed. And had to deliberately remind herself all publicity at this stage of her career was good publicity.

  She forced the tension from her shoulders and broke the devil's gaze as a shadow server set Giselle's second glass of wine on the table. She nodded a thank-you and drank deep as dual moans exploded on stage. When she looked up, she found the man banging his partner in a frenzy of hard, quick thrusts.

  Like watching a train wreck, Giselle couldn't look away. The open, expressive carnality infused her with an intense craving. The raw, rough sexual acts made something elemental claw at her gut.

  God. It had been so damn long since Giselle had been handled like that, she'd forgotten what it felt like. But the sights and sounds brought back memories. Only, the memories were attached to Troy. He'd known how to fuck like the worst of the bad boys, how to make love so sweetly it brought tears to her eyes, and every combination in between.

  Giselle took another deep drink and glanced toward the devil, searching for the qualities that reminded her of her first love. Their gazes clicked with an explosive connection, a match to propane. Heat rattled her core and spread outward.

  She knew she needed to look away. But something about his gaze challenged her to watch as the women rubbed all over him. One kissed his neck and combed her hand through his long, dark waves. The other knelt between his spread thighs, unbuttoning his shirt, and following the open path with her mouth.

  And they did it all while he watched Giselle.

  Why did she find that so…electrifying?

  She finished her second glass of wine and spoke to the shadow server when she returned with a third. “Can I get something else, please?”

  “Of course.” She crouched to Giselle's level and smiled, instantly turning from an elusive slave-like figure to a real woman. The sight helped Giselle relax. “What would you like?”

  “A snakebite?” She was ridiculously off the wagon, but if there was ever a time she needed a little Dutch courage, tonight was the night. “Guinness and cider?”

  “Absolutely,” she said softly. “One of my favorites.”

  “Thank you.”

  The woman moved gracefully around the guests and out of the salon. And when Giselle's gaze paused in the devil's vicinity, she found him pushing from his seat, his long muscled body stretching to its glorious full height-his gaze purposefully on hers.

  Her stomach grew wings and fluttered, making her a little nauseated. What would she say if he approached her? What if he recognized her?

  But her distress was wasted. He simply wrapped his arms around the women he was with and led them toward the lobby…and the various themed sex rooms beyond.

  A mixture of disappointment and relief expanded in her gut. This was really for the best because Giselle wasn't just out of her league here, she was out of her sport. Normally, she was ultraconfident. Her childhood hopscotching through foster homes had forced her to speak up for herself. Her adulthood living her life in front of fans and cameras had honed her independence into a buoyant persona that had served her well in her career.

  But after Troy, sex became one of those neglected areas of her life. The one she never had time for. The one that nobody tempted her to explore. And one that carried a certain amount of risk as her success grew. Now, sitting at the center of a hedonistic jungle, that self-assured woman dissipated into someone who was more nervous than in control.

  So she did what she always did when she found herself in an uncomfortable position-she pretended, something every neglected child excelled at.

  She returned her attention to the stage where the male performer flipped the woman onto her belly, guided his cock between her legs, and pounded her from behind. Giselle watched the full length of his impressive cock slam into the woman over and over, each thrust eliciting dual cries of ecstasy.

  Her belly squeezed into a ball of desire. But this was a dark desire. A needier, greedier desire she rarely experienced. One that turned her on in a very unique way. And, dammit, she wasn't here to get turned on. She was here to learn how to perform so that others got turned on when they watched her.

  She forced her gaze to the audience, searching for reactions, for…something…that would give her help figuring out how to turn people on from the stage. Which was ironic considering how much of her life she currently spent on stage entertaining thousands. But she only found clusters of people mauling each other. The open display of foreplay en masse short-circuited her sexual connections. Her body experienced overload-overload with no outlet.

  This had been a lousy idea on Chad's part. She should have gone to a strip club. There she could at least watch the way women danced to please the customers. But she could
n't very well just stroll into one of those. Maybe she'd rent a few videos. But, what kind of videos would give her what she needed? What she really needed was practice. And just how in the hell would she manage that?

