8 – BRYNLEE
Six of the finest motherfuckers I’ve ever seen in one room. That shit should be against the law. I almost orgasmed in my panties just from looking at them.
I know that our company does business with some of the largest businesses in the country, so seeing Greyson and Mitchell Black in the room wasn’t a surprise. The Black brothers are part of the Black Hospitality Group, an empire built by their father, which has some of the largest and most popular resorts and hotels worldwide. Having their business is a major coup for Top Tier.
The part that I couldn’t get past was seeing Alessandro and Marco DeLuca at the table. There can never be anything good accomplished when you come to the table with two notorious crime bosses. Yes, they’re fine as fuck and good-looking as hell, but Mama always said if you lie down with dogs, you’ll get up with fleas.
The DeLucas should not be screwed with because everyone knows they’re dangerous. People came up missing when it was time to testify against members of the DeLuca family.
I just can’t imagine why they traveled from Atlanta to Ocean Falls to do business with our company. The last time I heard about Alessandro DeLuca, he was living back in Italy.
What’s worse is that I wasn’t in that meeting nor were any of our executive-level staff. Just the company’s Chief Legal Officer and Ambrose’s brother, Austin. Ambrose knew that he screwed up not inviting me or anyone else to the meeting, so he tried to make up for it.
The business meeting extended to dinner which I was invited to. Part of me wanted to tell him hell no because I don’t want to be involved in any nefarious dealings that he has going on. On the other hand, I want to believe all that he told me in the conference room.
I need to believe that he is doing all this to build the company, the local commerce, and most importantly, save the staff.
Greyson Black’s wife, interior designer Nicole Black, is also with us at dinner.
“Brynlee, would you like to see the designs I’ve planned so far?”
“Absolutely,” I say as she removes her iPad from her large bag.
“We’re supposed to be relaxing, enjoying ourselves, honey,” Greyson says, nuzzling her neck.
She slants a mischievous glance at him. “And we will. First things first.”
She slides the iPad across the table to me.
“Based on what I learned in the meeting, this will be a lucrative business venture. Having TT’s name associated with BHG will leverage our company’s reputation to another level.”
“We’re sparing no expense on construction or design,” Alessandro DeLuca says.
“I’m sure it will bring much business to Ocean Falls. Have you all met with the city council yet?” I ask.
“We have. They were initially reluctant because they didn’t want to lose the city's charm to tourism,” Mitch says.
“Ocean Falls is the perfect place for this project. Right here on the coast, it’s not a small town that has the risk of losing its small-town charm, but it’s not a major metropolis either that will become further cluttered with just one more business,” Alessandro injects.
“Right. It will bring the business dollars that the town needs and be the perfect addition to putting Ocean Falls on the map,” Greyson adds.
“And the council?” I ask, reminding them of my concern.
“They’ve been persuaded to see things from our vantage point,” Marco DeLuca says, pulling a snifter of brandy to his lips and eyeing me over the rim.
A shudder of fear runs through me at his gaze, even if he is sexy. Maybe that’s the attraction of the man. He’s sexy and gorgeous but has the right element of danger. Both he and his brother are true bad boys in the flesh and have women drooling over them.
Yet, they both proudly display wedding bands.
Making a note to discuss all of this with Ambrose later, I drop the matter. Top Tier doesn’t need to look like we’re not a united front.
I scan through Nicole’s online sketches, oohing and ahhing over black and red leather and velvet casino designs, grey wallpaper with diamond patterns, and hand-knotted carpet in grey, black, and tan hues. From my three-dimensional tour, I can see an exquisite teardrop crystal chandelier.
“Casino, gentlemen’s club, tattoo parlor, spa...where’s the entertainment for women?” I ask.
Smirking at her husband and then winking at me, Nicole reaches over the table and opens a new tab that shows another club in hues of greys, pinks, and sand tones. She says, “This is for the ladies.”
“We didn’t agree on that,” Greyson says, scowling at his wife.
Chuckles from Mitch and Alessandro earn them a glare from Greyson. Marco merely lifts an eyebrow and says, “Happy wife, happy life.”
Greyson turns to Ambrose and asks, “What’s your opinion?”
Shrugging, Ambrose says, “Give the lady what she wants. After all, she’s coming home to you.”
“Smart answer,” Nicole says, chuckling. “And what about you, Brynlee? Would you like to see a ladies’ entertainment club?”
