CHAPTER 8 #2
She’d barely drifted off when a loud knock jerked her awake, and Rolf immediately went off, his deep German Shepherd bark booming off the walls as he bolted toward the source of the sound.
Go away.
The loud knocking continued, followed by the doorbell.
That really set off Rolf.
Jannie groaned. What part of the sign by the buzzer button reading Please don’t knock or ring. Leave packages at the door unless signature required was unclear? She didn’t care who it was; she wanted to be left alone.
After a few moments, the ferocious barking and the sight of her large, pointy-eared dog in full beast mode must have scared away whoever it was because the knocking stopped, and Rolf let out a soft, indignant “Boof.”
She had to smile. Rolf was an excellent watchdog. Even alone in this huge two-story house, she felt completely safe with him around. He trotted back into the bedroom, stopping by her bed to give her a gentle, assessing sniff.
“Good boy,” she murmured. “Go to your place.”
The dog hesitated for a moment, then did as he was told.
Pulling the covers over her head, Jannie burrowed deeper into the soft sheets, shut her eyes, and, blocking out thoughts of Blake and the babies, let darkness overtake her.
·
Nick
“Suck it. Just the tip.”
Standing before the kneeling woman, his legs wide apart, Nick pushed his finger between her dark red lips, feeling the silken wet heat and the graze of her teeth as they closed around his fingertip.
His gaze roamed over her body, tied in soft nylon rope, red and green tonight because Christmas was a mere four days away.
He had outdone himself this time; she looked like a gift-wrapped nymph, complete with a perfectly tied bow at her back.
A kink lover’s dream, Olivia was the focus of tonight’s presentation, and the house was full, including standing room.
Every man in the place had his eyes fixed on her cascade of wavy ash-brown hair spilling over her shoulders and her perky tits jutting out.
Her crystal nipple clamps glittered like diamonds in the light of the strategically placed floods.
A matching jewel twinkled in her belly button.
She wore clear, high-heeled shoes that showcased her small feet with red-painted toenails.
“You good?” Nick asked.
Because I’m not.
Her big brown eyes communicated the answer before she gave a little nod, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked harder.
Nick’s gaze circled the audience, everyone watching at rapt attention.
He wasn’t feeling it tonight. Not feeling … well, anything.
Not even hard.
He pulled out his finger. She released him with a pop and held his gaze, breasts heaving, but then she glanced to the left instead of focusing on Nick for his next command.
Many men and women in attendance would have given a great deal to play with Olivia.
A manager at one of his favorite restaurants, she’d literally bumped into him at one of the many kink clubs Nick visited to gather ideas for his own.
After the initial awkwardness of recognizing each other, they’d come to an understanding.
Nick had asked for exclusivity as usual, and Olivia had agreed. But no matter how hard he tried, his heart wasn’t in it. Something essential was missing, and tonight it was more obvious than ever.
Her gaze strayed to the left, and Nick glanced where she was looking.
Quinton.
Again.
Quinton always watched Nick’s demos and lent a hand when needed, and he just might need his help tonight.
Nick cupped Olivia’s chin and recaptured her attention, only for her to steal another sideways glance.
Last straw.
He let his hand drop and stepped back. “Pineapple,” he said through clenched teeth.
Olivia’s eyes widened. Her gaze ping-ponged from him to Quinton, then back again, and Nick clearly read the disbelief there.
“What?”
“Pineapple,” he repeated. The common, boring safe word she’d picked, which he’d agreed to because he never thought he’d use it.
He raised his hand in a signal, and the black curtain quickly lowered, immediately ending the scene.
The glare she gave him could have sliced steel. “Did you just safe word me?”
“Yes.” He didn’t offer more, further angering her; he could tell.
She tore her gaze away. He watched as she tracked Quinton’s approach, her breasts rising and falling faster with each noisy step he took. And then, she locked eyes with Quinton.
Well. Nick had suspected that she wanted Quinton and his infamous paddle, and now he had the confirmation. What surprised him was that he didn’t care.
Quinton looked at him questioningly as he came to a stop beside him. “You OK, man?”
“Yeah.”
Several attendants rushed forth then, one carrying warm blankets, the other Gatorade. A third brought Cheez-Its, Olivia’s go-to snack after a scene.
