Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Hey, Mr. Black,” he says. “Long time no see.”
“Been busy. How are things going here, Claude?”
“No issues. Everyone’s cool. A couple new membership applications for you to approve. They’re in your inbox.”
I nod. “Thanks. I’ll take a look.” I don’t check my Black Rose email except when I’m here. I have a private server in the back that I can’t even access from anywhere else. What happens at Black Rose truly stays at Black Rose.
I walk through the main room, its bloodred carpeting speckled with members. Some are dressed casually, as I am. Others are dressed in club gear—leather, chains, corsets. Some are naked.
Anything goes at Black Rose Underground—well, anything pertaining to wardrobe. I don’t allow edge play here, for which I have my reasons.
I walk to the bar, where a topless woman gives me a dazzling smile. “What’ll it be, Mr. Black?”
I don’t know her name. I don’t allow myself to get close to anyone who works at the club, other than Claude and Rick and Steve, my managers. “Wild Turkey, one ice cube.”
“You got it.”
A minute later, my drink appears. I bring it to my lips and let its aroma waft around me before I take a sip and let it float on my tongue. When I swallow, it burns. That’s what I like about Turkey. It’s a good slow burn. The other billionaires can have their top-shelf brandies. Give me good old Turkey any day of the week.
Rick Myers, the manager on duty tonight, approaches me and sits next to me at the bar. “Braden, haven’t seen you in a while. Anything you need tonight?”
“A scene, Rick.”
“Did you bring someone?”
I shake my head, picturing Skye in my mind. “Not this time. Anyone available?”
“Aretha’s here.”
Aretha Doyle, a New York model, was my arm candy for a year until we parted ways a few months ago. We never dated. I don’t date. She’s gorgeous and intelligent and very nice, but there wasn’t really any connection beyond that. Still, she was always up for a scene.
“Is she?” I take another sip.
“You want me to set it up?”
I down the rest of the bourbon in one swallow. “Sure. Bring her to my suite.” I set the glass down, rise, and walk through the door leading to various exhibition rooms. My private suite is at the end of the hallway. I slide the key card through the door and enter.
And I wait.
Fifteen minutes later, a knock on the door.
I unlock the dead bolt. Aretha Doyle stands before me clad in nothing but a thong and platform heels that make her eye to eye with me. Her dark hair falls over her broad shoulders, and her tits stick out like cereal bowls. They’re not fake, just small and perky—fashion-model tits.
Nothing like Skye’s.
But I’m not here to think about Skye. My earlier thought that I may not enjoy Black Rose without her spooked me more than a little. I’m here to immerse myself in a scene with a willing participant.
Aretha is willing.
I take her hand. “Come in.”
“I’m surprised you wanted to see me, Braden.”
“Why?”
“Well…you said we were over in no uncertain terms.”
She’s right. I did say that. She was getting too close to me, and I knew if we continued, she’d end up getting hurt. I don’t like hurting women. Not emotionally. Physically? That’s a different story, as long as the hurt ultimately leads to pleasure for both of us.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company now and again. You’re still a member of this club.”
She nods. “What do you want tonight?”
Skye.
The word emerges in my mind seemingly by itself.
I want Skye.
Yes, I want a scene, but I want Skye more.
Damn.
I lead Aretha to the leather table. “Lie down.”
She complies, like a good submissive. I bind her arms above her head but leave her ankles free. I walk to the wall, choose a riding crop, and return to Aretha splayed out on my table, beautiful and ready and willing.
I bring the crop down hard on her tits.
Chapter Thirteen
I’m back in Boston Friday morning, still unsated.
One lash to Aretha’s tits, and I knew I couldn’t continue with the scene. I wasn’t hard. I wasn’t excited. I apologized and sent her away. As much as I craved a scene with a willing partner, I craved something else more.
Skye Manning.
And with Skye Manning, I have to go slowly.
No scenes at the club, at least not yet.
My workdays are always jam-packed, but by mid-afternoon, I can’t wait any longer. I have to see Skye.
Even if it means running into Addison Ames.
I text Christopher, and a half hour later, I arrive at the Ames Hotel. I walk through the marble lobby past the elevators to the offices on the first floor. The door to Addie’s office is open. I stand in the doorway.
Skye covers her computer monitor and steps out from behind her desk. “I’m free as a bird!” she says, smiling.