Black Velvet (The Velvet Rooms Book 1)

by Linnea May

  Black. She's wearing black tonight.

  She's sitting at the bar, just like last time. But this time, she's not alone. A man roughly thirty years her senior is sitting across from her, painfully close, while his hand rests on her thigh. If his touch is bothering her, she's very good at hiding it, but she's not encouraging it, either. While he leans forward, trying to get as close to her as possible, she's trying her best to avoid him as much as she can. It’s obvious to me that she’s forcing a smile while listening to him talk, and moving out of his proximity every time he leans in closer.

  He seems oblivious to her repulsion and acts as if he owns her, as if she's into him as much as he's into her.

  Or maybe I'm the one misinterpreting things. Maybe I want to believe that she is trying to reject the guy who's touching her because I want her all to myself. Can you really own a girl who's working as a black devil at this club? A girl who openly reveals herself as available to anyone who wants her? A girl who is paid to entertain men like him? Men like me.

  I've been watching her since I arrived. I was on my way to the bar to get myself a drink before I started wandering the room, but froze mid-motion when I spotted her in her black lingerie set. The dark harness detailing around her waist emphasizes her curves. It’s topped by a matching bra with sheer cups, and even from about twenty feet away, I can see her nipples through the fabric, teasing me and asking to be touched. She has a simple, black-banded choker with a small D-ring at the front around her neck, and her platinum-blonde hair is styled in an up-do tonight, only a few curly strands here and there framing her flawless face. The dark red lipstick she’s wearing stands out against her porcelain skin. My eyes wander to her black heels, which are even higher than the ones she wore the other night. A tall girl in heels—you don't often see that. I like rare sights. Her unique look is irresistible to me.

  But there's one thing that I don't like about her tonight.

  She’s wearing black.

  Why the hell is she wearing black? Why is she making this so easy for me? I hate easy. I'm so fucking tired of easy.

  A nasty jolt of jealousy travels through my insides when I see the man's hand moving along the pale flesh of her thigh. It sickens me to see him plucking the lace of her black thong, causing her to flinch, and I bet there's a gasp escaping her pretty red lips when she opens her mouth ever so slightly.

  Mine.

  That's my gasp, a reaction that belongs to me.

  I can't help but growl with a possessive and furious hunger.

  She's visibly trembling as she’s talking to him. My eyes follow the movement of his hand as it travels further, touching a body that I claimed before him, his fingers stroking skin that I wasn't allowed to touch.

  I thought there was nothing I could do about this, but when she averts her eyes from him and turns to me instead, I realize that I'm wrong.

  The expression on her face changes. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and for a moment, she doesn't even seem to notice the lusting hand cupping her breast through the sheer fabric.

  Her lips are moving, but she's not talking to him.

  She's talking to me.

  She's calling for me.

  Normally, I wouldn't let anyone boss me around like this, but this is different.

  She's mine, and she's signaling for me to claim her.

  My feet start moving toward her before I can even coherently make the decision. Her gaze shies away from me as soon as she sees that I'm coming for her. Her body language screams tension, but the guy is oblivious and continues fondling her breast.

  He has been sitting with his back to me, so all I could see was the gray, balding back of his head, but when I come even to them and he turns his face to me, I realize he’s not a stranger. He's an acquaintance of my father, or a "business partner" as he used to say, but it's unlikely they ever once conducted business in the true sense of the word. The only business these two would have ever conducted was handled in the shadows, outside the reach of binding law.

  I doubt he remembers me, because it has been years since we’ve seen one another, and we never exchanged more than pleasantries. But I know something about him that will give me an advantage over him.

  It's perfect.

  Both he and Elene are staring up at me now. He looks irritated, while she looks anxious and apprehensive.

  "Good evening," I say, standing so close to her that our legs are touching. She's not shying away in the slightest.

  "Evening," he growls back, obviously unhappy about my sudden appearance.

  "Hi," she greets, a relieved smile flitting across her face. As soon as it appears, it’s gone, as if she is afraid to get caught looking too happy.

  "I'm sorry that I'm late," I say, reciprocating her smile.

  She looks confused for a moment, and then the meaning of my words dawns on her and she decides to play along. "Oh, it's fine. I’m just glad that you were able to make it."

  Her voice is thin and shaky, hinting at the lie she's trying to hide.

  The man is agitatedly shifting in his chair, and I can feel his eyes on me, burning with irritation.

  "Excus—"

  "The lady has been waiting for me," I interrupt him before he has a chance to even finish his first word, and slowly turn to catch his furious gaze. "I'm sorry, but I will have to steal her from you."

  He snorts. "Young boy, I don't think that's how it works in here."

  "Yes, Mr. Bartlet, that is how it works for us," I strike back. "Besides, I doubt you want anyone to find out how much you like to play in the snow, would you?"

  His eyes flicker with rage, burning through me like hot daggers as he processes my words. I recognize it the moment confusion is replaced by understanding.

  "You..." he stutters. "You are Alvin's boy."

  The smile that tucks at the corners of my mouth is equal parts polite and condescending. I raise an eyebrow at him, giving one last hint that I want him to leave.

