by Dani René
“No, Kota, this is his first time in our fine establishment.” Axel responds before I can and I chuckle at my best friend’s flirting. She grins, but shakes her head at him, then pulls out a card, handing it to me.
Not responding to his advance, she pins me with a curious stare and explains the rules. “Well, you have a choice. Either you can stay and watch the main floor entertainment, or perhaps if you’re willing to put down some serious cash, you’re welcome to order anything off the cards.” She points a manicured finger at the silver paper in my hand.
“Thanks, we’ll check out the main floor,” I respond curtly, and she offers a smile that’s too innocent for where she’s working. Tugging on my best friend, we make our way to the bar.
“Two beers, please?” I ask the bartender, who gives me a nod and grabs two bottles from the fridge. Once I’ve paid, we head to the tables around a small square stage which has a sleek, silver pole attached to it. The music fades and the lights dim. “Is Theia working tonight?” I ask my best friend and he shakes his head. My sister helps run Inferno. Even though I left home five years ago, I kept tabs on my brother and sister. I’m about to ask him when she’ll be here, but I’m interrupted by a spotlight on stage and the voice of the emcee.
“The next lady on stage tonight,”—the sultry voice that comes from the speakers grabs my attention—“is one of the favorites. She’s a beautiful fiery Goddess who definitely knows how to work the pole. Skyla is all yours, gentlemen.” The announcement ends and the emcee steps off the stage. There are only men in the room and they start whistling for this girl. I sit back and when a single white spotlight shines down on the steel pole, she steps up onto the stage.
My gaze travels slowly up long, lithe legs, to a skimpy crimson lace thong, which hugs what I can tell from my front row seat is a smooth pussy. I let my gaze drift higher and find a torso made for sin, licking my lips, I take in the Phoenix tattoo on her ribs and my heart stutters wildly. When I reach a pair of perfect tits, hugged by red lace my cock jolts, but it’s only when I meet familiar emerald eyes, that my heart stops completely. Fuck. Shit.
My breathing is ragged and my grip on the bottle is so tight, I’m sure I’ll shatter it if I don’t calm down. Skyla. Her long red hair hangs in loose waves, framing her incredibly beautiful face with porcelain skin.
The song starts and I recognize it as “Dirty Dancer,” this version is sung by famous, Dutch symphonic metal band, Within Temptation. She spins around, gripping the metal as she moves her body hypnotically. Her legs wrap around the shimmering pole and I’m enraptured by the beauty that is her.
Paige Madden, the love of my life.
The woman I wanted to marry one day.
The one I walked away from because I didn’t have a choice.
“I want her, a private dance,” I hiss at my best friend, and his gaze darts to me in surprise.
“Really? You want little Red?”
Rolling my eyes, I nod. “Yes, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my whole life.” Even though I’ve told him about a woman I once loved, I never told him anything more. Having to talk about her was pain enough, so I hid everything from him.
I watch her move, sway, spin, and my blood heats with desire and need. She slides down the pole with practiced precision, her feet touch the stage and she moves in front of the pole.
Glistening eyes dart around the room as she kneels before us. She meets every man’s gaze, until hers falls on mine.
Time stops.
The lights dim.
Music fades.
And it’s just us.
Two strangers. Two lovers.
A man and a woman who know nothing more than pain.
Agony so profound, so fucking brutal, that nothing can take it away.
Only each other.
As my gaze lingers on her face and I meet those familiar eyes that are so green I feel as if I’m staring into a forest, my heart stops. My chest heaves as I try to take in life giving breath, but the only thing I need to survive is her. Not one taste, not two, but a lifetime.
She’s changed somewhat—sexy, confident, sensual.
It’s her.
Pushing off the chair abruptly, I head to the pretty little hostess. Her eyes dart up to me in surprise as I stalk closer and when I reach the desk, I’m out of breath, not from exertion, but from the sheer need for the woman with the red hair. “Can I help you?” she questions curtly.
“Yes, yes, I need a private room with the girl that’s on the pole stage right now.”
