by Nikki Sloane
He wanted me to get into his bed? I didn’t need to be told twice. I put a knee on the mattress, crawled along the sheets in a way I hoped he found seductive, and lay down with my head on what I suspected was his pillow. The sheets smelled faintly sunny and woodsy, like the scent of his detergent battled for control over his cologne and body wash.
I’d expected him to join me in the bed, but instead he disappeared into his bathroom, flipping on the light and moving deeper inside, out of my view. There was the sound of a door opening, perhaps the linen closet, and then the faucet ran for a moment. I propped myself up on my elbows and peered through the doorway to watch him wring out a towel.
It was only a few moments later when he brought it into the bedroom and draped the cold, damp towel over the marks on my skin. I flinched, but the coolness of it soothed me instantly.
“Thank you,” I said.
Clay sat on the side of the bed, turned toward me with one leg tucked on the mattress and a contemplative look streaked his face.
“What did you want to talk about?”
He drew in a heavy breath. “Remember how I said I’m complicated?”
I nodded. I’d thought he meant the BDSM furniture, but the way he was now made me unsure. He looked more nervous than he was the first time he’d used the ruler on me.
“I can do relationships,” he said. “I completely understand the need for commitment and trust. And even monogamy if that’s what my partner wants.” He frowned, like the next part was difficult for him to say. “But I don’t do romance, Lilith.” His gaze trapped mine. “Which means I don’t date.”
FIVE
I blinked, trying to digest what Clay had just said. “Why?”
“I’m no good at it, and more importantly, I’m not interested. I’ve never been.”
The look he’d given me before—the one I couldn’t place—made sense now. It had been guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “If that’s what you’re looking for from me, I can’t give it to you.” He pushed up his glasses and straightened his shoulders. “As a rule, I don’t scene with someone unless they know already. I’m sorry about how I handled that.”
I swallowed a breath. “So, what you’re saying is . . . you don’t want to be my boyfriend?”
He went utterly still, but when I laughed and he realized I was joking, he returned to life.
“Don’t sweat it, Clay.” I grinned. “I’m not looking for any of that right now.” My last several relationships hadn’t gone so well. Maybe I was like him. “I’m not any good at dating either.”
My response was so unexpected to him and, God, the way he looked at me. As if I were a structure he wasn’t able to figure out, a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
I mashed his pillow beneath my chest. “Do you do this a lot?” What was the word he’d used? “Scene?”
He hesitated, but it didn’t seem to be reluctance. More like he was trying to word his answer carefully. “I haven’t in a while.” He reached out, tracing his fingertips over the curve of my shoulder. “You liked what we did?”
“Yes.”
His tender touch was disarming. “I’m meeting a client tonight at Club Eros.” He pushed a lock of my hair back and his tone was cautious. “Are you interested in coming with me?”
“Club Eros,” I repeated. I’d never been to a BDSM club, and suddenly now I was dying to. What would it be like? I said it teasingly, even though I was serious. “Are you going to show me your world?”
His gaze snapped to mine, and his intensity made me shiver with excitement. “Yes.”
I wore a black corset top, paired with a teal skirt, and the same black heels from earlier. The strapless satin corset was the sexiest thing I owned, and I’d never been brave enough to wear it before tonight.
I sat beside Clay in the back seat of our Uber as it drove us toward the club. He’d given our driver the address, and I wondered most of the drive there if the guy knew what kind of club he was going to deliver us to. Clay was dressed in a black suit without a tie, and the collar of his white shirt was unbuttoned. He looked nice and professional, and not at all like he’d be the type of guy to spank me with a metal ruler hard enough that sitting was still uncomfortable hours later.
But I liked the sensation. I spent every quiet moment thinking about who had caused my discomfort, and heat flushed through me.
When I climbed out of the car and stared up at the club, I was surprised at how unassuming it looked. The rest of the block was warehouses, but this building was a house. Two-stories tall and brick, it was set back a little from the road, and had no signage other than a backlit chrome E glowing beside the door. I wouldn’t have even known it was a club if it wasn’t for the black-suited man standing on the porch out front. He was clearly security. Otherwise, the place was dark and quiet.
I strolled alongside Clay, moving across the sidewalk and up the porch steps to the entrance.
The security man seemed to recognize Clay, because the guy smiled and opened the door for us. He gave me a casual once-over. Not leering at all, more simply curious. Clay said he didn’t date, but he’d probably brought other women here before me. Maybe the bouncer was interested in who this new girl was at this regular customer’s side.
The guard gestured politely for me to go first, and I stepped across the threshold into the club.
The walls and ceiling of this small entry room were painted black, and subdued lighting lit the woman sitting behind the counter. She was older, but had a bright, youthful smile.
“Welcome back,” she said warmly to Clay before her gaze turned to me. “Can I see your IDs?”
“She’s new,” he explained as we both pulled out our drivers’ licenses. “Not a member yet.”
I set my ID on the counter, and the woman’s smile widened. “That’s great. I’ll get you all squared away, honey.”
