Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 78521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I was truthful when I told her I have no desire to live this lifestyle twenty-four seven. I think I’ve always known that in the back of my mind. It’s what Addison ultimately wanted from me ten years ago, when we were both too young and inexperienced to have a clue what this lifestyle was even about.
It’s what I think Addie still wants—or thinks she wants—to this day. It’s why she still watches me, stalks me, and why she still keeps tabs on Skye.
And there’s nothing I can do except watch Skye’s back and my own.
“What will you wear tonight?” Skye asks.
“Black pants and a black shirt. My usual.”
“That’s your usual? Last time, you were bare chested.”
“Last time, my favorite black shirt was in Boston. I brought it this time.”
“Oh. I see.”
“We left quickly in the middle of the night last time,” I say.
“I know. And you didn’t think…”
“Right. I wasn’t sure you were ready for the club. Whether you’d ever be ready for it, actually. As I told you then, I didn’t plan to introduce you to that part of my lifestyle quite yet.”
She clears her throat. “Some of the men wear leather gear.”
“They do. I don’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t find it comfortable. The club isn’t a place to play dress-up for me.”
“Is that what it is for some people?”
I nod. “Dressing in leather with pierced nipples is a fetish for some. It’s part of exhibitionism for others. Not for me.”
She smiles. “Yet you like to dress me up.”
I grin. “Yes, but that’s for my pleasure. Not for anyone else’s. Not even yours.”
“It pleases me to look good for you.”
“Then I guess it’s for your pleasure as well.” I don my cooling black button-down, leaving the top two open.
She sucks in a breath.
Tingles shoot through me. I love that she finds my physical form pleasing. Of course I’ve always liked the fact that I’m attractive to women, but with Skye?
It’s something different entirely. It makes me shine on the inside.
“Are you ready?” I ask, handing her a trench coat.
She nods, squirming. I smile. Already she’s pulsing between her legs, becoming wet for me.
We head to the elevator.
A few minutes later, we arrive at the club.
Black Rose Underground.
“Did you name the club?” she asks.
“Of course. It’s my club.”
“Where did the name come from?”
“It just sounded good to me.”
Not a lie. It is a great name, and I named it five years ago, when I built it.
But it wasn’t until later that I realized the significance.
The fire.
The rose.
The black cinders from the fire that disintegrated in my fingers.
Always a part of me, just like this club.
“Do I have to sign the NDA again?” she asks.
“No. You’re good for a year.”
I sign us in, and we enter. It’s a little more crowded this evening. I lead her to the bar, where I order two Wild Turkeys. The bartender, Michelle this time and still topless, slides the bourbons to us, and I hand one to Skye.
“What would you like to do tonight?” I ask.
She doesn’t hesitate. “I want you to bind me again.”
“That would please me, but there’s a lot here you haven’t seen. I can show you so much more.”
“That would be nice,” she says, “but maybe another time. I’d like to see the bondage room again. Then I want to go to your suite.”
I take a sip of my drink. “As you wish, Skye.” I pull my phone out of my pocket. “I never showed you this.”
She takes my phone, and her mouth drops open.
It’s a photo of her the last time we were here. She’s bound with the dark red rope and lying on her side in the semi-fetal position, her eyes closed. Her hair is slightly disheveled, and all she’s wearing are the black stilettos.
And my collar.
“You said I could take photos of you. Cameras aren’t allowed in here, but since I own the place, I bend the rules a little. Besides, I have no intention of posting this photo anywhere.”
She stares at the photo, her eyebrows raised.
And I see what draws her gaze.
It’s the look on her face.
It’s what draws me, too.
Bound at the club.
But not just bound by rope.
She’s spellbound as well.
Enthralled.
And beautiful.
This is what she needs to see and to understand.
She can be home here. She can be herself here. She can find what she needs here.
But she cannot escape here.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“I see a lot in this photo,” she says, “but most of all, I see me.”
Chapter Fifty
Most of all, I see me.
I understand. Skye already told me she feels the most like herself at the club, as I do. What she needs to learn is that the club isn’t real life. It’s not supposed to be.
It’s a fantasy, and though we can feel like ourselves during fantasy, we must always return to the world and exist within its parameters. That’s not a bad thing. It’s a necessary thing.