Page 2 of Savage Prince
I’m going to have to sell a ton of whiskey to make this trip worth it.
When I hit the next landing, there’s a third man, this one the size of a linebacker, wearing a matching mask.
Where the hell is everyone else?What kind of club has silent doormen and no tipsy patrons stumbling back and forth to the restroom?
I don’t have time to ask either of those questions before masked man number three reads the words on the card I hold out and leads me down a hallway to what I assume must be the manager’s office. At least, I hope like hell it is.
An ornate door with an antique brass knob awaits at the end, and he pushes it open and gestures for me to enter with a meaty hand.
I pin my most professional smile on my face and take a deep breath, ready to charm whoever awaits me inside into buying more whiskey than they plan.
With a confident stride, I make my way inside.
“Hi! I’m Temperance—” I trail off when I realize the chair behind the desk, dimly lit by a simple banker’s lamp, is empty.
A quick scan of the rest of the dark room reveals no signs of life.
What the hell?
“Okay, then.” I clear my throat, poised to turn around and get the hell out of this place, when a light flickering to life distracts me.
But it’s not a light in the office where I’ve been shown, but a light in the room next door. A room that I can apparently view through what appears to be a two-way mirror.
Am I really seeing this?
And by this, I mean a monstrous iron-and-wood four-poster bed draped with black silk sheets ... and restraints.
A bedroom.A kinky bedroom.
Holy hell.
I stumble back a step, reaching for the doorknob, but my gaze fixes on the black mask of the woman entering the bedroom and the heavily muscled shirtless man with his palm on the small of her back.
This isn’t just any trendy secret club interested in adding top-notch whiskey to their shelves.
It’s asex club.
I should be horrified. Running screaming in the opposite direction and out to my car. But instead, I’m rooted to the floor.
I have a front-row seat to one of my dirtiest fantasies. A fantasy I finally got up the nerve to try to fulfill a few months ago, because Lord knows I don’t have time to have a relationship, but my search for a non-sketchy sex club in New Orleans fell flat. Google sure as hell didn’t have this one on the map, and neither did any of the forums or blog posts I read.
A real underground sex club.
A tingle of excitement, like I’ve just discovered a secret key to another world, shoots through me as the man shuts the door to their room and slowly circles the woman before pushing her to her knees with one dominant hand on each shoulder. He has the look of a conqueror inspecting his war prize, complete with tribal ink marking his chest and upper arms, and dark leather pants. It’s hot as hell.
The rational part of my brain says I should look away, not invade their private scene, but I glance quickly at the door I entered through. No one is bursting in to tell me it’s some kind of mistake that I was led here.
The woman, dressed in red lingerie, keeps her gaze downcast, but I’m not nearly as disciplined. I can’t take my eyes off her companion as his ass flexes against the leathers.
When he stops in front of her, he releases her shoulder and buries one hand in her honey-blond hair, gripping her at the base of her neck, forcing her attention to his face.
They are completely and utterly absorbed with each other, and neither of them spares even a glance at the wall that serves as my voyeuristic porthole.Do they know?They must.
His voice somehow comes loud and clear into this room. “You wanted my attention down there, little girl. You’ve got it all now.”
My heart thumps harder as he reaches for the flap of his leathers with his other hand and yanks it open, freeing his heavy cock.
I bite down on my lower lip to stifle the hushedoh my Goddying to break free. The sting from my teeth serves as a reminder that this isn’t one of my dreams.