She scanned our IDs and typed into her computer, nodding along to the soft thump of music that could be heard coming from deeper inside the place. I was handed a clipboard with a release to sign and date, which I did.
After the paperwork was completed, she looked pleased.
“Your membership’s been approved,” she said, handing back my license. “The new member fee is twenty.”
Clay must have been expecting this because he dropped a credit card on the counter, right next to his ID. She picked up his license and got to work scanning it in.
“The cover for her will be ten,” she continued, “and for you—”
The scan of his license popped up on her screen, and the title ‘Preferred Member’ flashed along the top.
“Oh.” She straightened in pleasant surprise. “So, the total will be just sixty.”
I blinked. Just sixty? I lowered my voice to a whisper so only he’d hear. “How much is it regularly?”
His expression was fixed. “For the guys who are regular members, it’s a hundred a night.”
“Jesus.” That was a lot for one night, not to mention sexist, but also . . . it didn’t surprise me. The strip club I went to years ago with my guy friends had no cover charge for women. Maybe this place wanted to entice as many women as possible like other clubs did.
The woman turned her attention to him. “Do you want to give her the tour, or would you like me to call someone from staff?”
“I can give it to her.”
She nodded and focused on me. “All right, the rules are easy for women. Really, the only one is no phones are allowed. If you get caught using one, you’ll be asked to leave. You’re allowed to go anywhere inside the club, except staff areas, behind the bar, or the restroom that’s opposite the gender you identify as. Also, if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable or unsafe, just let someone on staff know immediately and we’ll take care of it. Staff is all around the club. They’re the ones wearing gold nametags.”
Done with her spiel, the woman swiped Clay’s credit card, tore off the slip, and passed it to
him to sign.
“If you’re interested in watching,” she added, “Mistress Theia’s show begins at eleven thirty. Any questions I can answer for you?”
It was clear she was asking me, but my brain was buzzing over what she’d just said. Show? Mistress? I was anxious to go inside. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay. You two have fun.” She slipped her hand under the counter and must have pressed a button, because the door to the club buzzed softly.
Ever since I’d been told about this place, I’d tried to picture what it’d be like. In the movies, sex clubs always seemed either scary industrial, full of metal and leather, or elegant and opulent, with red velvet drapes and flickering candles.
Eros wasn’t like either of those.
At first glance, it was like any regular nightclub. There was a bar along the back wall and a dancefloor in the center, complete with strobing lights and music that was heavy on the bass. There were elevated platforms at the edge of the dance space. One was a cage and the other a pole, but currently both platforms were empty.
It was relatively dark in the large room, and subdued lighting was cast down on the individual tables scattered on the carpeted area.
There weren’t many people out on the dancefloor, but I couldn’t tell if it was because it was too early in the evening, or the cause was the song that was currently playing. It was sexy, but it was also slower. Too slow to make me want to dance.
Several couples and groups of friends sat at the low tables, talking and drinking while watching the handful of people moving to the music on the dancefloor.
My gaze followed theirs, and I did a double-take.
One of the women out dancing lifted her dress clear up to her waist, flashing the crowd with her perfectly bare lower body. When I turned to Clay to see his reaction, he wasn’t surprised. Only a faint smile hinted on his lips.
He had to lean close so I could hear him over the music. “Guys have to be dressed in the common areas on this floor, but not women. Once you’re through the front door, you can take everything off if you want to, Lilith.”
It was suddenly difficult to catch my breath. Obviously, I wasn’t shy, but I’d never been a true exhibitionist before, mainly because I worried getting naked in public would get me in trouble. My gaze went back to the dancefloor and the woman who swayed her hips, teasing the couple closest to her as she showed off her pussy. Was I interested in that?
I didn’t have time to consider it right this second, because there was still a lot to take in.
I found the clientele interesting and unexpected. There was a huge range in ages—people of all shapes and sizes and levels of attractiveness—and the vast majority of them were dressed up like Clay and I were. Fancier skirts, dresses, and suits seemed to be the standard, rather than leather or latex.
“Let’s get a drink, and I’ll give you the tour,” he said.
When I nodded, Clay gestured toward the bar. One side of it was occupied by a few guys who sat on stools, and their gazes were fixated on the dancefloor—until I walked by.
Awareness trickled down my spine. I looked good tonight in my corset, short skirt, and stilettos, and these men had noticed. The atmosphere surrounding me thickened.
It was the same experience as a group of guys zeroing on me at a bar when I’d been separated from my friends.
It felt like I was being watched by predators. As if these men were a pack of wolves and I was fresh meat plunked down in front of them. Had Clay sensed it too? He set his hand on the small of my back, and my heart tripped over itself. Maybe it was just a helpful gesture to guide me, but I doubted it. He’d done it to lay claim.
And I didn’t mind that one bit.
While we waited for the bartender to mix our drinks, I ticked my head toward the men on the other end of the bar. “What’s the story with those guys?”
“Single men are only allowed at the bar.”
“They can’t go anywhere else?” Confusion made me press my lips together. “They pay a hundred bucks to, what? Just sit at the bar all night?”