  And this time he does. Elene can't hide her surprise when he gets up from his seat, excuses himself, and then hurries away with his whiskey in hand.

  She glances at me, her pretty face full of questions.

  I ignore it for now and signal for the bartender.

  "Yamazaki single malt," I order, casting her a quick look. "Do you want another one?"

  She shakes her head, the wonderfully confused expression still on her face.

  The bartender nods and turns around to pour my drink. I don't speak to the girl until the scotch is placed on the counter, next to her drink. No more interruptions, not tonight.

  "What was that all about?" she asks, as we raise our glasses for a toast. "Did you know that guy?"

  "I think there are more important questions to tackle right now," I counter.

  She lets out a breath. "Like what?"

  "The first question that comes to mind is why are you wearing black tonight?" I ask, adding a reflective pause and leaning closer to her. "Was I right? Have you been waiting for me?"

  Chapter 18

  Elene

  I blush at his question, seeking comfort in my glass, as I always do when I don't know what to say. My heart is still in turmoil, still shaken by the idea of having to play with someone I didn't want near me. Sure, I could have told him no and risked getting in trouble with the madam—but a part of me knows that that's not what I would have done.

  I would have gone through with it, because the desire to please runs rampant through my veins, and it's impossible to shake that pressing urge to be good, to make everyone and anyone but myself happy. It was so much easier when I thought there was nothing—and no one—out there that could make me happy.

  He’s changed all of that. For the first time in my life, I yearn for something, for someone.

  And now he's here. Tonight. He's here, and he saved me from a situation that was more than just a little uncomfortable. I still don't understand what he was saying to the man. What did he m
ean by playing in the snow? And why did it scare the guy enough to leave immediately? And who is Alvin?

  These things will remain a mystery for the present, as I allow my focus to shift to the situation at hand.

  It really happened. He really came for me. Or so I hope. My doubts grew so strong when I couldn't find him, it's hard to make myself believe that the night might actually go the way I'd hoped it would.

  "Have I been waiting for you?" I repeat his question, smiling, more to myself than to him. "Would it make you happy if I said I had been?"

  He cocks his head to the side.

  "I wouldn't believe you," he says. "But I would take it as a compliment, and those are always appreciated."

  "Well, then there's no need for me to answer your question," I say. "If you won't believe the truth anyway."

  He sips at his scotch, his gaze resting on me. He's wearing a different suit tonight. Even in the dim light, I can tell that it's navy blue and not black like the one he wore on opening night. I wish I could see him in the daylight, just to see how well the blue of the suit matches the silky dark brown strands framing his face. I bet he looks just as fantastic in the light as he does in the shadows.

  "You still need to tell me why you're wearing black tonight," he says in a low voice, interrupting my thoughts. "Is that just how it works? Do you change the color you wear every other night? Are they assigned to you?"

  I shake my head. "No. We each individually chose which color we would wear before the club opened."

  "But you were an angel on opening night."

  I nod, biting nervously at my lower lip.

  "And you're a devil now," he observes. "So, you must have changed your mind since opening night, then?"

  I nod again, suddenly feeling shy and unable to meet his probing gaze.

  "What caused you to change your mind?" he presses. "And did you dress as a devil last night, too?"

  My shoulders grow tense at his ongoing questions.

  "I didn’t work last night," I say. I bring my eyes up to meet his, an uncomfortable thought haunting me. "Were you here last night?"

  I almost sigh with relief when he shakes his head. "No, I don't have time to come here every single night, Elene."

  The fact that he remembers my name wraps me in warm comfort. This must mean something, right? He cares enough to remember such a mundane detail that no one before him has ever troubled themselves with.

  "You still haven't answered my question."

  His gray eyes are piercing through me, and when I try to lower my face to evade his intense scrutiny, he stops me by placing the tip of his finger below my chin. It's the first time he's touched me tonight. Such a delicate and innocent gesture, but it churns my insides in a very different way than the other man's hand had before.

  "Tell me," he insists. "And don't look away when you do."

  My impulse to obey takes over, causing me to follow his demand without further ado.

  "I'm wearing black tonight because I want to go up the rooms."

  He nods. "You want to play tonight?"

  "Yes."

  "You want to get touched and fucked, treated like the naughty little girl you are."

  My heart is hammering so hard that I'm worried he could see it pounding through the sheer fabric of my bra. I know that's ridiculous. I know there's another way he could see the impact his words have on me, a telltale sign like no other and a way he forbade me from shielding from him. He can see it in my eyes, bright and clear, the yearning for him flickering like spotlights, calling him in, begging for him to do things to me.

  "Answer me," he urges, pinching my chin between his index finger and thumb.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Don't call me that," he commands. "I know you're used to being with men who like that title, but I'm not one of them. Understand?"

  I nod quietly, biting my lip to prevent myself from disobeying his order. "What should I call you instead?"

  "My name is Damon," he says. "So that's what you'll call me. Just like I will call you by your name. I don't need titles standing between us."

  "Okay," I breathe. "I like that, Damon."

