31. Ezra
Chapter 31
Ezra
I push open the rusty metal door, wincing at the screech of hinges that probably haven't seen oil since the Reagan administration. The cavernous space inside hits me like a wall of stale air and dust. What the actual fuck?
"Atticus?" I call out, my voice echoing off bare concrete and exposed steel beams. This place is a goddamn tetanus shot waiting to happen.
I spot him near the far wall, talking to some guy in a hard hat who's gesturing at a set of blueprints.
"What the actual fuck is this place?" I ask, gesturing around at the dilapidated hellscape surrounding us. "Did you lose a bet or something?"
Atticus turns, his eyes locking onto me like a heat-seeking missile.
He dismisses the hard hat guy with a curt nod before striding toward me, every inch the powerful businessman even in this dump. His hair is perfectly coiffed, and his tailored suit looks hilariously out-of-place amid the grime and decay.
"Whatever the fuck I want it to be," he says, his voice low and controlled as always. But there's a hint of…excitement? Now I'm really worried.
I saunter over, trying to look nonchalant while avoiding the debris scattered across the floor. "And what exactly is 'whatever the fuck you want'? Because right now it looks like a serial killer's wet dream."
I try not to squirm under that piercing gaze. It's like being x-rayed by a very sexy, very dangerous machine.
"It's an investment, Ezra," he says, running a hand through his graying hair. "In a year, this will be the hottest new club in the city."
I bark out a laugh, spinning in a slow circle to take in the decrepit space. "A club? You're shitting me, right? This place is a fucking disaster zone. I do clubs, Atticus. You don't."
He raises an eyebrow, that infuriatingly sexy smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Oh? And what makes you think I can't?"
I snort, kicking at a chunk of crumbling concrete. "For starters, this place looks like it's one stiff breeze away from collapsing. And let's be real, you wouldn't know club ambiance if it bit you on your perfectly tailored ass."
Atticus closes the distance between us in two strides, looming over me. His presence is overpowering, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Is that so?" he purrs. The words are nothing but danger and promise. "Maybe I'll build a gloryhole in my office, just for you. You can sit there all night on the other side, waiting for me to use one of your holes."
My breath catches in my throat, heat flooding my body. Fuck.
He leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Or maybe I'll put you in one of the public gloryholes. Let everyone have a taste. Maybe that'll shut your bratty ass up."
I swallow hard, torn between arousal and indignation. "You wouldn't dare," I challenge, but my voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.
Atticus chuckles, making my dick pulse. "Try me, playboy. I own this place and you. I can do whatever the fuck I want."
He steps back, leaving me flushed and off-balance. I hate how easily he can affect me, how quickly he can turn me into a quivering mess.
"Now," he says, all business again as he gestures around the space. "I want your input on the layout. You know clubs, after all."
I blink, trying to shift gears from 'horny' to 'professional.' "Right. Uh, well, first things first. We need to get this place checked for structural integrity. No point in planning if the roof's gonna cave in on us."
Atticus nods, pulling out his phone. "Already done. It's sound, just needs some serious renovation."
I walk the perimeter, ideas starting to form. "Okay, bar along that wall. VIP section up there on that mezzanine. Dance floor here in the center. We could do some killer lighting with these high ceilings."
As I talk, I can feel Atticus' eyes on me, watching my every move. It's unnerving and exciting all at once. I turn to face him, unable to resist pushing just a little more.
"You sure you're up for this, old man? Clubs are a young person's game, after all."
Atticus' eyes flash dangerously, and before I can blink, he's got me pinned against the nearest wall. His body presses against mine, hard and unyielding.
"It's a fucking sex club, Ezra," he growls, his voice a low rumble that I feel in my chest. "And sex is very much my game."
My brain short-circuits. A sex club? Holy shit. Images flood my mind—writhing bodies, the crack of a paddle, moans echoing off these concrete walls. My cock twitches in my jeans.
A predatory smile spreads across his face.
