36. Eloise
36
ELOISE
I always knew women would save the world, but I didn’t expect them to save mine today.
Pulling into the above ground parking garage, I zip through the first floor, parking in a spot closest to The Velvet Room. I park my car and turn off the engine, my heart still racing in my chest. I close my eyes and take three deep breaths, trying to calm my frayed nerves. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In, out. In, out.
Before the adrenaline can ebb, I hear more sirens.
“Fuck, those sound close.”
Looks like I’m going inside The Velvet Room tonight. I lock up my car and jump over the half-wall that separates the parking garage and the sidewalk.
I peek my head around the corner of the wall, scanning the street for any sign of flashing lights. The sirens sound like they’re only a block or two away, but I don’t see the telltale red and blue glow reflecting off the buildings. Yet .
Heart pounding, I wait one beat, two, watching and listening. The night air feels thick and heavy, like it’s pressing down on my lungs. I force myself to take slow, even breaths despite the adrenaline surging through my veins.
When I’m certain the coast is clear, I make a break for it. My sneakers slap against the pavement. The glittering neon lights of The Velvet Room beckon me closer, promising sanctuary from the chaos nipping at my heels.
I reach the entrance, the bass from inside reverberating through the soles of my feet. A bouncer stands sentinel at the door, arms folded over his barrel chest and a frown tipping his lips. I approach him, trying to project an air of confidence I don’t quite feel. He’s a mountain of a man, easily over six feet tall with shoulders as wide as a doorframe. His dark eyes sweep over me, assessing.
“ID,” he grunts, holding out a meaty hand.
With slightly trembling fingers, I fish my driver’s license from my purse and hand it over. He studies it for a long moment, his gaze flicking between the small rectangle of plastic and my face.
“Go on in,” he rumbles, stepping aside.
Relief crashes through me as I mumble a thank you and hurry past him. The door swings shut behind me, muffling the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. I pause for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting inside the club.
The air is thick with the scents of booze, fog, and lust. Pulsing electronic music throbs through the darkened club, the heavy bass pounding in time with my racing heart. Neon lights flash and spin, painting the writhing bodies on the dance floor in hues of pink and blue.
I push my way through the crowd, keeping my head down and trying to blend in. Scantily clad women gyrate on raised platforms, their skin glistening under the strobing lights. Men in business suits lounge on plush couches, drinks in hand and eyes on the girls spinning around the poles.
I spot a darkened booth along the far wall and head toward it. My steps slow in front of a side stage where a woman is doing an upside-down splits halfway up a spinning pole. Jesus Christ, she looks strong as hell. I don’t think I could even hold myself up on that pole like that, let alone in a G-string.
I shake my awe off and practically jog the last few steps until I collapse into the booth. I look toward the front door, paranoia and anxiety whispering that the cops are going to show up any second, looking for me.
It’s an absurd thought, but I can’t shake it. After a full minute, I exhale and lean against the back of the booth.
“You followin’ me, Peach?”
I startle at the familiar deep voice, my head whipping around to find Beau sitting a foot from me. He’s wearing that devastating half-grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief in the dim light of the club.
“Beau,” I breathe out, equal parts surprised and relieved to see him. “What are you doing here?”
He chuckles, the sound low and warm, sending a shiver down my spine despite the heat of the packed club. “Same as you, I imagine. Trying to avoid some unwanted attention.”
I lean forward, my voice lowering. “ What is going on? This city is crawling with cops.”
He curls an arm around my shoulders and tugs me to his side, eliminating the space between us. “It’s the Gauntlet, Peach.”
He says it like that explains everything, which I guess, maybe it does. I sigh, tipping my head back and closing my eyes for a second. Rolling my head along his arm, I open my eyes to find his gaze already on me.
“I literally ran in here to avoid the cops.” My lips quirk into a smirk.
“One day we’re going to look back on this and laugh,” he murmurs, his fingers tangling in the ends of my hair.
“Maybe. But not today,” I murmur.
He grins, his dimple flashing. “You saying you’re not having fun, Peach?”
I snort softly. “Sure, if your idea of fun is being chased by the cops and hiding out in a strip club in some random town.”
Beau chuckles, his fingers moving from my hair to tracing idle patterns on my bare shoulder. “I’ll admit, it’s not how I pictured my night going. But I’m not about to complain about being stuck in a dark corner with you.”