She gifts me a soft smile and nods. “That’s Skyla, I’ll let her know she’s been booked. Any particular room?” she asks, but I don’t care. All I need is time alone with her so I shake my head. “And you’d like the VIP package?”
“What does that entail?”
“Sex. She’s one of our premier girls, she’s got a list of limits, which you’ll receive when I give you the room key. That allows you to see what she’s not willing to do.” I nod. Sex. With her. God.
“Yes.” I slide over my black credit card and her lips quirk in a knowing grin that this piece of plastic holds no limit. “Any cost. Charge it to that card.” She lifts the plastic and swipes it on the machine. Waiting for the approval—which I know will come easily—is brutal punishment because all I can think of is being alone with my firebird, my fucking Phoenix.
As soon as it prints my receipt, she hands me a black key tied with a red silk ribbon and a business card attached to it. “This is the key and a card for the fiery vixen, it will have her list of limits which is important for you to read through.” She grins, and pushes up from her chair. “I’ll escort you to the Raven Room.”
“Thank you.” As my smile meets hers, my heart thuds painfully. I pull out my phone and send Axel a message. His response is what I expected. Have fun.
“You can wait in the room. She’ll be here a few minutes after she’s finished her routine.” With that, I’m left alone with a black door and a key to my future. As soon as I unlock the door and step inside, the scent of patchouli hits me. It’s her. Everything about her.
Lifting the card from the silk ribbon, I read her limits. She’s into being bound, spanked, and collared. Of course. I’ll collar her soon enough.
My eyes dart around, almost nervously, taking in the lack of color in this room—it’s elegant, just like her.
Three walls are black, and the fourth one is made entirely of windows that overlook the city. The view is spectacular, but the only thing I want to stare at is her.
A jet-colored metal four poster bed, with tufted, black wingback headboard sits against one wall and I’m already envisioning her bound to it. The bedding is gray, with a faux fur throw, the four pillows are white cotton, and I’m guessing the sheets are white as well.
The rest of the furniture is all muted tones—charcoal and silver.
As an artist, color is important, but she’s so alluring that I’ll gladly leave the shades, hues, and tints to spend time in her monochrome world.
Not long after I settle in one of the wingback chairs, the door opens and she strolls in. Her confidence falters and I fear she’s recognized me somehow. I know it’s not possible, but my mind is reeling from seeing her here, in the flesh.
“Skyla?” Her name rolls off my tongue. It’s a question, one she doesn’t answer. Her fiery red hair and those beautiful jade pools have me hooked. How she ended up here is a mystery I’m about to uncover.
I’m out of my depth because I’ve never paid for sex. And even as she offers me a flirtatious look, there’s something hidden behind the sultry smile that makes me want to watch as she comes apart under my touch.
I want to see the expression on her face when fierce desire and violent passion slowly unravel her.
She steps forward, dressed in a one-piece bodysuit made entirely of lace. She’s changed her outfit and I wonder if she does so for all her clients who request VIP. Even though the material is sheer, it hides what my mouth waters to see
again.
She’s still got those beautiful curves—hugged by the soft black material—and her cleavage teases me from where I’m sitting. When I finally rise, I hope my jeans hide the erection behind my zipper.
Long toned legs taunt me in four-inch black pumps, and I imagine fucking her with those heels digging into my ass. Pulling me closer.
“Before we start, there are few things I need to know,” she says in a confident tone that has a hard edge to it. Even so, it still has a softness which is a stark contrast with her appearance.
I notice as she moves closer, the only vibrant color in this room is her fiery red hair. She stands out amongst the darkness like a flame.
“What do you need to know?” I inquire.
She gestures to the chair and offers a smile, which doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s practiced, like she’s been doing this her whole life, and that saddens me.
