Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
He turns as though to lead me out, and I reach up and grasp his arm. Yes, I’m scared witless, but not about what might happen next. I’m afraid if I leave, I’ll never have the strength to move on from waiting for Jackson to notice me.
“No. I want to stay.”
He holds my gaze, the muscle in his jaw clenching before he offers a single nod and ushers me toward the bar.
Mr. Dark and Sexy motions to one of the bartenders—a female with average-size breasts and nipple rings. She’s beautiful. Everyone is beautiful here.
But are they? Honestly, I don’t really notice any physical characteristics. Everyone is just so…
I can’t find a word.
A few minutes later, two drinks slide in front of us.
“What is it?”
“Taste,” Mr. Dark and Sexy whispers.
Willing myself not to shake, I pick up the glass of orange liquid and take a sip.
Then I laugh. “It’s orange juice. Just orange juice.”
The bartender smiles. “We don’t serve a person alcohol unless that person specifically asks for it.”
Mr. Dark and Sexy picks up his glass—his is clear with a twist of lime—and takes a sip.
“Are you ready?” he asks, still in a whisper.
“I can’t be ready,” I say. “Not until I hear your voice.”
He takes another sip of his clear liquid. Is it just water? Seltzer? Or does his have booze in it? I can’t tell by watching him.
Nothing. Nothing for the next few seconds until I feel like he may not even possess vocal cords.
But then—
“Are you ready, Mandy?”
My jaw drops.
That clear drink with a twist of lime? It’s a Tanqueray and tonic.
Does Mr. Dark and Sexy truly think he can hide himself from me? I’d know that whiskey-toned voice anywhere.
Chapter Ten
Jackson
Uh-oh.
For a split second, she appeared to recognize my voice, but from one blink to the next, the look of surprise is gone. I must have imagined it. This won’t work if she knows who I am.
She doesn’t say anything, her gaze bouncing around the room nervously as she bites her lower lip.
Why is she still here? Just one look at this place should have scared the hell out of her.
And her red lips? Those aren’t Mandy, no matter how fucking hot they look.
I clear my throat, lowering my voice again. “I said, are you ready?”
Amanda smiles. Actually smiles. “I came here to learn, Mr. Dark and Sexy. What do you have to teach me?”
Mr. Dark and Sexy? God, she’s killing me. She can’t possibly be serious. Black Rose Underground is not for Amanda. I can’t believe she allowed me to put a blindfold over her, not knowing who I was.
What is happening? Are the planets out of alignment?
How is my Mandy Cake even here?
I look around. I know about a third of these people personally, and they are good people. Businessmen and -women who share my tastes in the darker and kinkier side of sex.
This is the place where we act out our deepest fantasies. Where we don leather, where we act out scenes with each other, where we…
Mandy can’t be here.
She just can’t.
Here in the main room, sex acts technically aren’t allowed—except oral sex is common and security turns a blind eye. Members can wear what they want—including nothing at all—and they can touch each other as they dance, they can kiss, but when it’s time to get down and dirty, they go to the back.
Several large rooms exist behind the main dance room for exhibitionists and voyeurs. Anything goes in those rooms as long as there’s consent—with the exception of edge play. Edge play isn’t allowed at Black Rose.
God. How am I even thinking about edge play when Mandy’s right next to me?
Fine. I haven’t scared her off Lustr yet. Doesn’t mean I won’t.
“What’s your pleasure, Mandy?” I ask.
“My pleasure is your pleasure,” she says, her voice totally calm. “I’m here for you to teach. Where do I start?”
Where do I start? Seriously? Probably with a kiss on the cheek. Mandy doesn’t belong here. Vanilla sex doesn’t belong here. But at the same time, I’m hard as a rock just looking at her in this place.
God, something about her here—her innocence and sweetness, her unassuming beauty—seems totally at home.
Which makes no sense at all.
I’m not ready to take her to the back. Hell, I never expected her to get this far. “Why don’t we dance?”
She nods. “I’d love that, Mr. Dark.”
I lead her out to the dance floor. Again—like the time at my parents’ anniversary party, like the photo on her profile—I can see her nipples protruding through her shirt. God, she has great nipples. I’ve trained myself not to think of Mandy this way, but in this place? With her nipples showing?
I find myself wanting her.
I can’t have her. This is my private place where I indulge my darkest desires. So why does she seem so at home?