My first full smile of the evening makes its appearance. “Of course.”
I feel Ambrose’s heated gaze and wiggle inside at his jealous streak. That part of him always turned me on.
We talk business a little longer before Marco calls for the check. After it’s paid, we make our way out to the parking lot as Mitch takes a call.
“Are we still going to our next stop for the evening, gentlemen?” Nicole asks with a mischievous grin.
“Next stop?”
“Yes, the boys planned to go to a gentlemen’s club tonight to research that arm of our business.”
“Oh,” I say curiously, glancing around at the uneasy faces. “Let me guess. The ladies weren’t invited.”
“Their idea, not mine. I’d planned to return to the hotel with my beautiful wife,” Greyson says, pulling Nicole under his arm affectionately.
She smiles and winks at him as he kisses her lips. I turn away to give them a moment of privacy, only to meet Ambrose’s smoldering gaze.
“Hey, I have to get home. I’m taking the jet, Grey, and I’ll have it returned for you and Nic in the morning,” Mitch says in an anxious tone.
“What’s going on, man?” Greyson asks.
“Blake’s in labor.”
“She had four more weeks!” Nicole exclaims.
“Yeah, but we knew this was a high-risk pregnancy. She’s at the hospital now. Tried calling me before leaving home, but I didn’t hear my phone ring,” Mitch says nervously.
“We’re going with you,” Nicole announces.
“I’ll call the hotel and have them take our bags downstairs. Should be ready by the time that we arrive,” Greyson adds, pulling out his phone and making the call as he’s talking to us.
“Gentlemen, lady, we’ll meet again soon,” Alessandro says, hugging and kissing Nicole on the cheek and shaking Mitch’s hand. “Congratulazioni!” Alessandro says in a beautiful, thick Italian accent.
I’ve loved hearing him and Marco speak all night though Alessandro’s accent isn’t as thick as his older brother, Marco, is.
We all exchange wishes for a safe flight home and the baby's birth before they leave in their limo. The four of us stand around, and I say, “Well?”
The brothers aren’t comfortable going to a gentleman’s club with me as Marco scratches the back of his neck and Alessandro blushes.
“I uh...need to go over some papers with the lawyers. Promised I’d call later,” Alessandro says.
“Yeah, um...I need to be flying back to Atlanta. Promised Piper I’d be home tonight,” Marco adds.
I smirk and cross my arms, turning to Ambrose. “Your excuse?”
He holds his hands out at his sides, shakes his head, and is speechless.
I turn back to the other two men, and they shake my hand before quickly disappearing into their waiting Bentley. It’s not long before they’ve left that Ambrose and I are standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant as patrons enter and exit.
“Well?” I say, turning back to him.
“You still want to go?” he asks.
“Of course I do.”
After all, women can do the same damn thing men can do, and I refuse to let him catch me slipping or being weak. Being a woman is an honor and a privilege, not a god-damned excuse.
***
Black leather furniture dominates the space, second only to the large circular stage up front that extends like the bottom of the lowercase “i” to the middle of the club. Black and blue carpet covers the floors. The grey and light blue wallpaper provides a lighter backdrop to the leather seats and shimmers underneath the chandeliers above.
Nicki Minaj’s Super Freaky Girl pours from the speakers as scantily clad servers in short, blue skirts and glittery, blue nipple tassels come and go throughout the club, delivering and picking up drinks and food.
“What’s the difference between this place and what the DeLucas and Blacks plan to offer?” I ask, sipping my amaretto sour.
“Hardwood floors, crystal chandeliers, full dining experience, and a more polished and elegant atmosphere overall. Including the dancers,” he says, lifting his snifter at one of the dancers working a man at the table across from us.
She gyrates, and her movements are wild and unskilled sexual moves.
“You won’t see jeans, ballcaps, and gym shoes in their club.”
“Suits and ties?”
Nodding, he says, “Semi-formal and business casual. This is more an eclectic mix of everyone.”
“I’ll bet the pricing tier will also be different.”
“For sure. Your average Joe won’t be waltzing up into that club.”
“They made it sound like the resort will be for everyone.”
“The resort will. The gentlemen’s club won’t be.”
“And the women’s club?” I ask as disappointment fills me.
“I think they’ll leave that for you and Nicole to work on.”
