“Wow.” My voice is awed, because this place is spectacular.
Brandon named the club The Lair and it was a perfect fit, because that’s exactly what it felt like. It’s rich, and intricate. Like being in a castle. The lighting casts everything in a dim, moody golden glow. I can’t even begin to guess how high the ceilings are but they seem to almost disappear into the sky. The woodwork is thick, mahogany and intricately carved. The furniture looks like it came out of an eighteen-century French boudoir and drawing room. All dark wood, antiqued, and red velvet.
It’s the most gorgeous, most decadent place I’ve ever been in.
It looks like a huge sitting room, with arrangements of chairs and tables clustered together to create an intimate setting. The only homage it pays to being an establishment is the massive bar that lines one wall, but even that looks like it came from another century.
The room is already filled with people but it’s a comfortable-sized crowd. Not packed like a bar or club. I am too stunned by the décor, and sheer awesomeness of the place, to be preoccupied by the patrons nestled into the nooks and crannies.
Jillian whistles. “I saw it being built, but seriously, you’ve outdone yourself, Brandon.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Layla agrees.
Brandon holds his arms wide. “Not sure the grandparents would agree with how I’m spending my trust fund, but I like it.”
“What’s not to like,” I say, still studying the intricate scrollwork on the wood.
Brandon walks over and kisses me on each cheek. “The lovely Ruby decided to come tonight. I’m honored.”
That’s the way Brandon is, he makes everyone feel welcome, even when they don’t belong.
I stand on my tiptoes and hug him. “This is the prettiest place I’ve ever seen.”
He laughs, kisses me again, this time on the lips, and says, “Is that a compliment?”
“It is.” I pull away and I walk over to the wall to touch the wood “Where did you get this?”
“A Parisian Catholic church,” Brandon says.
Layla laughs. “You are so perverse.”
It takes me a second for her meaning to dawn on me. Blessed wood in a place that will host sex parties. It is an odd sense of humor.
Brandon walks to Layla and wraps his arms around her. “And don’t you forget it.”
He stands back, grasps her hands and holds out her arms so he could see her. “My, my, my you’re looking good enough to eat, darling girl.”
Layla smiles. “Thank you.”
Brandon’s blue eyes twinkle with amusement. “It's nights like these, when I can see how hard your nipples are, that I wish Michael wasn’t so possessive of you.”
Michael shakes his head and Layla bats him in the chest. “Whatever.”
Brandon turns a sly glance to Michael. “Any chance you’re feeling flexible tonight?”
Michael rolls his eyes. “Not even a little bit.”
Brandon sighs and turns to Jillian. “And there’s my favorite girl.” He kisses her too on the cheek. “Aren’t you looking like a little dominatrix this evening?”
Jillian is tall, like a warrior princess, there’s not much that doesn’t make her look like a dominatrix. She winks. “Only on the outside.”
Brandon cocks a brow and gives her a long look. “Oh, I know what a slut you are on the inside.”
“Christ,” Michael mutters.
I suck in a gasp of shock.
Jillian’s fiancé chuckles.
I’m so confused. How can Leo laugh? Leo didn’t even look the least bit perturbed that Brandon just called his future wife a slut. In fact, he looks kind of pleased.
Brandon shakes Leo’s hand and they pat each other in that guy hug way.
I feel as though I’ve just tumbled down the rabbit’s hole into some sort of bizarre alternate universe.
Brandon gives Jillian a smirk before saying to Leo, “I have the room all ready for her.”
Leo gives Jillian a stern-jawed once over. “Good.”
Jillian appears as though she might drop into a dead faint.
Brandon turns to Michael. “And before we fill up, is there anything you have in mind for the lovely Layla?”
Michael crosses his arm and raises a brow at Layla. “Well, sugar?”
Layla loses her sassy smile, gulps and looks away, shaking her head.
I wonder if she’s thinking about John. The last time she was in a club like this with him. The night he was murdered.
“You sure about that?” Michael is talking to her in that way he has, all hard command.
I fight my urge to run to her rescue. It wasn’t so long ago that my best friend was so fragile and broken I worried if she’d kill herself. She’s never said it, but I suspect there were times she contemplated ending her misery.
When you’ve seen your best friend go through something so horrific, it’s hard not to be overprotective. And that’s the hardest thing for me about seeing Michael with Layla. He does not treat her with kid gloves. While the logical part of me understands that’s what she needs and desires, the part that watched her struggle to get through the day for eighteen months is not as sympathetic.
She licks her lips. “I’m good.”
Michael peers at her. “There’s not something you need?”
She shakes her head again.
He walks over and curls his hand around her neck. “You need to ask for it, Layla.”
I open my mouth, unable to watch him badger her anymore, but then Chad grips my wrist and squeezes hard enough I’m stunned. I jerk my head to glare at him.
He shakes his head, signaling me to be quiet.
Who does he think he is?
I’m about to ignore him and demand Michael stop, but then I realize everyone is very quiet and still, and there’s a hush through our small group. Everyone has grasped some significance about the interaction between Michael and Layla but me.