She crosses her arms in front of her, which in turn lifts her breasts, but she’s so confident in herself that she’s making me throb. Even more than when she was a shy girl. Her gaze settles on me with her perfect lips pursed in a tight line. “Your kinks. There’ll be no weird shit like watersports of any sort. If you want to take a piss, the toilet is over there.” She points to the door where I guess the en-suite bathroom is. “No blades or any of that strange kink. You want to tie me up, go ahead, you want anal, I’m your girl.” Her voice is rigid, like she’s trained herself not to show fear. She settles in the chair beside me, her gaze never straying.
Nodding, I sit back and absorb her beauty—that sensual allure she moves with. “I’m not into any weird shit, as you put it, firebird.” I respond, throwing her words back at her and adding in something I know she’ll recognize—the nickname. Her brows shoot up at my words.
“Firebird?”
I nod, meeting her intense gaze. “Yes, you’re as alluring with that red hair as a Phoenix,” I answer honestly, then continue, lowering my voice, “like you’ve been reborn from the ashes.” Because she has.
She drops her arms, relaxes her posture and regards me almost quizzically before asking, “And what makes you think I didn’t die in the fire?” Her question is a brutal reminder of her past, a part of her life she doesn’t realize I know about because she’ll never recognize me. There’s no answer I can give her right now because if I do, she’ll know.
“Why don’t we play and then I’ll tell you?” I counter, and she nods with a small grin, quirking those beautiful lips. Pushing up from the chair, I watch as she walks over to the bed without a backward glance.
She crawls onto the soft comforter, and when she reaches the pillows, she lies back and regards me. Prey waiting for the predator to devour it. Taunting and teasing.
Temptation is something I’ve never been able to say no to, and this time is no different. I unbutton my shirt, allowing it to slip from my shoulders, and drop it on the chair. Meeting her gaze again, I unbuckle my belt, and pull it from the loops. Her green eyes are fixated on me as if we’ve swapped roles and now I’m the hunted.
“It says on your card that you love being bound. I take it you’ll obey my orders as well?” My raspy tone is evidence that my restraint is faltering and I’m hanging on by the tips of my fingers.
“Yes, Sir,” she murmurs playfully, and I’m ready to test that theory.
“Don’t address me as Sir just yet, firebird. A man needs to earn your submission,” I respond, confidently this time. I want her to want to be mine, but not because I’m paying her for it.
“Okay.” Her response is short and I hear the shock lacing it.
I push my jeans off and once I’m down to my boxer briefs, I stalk toward her, gripping my leather belt. Her gaze falls to it and then trails up to meet my eyes. “You like pain?” she asks, in a soft submissive voice.
That’s my girl.
“No, I like control,” I growl, and she nods. “Kneel and lower that top. I want to see your tits.” And just like I know she’s trained to do, the switch happens and she obeys.
His order shudders through me, and my submissiveness surfaces. It’s been five years, and I’m still a trained pet. The control he oozes reminds me of someone, reminds me of heartbreak and love all wrapped up in a beautiful package. The only difference is this man is inked like a masterpiece, whereas he wasn’t.
Shaking my head to clear my mind of his overwhelming presence. I drop to my knees and reach up to undo the ribbon of my bodysuit. His heated gaze penetrates me, but it’s filled with reverent emotion, unlike the hunger I normally see on client’s faces. I’m confused at how he can come across like a dominating force, yet still be polite and sweet.
He hasn’t smiled and I have a feeling if he does I may combust.
The man is beautiful, fucking gorgeous to be honest.
His long honey-colored hair is tied into a messy bun. The beard he’s wearing is tidy, sexy, and I wonder how it would feel between my thighs. His body is toned, but lean with a beautiful set of abs. V muscles point to a thick, hard erection and I rake my gaze over his toned thighs. Every inch of him is perfect.
Dark brown, almost black, eyes hypnotize me. The familiarity of them brings back the ache in my chest for a moment and I almost want him to turn away, but I feel like I not only want his gaze on me, I need it on me.
Only two men in my life have called me firebird, or Phoenix, one I’ve blocked out mentally because when he walked out he left me a shattered girl.
The other, was the one who made me accept my future, but the client before me is neither of those. Even so, when he called me firebird my heart catapulted because just for a moment, I wished with everything I have that he could be my savior.
