by C. M. Albert
The White Room
CM Albert
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
1. Dominick
2. Lexie
3. Asher
4. Simon
5. Emmeline
6. Austin
7. Vironica
8. Arianna
9. Alec
10. Callum
11. Baron
12. Raine
13. Avaline
Afterword
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement (including infringement without monetary gain) is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
THE WHITE ROOM
Genre: Steamy Contemporary Romance
Copyright © 2018 by C.M. Albert | Flower Work Press
Cover by Alivia Anders of White Rabbit Book Design
Formatting by Kenya Moore of Book Nymph Publishing
Editing by Erin Servais of Dot and Dash LLC
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
Please don’t share, copy, or distribute the content of this book in any way, okay guys? It’s called pirating. And my big Irish-Italian uncles will hunt you down. Just sayin.’
Created with Vellum
How could this book be dedicated to anyone other than “he who curls my toes”?
This one’s for you, babe.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my readers, first and foremost. I appreciate each and every one of you. Thanks for sticking by me while I write what my heart feels inspired to and for not being disappointed that I’m so “genre fluid.”
As always, so much love and gratitude goes out to my amazing editor, Erin Servais of Dot and Dash LLC. I adore you. You’re the best thing I ever found on Twitter. (If there are any remaining mistakes in this book they are entirely my own!)
I’d also like to acknowledge Alivia Anders of White Rabbit Book Design. The White Room would not have existed without your vision, inspiration, and creative genius. Thank you!
Thanks to Kenya Moore of The Book Nymph Publishing for the amazing formatting job and for helping me get this to print. I would be lost without you. You inspire me daily.
Thanks to early readers Sallie, Ellen, and Will, who read my first few chapters and—eh-hem—encouraged me to finish the book already.
Much gratitude to my Colleen’s Angels Street Team and Beta Reading Group. They have my back each and every time and are such a positive joy in my life. Many thanks, too, for helping me solve the Henri Basile Bellarose conundrum this time. You’re the best.
Biggest hugs to the writers on Facebook who inspire me daily, help me kick it up a notch, or who keep my a** in line: Becky Flade, Beth Michele, Colleen Hoover, Deborah Brown, Desiree DeOrto, Ellen Newhouse, Erin Mandell, Julie Farley, Kenya Moore, Ksenia Anske, Melissa Foster, Michelle Bellon, Nancy Naigle, Nancy Stopper, Shari Slade, Sheila Bliss, Stacy Eaton, Wendy Owens, and Zoe York. Mad love to all of you! Keep being fabulous.
I’d also like to give a nod to the first “steamy” writer I ever read, the Queen of Historical Romance, Bertrice Small (1937–2015). My love affair with epic romance sagas and explicit love scenes started when I was seventeen and my friend Rhonda introduced me to Skye O’Malley in the O’Malley Saga. No one did it better than Bertrice Small, and I miss her greatly.
Last, and most importantly, my family. Though this is a book I hope my kids never read (or at least until they’re thirty!), they and my husband are my everything. I couldn’t be more honored to walk through life with such funny, creative, smart, kind humans. Thanks for choosing me.
Introduction
The White Room
The rules are simple:
No real names.
No commitment.
Two hours.
They’re put into place to protect us—exclusive clients lucky enough to afford the cost of playing. But everyone knows: some rules are made to be broken.
When hearts and bodies collide, even the best intentions slip away . . .
exposing the true reasons why we seek the room in the first place.
Will the White Room set you free?
Step inside and find yourself.
1
Dominick
DOMINICK SAT IN the pristine white chair as instructed. He could hardly believe he was here, in the land of make-believe. If he’d been asked a week ago, he would’ve told his buddies it was just an urban legend—one for wet dreams and fantasies.
That was before his best friend, Simon Ellison, handed him a white leather key chain with WR embroidered in silver for his thirty-fifth birthday. He picked up his whiskey and sipped it slowly, the amber liquid sliding down his throat, hot in anticipation.
He had two hours once she arrived. He swallowed hard, loosening his tie, which now felt too tight around his thick throat. He wasn’t usually a tie-wearing kind of guy, but in here he could be whomever he wanted. Tonight, he was a confident billionaire executive named Dom. It wasn’t exactly original, just a shortened version of his real name—but Dom didn’t always play by the rules.
He didn’t know who would walk in through the white double doors leading to the suite, but he hoped she liked being spanked and that she would appreciate the two hundred dollars he’d spent on the gray-and-white, Italian silk tie he was now loosening from around his neck. He left it on but let it hang open as his eyes took in the luxurious white space. Across from him was a low, sleek leather couch, in white of course. A white fireplace ran along one wall and was already lit when he’d walked in. Cool travertine tiles surrounded a hearth that rose from plush white carpeting and reached all the way for the ceiling. Everything in the suite was crisp, white, and sterile—a clean slate for anything your imagination could birth. White silk drapes hung on the floor-to-ceiling windows, which were frosted for the privacy they would soon need.