That I’m once again left out of this whole other part of my best friend’s life.
Layla grips Michael’s shirt and shakes her head.
With his thumb under her chin, he forces her to meet his gaze. “You want to ask, all you need to do is say the words and I’ll give you what you need.” He kisses her. “What you’ve been craving.”
She takes a stuttery breath.
Why do they all understand? Even Chad seems to understand.
I grit my teeth and blink against the tightness in my throat.
Layla opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again.
I watch the struggle play out across her beautiful features.
The conflict in her gaze.
The indecision in the set of her jaw.
The need to escape in her fluttery breath.
So why, if she feels all those things, does she do this? What drives her? I can’t understand and can’t deny it makes me uncomfortable.
She clutches at the fabric of his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to notice. No, he just watches her in that patient way he has, his thumb gently caressing the line of her throat.
No one says a word.
They all just stand and wait.
Her thickly made up lashes flutter. “Will I disappoint you… if I can’t?”
She trails off, unable to finish what she was going to say.
I clench my hands into fists, if he says yes, I will kill him.
But instead, his face softens and he brushes her lips with his own. “Not even a little bit.”
The sincerity of his words, the look of love and utter devotion on his face, makes my heart squeeze.
I have never had anyone look at me like that. Not even close.
“Are you sure?” Her voice is a tremble.
“Have I ever lied to you?”
She shakes her head.
“It’s your choice, girl. I’m proud of you no matter what.”
This seems to lighten something in her, and she changes from the nervous creature she’d been, to something beautiful. Transfo
rms like a butterfly before my very eyes. She takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
“And what are you ready for?” Michael asks.
She looks him right in the eyes. “I want you to tie me up.”
Shock rolls through me. Layla told me once she’d never let anyone bind her in any way. That she couldn’t handle it. Her attackers had tied her up and she said she’d never feel safe that way again.
That she is asking this from Michael astounds me.
“Are you sure?” His voice is calm, his expression steady.
“Positive.” She nods in further affirmation.
“Good girl.” He turns to Brandon. “I assume you have something in mind?”
Brandon walks over to Layla and gives her a look so tender my eyes fill with tears. Then he tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I know just the thing.”
She lowers her gaze. “I trust you.”
Michael slides his arm around her and kisses her temple. “But first, a drink.” He squeezes Layla’s hip. “One drink for now, but you can have as many as you want later.”
Layla beams up at him, not seeming the least bit perturbed her boyfriend just told her how many drinks she could have.
Brandon waves them to a corner and starts walking in that direction. “I reserved a spot.”
These people—they know Layla now—better than me. They know a whole part of her that eludes me. I feel separate from her, and I don’t like it. I resist the urge to scream like a petulant child, She’s my best friend you can’t have her. It’s petty, and wrong, but I don’t know how to stop feeling the way I do. How to stop the jealousy that eats away at me. It wasn’t like that when John was alive. He was a part of us, our group. Now Layla’s a part of something else and I’m tagging along, like a square peg in a round hole.
And, well, it’s just… I used to be Layla’s rock.
It hurts that I’m not anymore.
I start to walk in the direction they’re heading, but once again Chad grips my elbow. I turn around to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
He studies me for a long time and I have to resist the urge to shift under his gaze. Finally, he says to me, “Since you’ve never been to something like this before, you should probably understand the ground rules.”
“Ground rules?”
He nods. “Yes, there are rules, and I can tell they’re all preoccupied and didn’t think to cue you in.”
“What are you talking about?” I thought tonight had no rules.
He crosses his arms over his chest and momentarily it occurs to me how broad shouldered he is, but that’s forgotten as soon as he speaks. “Don’t interrupt when a dominant is talking to his submissive, no matter what it looks like to you or how little you understand. Brandon’s got people monitoring everything, so if things get out of hand, his people will take care of it.”
Defensiveness stirs in my chest and I repress the desire to snap at him. The guy doesn’t know he’s pushing all my buttons, playing on my fears that I’m no longer part of Layla’s life. I peer up at him. “What would you know about it?”
He sighs. “I can’t believe you’re still asking that question.”
“You’ve lost me, Beaver.” I call him Beaver sometimes, like Leave it to Beaver because he’s so good.
He drags a hand through his hair. “I really can’t figure out if you’re being deliberately dense.”
Nerves skitter across my skin as I have that sudden awareness again that I’m missing something key about Chad. But I put on a good show, laughing as I wave at the retreating couples. “What? Are you trying to say you’re like them?”
He tilts his head. “Why do you find that hard to believe?”
“Look at how sweet and innocent you are.”
Suddenly his expression hardens, and it firms his jaw, putting a glint in his eye. “Honey, the only babe in the woods here is you.”
Layla
I shift restlessly in my seat, my fingers playing over the stem of my wine glass. A special Bordeaux Brandon has saved for us. But I can’t enjoy it.
Next to me, Michael puts his hand on my leg and whispers in my ear, “Just breathe, Layla. That’s all you have to do is take one breath at a time, relax and enjoy yourself.”