It unnerves me how this stranger can see into my soul.
Once I’m naked, he’ll see just how well he read me.
I’m bare from the waist up and his hungry stare drinks in every inch of me. My nipples harden under his intense scrutiny. “You’re perfect.” The words wash over me, but they don’t purify me. I don’t believe them because there’s no sanctity for me. I’m far from perfect, in fact.
What man could want, or even love me? Even the man I believed did, walked out on me.
“Are we going to get this show on the road?” My snarky question earns me that long-awaited smile and it’s just as I imagined it would be—drop dead fucking gorgeous. It’s a boyish, crooked grin with dimples forming on either cheek.
Once he’s taken his fill of my presentation position, he pins me with a glare that holds me hostage. “Take off that scrap of material you call underwear, or I’m going to rip it off with my fucking teeth,” he growls, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. I rise and push the rest of my bodysuit off, and when it falls to the floor, I settle my gaze on him, awaiting his command. “Lie back, spread those beautiful legs, and get your cunt wet.”
His filthy words send shockwaves through me. Those dark eyes seem to see me as more than a dancer, they look through me and my body quakes with a powerful need and again, I’m reminded of someone else. I blink hard to rid him from my mind, I need to keep my focus on the job.
Men have always spoken to me like I was nothing more than a pet to use, but only one has made me want to obey as much as this sex god standing before me.
The gruff growl so familiar, the stance every bit as commanding, and the fuel that burns me from the inside, makes my body quake. His grip on the belt turns his knuckles white, and I watch in awe as his other hand grips his cock through the tight black material of his underwear.
With two fingers, I tease my sex, opening the smooth lips to his hungry stare. The need to tease him, to show him how much I actually want him, runs through my veins like a current, setting me alight. Dipping one digit inside my body, I find that I’m soaked, slick with desire for a man who’s acting like he used to and I’m not afraid. I want it.
The air around us is heavy with passion and desire, with emotion, which leaves me aching, needy, as if he’s about to shatter me like glass and
I would willingly let him.
“Fuck,” he growls. The word sounds menacing. Like a threat, and I want to see him follow through, so I continue my teasing. Plunging two fingers inside me while my other hand teases and tweaks my hard nipples, my body bows off the bed and I feel my release coiling like a serpent readying itself to strike.
A soft moan falls from my lips like a siren’s song, taunting him, calling to him to show me what he can do to my body, my mind. An unbidden thought comes to mind—I want him to breach my high walls and find my heart. This hope scorches me and strangles me with its force. The images of that place creep into my mind and I remember him as if he’s standing before me. As if he’s the one about to ravage me. And I want it. I want him. I need him.
“Stop.” Immediately my hand falls away from my pussy and I’m jolted back to reality with a sudden force, as I lock my gaze on his. He wants to control my orgasm. I was a slave for long enough to recognize the need in his voice. “On your knees. I want to see you from behind.”
Quickly, I move onto all fours and wait. A harsh swat on my ass has me whimpering. For years I’ve enjoyed rougher, harder sex and he has me craving it right now. My body trembles for him. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, so softly I’m sure I imagined it. I await the next sting, but it doesn’t come. Instead, two thick fingers slide into my drenched sex. “Fuck my fingers, Phoenix, make yourself come.”
His tone is raspy, and I do as he says. Pushing back, I ride his hand like I would his cock.
Fast, hard, and deep.
I feel him twist both digits inside me, and when he crooks them, hitting my G-spot, I fly apart. “That’s my beautiful firebird. Soar for me.” His words, along with the way he’s rubbing my inner walls, have my body convulsing.
Memories mixed with the here and now assault me like a wave crashing harshly on the shore and I break, I shatter for him. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. He’s just too familiar and I’m not sure I can do this, but I have to, it’s my job.
As my breathing evens and my heart rate slows, I feel fingertips tracing the ink on my ribs and hip. “You have risen from the ashes, more beautiful than ever before.” Something in his tone, in the words he utters, has my body alert. And once again I’m hit by the surety that he knows me.
