Chapter 18
Frankie.
I told her I loved her earlier, and she’s not mentioned it all day. Did she hear me? Is she deliberately ignoring that I said it? I have no fucking clue, but the feeling is obviously not reciprocated because she hasn’t said it back.
Not that I expected her to.
I mean, it’s been a week. Who says that after a week?
This dickhead, apparently. Or was it cockhead she called me? That should’ve given me a clue as to where her feelings are at.
It would’ve been nice to hear someone say it and mean it, but I didn’t expect it.
Did I?
Fuck me. This isn’t who I am. Except right now, it is. I hate feeling so out of control. No, that’s not right. I hate when things are out of my control, but also, yeah, I am apparently out of control if I’m saying stupid shit like ‘I love you’. I need to get a grip.
I head up to my room to get ready, and when I pass Mila’s, Rihanna’s “Only Girl” is playing. It sounds tinny coming straight from her phone, reminding me that I should show her how to hook up to the Bluetooth.
Not wanting to come across as a creeper and knock on her door when I know she’s getting ready, I find the song on my playlist, connect my phone, and blast it on repeat.
I don’t want to ruin this one-on-one time I’ve had with her. If we’re going to explore this, what the three of us have, it needs to be about more than just sex, which for me, and I think for Sam, it already is. She’s swept us both off our feet but, unfortunately, Mila’s the only one not grasping that.
The Pretty Woman comment really pissed me off earlier. Not just because that’s totally not what today was about, but because I fucking hate that that’s how she sees herself.
By the time I’ve overthought everything I’ve said to her today at least forty-eight times, I’m dressed and back downstairs. Sam’s arrived and is pouring himself a bourbon in the kitchen when I enter.
“We doing the right thing taking her there?” is what he greets me with.
“She’s a big girl, Sam. She’ll be fine. She’s been asking me questions for the past hour. I’ve given her an idea of what to expect. We can just watch from the viewing platform first. We won’t take her down to the floor. We’ll see how she handles that and go from there.”
“Fuck me dead,” is not the response I’m expecting, but when I realise he’s looking over my shoulder and not at me, I turn.
“Fuck,” I say on a sigh. Yes, a fucking sigh, because fuck me.
She’s stunning, beautiful, gorgeous, and so many other inadequate adjectives that don’t actually do justice in describing how she looks.
Pausing in the doorway, she gives a long, slow wolf whistle. “Look at you two! Shall we just stay home and have our own party? I can dance here.”
“We can do that,” Sam instantly responds.
“And waste walking in the club with you on our arm looking like that? I don’t think so,” I state.
Sam and I are both wearing black suits, but while he’s paired his with a white tee and Converse, I’ve gone for a black shirt, no tie, and black leather boots. With Mila between us, I know we’re going to turn heads when we make our entry later, and I’m now glad she chose the veil-style mask that covers most of her face, and the gloves to cover her cast. Another one of our strict policies is in regard to gossip. If one client discusses another outside of the club and it gets back to us, their membership is instantly revoked. I know there’ll be whispers and nudges within the club, but with Logan, Alice, and Scott being members, we’re taking a huge risk. Even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure no one there will have a clue who Mila is, I don’t want to compromise her anonymity. Although, at this stage, with what I have on the Walsh family, I’m pretty sure we’re in a position to negotiate a pretty good divorce settlement for our Ms Grace.
“What’s with the fucking song?” Sam asks as RiRi starts another go around over the sound system.
“Frankie played it for me, but it’s time for a change. We need some old school disco to get us in the mood,” Mila declares, dancing her way over to where we stand. Coming to a stop, she holds her empty-again glass out to Sam. “Top me up, Sammie.”
“Please,” he corrects her while I search for another playlist on my phone.
She sticks her tongue out at him. “Please,” she says with a sickly sweet, totally fake smile.
Luther Vandross replaces Rihanna, and Mila takes a sip from her glass as she moves to the music.
“How much she had?” Sam asks as he hands me a drink.
“Enough to make that one her last for a little while.”
I move around to the other side of the island and stand next to Sam, and we both watch Mila dance. When I look at him, he’s wearing a weird kind of half smile that matches my mine.
“If she sees us standing here grinning like a couple of numpties, it’s just gonna encourage her,” I tell him.
“She’s fine. After the week she’s had, she probably needs to cut loose a little bit and have some fun,” he says, still watching her.