The rules were simple. He’d memorized them as he’d been instructed, the email disappearing from his inbox within ten minutes of opening it.
THE WHITE ROOM
Receiving a key to the White Room is by invitation only.
The White Room is for adults twenty-one and over. No exceptions.
All members are health screened and may not enter without an updated record.
You will receive a private line to reserve the room for your pleasure.
You cannot make a reservation without your personal, private access code.
You may only use the White Room once every six weeks.
Men enter the Délice Privé building from Twelfth Avenue using the Beards by Bellarose entrance; women use the Eleventh Avenue entrance next to the Bellarose Spa and Wellness Center.
Arrive thirty minutes prior to your appointment.
A concierge will direct you to a private waiting room and provide instructions.
You have two hours inside the room; a chime will signal when your time is up.
Everything must be consensual.
No personal information should be exchanged, including real names
.
What happens in the White Room stays in the White Room.
If you break the rules, you will not be invited back.
Despite being a natural-born rule breaker, Dom had no plans to mess up this opportunity. If tonight went as planned, he would be saving up to pay for his next visit in six weeks. He didn’t have time for lasting relationships in his personal life, so he hoped this was the answer to his prayers.
A loud click shattered the silence in the room as the double doors swung open. Dom now wished he’d played some music for a little ambiance. The woman who walked in was breathtakingly gorgeous. Long, porcelain legs strode confidently on black high heels that looked runway ready. He stood to greet her, his body a solid wall of muscle hidden beneath his borrowed black suit.
Red. Her lips were cranberry red. Long, loose curls wrapped over one shoulder, her hair so dark and black it shimmered like a raven’s wing. He imagined fisting those curls when he yanked her head to his mouth.
Her lips slid slowly into a half-grin, as if knowing where his mind had wandered. Dom groaned as he took in her black garter belt and matching lace push-up bra and panties. She was every inch a lady, and Dom could tell, even without her clothes on, that she was used to having money.
She didn’t say anything as she approached him, just studied him with her almond-shaped eyes, heavily lined with black kohl to give the appearance of a cat eye. Dom knew she wouldn’t need that much makeup on to be beautiful in her everyday life, but he suspected it was her equivalent of his silk tie: a persona she hid behind while in this room. Soft, but confident. Elegant, but sexy as fuck.
Her eyes never wavered from his on the long walk across the suite’s tiled floor. Every click of her heels sent a wave of heat straight to his gut. The confidence of her direct eye contact drove Dom insane with lust. She reached out a hand and placed it on his bicep, squeezing it gently as she trailed her fingers down his well-muscled arm.
“Emmeline,” she said, holding her hand out to him.
“Dom,” he answered, lifting it to his lips. He pressed his mouth gently to her skin, which was as smooth as his silk tie. He couldn’t wait to run his hands over the rest of her body if just her hand was this soft. She smelled clean as if freshly showered, traces of moonflowers clinging to her skin and causing his cock to tighten. “Are you—”
“Shh,” she said, pulling his body in toward her with the hand Dom was still holding. “I’d rather not do any talking. We have only two hours together, and I’m starving for the company.”
The look in her eyes when she said starving was all the invitation he needed. Though how a woman who looked like her could be starving for anything was beyond Dom. But his job wasn’t to know about her personal life; it was to worship her for the two hours they had together. And he had every intention of doing just that and not wasting another minute. Dom wrapped his hand around the back of Emmeline’s head and pulled it toward him. She purred, obviously fine with a little force.
“I like it a little rough. Is that okay?” Dom growled, staring at her soft, plump lips that she’d painted with precision.
“I like having my hair pulled while being fucked from behind, if that’s what you mean by rough,” she retorted, her finger trailing to Dom’s mouth. She pushed the tip between his lips, her hazel-green eyes never leaving his. He drew in the length of her pointer finger and sucked hard, wishing it were her nipple instead. Her other hand dropped down and rubbed Dom through the outside of his suit pants, his hard length pressing firmly against the warmth of her palm and begging for freedom.
“I’m used to getting my way,” he said smoothly after she’d pulled her wet finger from his mouth. “I want to bend you over that boardroom table in the other room and fuck you from behind. I’ll pull your hair all you want, as long as I can spank you. Deal?” Dom asked, closing the last inch between them as he cupped her two petite breasts. They were just the right size—plump from the push-up bra, but no more than a perfect handful. Dom slipped his hand behind the lace of her bra and squeezed her nipple hard between two of his fingers, knowing the heat of it would shoot straight between her legs. She pressed her long body up against his in response, just as he’d hoped.