“Me? You think I’ll be included in the plans?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“I wasn’t invited into the meeting,” I point out.
“That was a request of the DeLucas and the Blacks. They’d requested a private meeting with Mr. Cape and the attorney when they first decided to use the firm. Because the DeLucas will be involved, there will be a lot of speculation about how on the up and up this project is. My cousins also didn’t want our relationship disclosed initially although I didn’t mind.
“They didn’t want anyone to suspect we got the contract because of my connection. Mr. Cape wanted to weed out their true intentions before presenting them to the board and the rest of the staff. This isn’t something that you blow up to another level before you know what you’re dealing with. I’m okay with it because I know my family and the Blacks.”
“Mmm,” I say, sipping my drink.
“What’s the mmm for?”
“Nothing.”
Before he can ask again, a dancer approaches us and says, “Would you or your date like a private dance?”
My eyes widen, and Ambrose’s eyes narrow as he stares at me, pulling his fingers through his beard.
“I’m not his date.”
“Yes. My date would love a private dance, please.”
“I’m Amethyst, and I’ll be your private entertainer for the night. Please follow me,” she says.
What the fuck? I want to kill him, but the dancer is smiling and beckoning us to follow her. Ambrose stands, and his beautiful hazel eyes dare me to object.
“After you, Ms. St. Clair.”
I follow the woman to a room where she closes the door behind us. Grey walls and black carpeting blend into each other. A server and a bodyguard stand near a mini bar in one corner beside what appears to be a small DJ station, but I don’t see the DJ. Other than that, the only things in the room are a table, a pole, and two club chairs. I sit in one, and a smirking Ambrose takes a seat in the other.
Not long after we’re seated, the server takes our drink order, and surprisingly, I see the bodyguard move behind the DJ stand.
“I will kill you,” I hiss at Ambrose. “This is so unprofessional.”
“Consider this not business then.”
“How can I not?” I ask, glaring at him.
He glares back at me, and I see the unspoken challenge in his eyes. He wants me to pretend that tonight is before the heartache, anger, and pain. Only I can’t. All I can do is try to enjoy the remainder of the night.
The server returns with our drinks, and the music starts up. Beyonce’s Cuff It Wetter Remix floods the room as the dancer begins working her body. She’s more skilled than those on the floor and the stage.
“You mean a dancer like her?” I ask Ambrose.
“Mm-hmm,” is his reply, forcing me to turn my gaze to him.
Surprisingly, his gaze is on me and not the dancer.
Her movements are somewhat hip-hop, and I can tell that she’s a professional. Smoothly, she segues her dance movements into more skilled and sexual transitions.
Wiggling her hips from side to side, she tosses one hand in the air using the force of it to propel her into a spin that lands her on her knees. Down on all fours, she pops her ass and rocks back onto her hip, kicking one leg out as she whips her hair in circles, pumping her hand between her legs.
Her feline movements as she jumps from the floor into a standing position are beguiling, her rocking hips seductive as she floats toward us, hands caressing her breasts and ass and clapping her legs open and closed. When she’s standing in front of us, she smacks her ass again before leaning forward to touch her toe and then dragging her hand up her leg.
I’m in awe when she places a hand on the floor, uses it as leverage to pop into the air, and then lands flat on the floor, hunching it as her ass jiggles. She kicks one leg behind her and turns on one hand, with her private parts facing us. Somehow, she ends in a split in front of me with her hands on my thighs.
“This next performance is a special one I’ve been working on. You two are the first to see it, and I’d like to dedicate it specifically to you two. How long have you been together?” she asks.
“We are—”
“Almost ten years,” Ambrose’s deep voice resounds over mine.
“Oh, nice! You’re a beautiful couple. So, this is for you two lovebirds,” she says as 112’s Peaches and Cream begins to play.
This time, her movements are faster, harder, and more aggressive. She’s also more hands-on, touching my thighs and arms as she incorporates me into her dance moves.
Amethyst hops onto the large armchair with me, rolling her hips and gyrating on me. My head swivels so damn fast to look at an amused Ambrose that you’d think I would have caught whiplash.
He winks at me, and Amethyst gently cradles my face, returning my attention to her. She winks and rolls her body against mine, slowly dragging her hands down my breasts until she flips off the chair, landing on her back, and thrusts her legs and ass into the air.