  With another shift of her crossed legs, she let out a breath and glanced to her right, searching for the waitress. She was done here. She'd just pound her snakebite, wander back to her suite and pass out.

  “Your drink.” The smooth, deep male voice came from her left, and Giselle startled, cutting her gaze that direction. Only to find herself eye to eye with the devil. Her belly quaked, then floated.

  “Oh shit.” She laughed the words, covering her heart with her hand. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry.”

  He didn't smile, but the thin lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled with humor, and close up he reminded her less of Troy. His eyes were the same rich color of gooey-just-baked-brownies, but his hair was darker, his lips fuller, his jaw squarer. And his body was much thicker and stronger, carrying at least forty more pounds of muscle. Still, there was something…

  “I commandeered your drink from the bartender,” he said. “Mind if I sit?”

  His voice was deeper than Troy's too. Smoother than Troy's.

  And why in the hell was she still thinking about Troy?

  “I, um…” she stammered, forcing herself to speak loud enough to be heard over the music, “I'm only here to watch.”

  “That works for me. You watch them; I'll watch you.”

  And he was way, way, way more confident than Troy.

  His moves were swift and smooth as he dragged the other chair closer to hers and slid into it, still managing that casual, I'm-so-hot slouch in a chair far too small for his size. The position made his unbuttoned shirt fall open, showing a muscled chest, ripped abs, and ink on one of his pecs that disappeared beneath the fabric. Giselle's mouth watered without her consent. But she was also annoyed.

  “What if I don't want you watching me?”

  His mouth tipped up, a little more on the right. “Then you shouldn't have come to a swingers club, angel.”

  Angel.

  The generic pet name plucked that chord beneath her ribs again. Troy had called her angel.

  The devil's gaze scoured her face, slid down her neck, and wandered over her chest showing in the deep vee of her dress, making her whole body tingle. She'd decided on a middle-of-the-road, simple, black lace cocktail dress in the hope of melting into the crowd, something she hadn't been able to do since her second album went platinum. But the way the devil was looking at her told her she'd failed again, only this time, it seemed she was interesting for a whole different reason.

  “And…” He let the word hang in the air as his gaze slid back up her body and settled on hers. “It would have helped if you hadn't been born so fucking beautiful.”

  Surprise zinged across her skin. What in the hell did a woman say to that?

  She picked up her drink and let the velvet Guinness slide down her throat as she pretended to watch the stage, but moving her head and refocusing her eyes made her realize just how quickly the alcohol had hit her.

  “Look,” she said, glancing his way again, only to find those dark eyes fixed on her face. “I appreciate you bringing the drink, but I'm not here to hook up. Sorry.”

  “Meeting someone?”

  “No. And I don't want to meet anyone either.”

  “That's easy to do here since we don't use names. You can meet someone without really meeting them.” He grinned, oh so full of himself. “Like you're not meeting me now.”

  She frowned. “You're hurting my brain.”

  He laughed, the sound low and easy and light, then hit her with a very pointed “If you're not interested, why have you been watching me?”

  “No, no, no.” She wasn't going to let him turn this conversation around. “You're watching me.”

  “You wouldn't know I was watching unless you were watching back.”

  She couldn't stem the embarrassed grin that lifted her mouth. The alcohol was definitely helping her relax. She shrugged one shoulder and looked away. “You sort of remind me of someone.”

  “Do I?” he asked with too much intensity, leaning closer. “Who's that?”

  “I'd rather not say.”

  “Is that reminder a good thing or a bad thing?”

  She thought of Troy, and for the millionth time since she'd walked away , Giselle wondered where he was now. When she spoke with Nathan, he always assured her Troy was fine, but she never asked for more and Nathan never offered. It was better that way.

  “A good thing. A very good thing.” Then her mind drifted to the end of their relationship, to the anger, the hurt, the disappointment, and her smile faded. “Mostly, anyway.”

  “I'll stick with 'a very good thing.'”

  She met his gaze again, and deliberately put her past out of her mind. Instead, she scanned her memory for where she might have met this man-a party, a concert, backstage…? She met so many people. “Do you… I mean, have we met?”