“I thought that’s what we provided for her today.”
“Today was a distraction. She’s still got a lot going on inside her head. That was very apparent with her Pretty Woman comment.”
I almost flinch as I recall the comment and how much it cut when she came out with it earlier.
“We know that’s not how we see her. I know that’s not why you arranged today. Now we just have to convince her,” Sam adds.
“We’ll let her enjoy tonight, then we’ll talk over the weekend. The three of us.”
“Do we need to talk before we talk to her?” he turns to me and asks.
“I don’t know, do we?”
“Probably. I know what I want out of it, but do you?”
“I want both of you,” I tell him honestly. “I know what you want is different, but if you can live with that, with me wanting you and her, then I think we’re good.”
He nods and takes a sip of his drink. “It’s just… I don’t know how to articulate it. I don’t… There’s not another man that it’s ever crossed my mind about. What we do, it doesn’t make sense.”
“Does it have to? I get what you’re saying. You don’t look at other blokes and think about fucking them.”
“I don’t look at you and think about fucking you. I think about us. The three of us.”
“Ouch.” I touch my heart. “You wound me.”
“Oh, fuck off. You know what I mean. I think about you and me with a woman. I think about what we do together when we’re with a woman, but it’s never crossed my mind to go there when it’s just us.”
“And that’s fine. I can live with that as long as you can live with the knowledge that my feelings run deeper.”
He stares at me over the top of his glass before saying, “You know I love you, right? I’m just not in love with you, and I don’t want that to become a problem between you and Mila, because fuck me, she’s got me falling fast.”
“I’m a big boy. It won’t ever be a problem. Just means I’ll give what you don’t want to her.” It’s a half truth. Loving Sam has become as natural as breathing. It’s unconditional. It’d be nice—fucking fantastic—if it was reciprocated, but I’m happy to shower Mila with what he doesn’t feel he needs yet. It doesn’t mean I won’t stop showing him the way I feel because, despite what he says, I just know he feels more than he’s ready to admit right now.
“That works,” he says with a nod.
We leave the conversation there.
Luther ends, and Taylor Dane takes over. Mila continues to dance eighties disco diva style. Sammie and I continue to watch her, grinning like idiots, until I get a text telling me our car service has arrived.
Despite the fully stocked bar inthe car, Sam cuts Mila off and makes her drink a bottle of water on the drive over to the club. We have two entryways. One at the front, straight off the street for the exhibitionists, and a discreet doorway inside an underground carpark you can only gain entry to with a code. The second is the one we always use, unless there’s an event at the club that we want publicity for. Then we’ll make a big deal of arriving front and centre. Tonight is not one of those nights.
Mila’s knee has bounced all the way here, and when she’s not been chugging down water, her hand has gripped either mine, Sam’s, or both. Her excitement and nervousness is giving me a buzz, and I can’t fucking wait to see her reaction to all that goes on here. I know Sam’s worried it’s too soon and that she’ll be freaked out and go running for the hills, but I have faith our girl is open minded enough to handle it.
I step out of the car first, and by the time I help Mila out, Sam has rounded the car and joined us.
The two tux-wearing members of our security team greet us as I tap in the code to open the doors, and we enter. Mila is in the middle of Sam and me, her arm hooked through each of ours. A long, wide hallway leads to a round reception area where we have a number of staff to greet our clients. Three doors lead off this area: one to the locker rooms and showers, one to the main bar, one to our offices. We decided in the car we’d head to the main bar first, have a drink, chat to a few clients, then head up to the restaurant for our reservation.
I can feel Mila’s tension through the grip she has on my arm as heads turn our way. After a few nods and a few chin lifts, we make our way through to the bar.
“You doing okay?” I lean in and ask against her ear.
“I think so. Why are they all staring?”
“One, because you’re stunning. Two, because you’re with us.”
“You think they’re staring now, you’d better brace for the main bar,” I hear Sam tell her.
He’s not wrong. Not only do they stare, despite the two hundred or so other people inside, but the place falls relatively silent. This bar is like a pre-drinks area. It’s where our members come to leave the day behind. This is where we want to give the clients who need it a chance to mingle, to slip into their alter egos—yeah, it really is a thing—and prepare for what the night may bring.
This is the only area where no sexually explicit acts are allowed. The music is low key background noise so conversations can be carried out.
