Chapter 2 Sydney
TWO
SYDNEY
“Are you sure you don’t want to check out the new pop-up boutique at Legacy Village in the morning?
I’m stopping in before my hair appointment,” my mom says, her voice echoing through my car as I pull onto the city’s main drag.
The moon beams overhead, illuminating the busy street as I blend into traffic.
“I doubt I’ll be up before noon,” I tell her.
“I worked at the shelter all day, ran home for a quick dinner, showered, and I’m headed out with friends.
Plus, I have to be at Dad’s office by one for our meeting with that Steele guy.
” I hate lying to my mother, but I can’t very well tell her what I’m up to tonight.
She’d think I was crazy…or worse, tell my father, who would promptly drag me to their basement and chain me to something sturdy.
Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but whatever.
My family is close. We always have been.
From the time Livvy and I were little, our parents have supported every one of our dreams. She knew what she wanted from the beginning, whereas I’ve changed my mind a thousand times.
I have a degree in Digital Commerce from the University of Toledo, but truth be told, I had no real plan on how to use it.
I’ve always been interested in social media, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to know how everything works.
It’s come in handy at the shelter, because I know what and where to post in order to get our adoptable pets seen by the widest possible audience.
I like to think I’ve played a part in finding homes for some of them, because they all deserve the love of a family.
But beyond that, I haven’t really considered what I want to do in the future.
I understand how privileged I am. My father inherited and sold his grandfather’s oil drilling company before my sister and I were born, so we’ve never wanted for anything.
But that doesn’t mean we don’t aspire to make an impact of our own.
Liv has already set out to become the first female head coach in the National Football League, and I know without a doubt she’ll be there soon. But me? I’m still figuring things out.
“Alright, honey,” she singsongs. “Be careful tonight, and call if you need a ride.” It’s her usual spiel, even though she knows we’d never drive while intoxicated.
But she’s our mother, so we expect the reminder anyway.
I have no plans to drink at all tonight, as it isn’t allowed where I’m going, but she definitely doesn’t need that information.
I’d prefer to keep this part of my life completely separate from anyone who knows me. They wouldn’t understand.
“I will. Love you.”
We end the call as I pull into the underground garage that’s attached to The Velvet Curve.
Adrenaline slowly begins to flow through my veins, my stomach flipping in anticipation as soon as I find a parking spot and kill the ignition.
No matter how many times I come here, the rush is always the same, and I doubt I’ll ever get sick of it.
This is the only place I feel like I have full control, knowing that when I’m inside those four walls, there’s not a part of my life that’s uncertain.
I’m strong. Confident. Unafraid to make demands because I know that everyone who steps into a room with me wants the same things I do.
Pulling my bag from the backseat, I get out, slip into the building, and head toward the hostess. “Hey, Lorelei,” I say in greeting. “How’s it going tonight?”
A bright smile blooms across her face, her shoulder-length auburn curls bouncing as she stands straight. “Good evening, Miss Grant. It’s going well, thank you. Not too busy, but I’m sure it’ll pick up a little.”
“I have a feeling it’ll get a bit livelier in here when the Gladiator’s game is over.
” She chuckles knowingly at my reply, eyes going to her computer screen as she types.
My apartment building overlooks the Cleveland baseball stadium, and the place was electric when I left to come here.
I’m not much of a sports nut, but the chants and cheers speak for themselves, so I’m guessing there will be a few happy players pouring in later on to celebrate, since this is one of the only places in the city where they don’t have to worry about their business being plastered all over the tabloids by morning.
The Velvet Curve is an exclusive club—one with a long and thorough application process.
Aside from its hefty monthly fee, you need a full criminal background check, regular STI screenings, and there’s a mile-long non-disclosure agreement that must be signed before you’re even considered for membership.
It may seem like overkill, but to people like me, who like to keep this part of their life separate from everything else, discretion is a must.
Am I afraid of seeing someone I know while I’m here?
Kind of. Many of the patrons are high-profile and include professional athletes from all over.
So far, I haven’t spotted any of the players from my dad’s team, although I’m sure the day will come.
