Blue Velvet

by Linnea May

  A smile blossoms on her face. “Of course, Mr. Graves. That goes without saying. I will have more for you in a week or two. Pictures, plans of the premises, a business plan.”

  I nod.

  “Sounds good. I’ll be waiting to hear from you then,” I tell her, rising from my seat so suddenly that she jerks in surprise before following suit.

  I’m about to make my way out of her office when I remember something.

  “One last question,” I say, turning back to her. “The blonde girl who was here before me—who was she? Does she work for you? How come I’ve never seen her on file when I asked for a new ‘talent,’ as you call them?”

  The smile on Miss Barry’s face tells me that she’s not surprised at my question. Of course not. She saw the way my eyes lingered on the girl’s backside as she walked away. Only an idiot would have missed my obvious interest, and Miss Barry is not an idiot.

  “Yes, she’s one of ours,” she replies. “But she hasn’t accepted new clients in a while. That’s why we never shopped her around.”

  “I see,” I utter, a disgusting flash of jealousy spreading through my veins. I couldn’t have her, but others could. I fucking hate that.

  “However,” Miss Barry adds, leaning forward while observing my reaction to her words. “There’s a good chance that you might see more of her—if you decide to get involved with our new endeavor.”

  “The Velvet Rooms? She’s going to be a part of that?”

  Miss Barry casts me a mischievous look before she shrugs, a devious smile appearing on her face.

  “Maybe.”

  5

  Elene

  My mind is racing, pondering. I’m sitting in my car in the parking lot of Violent Delights, my right hand resting on the key, the left one holding onto the wheel, and my absentminded gaze resting on the landscape ahead.

  I was ready to quit and leave all of this behind me.

  I thought I was ready for the next step, to try something different, something that had nothing to do with my past four years at Violent Delights.

  Now, I’m not so sure anymore.

  I wouldn’t have to sleep with anyone, she said. I wouldn’t even have to allow anyone to put their hands on my body in any way. There would just be talking, serving drinks, spending time with them. I would be paid to talk and provide companionship for the evening. That sounds easy enough.

  But there was one thing that spiked my interest the most.

  The money.

  It would be the perfect opportunity to bridge the time until I figure out what I really want to do, a gentle transition instead of jumping headfirst into the unknown. I wouldn’t have to lower my living standards, but I also wouldn’t have to sleep with clients any longer. My pay would be ridiculous, almost matching what I’ve been making for the past few years. And all of that without having to get undressed or touched?

  The Velvet Rooms sound too good to be true.

  Want to read the rest of Elene’s & Damon’s story? Click here to read Black Velvet, always FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

  Black Velvet

  A Dark Billionaire Romance: Excerpt

  1

  Elene

  “Are you nervous?”

  Sandi regards me wide-eyed and grimacing, her thick false lashes fluttering in a state of distress while she hoists her bustier. Even as she tries to contain her boosted-up breasts in the form-fitting lingerie, her tits spill over the top of the cups. Her face twists when her long, manicured nails pinch the fleshy curves of her escaping cleavage and I can’t suppress a small giggle.

  “Are you sure this is going to be okay?” I ask, jutting my chin forward. “It looks uncomfortable.”

  Sandi replies with a dismissive wave.

  “Madam suggested it,” she says. “Besides, beauty knows no pain.”

  I nod in hesitant agreement and gauge my own ensemble in the full-length body mirror on the wall next to us. Unlike Sandi, I never invested in a boob job, so it’s much easier for me to wrap mine in tight-fitting clothing. Still, my outfit is anything but comfortable. A corset is laced tightly around my mid-section, transforming my outline into the perfect hourglass shape, but barely allowing me to breathe. I don’t plan on eating or drinking much tonight, but even if I wanted to, this getup wouldn’t allow it. I’m not as endowed as Sandi, but the corset disguises my small chest by forcing what cleavage I do have up until it’s nearly to my chin, and forcing my stomach to become completely flat.

  The bright, virginal white-laced corset, stockings, wrist cuffs, and four-inch heels all match. My rose-gold earrings match the little hooks lining the back of the corset and the somewhat tacky details on my heels.

  I skeptically survey my appearance in the mirror. White is not my color. With my pale complexion and platinum-blonde locks framing my face, it makes me look like a ghost. Black suits me better.

  Madam made the final decision about clothing colors; it wasn’t my choice. White was for the innocent angels, black for the naughty devils.

  Sandi is sporting the latter.

  “So, you’re not nervous?” she repeats her earlier question.

  Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I see her lips curve into a smile when I offer a tight nod. “Oh, yes, I am.”

  She sighs with relief. “It’s not just me then. Thank God.”

  “I have never done this,” I say, now turning to her. “I don’t even know what to expect out there.”

  Sandi huffs. “Well, at least you only have to talk to them, share a few drinks, listen to their boring stories. That should be easy enough, right?”