A violin rendition of a Taylor Swift song I don’t know the name of plays over the sound system. Mila’s steps falter slightly, and I’m not sure if Sam presses in tighter, forcing Mila into me, or if we all move in sync when we feel eyes hit us.
Every state of undress stands around in the room, and I wonder what Mila might be thinking as she takes it all in.
As we move towards the bar, Maurice, one of our regulars, moves aside. He’s wearing nothing but fishnet stockings and black patent leather heels. He has Colin and Trevor, his ‘pups’, with him. They’re naked, on all fours, with butt plugs up their arses, collars around their necks, and diamanté leashes attached, which Maurice holds onto and leads them around by.
There are clients wearing the black robes we provide, naked men and women, women wearing outfits similar to Mila’s, and men wearing outfits similar to mine and Sam’s. Gimp masks, no masks, masks and nothing else. There’s a lot.
“You want to stand at the bar or get a booth?” I ask both of them.
“Booth,” Sam says.
“I’ll stand,” Mila adds at the same time.
My eyes cut to Sam, who gives me a shrug, so we move towards the bar.
“Evening, Sam, Frankie. Who’s your friend?” Shonna, another regular, steps forward and asks.
Shonna’s husband likes to whip beautiful women while getting pegged by his wife. I find the pair of them aggressively predatory, but they’ve never broken any club rules, so we’ve had no reason to revoke their membership… yet.
“This is Grace, and she’s off limits,” Sam jumps in and says.
We completely forgot to ask Mila if she wanted to use an alias, but Grace works, and it’ll be easy to remember.
“Shame,” Shonna says as she rubs the tips of her fingers together as if fighting the urge to touch Mila. “Henry and I are looking for a new toy.”
“Well, she ain’t it,” I inform her. “Have a great night.” Stepping around her and reaching the bar, I realise Mila is gripping Sam’s hand while her arm with the broken wrist is still hooked through mine.
Our bar manager, Kerry, is in front of me the instant we hit it.
“Good to see you guys. What can I get you?” she asks, smiling between the three of us.
“I’ll have a Blanton’s please,” I tell her.
“Macallan, please, on the rocks,” Sam requests.
“Gin and tonic, please. Malfy, blood orange if you’ve got it, no lime.” Mila needs no prompting to add her order.
“Got it. Would you like a slice of dried orange instead?” Kerry asks her.
“Yes, please,” Mila replies, and I feel an infinitesimal amount of the tension leave her given Kerry’s friendly exchange. I make a mental note to tip her later.
Sam moves so he’s leaning against the bar on one side, with Mila in the middle, and me on the other. I’m surprised when she turns, rests her elbows against the bar top, leans back into them, and faces the room.
“They wanna stare. May as well let them get their fill,” she states and looks out across the room while our drinks are being prepared. When Kerry lines them up on the bar, I take Mila’s and hand it to her.
“You think they’ve had enough?” she asks without looking at us.
“Doubt it,” I say.
“We’ve never walked in with a woman. Everyone’s gonna be staring all night.”
Finally turning her back to the room, she looks between us. “You’ve never walked in here with a woman?”
“Nope,” we reply in unison.
“If anyone’s ever caught our eye, we’ve come down onto the floor to talk to them, but then we carry on the conversation or whatever else privately. We don’t take part in what goes on down here,” Sam explains.
“Does it happen often, someone catching your eye?”
“In the beginning, it happened a few times for me. Maybe once or twice for Sam.”
“Unless it’s you with Frankie, I don’t like to watch someone I’m interested in getting fucked by someone else.”
His comment makes my balls tighten, and I watch as Mila’s eyes flutter closed.
“When he fucks you, I feel it like it’s me fucking you—fucking both of you,” he adds as she sips on her drink.
Her eyes open and she looks between us. “I think that might be my thing, watching other people fuck. I like watching you two. That turns me on, and when I watch porn, especially if it’s a threesome, I like…”
“Jesus, Mils, you’re giving me a boner at the bar in my own club. Can you wait till we’re alone at least?” Sam whispers on a grin.
“Sorry. I’m just nervously excited, and it’s making me horny,” she admits.
“Telling us your horny isn’t helping one little bit,” I tell her.
“Sorry. Can we go and eat? I’m starving. If my belly’s full, it might calm my nerves.”
“Something’s gonna be full in a minute,” Sam warns.
“Or empty,” I add.
We grab a hand each and move her towards the lift that’ll take us up to the restaurant.