  His expression softened a little, and those brown eyes slid to her mouth as he answered. “Oh, I'd never forget you, angel. Maybe we met in another life…if you believe in that sort of thing.”

  If she was ever going to believe in such things, tonight would be the night.

  “If you're not here to hook up,” he said, resting his chin in his hand, “what brought you in? Are you indulging a voyeuristic fetish tonight?”

  She wasn't sure what to say to that, because she wasn't interested in either answering or not answering. She really just wanted to enjoy looking at him, listening to his voice, feeling his presence. And he encouraged her to stare with an open, intent, unwavering gaze, as if she were the only woman in the room. As if raw, live sex wasn't pumping on a stage just yards away.

  She exhaled slowly and glanced over her shoulder. “Where are your demons, Mr. Devil? Surely you want to go play with them in the dungeon, or purgatory, or some other equally evil room in the back.”

  Another one of his sexy chuckles brushed the air. “This devil sent his demons away to play on their own. I've got a sudden taste for something more…heavenly…tonight.”

  His voice was low and smooth and controlled. He was sophisticated, but not in an old-money, corporate, politician kind of way. She would peg him as more independent, clever, off-the-cuff. More…venture capital-like. Someone who ran his own show. A self-made man with money and power, earned from time in the trenches. And his intelligence seemed more street savvy than intellectual. She liked all that. It meshed with who she was. Maybe that was why she felt drawn to him.

  “What do you think of the show?” he asked without looking away.

  When she glanced toward the stage, she found the woman on her knees, sucking the guy as if she were ravenous for his cock. The man had one hand tangled in her hair, the other hanging loose at his side. His head dropped back, mouth open on a guttural growl that shook through Giselle.

  “Do you like sucking cock, angel?” His voice dropped to a secretive hum and shivered over her skin, lifting gooseflesh. The direct and shocking question sizzled through her body like an open current.

  She laughed out, “What kind of question is that?”

  “The kind people ask in sex clubs. Is this the first one you've ever been in or is this just your first time here?”

  Her face flushed with heat, and she was wishing she'd used her common sense and told Chad this idea was ridiculous. “Ever. You must not be a regular here, or you'd know that.”

  “Mmm, no. I'm from out of town.”

  “This is Las Vegas. Everyone is from out of town.”

  His lips kicked up on one side. “True. Where are you from?”

  “Good question. Sort of…everywhere, I guess. You?”

  “LA.”

  “And do you frequent these clubs in LA? Is this your lifestyle of choice?”

  His smile faded. He pulled in a slow deep breath and let it out with a heavy “No.”
/>   She lifted one brow in disbelief. “No?”

  “No. This is the only club I belong to, and I don't come often.” He returned his gaze to hers, his eyes direct, his expression so serious, he looked almost grim. “I come here when the darkness closes in. I come for distraction. For oblivion. So, no. This isn't the lifestyle I prefer, but one I occasionally need to stay sane.”

  The pain in his words resonated with Giselle. She hummed in empathy. “I guess we all have scars.” When he didn't respond, Giselle returned her gaze to the stage and let her eyes blur over the rising pleasure there as she shored up her barriers for the devil's inevitable departure. Once he'd moved on, maybe she could get out of here without feeling like she was running away like a scared puppy.

  Instead of standing, the devil slid his forearm over the table, easing close enough for his scent to touch her nose-an electric balance of musk, spice, and man that made Giselle's bones melt. “Bet you like the power of pulling a man's control right out of his body just like that.”

  Her head barely moved in a shake to deny it. Her lips parted on a breath to tell him he was wrong.

  “Look at him,” he said before she could speak. He took her chin between his fingers and gently eased her head back toward the stage. Her skin tingled beneath his touch. His voice lowered to a conspiratorial hum. “Look at how she's controlling him. Controlling his pleasure. Giving enough to make him want more, then taking it away until he's willing to do anything to feel her hot, wet mouth squeeze and suck and stroke until he comes.”

  Her pussy surged at his words. His dirty talk was seriously hot. She ached and throbbed. Her breasts swelled tight, and her nipples stood on end, so sensitive even the brush of her dress's silky fabric shot a tingling sensation deep between her legs.