She does a quick scissor movement to propel herself into the air and then back onto the floor in a split. Swiveling her back leg around to meet the front one, she drags herself into a plank formation, pushes up and down with her ass bucking into the air, and eventually stands again.
This bitch is in great shape and true form! How the hell does she do all this and still breathe evenly?
She’s a seductress, a magician, sexily and slowly walking toward me and keeping my gaze trained on her, making it difficult for me to break eye contact. She kicks her legs up, props her heels onto my thighs, and pumps upward with her pelvis damn near meeting my face.
Everything this woman does is intentional and edgy. She moves into the tight space between our two chairs and links our hands together before hopping onto Ambrose’s lap and working him over like she did me.
Jealousy flows inside me and makes me want to push her off his lap. And when I go to release his hand, he clasps mine tighter, locking his gaze with mine and licking his lips to tell me that it’s me that he wants. Me he wants on his lap, me he wants working him, and me he wants to fuck.
The heat is too intense, the memories too vivid. My panties are wet, and my nipples ache. All I want is Ambrose. Nothing less and nothing more.
Amethyst, the bodyguard, and the server leave the room.
“What are you doing?” I ask when Ambrose gets up and locks the door.
Ambrose stalks toward me, pulls me out of my chair, and clutches my hair. His kiss is bold, demanding, and unapologetic. His hands are hot on my shoulders as he shoves down the off-the-shoulder sleeves, baring my breasts in the strapless bra.
Unhooking it, his lips and tongue scorch my nipples when he takes a taste. All the anger and reservation I’ve allowed to fester against Ambrose seeps out of me like air from a balloon. I wither at his touch, wanting more.
Ambrose knows my body better than anyone, so it’s no surprise when he cups my ass, lifts me into his arms, and walks back to the chair he sits in.
My legs straddle him, shifting the knit dress up around my hips. Denials and objections are only quaint thoughts at the back of my mind as he shifts my thong aside and fingers me.
“Fuck!” I cry.
“That’s what I want too,” he says, intentionally misinterpreting my comment.
His fingers pump furiously in and out of my swollen slit. Though it brings pleasure, it’s not enough. Only one thing can satisfy me at this point.
“Please tell me you’ve got a goddamn condom, Ambrose!”
He shifts with me still on his lap, awkwardly reaching for his wallet. When he pulls it free, I search it and remove a condom from a stack of three. I don’t bother to question him.
Ripping it with my teeth while he unzips his pants and whips out his dick, I sheath him in no time.
Rough hands clasp my hips and pull me roughly down on him, snatching my breath from my lungs as he fills me up, stirring the desire and quenching the ache.
Pressing my face into the side of his neck, I whimper, “Ambrose, oh, Ambrose. You feel so good.”
He’s pumping at lightning speed inside of me as though I might change my mind if he doesn't. Never when it feels this good.
“I can’t get enough in this position,” I whimper.
He stands to accommodate me and lifts me off him long enough to put me on my feet. With my hands gripping the arms of the chair and my ass in the air, I hiss again as he takes me roughly from behind. This is what I’ve needed and missed for so long.
Maybe I’m wrong, but his dick has grown since we were together all those years ago. My pussy clenches around him like she never wants him to leave, and I can’t blame her.
The way that he’s tapping my ass and has me in here hollering like a sinner on Sunday morning, I’m glad the music outside this room is loud and that this room is soundproof.
I hope no cameras are capturing us in the act. And if they are, Lord help me, I don’t want to be on anyone’s sex tape. But for the moment...it’s worth every thump in my pussy and every smack to my ass.
It only takes a few seconds before I regain my momentum and throw it back at him how he likes it. His strokes slow down and smooth out, and I know he’s on the precipice.
Ambrose grabs my hair tightly in his fist, jerking my head backward. His free hand moves to my clit and rubs gently.
“No fucking fair,” I hiss, and the hiss turns into a whimper as I cry out at the unexpected orgasm that hits me.
He’s not long behind me as he smacks my ass several times rapidly and growls out as he nuts like a lion in the jungle being challenged by a stray.
He bites the side of my neck and says, “Time to stop running, Bryn. I think you know where you belong.”
I fell into the trap. I’m the one who insisted we should come here. It was a setup from the beginning, and I’ve given Ambrose exactly what he wanted while I got what I needed.
Fuck me in the ass and call it the end!