  A dark smile plays at the corner of his mouth. I would call it loving if I didn't know any better.

  "So, you want to play tonight?" he clarifies.

  "Yes I do, very much so."

  He clears his throat, his fingers still holding my chin in place while our eyes remain locked onto each other.

  "When I came in here, I saw you with another customer," he says, sending a hot bolt of regret racing through my chest. "Flirting, talking, letting him touch you. You were just about to go upstairs with him, weren't you?"

  I jerk up in defense, but he keeps me in place, beckoning me to stay still just by pinching my chin again. He has me paralyzed with just the tips of his fingers, a small gesture holding control over my entire body.

  "I... I... it's my job, I would have—"

  "You would have fucked just anyone tonight, wouldn't you?" he interrupts me. "Because it's your job, because you don't care, because you're a wh—"

  "No!" I cut him off. "No, I would have cared! I didn't want to go upstairs with him!"

  His eyes narrows as he fixates on me. "But you still would have done it," he hisses, a cruel undertone in his voice.

  I close my eyes, feeling lost and angry, angry at him, angry at myself. I wish I could be happy about his jealousy and possessiveness, but the wonderful feeling of being desired by a man like him is tainted by my mistake. Was it even a mistake? Did I really do something wrong? After all, who did I betray by changing my role at the club? Him, or myself?

  "I don't know if I would have done it," I say truthfully. "I didn't dress in black for him."

  My cheeks are burning with a heat so strong that I'm sure he feels it, too.

  He's smiling at me, but it's not a friendly smile. There's a darkness in the way he's studying me, a secretive promise for something I thought I'd lost.

  "I want to go upstairs," I whisper. "With you."

  "To the black room?"

  "Wherever you want to take me," I say, retracting to my role as the pleasure girl. Serving, pleasing, whatever he wants, I want to give it to him—but this time, I feel like there's something in it for me as well.

  He shakes his head.

  "You're very eager to please," he observes. "I don't know how I feel about that."

  My eyes fill with worry. What does he even mean by that? Why wouldn't he want me to please him?

  "Please..." I stammer.

  He arches his eyebrows. "Oh, so now you're begging?"

  I pout at him, feeling ashamed and frustrated. What kind of game is he playing with me? And why?

  "Is that part of your routine?" he asks snidely. "Begging?"

  "I don't have a routine." I'm lying, but he doesn't need to know that. Of course I have a routine, plenty of them even. There are certain ways that satisfy certain men, and once I figured out what kind of man I'm with, I knew pretty well how to entertain him. There are routines that include begging, pleading for a man to take me, even if it was a lie.

  But I'm far from lying right now.

  "I don't believe you," he says, and my heart sinks. "Of course you have a routine; you girls always do."

  "You don't believe anything I say," I counter. "Maybe you should let go of that persistent distrust."

  I pause, our eyes connecting. I pout my lips slightly and bat my eyelashes at him. "Have some faith for once. I might be worth trusting."

  A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

  "I don't trust devils," he says. "But I do want to be alone with you."

  He pauses and lets go of my chin. His eyes travel across the room, resting on the spiral staircase.

  "Show me," he says, turning back to me. "Show me the black velvet room."

  Chapter 19

  Damon

  She's walking in front of me, swinging her hips invi
tingly, because she knows that my eyes are on her. There’s no doubt that she's a professional as she leads me up to the velvet rooms.

  It's my first time seeing the upper floor after its renovation, so my curiosity is as piqued by her as it is about the rooms.

  I expected it to be dark up here, but I'm surprised to see how dark it really is. A hallway opens up before us once we reach the second floor. The area is wider and more open than I expected, and the walls are almost entirely covered by thick velvet curtains. Red lights on the ceiling provide dim and alluring illumination that allows little judgment about the decor on the walls or the color of the curtains.

  Elene pauses for a moment, as if she has to find her bearings, before leading me down the hallway. It splits into several corridors, each of them lit in different colors, indicative of the different themes she told me about.

  There's no music up here, nothing but dead silence, interrupted by an occasional moan and clashing of naked skin coming from somewhere behind the curtains. The walls of the smaller corridors branching away from the main hallway are entirely covered by velvet curtains allowing no one to see what might be going on behind them. A solid wall? A door? An open room? According to what I've been told, it could be any of the above.

  Elene hesitates for another moment, as we listen in the dark to soft moans coming from somewhere to our left. I wait for her to continue moving down the hallway.

  "The black room, you said," she whispers, without turning to me.

  "The black room," I confirm.

  She doesn't say another word, but strides forward, turning into the darkest one of the corridors. The farther we walk down it, the darker it gets—if that’s possible—and by the time she stops, I've been following her by ear more than by sight.

  "Left," she breathes, and then I hear a muffled brush of fabric as she moves the thick velvet curtain aside. A hint of light filters into the hallway, guiding me where I need to go.

  The room we enter is not quite as dark as the corridor we just traversed. One single lamp hanging from the ceiling provides just enough light for me to make out Elene’s outline as she moves to the center of the room. We are no longer walking on wood flooring, but on carpet, which muffles the sound of her heels.