He found my question amusing as he tipped the bartender, grabbed our drinks, and handed mine to me. “No. They can leave the bar if someone invites them to join them.”
“Oh, I gotcha. If a woman picks them up, then they can—”
“Yeah, except it’s almost always couples.”
“Really?” I grinned scandalously. “Threesomes?”
He was so matter-of-fact about it. “Sometimes, or the husband just wants to watch.”
Oh, my God. My gaze flicked to the men perched on their barstools who looked like they were waiting for someone to punch their dance card. “If I hadn’t come with you tonight, would you be sitting with them?”
Not that he’d have to wait long. He had the whole Clark Kent thing going on, which was incredibly sexy. At least, it was to me. I’d always though Superman was the hottest when he was hiding behind his plain clothes and glasses.
“I’ve been a member for more than five years,” he said, “and I’ve been vetted, so I have the same freedoms as you.”
“Yeah?” I lifted an eyebrow and pretended to be skeptical. “Why don’t you get naked and prove it?”
It was so much fun to catch him off guard. His eyes would widen behind his black frames, and I could see how disoriented he became when things didn’t go exactly as he planned. He recovered quickly, though.
“I stand corrected. I have almost the same freedoms as you.”
He took a sip of his drink, then motioned beyond the dancefloor. There was a doorway on the far side of the room that led to the rest of the club, and I was eager for the tour, but before I could take a step, my heart lurched.
There was a man seated alone at one of the tables with his hand wrapped around a tumbler of amber liquid, although the drink looked untouched. He wore a beautiful gray suit and blue tie, and when he lifted his hand to wave, a brilliant smile broke on his face.
I didn’t know him, but blood rushed through me, heating my body regardless.
Clay was handsome and sexy, exuding intelligence and competence. He was like a Hollywood version a hot nerd.
This stranger waving at me was the Hollywood version of a hunk, and even though I usually liked Clay’s brand of guy best, it was impossible to ignore how good this man looked.
He was younger than Clay, but older than I was—maybe the guy was thirty. He had sandy-colored hair that was perfectly unruly, the ends curling as they fell to brush his ears. And—sweet Jesus—his friendly smile. It lit up the room.
I waved back, keeping my gaze locked on him, even as I whispered to Clay. “Why is that guy waving to me?”
He chuckled. “He’s not.”
When Clay waved back at the man, embarrassment slammed into me. How freaking cocky had my question been? To just assume the guy was interested in me, and not Clay? He’d told me twenty seconds ago he’d been a member at this club for more than five years. Surely, he’d met other regulars and become friends.
Another idea dawned in me. “Is he the client you’re meeting?”
“No.” I’d expected him to say more, and the long silence prompted him to reluctantly continue. “He’s a . . . friend.”
“Oh?” Interesting. “Let’s say hi before we start the tour.”
But he didn’t move. Instead, his gaze sharpened on me. “Why?”
What did he mean, why? “Because it’s polite?”
“Hmm, is that it?” His slight smile was teasing. “I’m sure the fact that he’s attractive has nothing to do with it.”
I played dumb as my gaze drifted back to the man. “Is he? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Right.” He laughed at my outright lie. “Maybe we can say hello after the show if he’s still here. I want to make sure I have enough time to show you around before my meeting.”
“Okay,” I said. It was clear he had a plan, and it didn’t include introductions with the hottie in t
he gray suit. The guy’s gaze followed us as we strolled past the tables and dancefloor, but he never made a move to rise from his seat or motion us over to him.
The next room was a swanky lounge. On one side, a couch and several cushy chairs were gathered around a glass table. On the other, there were two open doors, leading into rooms that were dark.
“If a door’s closed,” he said, “it means the room’s in use.”
He stuck his hand in and flipped on a switch, lighting up the room that contained two couches that were so small, they were more like loveseats, and a side table that was only big enough to set drinks on. It was tight in the room, but the couches were deep and inviting, and it wasn’t hard to picture what probably went on in here.
Clay turned off the light and led me down the short hall. To our left was a gorgeous L-shaped wooden staircase, but he went right, taking me into a room with a glossy black floor and dark red walls. There was a small platform, like a stage, at the end of the room, and a strip of exposed brick served as the backdrop, framing the St. Andrew’s cross mounted to it.
I swallowed a breath. I didn’t need to see the logo carved in the side because I recognized the style instantly.
“Yours,” I said.
There was a hint of pride from him. “Yes.”
This cross wasn’t like the modern one he had at home. It was the traditional X, made of wood and decorated with iron bands and rings. The warm oak looked great against the brick, and it fit the space perfectly.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“Thank you.”
The cross had drawn my attention since it was the focal point, but my gaze shifted to take in the rest of the room. I got the feeling that the black folding chairs were typically set up in rows facing the cross, but tonight they were placed in a circle, leaving the center of the room empty.
Whatever the show was, it’d be happening there, rather than on the stage.
Disappointment skittered through me. “They’re not using your cross for the show?”