Nick bent to begin untying her, but she jerked away, looking like she could spit.
“Get the hell away from me!”
He paused. Aftercare was his responsibility, and he took it seriously. “I—”
“Do not touch me!” she yelled, leaning farther away.” She jerked her chin toward Quinton. “I want him.”
Of course you do.
Nick surged to his feet, his heart hammering from adrenaline and stress. Instead of feeling rejected, he felt relief.
He looked Quinton in the eye. “Take care of her.”
“No worries. I’ve got her.” Quinton’s eyes gleamed, and in that moment, Nick knew the guy realized the torch had just been passed.
Quinton had her, all right. Well, he could have her. He was done.
On his way out of the theater, Nick forced himself to nod and smile politely at several people who greeted him. He navigated through the crowded ballroom, where sequin-clad women and men in bow ties were bumping and grinding to a trendy song he was quickly getting sick of.
At last, he made it to the exit but not before he had to stop and chat with more patrons, accepting compliments about the newly opened club.
As he descended the steps into the cool night air, he turned to view what two months ago looked like a haunted house, falling to pieces by neglect.
Every window was now alight, some glowing with color.
The bass pulsed from the music playing in the ballroom, and chatter and laughter carried from the open windows.
The overgrown weeds had been replaced with carefully designed landscaping that created curb appeal.
Nick eyed the building critically. The contractors had done a stellar job restoring the ruin to an elegant mansion in record time, working in double shifts.
He and his friends had hired the right people, and, with an extra infusion of cash from Colt and a bit of luck, their gamble had paid off beyond their wildest dreams. Not long after its opening, Sin City Dark’s membership was full, and now there was a waiting list.
They were already making money. All should have been right in his world.
Except it wasn’t.
One thing hadn’t changed, and his second goal felt further away than ever. Nick still struggled with the increasing personal dissatisfaction he believed the club would fix. The truth was, it had only gotten worse.
Tonight, it all had bubbled to the surface.
He loosened his tie, wishing he could also loosen the dress code.
But they’d established it as a high-end club with strict rules covering everything from health screenings and background checks to safety protocols and conduct.
Like it or not, dressing a certain way influenced behavior.
This place was the opposite of casual, and casual attire wasn’t allowed.
He couldn’t wait to get home and change into sweats.
The valet retrieved his truck key and grinned at him as he ran by. “Leaving already, Mr. Kent?”
“Hey, Kyle. Yup.”
It took only a couple of minutes before his black Tahoe rolled around, gleaming in the moonlight, the engine purring like a contented cat.
“My offer still stands,” the valet said as he exited the vehicle.
Nick shook his head. “She’s not for sale, Kyle.”
“She’s got over two hundred thousand miles.”
Nick settled into the comfortable cloth seat. “And still runs like it’s 1999.”
“I know.” Kyle stood by the bumper, admiring the blacked-out front and shiny body.
Not long ago, Nick had hired a guy to repaint her and add a ceramic coating.
A leather interior was also in the works.
He’d found a shop that worked on aviation seats at reasonable rates, and they were scheduled to reupholster the well-worn cloth ones in a few weeks.
“First dibs if you change your mind,” Kyle said, stepping back.
Nick fastened his seat belt with a click. “You’ll be the first to know.”
Nick ran his hands over the steering wheel. No, he would never sell his mother’s Tahoe. No sense in telling Kyle that, though. He was a good kid and a great employee; Nick might ask around to see if he could find a similar truck for him.
He pressed the accelerator, grinning at the full-throated roar of the 350 V-8 engine.
Classic American muscle V-8 at its finest. He remembered how excited he was the first day his mom showed up in it to pick him up from school, after insisting she wouldn’t buy it and was going for a minivan instead.
He rounded the circular driveway and waited for the gates to open, glancing in the rearview mirror. What would his mother say about his life now? About this club and what happened inside its walls? A wan smile curved his lips. She’d probably applaud his accomplishments and ask if he was happy.
Was he?
He frowned and shoved the thought away.
Reaching for the visor organizer, he selected an old CD and pushed it into the player. The first moody piano notes of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” filled the cabin. Nick rolled his shoulders, loosening muscles he hadn’t realized were so tight.
The club was supposed to be his playground, a place to unwind, decompress, and indulge in pleasure. Why, then, did he feel this way?