She surprised Dom when she leaned forward and slowly traced the outside of his mouth with her warm, soft tongue. While he hadn’t had any qualms about telling her how he wanted to fuck her, he hadn’t expected the softness of her tongue or the gentle way she came in for a full kiss. He cupped the back of her head and held her tight, possessing her tongue as they began to engage, slowly at first. He liked the way she wrapped her tongue around his, sucking gently. His cock nearly bounced with anticipation as the pace of their kiss quickened, their tongues plunging deeper as they fought for control.
She chuckled as she pulled back and licked her lips, her eyes piercing his. “Oh, don’t worry, your cock will be getting plenty of attention too,” she breathed out. “It’s one of my favorite things to do.”
She grabbed Dom’s hand and led him into the other room—what looked like a makeshift boardroom. He watched her delicious-looking butt cheeks flex as she led the way, the black lace teasing Dom over the rise and fall of her twin mounds. He couldn’t wait to squeeze them when he pumped into her from behind, knowing they would be supple and yielding beneath the rough calluses of his hands.
The conference room table was long and white and shone to perfection; Dom knew he’d be able to see Emmeline’s reflection in it when he bent her over it later. He still couldn’t believe he was about to screw a complete stranger. Sure, he’d had his share of women in his earlier years, but most of them he’d known through a friend of a friend. He’d never had an outright one-night stand before, and now he was going to fuck this beautiful woman he’d met just five minutes ago. Strangely enough, he had no issues with that fact, either, and he wasn’t sure if that should concern him. For a brief moment, he couldn’t help but wonder what her story was and why she was here.
But as she pushed him up against the conference room table, dropped to her knees, and freed his long cock from his pants, he no longer cared. His mind lost all coherent thought as she wrapped her hot red lips around him and began to suck, expertly twisting her hands around his shaft as if she were used to such a wide penis. Oh, this woman knew what she was doing with her mouth, all right. And, goddamn, she was an expert at it. Dom grabbed a handful of black hair and helped guide her head as she drew down on his length and then pulled back up, gently teasing the head with a flick of her tongue.
Dom closed his eyes and groaned. Though he loved the feel of her soft lips around him, he wasn’t ready to release just yet, and the woman was relentless with her mouth. Two hours was a long time, and he wanted to go the distance with Emmeline. Even though she seemed more than eager to please him first, Dom wanted to be the one giving. He pulled Emmeline to a standing position, crushing his mouth against hers as their bodies pressed together.
“Did you like that?” he asked, grabbing her ass and pulling her in closer. “Now it’s my turn. Sit,” he commanded as he lifted her on top of the conference room table. He pulled her hips all the way forward so he had full access to her. He stood between her legs, her wet opening already glistening as it rubbed against his thigh. He pressed his leg against her center as he leaned in for a kiss, her arms wrapping up behind his head. Emmeline’s hands rubbed his nearly bald head, brushing lightly over the dark brown stubble that was barely there. In his line of work, Dom needed to keep his hair short—so short a competitor couldn’t pull it in the ring.
“God, your head turns me on,” she groaned as they lightly nipped each other’s lips between kisses.
“Which one?” Dom teased, trailing his mouth along her jawline and down her neck as she continued to rub his scalp. Shivers raced down the length of his body. He never realized how much he enjoyed that simple act.
“Both,” she admitted and laughed. “But I’ve never been with someone who shaved his head before. It’s so . . . manly.”
&n
bsp; Dom chuckled. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that, but her genuine emotion took him by surprise. “Who do you normally fuck, outside of the White Room?” Dom asked, curious.
“My husband,” she admitted quietly.
Dom’s head snapped up, questioning Emmeline’s green eyes. She shook her head, as if disgusted that she’d dropped the veil of fantasy for even a moment. “No more questions. He knows I’m here. Now,” she said, pausing as she playfully bit her lower lip, “give me a hot story to go back and share with him,” she pleaded, though Dom wasn’t sure he believed her. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. If she wasn’t hiding the fact that she had a husband, why take off the ring?
She grabbed his head between her hands and arched into him. “Suck me,” she begged, bringing Dom’s head to her chest. He reached up and unclasped her bra, watching as it popped open and her perky breasts rose up to greet him. He’d never seen such pretty nipples before, and couldn’t wait to draw one into his mouth. She wanted a hot story . . . he would give her one.
He pushed all thoughts of a husband away and leaned down, tugging one of her perfect pink nipples between his lips. He bit down, rolling the hard bud between his teeth until she moaned, pressing her breast into his face. Dom dropped his other hand between her legs and, sure enough, she was ready for him. “God, you’re wet,” he groaned. He sucked her nipple all the way in, hard, knowing it would leave a mark.