Heat blooms in my cheeks at his words. Something about Beau makes me feel reckless, like I can let myself be bold without fear.
His gaze drops to my mouth, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. Desire, hot and urgent, unfurls low in my belly. Suddenly, I’ve found gratitude for my little impromptu car chase earlier. Because now I’ve got Beau all to myself in a darkened booth for the next couple of hours.
My breath hitches as Beau’s thumb traces the curve of my lower lip, his touch feather-light and maddeningly teasing. His eyes, dark and intense, flick up to meet mine. There’s a heat in his gaze that sends liquid fire rushing through my veins.
“Beau,” I breathe, my voice barely audible over the pulsing music.
“Peach,” he murmurs in the same tone. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a devastating half-smile. His hand slides around to cup the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in the fine hairs there. He leans in slowly, his breath ghosting across my lips. My eyes flutter shut in anticipation, my heart hammering against my ribs.
And then his mouth is on mine, firm and insistent. I melt into him, a soft moan escaping me as his tongue traces the seam of my lips. I open for him eagerly, the kiss deepening as he explores my mouth with sensual strokes.
His other hand finds my waist, his long fingers splaying across my ribs. He tugs me closer until I’m nearly in his lap, our chests pressed together. I loop my arms around his neck and tilt my head for a better angle.
The kiss turns heated, desire thrumming through my veins as Beau's fingers tighten on my waist. His tongue tangles with mine, teasing and tasting, stoking the flames of need building inside me. I thread my fingers into his hair, tugging gently, and he groans into my mouth. The sound vibrates through me, making my toes curl in my shoes.
Lost in his kiss, everything else falls away. There’s no Gauntlet, no challenges looming over us, no risks or consequences. There’s only Beau—the heat of his body, the slide of his lips on mine, the way he makes me feel wild and reckless and utterly alive. His hand drifts down to my thigh, his fingers tracing maddening patterns on my skin just below the hem of my dress. I shiver, pressing closer, silently begging for more of his touch.
The air between us crackles with electricity, the bass of the music pulsing in time with my racing heart. Beau nips at my bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue.
A commotion pierces the lust bubble I’m in, and I pull back at the same time Beau curses, “Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” I look around, but the fog machine kicked on in the last couple of minutes. Combined with the strobe lights, it’s almost impossible to see across the club.
“C’mon, baby, time to move.” Beau grabs my hand and shuffles me out of the booth.
“Why? What’s going on?” I look around, and through a break in the bodies and fog, I see them.
Two cops stand on the inside of the club, and I just fucking know they’re here for us.
“Fuck. Should we go out the back?” I roll my shoulders back, my legs tensing like we’re just waiting for the cue to run.
“Nah, I’ve got a better idea. Follow me.” He leads me by the hand down a hallway to the left of the side stage.
Beau pulls me down the dimly lit hallway, the pulsing music fading to a dull throb as we move deeper into the bowels of the club. The walls are painted a deep, sultry red, the plush carpet muffling our hurried footsteps. Doors line the corridor on either side, each one adorned with a small brass plaque bearing a number.
He doesn’t pause as he leads us into the first open door about halfway down the hallway.
“We’re in a private room.”
“Yeah, Peach, we are,” he says, but he’s a little distracted. He closes the door behind us, flicking the privacy switch.
I spin around in a circle, taking in the room. A black leather quilted chaise lounge sits in the middle of the room, a side table to the right. Deep red velvet tapestries cover three of the walls, a giant mirror on the fourth. I’m not sure if it’s a mirror for people inside this room or a two-way mirror for people outside this room.
A tendril of lust winds its way around me, pulling tighter at the idea of being observed like that. It feels illicit and daring.
I’ve never been to a private room in a strip club before, but I kind of expected it to be . . . more than this. Maybe that’s why this room was open.
Beau strides over to the black leather chaise and sinks down onto it, the material creaking slightly under his weight. He leans back, one arm draped casually over the backrest as he watches me with hooded eyes.
“Come here, Peach,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly in the intimate space.
I swallow hard, my feet carrying me toward him as if pulled by an invisible string. The room suddenly feels charged, the air heavy with unspoken desires. When I reach him, Beau’s hands find my hips, his thumbs brushing teasing circles over the jut of my hip bones through the thin fabric of my dress. He tugs me closer until I’m standing between his spread legs, my knees bumping against the edge of the chaise.