"Now," Atticus continues, his breath hot on my neck, "let's get to work. Or would you rather I find some other club owner to work with?"
The thought of Atticus working closely with another club owner, someone who isn't me, makes my blood boil. I can't help the possessive growl that escapes my throat.
"Like hell you will," I snarl, grabbing his perfectly pressed shirt. "You want a club? I'm your fucking guy."
Atticus' smirk is infuriating and sexy as hell. "Jealous, are we?" he purrs, clearly pleased with my reaction. "Good. I like seeing you jealous, playboy. Reminds you who you belong to."
I want to argue, to tell him I don't belong to anyone. But we both know that's bullshit. I've been his since that first night he bent me over and fucked me senseless.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to lean into him. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it," I mutter, but there's no real heat in my words.
Atticus steps back, giving me space to breathe. His eyes rake over me, predatory and hungry.
I start pacing. "We'll need to soundproof everything."
Atticus watches me, something dark dancing in his eyes. "Go on," he says, voice low and commanding.
"We'll need a main play area, of course. Maybe we can use that mezzanine for more exhibitionist stuff. Oh, and we definitely need a sling room."
I'm on a roll now, barely pausing for breath. “We'll need top-notch security, obviously. And a strict vetting process for members. This place needs to be safe and discreet.”
"Look at you, so excited," Atticus purrs, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker. "I bet if I reached down right now, I'd find you half hard."
I pause mid-sentence, scowling at him. Damn him for always being right. My cock is definitely taking an interest in this whole situation. I huff, crossing my arms like the brat I know I can be.
"You asked for my help, and I'm giving it," I snap. "Now I want something in return."
Atticus' eyebrow quirks up, that infuriating smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "State your price," he says, voice low and dangerous.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. This is it. No turning back now.
"I want you to let Lemon out of the deal," I say, the words rushing out before I can second-guess myself. "I want her to want us for us, not because of some arrangement made in desperation. And I want it to be permanent."
The words hang in the air between us. Atticus goes still, his eyes never leaving mine. The silence stretches on, making my skin crawl. Fuck. Maybe I've pushed too far this time.
I can't read his expression. It's like staring into the eyes of a shark—cold, calculating, and utterly unreadable. My heart's pounding so hard I swear he must be able to hear it echoing off these bare concrete walls.
Just when I think I might actually piss myself from the tension, Atticus speaks.
"Alright," he says simply, his voice low and controlled as always .
I blink, certain I must have misheard. "What?"
"I said alright," Atticus repeats, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone. "I'll let Lemon out of the deal. No strings attached."
My jaw drops. I'm pretty sure I look like a fucking goldfish, mouth opening and closing uselessly as I try to process what just happened.
"Holy shit," I finally manage to croak out. "Are you serious? Just like that?"
Atticus' lips quirk up in that infuriatingly sexy half-smile of his. "There isn't much I wouldn't give you, Ezra," he says, his voice softer than I've ever heard it.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as sandpaper. Atticus is so close I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his body. My heart's still racing, but for a whole different reason now.
"But what about Lawson?" I manage to ask, my voice hoarse. "I thought you were using Lemon to get revenge on him."
Atticus pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, one eyebrow raised. "You asked me for something, Ezra, and I'm giving it to you. I can fuck with Lawson in numerous ways. I don't need to take it out on his daughter."
The words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. I stare at him, searching his face for any sign that he's bullshitting me. But all I see is sincerity in those icy eyes.
I open my mouth, then close it again, at a loss for words. This is Atticus fucking Reid, the man who makes multi-million dollar deals without breaking a sweat. The man who's never given anything away for free in his life. And here he is, handing me exactly what I asked for on a silver platter .
"Fuck," I breathe, running a hand through my hair. "I…I don't know what to say."
Atticus steps closer, closing the distance between us. His presence is overwhelming, filling all my senses. "You don't have to say anything," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.
A shiver runs down my spine.
No, I guess I don’t need to say anything.
He knows how I feel about him and now I know how he feels about me.