But I’ve specified that past and active Renegades players and staff members are on my no list, so I don’t have to worry about being matched up with any of them.
I have quite a few regular partners here who I like to play with, which is great because you never know if you’ll be sexually compatible with someone until you’ve spent an evening together.
On top of that, kink requires a certain level of trust on both sides, which isn’t just automatically given.
Everyone is different, but the last thing I want is to put someone in a situation they aren’t ready for.
“Alright,” she says, bringing her attention back to me.
“You’ve got Room 716 for the night. Your partner is new to the club, but he’s a perfect match, and we think you’ll get along great.
As always, press the red button beside the bed if you feel unsafe in any way, and let us know if you need anything. ”
I nod, my stomach flipping with excitement. “Thank you.”
And with that, I’m off, heading toward the elevator.
There’s a bar area that patrons can use, where the whole club can be accessed from, but I never take advantage of the two-drink limit, so there really isn’t a point.
Plus, going that way increases my chances of running into a familiar face, which isn’t ideal.
I’d rather lie low, have some fun in a private room, and slip out unseen before returning to the real world, where I’m just the clueless daughter of Cleveland’s biggest football family who never really fits in with the team.
Stepping out on the seventh floor, I make my way to the curtain and greet the security guards with a smile. “Gentlemen.”
“Miss Grant,” Diesel tosses back with a grin.
I extend my membership card between us, allowing him to scan it.
Marvin, who never speaks, sits there stoically as I slide my narrowed gaze in his direction.
I enjoy messing with him and have been trying for the last two years to crack whatever code will get him to drop the bad cop act.
He may be bigger than every one of the Renegades’ linebackers, but he has kind eyes, and I know there’s more to him than he lets on.
“Nothing?” I ask, one side of my mouth tugging up into a half-smirk. For a minute, I think he may actually react, but he crosses his arms over his barrel chest, proving me wrong.
“Keep trying, Miss Grant,” Diesel says, playfully glaring at his partner. “I heard a rumor that he helps old ladies cross the street in his spare time. I’m sure there’s a gooey center somewhere under that hard shell of his. If anyone can find it, it’s you.”
“You hear that, Marvin?” I jest. “I’m not going anywhere.
I’ll be back next week with the same energy, so be ready.
” I swear, I see the corner of his lips twitch, but I don’t press my luck, heading through the heavy velvet curtain.
I’m light on my feet, an air of excitement swirling around me as I walk toward room 716.
Lifting my card to the reader above the doorknob, I wait until it blinks green before pushing my way inside.
It’s empty, which means my partner for the night hasn’t arrived yet.
I breathe a sigh of relief, making a beeline for the en suite bathroom so I can change my clothes.
As comfy as my torn jeans, band tee, and Converse are, it’s definitely not the vibe I’m going for right now.
I set my bag on the counter, the purr of the zipper filling the quiet space.
Making quick work of undressing, I pull out everything I need, piece by piece.
First, I step into the black satin thong, guiding it up until the string is nestled between my ass cheeks.
Next, I move on to my new lace half-corset, fastening each clasp with careful fingers before making sure everything is in place.
It pushes my tits right up, which is why I absolutely couldn’t say no when I saw it in the boutique window the other day.
Reaching back into the bag, I dig around for the thigh-high stockings, working them up my legs.
The lace band around the top is tight, so I decide to forego a garter belt.
They’re sexy and all, but this outfit looks good the way it is, so why bother?
It’s just one more thing to remove if this scene goes in the direction I’m hoping it will.
I dig out my black pleather stiletto pumps, sliding them on and loving the way they add about five inches to my height. It may not seem like a lot, but when you’re shorter than the average junior high student, every single centimeter counts—especially with the dynamic I’m about to be in.
Looking at the full-length mirror, I fluff my long blonde curls at the roots.
I complete the look with a thick layer of ruby red lipstick before folding my street clothes and setting them onto the vanity neatly.
As I’m zipping up my bag, I hear a heavy knock against the main door, letting me know that my partner has finally arrived.
I hope you’re ready, baby boy. I’m about to turn you inside out.