Chapter 19
ROSALIE
The moment we step through the doors of Eros, it’s obvious this is no ordinary nightclub.
Sure, it has the usual club fare: curved booths hugging low-lit tables, a polished bar lined with people vying for the bartender’s attention, beautiful bodies packed onto a dance floor, the rhythmic pulse of bass vibrating beneath my feet.
But there’s an understated opulence. An undercurrent of sex in the air. A whisper of primal indulgence.
“Wow,” I say.
Logan’s hand rests low on the bare skin of my back as he guides me forward. “Yeah, it’s pretty impressive.”
You could say that again.
I tilt my chin upward. “That’s quite the disco ball.”
Hanging from the impossibly high ceiling is the largest chandelier I’ve ever seen, dripping with crystal pendants. Light bounces off its faceted teardrops, scattering prisms across the glossy black floors.
“Probably the most expensive one in existence.” Logan’s lips curve into a grin.
“Why do you say that?”
He gestures toward the ceiling. “These tunnels were originally built for function, so the ceilings were eight, maybe twelve feet high at best. But if you have enough money and the right connections to speed up permits, you can excavate downward to create more vertical space. So that’s what they did. ”
I nod absently. “Makes sense.”
He leans in, his voice low and smooth. “You okay? If you want to leave at any time, just say the word. I mean it, Rosie. No questions asked. Your comfort’s the most important thing to me, okay?”
“I don’t think that’ll be happening on my end.” I give him a reassuring smile. “But the same rule applies to you.”
Logan smiles with a glint in his eye. “I’ve got a surprise lined up for you.”
My brows rise. “What kind of surprise?”
So many possible answers flood my brain at once, I go into system overload and immediately forget every single one of them.
He chuckles, like he can sense the static inside my brain.
“Relax, Rosie. It’s a good surprise. Promise.”
I take a steadying breath. “Where is this surprise of yours located?”
He jerks his chin toward the nearby metal staircase. “I’m guessing right there, since it’s the only staircase I can see.”
I follow his gaze.
The stairs lead to an apparent mezzanine overlooking the dance floor. It’s hard to know for sure, thanks to the half-wall stretching across the front, blocking most of the view.
“What’s up there?”
“The owner’s lounge,” he replies. “And we’re in luck, because it happens to be empty tonight. I texted Donovan, the owner of this place, asking if there were any spaces that would give us a little more privacy, and he hooked us up.”
My face heats. “Oh.”
His lips curve, and the way his eyes darken sends my stomach into a free fall. “You wanna check it out?”
I exhale a quiet laugh and nod. “Sure.”
“He said the shows begin at the top of every even hour.” He pulls his phone out of pocket, checking the time. “Which gives us less than five minutes.”
Holy hell.
I’m about to watch a live sex show in public.
Even if Logan secured a semi-private space for us, there are still hundreds of people just below.
My senses are suddenly heightened in anticipation.
The low hum of conversations surrounding us, meaningful glances exchanged in the dim glow of a booth, the faint smell of sweat from bodies grinding.
“Shall we?” Logan’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I arch a brow. “Huh?”
His eyes flick toward the metal staircase. “Upstairs.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Logan’s mouth tips up in the corner as he takes my hand, effortlessly weaving us through the crowd toward the staircase. A broad-chested bouncer stands guard, arms crossed, his gaze aloof yet somehow also hyperaware.
The man’s dark eyes flick to us as we approach. “I’m sorry, but this level is reserved.”
Logan tilts his phone screen toward the bouncer, showing him a QR code. “Yes, for us.”
The man watches him for a beat, then pulls a small device from his back pocket and opens an app. He holds it up, scans the code on Logan’s phone. After a brief pause, the device emits a soft chime.
“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Edwards,” he says, stepping aside. “If you need anything, scan the code on any table, and a staff member will bring it right up.”
Logan nods. “Appreciate it.”
“Thanks,” I add, offering a small smile as we step past him and ascend the stairs.
“So, this place has personalized entry codes and digital ordering too. Fancy.”
“The steakhouse does as well.” Logan’s hand never leaves my back as we climb the stairs. “I designed the software for them.”
I pause mid-step. “Excuse me?”
His eyes twinkle with amusement. “They needed a system that was universal across all three establishments. Customized access points, concierge services, food and beverage orders, encrypted communication for privacy…” He shrugs. “Pretty basic. A middle schooler probably could’ve done it.”
