Chapter 10
Anton
There’s no sign of Genevieve Carew’s platinum locks or tantalising arse when I finally get around to visiting Alchemy.
My shiny membership card arrived by courier a couple of days after I signed the final paperwork.
To say I’ve been looking forward to road-testing the newest and most potentially hedonistic of my various playgrounds is an understatement, but work trips to Monaco and Sophia Antipolis over the past three or four weeks have prevented me from heading over there.
Until tonight.
I stay late in the office, shower in the palatial bathroom off my office and head straight over to Alchemy, clad in a brand-new version of my standard uniform: black trousers and a white shirt.
Fortuitously, my Milan-based tailor hopped over to Monaco to measure me up for some new threads while I was down there.
The patrons may be obliged to behave themselves in the bar area, but the atmosphere is far headier than when I visited in broad daylight.
It still has the vibe of an exclusive hotel bar, but there’s an edge now.
The women are dressed to the nines, exposing plenty of flesh, and the guys scream finance.
I’ve frequented far more hardcore kink clubs than this, where the clothing is more bondage-heavy. Tonight’s attire is more playful, more luxuriously slutty than outright fetishist, and I like it.
The more expensive-looking the woman, the more enjoyable it is unravelling her.
And there are plenty of expensive-looking women here.
I’m nursing a scotch by the glowing pink bar and evaluating my many options when a guy approaches.
He’s dark haired and wearing a not dissimilar ensemble to mine.
The honey blonde in the microscopic gold dress hanging off his arm is far younger than him, and a little skinny for my usual tastes, but so breathtakingly beautiful I’d be glad to make an exception.
My initial take is that the calibre of women here is sky fucking high.
The guy holds out his hand.
‘Mr Wolff? Rafe Charlton. I’m the CEO here.’
We shake, and I tell him to call me Anton. I suspect he doesn’t suffer fools, which I like, but he’s far friendlier than certain other people on his management team.
Probably because I’m not trying to get in his pants.
‘This is my girlfriend, Belle,’ he says, sliding an arm around her waist. The gesture reads as proprietary, its subtext clear.
I don’t share.
I grin.
‘How do you do, Belle,’ I say in my most charming tone, and I’m rewarded with a blinding smile. She really is exquisite.
‘Am I right in thinking it’s your first visit?’ Rafe enquires, tucking her into his side. She’s golden and feline, and the easy sensuality of their embrace serves as an unwelcome reminder that committed relationships have their advantages.
‘Yep,’ I say, my eyes scanning the room. Over Rafe’s shoulder, someone opens the double doors to The Playroom, and the fleeting glimpse I’m afforded of its dim mysteries has my appetite ratcheting up. I’ll savour the anticipation over my scotch and then I’ll dive right in.
‘Genevieve here tonight?’ I enquire casually.
Rafe frowns. ‘Not sure, actually. I haven’t seen her.’
‘She’s not,’ Belle offers. ‘She has a date.’
A date.
Is that so?
My displeasure must show on my face, because Rafe steps smoothly in.
‘I wondered, Anton, if I could introduce a couple of friendly faces to show you the ropes once you head next door? I thought our hosts could make you feel at home.’
‘Yeah,’ I drawl. ‘Good idea.’
If Ms Carew’s not here then there’s no reason not to sample as many of this club’s delights as I can.
‘Excellent,’ he says. He looks off to the side and jerks his head in a come hither motion.
There are two young women standing off to the side.
They’re both on the curvier side, both stunning, and both in identical, figure-hugging white dresses.
One has pale skin and tumbling auburn curls, the other has dark skin, long black hair, and spectacular tits.
My interest is immediately piqued.
‘Meet Jess and Alexia,’ Rafe says. ‘Your wish is their command. All our female hosts wear the same thing so you can spot them easily inside. Our male hosts are in black polo shirts and black trousers. Switch it up as much as you like.’
I glance at him. This delicious little minx may have tamed him, but I recognise something of myself in him.
I’d put money on him having been as predatory as they come before he set his sights on the ultimate prize.
I turn my attention back to Jess and Alexia. Their names are already imprinted on my brain. You don’t get where I am without having a strong game when it comes to names and faces.
Without perfecting that gift for making everyone, male or female, CEO or servant, feel like the only person in the room.
‘Good evening, ladies,’ I say, enjoying the smiles they give me in return. I let my eyes rove over them, my gaze leisurely.
I tip the rest of my scotch back and plant the heavy crystal tumbler on the bar.
‘Show me,’ I tell them, nodding in the direction of the double doors as I slide an arm around the soft skin of their shoulders.
Anticipation is overrated.