“Beau,” I whisper, my voice breathy to my own ears. “What are we doing?”
A wicked half-smile curves his lips as he gazes up at me through his lashes. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” It startles me to realize that I mean it.
“Good, baby. That’s real good.” His fingertips skim up my arms, hooking around the skinny strap of my sundress, and letting them fall off my shoulders. The fabric pools around my waist, revealing the lacy balconette bra underneath. Beau's eyes darken as they roam over my exposed skin, his thumbs brushing the sides of my breasts.
“We need to act like we’re using this private room,” he murmurs, voice pitched low and rough with desire. “Make them think I bought a private dance. Because those cops? They’re going to look, baby. Either they’re part of the race or someone’s playing dirty.”
I arch a brow. “Sabotage?”
“Exactly,” he murmurs, his hands spanning the sides of my ribcage.
His touch is distracting me. “Maybe I bought a private dance from you.”
He leans forward and plants a soft kiss to the space between my breasts. “If we were at a different kind of club, definitely. But The Velvet Room is girls only, Peach. Don’t worry, though, I’ll give you a private dance anytime you want. Just say the word.”
I huff a laugh, my hand landing on his shoulder. There’s some truth in his idea, and it’s not a bad strategy.
I bite my lip, heat rushing through me at his words. The idea of Beau giving me a private dance sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. But he’s right. We need to make this look convincing if we want to avoid suspicion.
“Okay,” I breathe out. “Tell me what to do.”
His eyes flash with dark promise as his hands skim down to my hips. In one smooth motion, he tugs me forward until I’m straddling his lap, my knees bracketing his hips on the chaise. I gasp softly at the sudden change in position, my hands flying to Beau’s shoulders for balance. The thick ridge of his cock presses insistently against my core, separated only by the couple layers of our clothing. Beau's hands settle on my hips, his grip firm and possessive.
“Just pretend like we’re alone, yeah?” he murmurs before capturing my lips in a searing kiss. “Do whatever feels good, Peach.”
I melt into him, my fingers threading into his hair as I return the kiss with equal fervor. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tangling with mine in a sensual dance that has me moaning into the kiss.
His hands roam my body, skimming up my sides to cup my breasts through the lacy fabric of my bra. His thumbs brush over my nipples, already pebbled with arousal, and I arch into his touch with a soft gasp. He rolls the sensitive buds between his fingers, teasing and plucking until I’m squirming in his lap, rocking my hips to seek some friction against the ache building between my thighs.
“That’s it, Peach,” he groans against my lips. “Just like that.”
“God, that feels good.” I tip my head back with a breathy moan, arching my back and pushing my tits further into his hands.
He chuckles, this low sound of approval. “There’s my greedy girl.”
My lips part, a request for his mouth on the tip of my tongue. But Beau Carter is a fast learner, and I don’t need to remind him of anything. He lowers his head, his hot breath fanning across my skin as he peppers kisses along the tops of my breasts. I tangle my fingers in his hair, holding him close as he explores with his lips and tongue.
He nuzzles the lacy edge of my bra, his nose nudging the fabric down to expose more of my flesh to his hungry gaze. “Fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, reverence lacing every word.
Then his mouth is on me, wet heat enveloping my nipple through the thin lace. I cry out, my back arching as pleasure zings through my nerve endings. His tongue swirls around the tight bud before he sucks it into his mouth, his teeth grazing ever so lightly.
“Beau,” I gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair. “Oh god . . .”
He makes a low, approving sound in his throat, the vibrations shooting straight to my clit. I rock my hips against him, seeking more delicious friction as he lavishes my breasts with attention. He releases one nipple and moves to the other, licking and suckling, driving me wild with need. Every pull of his mouth sends a jolt of electric arousal straight to my core.
The rough lace of my bra combined with his hot mouth is exquisite torture, keeping me right on the knife’s edge. When I feel myself climbing that exquisite path to oblivion, I slow my hips down and lean back.
“Are you okay?” Beau asks instantly, lips swollen from all the attention he’s given my nipples.
“I’m more than okay, but I don’t want to come.”
“We do whatever you want, Peach. You call the shots, yeah?”
I palm his cheek and lean in, stopping when my mouth is an inch away from his. “You misunderstood. The next time I come is going to be on your cock.”