Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“I see,” I say, a little hurt that Izaac had failed to mention that he owned a fourth club, though I suppose I can’t blame him. That’s not exactly an easy conversation to have.
Casey opens the main door and this time when she waves me through, I don’t hesitate, suddenly unsure if she’s someone I really want to be talking with. She sounds like someone permanently shoved a stick up her ass and that someone is probably Izaac.
I’m a little early, and so just like the last time I was here, I make my way down to the VIP lounge, flashing my special gold moth to the security guard who waits there. Then after making my way down the stairs and to the bar, I get comfortable, hoping that a stiff drink might help me relax.
The atmosphere is different from the crazy Friday nights that I’ve been here. The music is still electrifying, but everything seems more chill. The gathered members seem like they know each other well. They have their favorites, and they don’t waste time seeking out anybody else. There’s a familiarity about it, and that’s somewhat soothing.
By the time the bartender arrives with my drink, a familiar face makes his way toward me, and I let out a sigh. With everything going on, I’d almost forgotten about this guy, but I’ve got to give it to him, he’s persistent. Every single time I’ve been here, he’s managed to sniff me out like some kind of bloodhound.
“Aspen, right?” he asks, taking the stool beside me at the bar.
I offer him a polite smile. “Yes, that’s right,” I say before an obvious cringe cuts across my face. “I’m so sorry, your name has slipped right out of my head.”
He laughs and offers me his hand. “Ryatt,” he chuckles. “But don’t stress. People don’t often come here to memorize names.”
“No, they certainly don’t.”
Ryatt waves the bartender over and orders a drink for himself before offering one for me, but I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks,” I say, holding up my still-full cocktail.
“So, I take it you’re enjoying Vixen?” he asks. “It’s not everyone’s thing, but once you’ve accepted and embraced the lifestyle, there’s no turning back.”
“I see that,” I murmur, letting my gaze shift around the VIP lounge to take in the familiar faces.
“What are you searching for, Aspen?” he asks, his hand falling to my arm. “I see you here, but never participating, and besides your first visit, you don’t wear wristbands, so you’ve got me stumped. What are you hoping to get out of this?”
“I, uhh—”
A big hand weaves into the back of my hair, pulling my head aside as a set of lips crashes down on the sensitive skin of my neck, and just before I go to push the guy away, that familiar scent hits me, and I melt back into him.
Izaac’s hand curls around my waist, holding me close, and just when I think I’m about to slip into a pleasure-filled coma, his lips fall away. “There’s nothing here for you, Ryatt,” Izaac says, a clear warning in his tone. “This one is taken.”
“I think this one,” Ryatt snaps back, mimicking Izaac’s deep tone, “can choose for herself.”
My brow arches, the audacity of this man starting to get on my nerves as Izaac’s hand shifts from my waist to the center of my back. “Come on.”
I get up without question, willing to follow him blindly, when Ryatt reaches out and catches my elbow. “Woah, baby. Where are you going? We were only just starting to get to know each other.”
I pull my arm free, not liking the feel of his touch against my skin, but Izaac quickly steps in. “She’s not your baby, and I told you, this one is taken,” he rumbles. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Markin.”
Ryatt’s hands fly up in surrender. “Okay, hands off the merchandise. I get it. No hard feelings,” he says. “If I knew you were hunting this sweet thing, I would have backed off earlier.”
“Hunting?” Izaac scoffs in disgust as his hand shifts down to the curve of my back. “You see, it’s phrases like that which leave me wondering if I’d sorely misjudged your character. The women in my club are not here to be hunted, and they’re sure as fuck not merchandise either. Perhaps it’s time for a review of your membership.”
“No need to make any rash decisions,” Ryatt says. “Just a little misunderstanding is all. Besides, you have no grounds to revoke my membership. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“It’s my fucking club. I can revoke whatever the hell I want,” he says, narrowing his gaze and holding Ryatt captive in his deadly stare.
It feels like long, painful seconds before Izaac finally turns toward me and presses against my lower back to get me moving, then once we’re nearly at the door of the private room, he lowers his head, leaning into me. “I don’t want you fucking with that asshole.”