“Yeah, maybe you in middle school,” I say. “Me in middle school? Or the general population for that matter? Not so much.”
He laughs. “Get a move on, smartass.”
We reach the top of the stairs, stepping into a small, dark room. It’s intimate…only three booths, spaced far apart for privacy, two plush couches facing each other, and a few pub tables near the half-wall overlooking the crowd below.
Golden track lighting casts a soft glow along the floor, guiding us toward a sleek black table at the center of the room. A silver bucket of ice cradles a bottle, its glass chilled with condensation. Beside it, two delicate flutes wait, untouched.
Logan releases me just long enough to pluck the bottle from the ice and twist the cork free with practiced ease. The soft pop is barely audible over the music pulsing from the dance floor below.
He pours us each a glass, handing one to me before taking a sip of his own.
I taste the bubbly wine, pulling back with a smile. “They actually had this on the menu?”
Blackberry prosecco is my favorite, but I don’t come across it out in the wild too often. Logan likes regular prosecco just fine, but he’s not a big fan of sweetened drinks. The fact that he’s drinking one without complaint right now is extra swoony.
“If they didn’t, they managed to get it when I placed the request.” He lifts a cocky brow.
I take another sip, the crisp, fruity bubbles dancing on my tongue. “You’re pulling out all the stops tonight. You do know I’m a sure thing, right?”
Logan leans in, his voice warm with amusement. “Oh, I know, Rosie.”
I roll my eyes but can’t fight my grin. “Ass.”
“You knew what you were signing up for,” he teases.
I give him another dry look as I drift toward the half-wall, where the crowd below moves in a hypnotic rhythm. Even with the bass thumping through the floor, I feel like we’re in our own little world. A private oasis in the middle of chaos.
“Damn,” I murmur, setting my glass on a table.
“Donovan said it’s the best seat in the house.”
It really is. I can see the entire floor from up here. Although, I don’t see a stage, so I wonder where the show will take place.
Logan steps behind me, his chest a solid wall of warmth against my back. His hands cage me in on either side, gripping the ledge. He doesn’t say anything, just lets his presence wrap around me like a second skin, thick with heat and tension.
Below us, the club pulses with energy. Couples sway together in a slow, seductive rhythm, moving in time with the beat. My pulse picks up, the space between my thighs warming as I think about what’s to come.
I tip my head slightly, my cheek brushing against Logan’s shoulder. “This place is insane,” I murmur.
His lips are close to my ear when he replies, his voice a low rumble. “Just wait. I’m sure it’ll get even better in a minute.”
As if on cue, the lights flicker. The couples dancing below pause mid-step before scattering to the tables along the perimeter of the room. The energy shifts, a new kind of anticipation crackling in the air.
The music changes, slowing to something sinfully seductive. The volume is lower than before but still commands attention.
“Here we go,” Logan says.
I inhale sharply as the club darkens significantly, fingers gripping the ledge a little tighter. A single spotlight pierces the void, illuminating the dance floor. The empty space ripples with movement, and I blink in disbelief as the very center of it begins to split open.
A hidden platform rises from the floor, smooth and controlled, until a sleek, velvet-covered bed takes its place.
On the bed lies a beautiful naked woman, her small breasts and pointed pink nipples exposed.
Her arms are stretched above her, cuffed to the metal headboard.
Her legs are spread wide, inviting any and all who dare to take advantage of her vulnerable position to see.
The sight is both erotic and powerful, a display of female dominance that leaves me breathless.
The crowd below gasps in unison, their eyes glued to the unfolding spectacle.
Logan’s arms wind around my waist, pulling my backside into the very noticeable bulge in his pants.
“You look so fucking sexy right now, Rosie,” he says in my ear, his voice low and husky.
I don’t have a mirror handy, but I imagine my eyes are glazed over, fixated on all the naked flesh below. My nipples are painfully hard, the stretchy material of my dress feeling damn near abrasive against them.
The woman on stage is joined by two men.
The tall and muscular man with dark hair starts to kiss the woman’s neck while his hands slide down her body to cup her breasts, slowly twisting her nipples between his fingers.
The other man, a younger, leaner figure with short blond hair, kneels between her legs, running his hands up and down her thighs before dipping a finger into her noticeably wet slit.
When she moans, I startle. There must be a microphone near the stage because it sounded like she was right beside me.