  I shrug. Truth is, I’m terrified. I have never done something like this before. I’ve never just spent time talking, drinking, providing company to someone without it also including being paid to have sex with them. I hate to admit it, but somehow it seems so much easier to fuck someone than to have to talk to them all evening.

  When I told Miss Barry about my concerns, she stopped me with a dismissive wave of her hand and told me to just treat every conversation like it was a normal first date. Engage in lighthearted conversation, but nothing too intimate or too risky, no talk about politics or religion, flirt a little, but not too much, provide a little touching here and there, but nothing too suggestive. I remind myself that I’m wearing white, after all, and need to adhere to the rules inside The Velvet Rooms.

  “Easy enough,” I say, repeating Sandi’s words.

  We stand in silence next to each other, both checking our profiles out one last time, before it’s time to stride through the door, our chests pushed out, heads held high, radiating confidence that is as fake as our eyelashes. We allow ourselves one last moment of weakness, our nervous gazes meeting again in the reflection of the mirror.

  “Godspeed,” Sandi says in a low voice.

  I smirk at her. “I don’t think He’d approve of this.”

  She giggles and gives me a little nudge in the side. She flinches when she makes contact with one of the steel strings of my corset instead of me.

  A hiss escapes her lips. “Damn!”

  “That’ll teach you,” I say. “Don’t mess with an angel in white.”

  “Play with the devils instead,” she counters, winking at me. “Let’s go, you little slut.”

  “Right back at ya.”

  She squeals when I land a loving slap on her firm ass. Years of friendship lessen the awkwardness of such a move, as Sandi and I go way back. We’ve even served clients together as part of a menage a trois, becoming far more intimate with one another than most best friends ever do.

  I follow behind her, admiring the artistic design her body is sculpted into by the lavish lingerie. It’s a harness design, enveloping her curves with an array of strings that travel across her skin like lacy snakes. The beautiful set is a lot more revealing than my outfit. Her bare ass is on display under a richly adorned garter belt, strapped to the left and right by black garters that hold up her sheer stockings.

  We exit the dressing room, joining
a group of white angels and black devils in the foyer. As a group we gather in front of a massive dark red velvet curtain that shields our view from the main guest room. We all received a site tour a few days ago, but it was still being readied for the grand opening tonight. It was lacking the final touches for this evening, the drinks, bartenders, and most importantly, the guests.

  Tonight is different. It’s opening night—and they’re waiting for us.

  My heart rate quickens as the realization sets in.

  Focus.

  No mistakes. Not tonight.

  2

  Damon

  They didn’t skimp on tonight’s event, that’s for sure.

  When I first saw the gray brick building a few months ago, I thought it was nothing but an old ruin. It looked like a miniature version of a rundown European castle built by an aristocrat who didn’t have the means to build a real palace centuries ago, and then didn’t have any heirs to keep the place intact for future generations. As it turns out, my assumption wasn’t too far off, only that the building isn’t as old as it appears and it wasn’t built by a family, but by local officials.

  Located on the outskirts of the city, the building was originally designed to be a themed hotel, one resembling a castle that was connected to a park-like setting with a swimming pool. It was meant to be a getaway for families who wanted to experience Europe, but couldn’t afford to travel to the Old Country. The whole idea sounds tacky to me, and I’m not surprised it never played out the way city planners intended. Once shut down, the building was left to deteriorate, that is, until the high-class escort agency approached the city with an attractive offer.

  My business intuition tells me that The Velvet Rooms will be extremely successful, I have great trust in The Velvet Rooms, and it shows in the money I was willing to invest in this venture. My financial adviser was less enthusiastic about this than he was about the deal with Scott and his tech start-up, but I’m pretty sure his reluctance was based on prejudice more than it was on actual business sense. Scott’s tech start-up may have been more conservative than The Velvet Rooms business model, but if you ask me, it’s not any less risky of a business investment.

  The Velvet Rooms has a lot going for it, starting with the location. It’s perfect for this type of dark, kinky establishment. The brick walls corroded by years of neglect and weather have been extensively renovated, and now complement the modernized Victorian décor on the inside. It really resembles a miniature version of an old castle, the walls lined with damask wallpaper under the antique tin ceiling and underscored red lighting.

  Today is the first time I’ve seen the main room since that very first tour a few months ago. I was invited to check in on the progress of renovations since then, but I refused the offer, so as not to ruin the overarching effect of the grand opening.

  The agency has been heavily promoting tonight’s grand opening, as well as the club in general for the past few weeks. I have no inside knowledge about their client files, but based on the number of clients present tonight, it appears that Miss Barry was telling the truth when she said that the invitation process would be highly selective.