I nod, trying to pay attention to the calm sound of his voice.
This is a huge thing for me. As he well knows.
It’s why he’s made me ask for it.
He makes me ask for everything big. After the first time the decision will be out of my hands, but that first time it’s entirely my choice.
Being tied up is something I’d sworn I’d never do again. Michael uses his hands to restrain me, I’ve at least managed that much, but I’ve yet to take that final step. I’d known it was coming. It was something we’d talked a lot about, but when I was up against the decision, the inevitability, I faltered.
Michael tucks a crooked finger under my chin and tilts my head to look at him. “Hey, it’s just going to be you and me. Nobody else. You don’t have to worry about putting on a performance. You don’t have to worry about disappointing me. Or if you need to stop. All you need to worry about is you and me. Understood?”
The knot in my stomach loosens and I realize I was worried about just this, and didn’t know it. But of course, Michael knew. He always knows. I bite my lip. “You won’t let anyone watch?”
“No.” He kisses me. “It’s just you and me. In a private room upstairs. And if you panic, we’ll stop, and try again some other day.”
My eyes go misty. “What did I do to deserve you?”
He cracks a grin. “You must have been a very good girl in another life.”
“Indeed.” I give him a smile meant only for him. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head. “No, thank you. I know this is important to you, and I want you to have it. But don’t make it a pass / fail thing like your overachiever brain is prone to do. It’s a process.”
I nod. I know what he’s saying. I’m hard on myself. Too hard.
I’ve come to believe taking this step with Michael is essential to my healing process as I claim back the woman I was before fate and death stole it all away from me.
I want this, because I want to take back what those men stole from me.
But Michael is right; I’ve made it huge in my brain. Of epic significance.
I pick up my glass and take a sip of wine. I want to recapture my mood from earlier. That sassy girl living on the edge of danger. She’s there, lurking below the surface, ready to make her appearance. I just have to unwind a bit.
I take a deep breath, and relax against Michael. We’re on a two-person couch and he puts his arm around me and pushes me back. He twists, leans over me, blocking me from view of the others, before pressing his hand between my bare thighs.
He kisses me, long and deep, his fingers digging into my skin.
I wrap my arms around him, getting lost in the feel of him. His tongue strokes mine as his thumb plays over my inner thigh.
He pulls away and says against my lips, “If my sister weren’t here, I’d fuck you with my fingers until you screamed.”
I moan and arch. She’s not my sister. I don’t care.
He bites my neck then pulls away, adjusting us on the couch.
Jillian grins at us, and shrugs. “I could just turn away.”
Michael says, “Shut up, Jillian.”
At the exact same time I say, “All right.”
Leo laughs. “God, this is fun when your own relatives aren’t involved.”
“Fuck you,” Michael says, his tone good-natured. He pinches me with no real force, his expression amused. “Behave.”
See, I’m already feeling better. That’s the one thing I’ve learned since I’ve been with Michael. To roll with my emotions, no matter how much they irritate me. Like all things in life, once you give up the struggle, things get a lot less complicated.
Ruby walks up to the table, looking vaguely uneasy. Chad
is behind her. I smile and she gives me a halfhearted smile in return.
I’m not sure I made the right decision asking her to come. She seems out of sorts and unhappy.
Not at all like her normal funny, sarcastic self.
I need to get her alone to talk to her, to make sure she’s all right. I frown and say, “You want to go to the bathroom?”
I expect her to jump at the offer, but she shakes her head and says quietly, “I’m good.”
Jillian however, does bound up. “I’ll go.”
I give Michael a quick kiss and grab my bag. I look at Ruby. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”
Her expression tightens and she glances away to the open space behind me. “Maybe later.”
I want to press, but turn to Michael. He gives me a smile. “We’ll take care of her.”
I shift my attention back to Ruby. But she’s not paying attention, her face is remote and unreadable, but I know something is bothering her.
All I can hope is that I didn’t make a mistake. And that, at some point, she’ll find the courage to talk to me.
Jillian
Layla and I hook arms and head off to the ladies’ room.
We are causing quite a stir and as we pass, I can’t help but notice the men turning to look at us, their gazes hungry. We really do look like an angel and a devil, only you know, slutty.
Brandon comes up behind us and puts his arms around our waists. “Come with me, you can use my private bathroom.”
I laugh up at him, and bat my lashes. “I feel so special.”
“That’s because you are special, baby doll.”
Brandon calls me baby doll and Layla darling girl.
In case you were keeping track.
He leads us into an office, befitting of the millionaire he is, with dark wood, and a huge desk that has to be an antique. Brandon pretends to be all modern, but I suspect he’s secretly a Renaissance man, in love with all things old and beautiful. I can relate.
I’m getting my master’s degree in fine art with an emphasis on that period, so I recognize the signs. When I’m through with school I’m going to become an art dealer, and have already started making contacts in the business. When Brandon was decorating the place I went with him to galleries all over the city and I couldn’t help but notice he was attracted to the classics. With an edge, of course.
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