  The main receiving room housing the open bar, lounge, and public play stage provides enough space for about a hundred people, and maybe a few more. By my estimations, the number of guests invited tonight doesn’t total more than a fifth of that. There are two lounge areas, and I’ve positioned myself in a plush leather arm chair at the far end of the larger one of the two. The extravagant velvet-tufted button furniture rests on a platform, slightly elevated above the rest of the room, which allows for a good view across the entire main hall.

  Another gentleman, probably about fifteen years my senior, sits across from me. Like me, he has one arm resting on the backrest of the sofa and is holding a scotch in the other hand. We haven’t spoken a single word, though we greeted one another with a mute nod when we sat down. The majority of the other guests are scattered throughout the room, with plenty of distance between one another, doing the same thing, sitting in silence, nursing a drink. The only sound is the mellow jazz music playing in the background, occasionally interrupted by a whisper here and there, or the low intonation of a waitress taking an order.

  We’re still waiting for the main event, the big reveal of the heart and soul of The Velvet Rooms. Angels and devils.

  The girls.

  My anxious gaze rests on the heavy blood-red-colored velvet curtain shielding the guests from seeing what awaits behind it on the play stage. Only the occasional fluttering of the velvet drapes hints at the nervous tension and sexual energy lying behind it.

  I wonder if she’s there.

  It’s been more than half a year, but I haven’t forgotten about her, the blonde beauty who walked past me the day Miss Barry introduced me to the idea of The Velvet Rooms. I’ve had other girls since then, some provided by the agency. Others I picked up in the regular fashion, just easy bimbos, all too willing to spread their legs for me after I treated them to a few drinks and fed them a few lines that turned out to be no more than unkept promises.

  I wouldn’t say the only reason I fucked them was to forget about her, but there was a part of me that was hoping that would happen. It’s rare for me to get this hooked on someone, let alone a girl I’ve never touched, never even spoken to.

  I just saw her for a fleeting moment; her ice-blue eyes met mine for a split second, and it revealed nothing about her. It was just a moment in time, a short one at that. Yet I can’t deny the impact her brief appearance left on me.

  I tried asking Miss Barry about her several times over the past few months, but she was reluctant to answer any questions. She only hinted that she might possibly be involved with The Velvet Rooms when they opened. Her vague answers aggravated me to no end. But even when I threatened to withdraw my personal investment in the club, Miss Barry did not cave to the pressure. I despise her persistence at retaining her associates’ privacy as much as I respect it.

  “Another drink, Sir Graves?” a voice pipes next to me.

  I turn at the sound of the high-pitched voice, not having noticed the young waitress coming up to this section. She’s standing right next to me, bending forward, her short, skintight skirt barely covering her tiny ass and her tits stretching the form-fitting, high-necked top. The waitresses all wear the same outfit, one that seductively combines chastity with naughtiness in a way I’ve never seen before. While their lower bodies scream sex with short skirts and frilly fishnet stockings, their upper bodies are completely covered in dark fabric that only reveals the shape of their bodies but no skin.

  I shake my head. “I’m good for now.”

  She casts me a polite smile before walking away, swinging her hips seductively, drawing my eyes instantly to her ass. My attention is distracted when the music changes, and I notice that a spotlight has been switched on to illuminate the stage area to my right. I squint at the bright light, but not nearly as much as the person who steps onstage a moment later.

  Miss Belinda Barry is as elegant as ever, and the midnight-black burlesque suit she’s wearing effectively combines class with a hint of kink. Her straight dark hair is pulled back in a tight up-do, and her gold stilettos accent the jeweled piece holding her hair. The room falls silent, all eyes transfixed as she lifts the microphone to her lips. They’re painted in a deep red that’s identical to the color of the velvet curtain behind her.

  “Gentlemen,” she says, her smile dancing with promise. “It’s been a long wait, but tonight I’m finally able to say the magic words: Welcome to The Velvet Rooms!”

  She is greeted with a round of polite but cautious applause. I’m not a fan of empty phrases and inflated words of welcome, so I tune out while Miss Barry continues her little speech, greeting, thanking, and promoting like the professional she is. I see her lips moving, but fail to listen. In fact, the longer she keeps talking, the more impatient I grow.

  My focus returns when she steps aside and lifts her arm in a sweeping gest
ure, and the curtain behind her peels away, revealing the women dressed provocatively as angels and devils waiting behind it. Long-legged girls stride to the front of the stage, paired in duos of black and white—an angel for each devil—groomed and styled to perfection, and with model-perfect smiles on their faces.

  Each of them is the epitome of beauty, radiating sex, confidence, and class as they walk down the stage in pairs, presenting themselves to the attentive audience.

  But there’s only one girl who captures my attention for more than a moment.

  A long, lithe body with porcelain skin, platinum-blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, dressed from head to toe in virgin white with rose-gold accents.

  White.

  She’s a goddamn angel.

  Want to read the rest of Elene’s & Damon’s story? Click here to read Black Velvet, always FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

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