Chapter 22 #3
Stepping away from me, he pulls out the chair that I sat in yesterday before quickly claiming the one to my right.
He doesn’t even pretend to give me a choice, just picks up my fork and puts a small amount of noodles on it, blowing on them, because of course they are still steaming hot.
I hold his gaze as he feeds me, and maybe I should mind, because I’m not a child and can feed myself, but I don’t.
I actually kind of love the fact that he feeds me, that he cares for my basic needs, and if the way his chest expands and his shoulders lose their tension is any indication, he loves it too.
“You look beautiful, Little Lamb,” Rowan compliments from my left, and I turn to stare at him. He, too, is wearing a vest with a neon skull on it, but whereas Roman’s is shades of pink and purple, Rowan’s is in greens and blues.
“Thank you. You look pretty hot yourself, Roo,” I tell him, and his eyes widen in delight at the nickname.
“I got you something,” he says, reaching beside him and pulling out a shoe box.
The outside is a colourful pattern and has the words Irregular Choice in script across them.
“Willow says this is her friend’s favourite brand, and I thought that you might not have anything that you could wear tonight. ”
My gaze flits up to him to find an unsure look in his eyes, his cheeks flushed. “Thank you,” I tell him sincerely, surprised that he even thought about it ahead of time and sorted the problem. “I don’t have any shoes, just my boots.”
I’m not surprised that they’re my size, because Rowan is the most observant of the three Shadows.
He’s always watching, which is actually kind of comforting.
Opening the box, tissue paper rustles as I unwrap one of the shoes and then gasp.
It’s a stunning, silver glitter heel with a matching bow on the toe and a chunky heel, so it will be comfortable to wear all night.
“They’re…” I trail off as he takes the shoe from me, then gets on one knee.
I twist in my chair as he grabs my foot, lifting my leg and helping me to put the shoe on.
Then he unwraps the second one and puts that on my other foot, all while I stare at him, my heart pounding inside my chest. It’s somehow more intimate than I would have thought, especially as his hands wrap around my ankle and he looks up at me from his kneeling position.
“Did you know that in the past, giving a woman shoes was akin to a marriage proposal?” he asks, and I swear my heart skips a beat.
Part of me is terrified at what he means, what he’s implying, but another part of me is ready to give him, to give them all, my forever.
“There’s a reason why the Prince gave Cinderella her glass slipper. ”
“Are you asking me to marry you, Rowan?” I breathe out, tension in the room as I hold his stare. His lips twitch, which is practically a full-blown smile for Rowan.
“You can’t just marry me, the others would feel left out,” he answers, which isn’t exactly saying that he’s not making some kind of declaration with these beautiful shoes. Grumbles from either side of us confirm his theory, and his lips twitch again as he gets up and sits back down.
“When did you get so much fucking game?” Roman hisses at his brother, and I laugh at the incredulous look on his face.
“Worried about competing, brother?” Rowan teases, and I giggle as I spin back to Hunt, who holds another forkful of food out for me to take.
We finish the meal with me peppering them with questions about the club in between Hunt feeding me my dinner.
I’ve never really been clubbing because I was too young before I left for finishing school, and I didn’t get much of a chance when I returned, but I’ve heard about Depravity.
It’s a very exclusive, highly sought-after club, supposedly with queues stretching along the street to get in.
Pride shines in their eyes as they tell me all about it, about the beautiful male and female dancers in cages high above the dancefloor and about the world-class cocktail makers who make the best and most innovative drinks in London.
There are also some VIP areas upstairs that are for those who’d prefer to spend the evening playing poker while being served the most expensive liquor available and smoking Cuban cigars.
DJs come from around the world to do a set, and they’ll often have several big names in one night, but they also open it up to aspiring DJs who always gets a name for themselves afterwards.
Excited butterflies flutter around my stomach as we leave the estate.
I am finally leaving the estate, and to go clubbing with three hot men no less.
A black sedan is idling next to the pavement.
I frown at it, pulling the short, faux fur jacket I also found in Willow’s wardrobe closer around me when a gust of freezing wind whips around us.
Hunt walks around to the passenger side while Roman opens the back door, and I can make out the burly figure of a driver in the driver’s seat.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Ro asks, and I chuckle at yet another nickname.
“I just kind of imagined you guys would have something…I dunno, more flashy, I guess,” I tell him, getting in after he does and not caring if I flash Rowan. I obviously do, because as I’m bent over, a loud crack fills the car and I yelp as pain flashes across my arse. “What the fuck, Row?!”
I have to sit down in order to glare at him, but he just arches a brow at me. “Brats get spanked,” he tells me, and my cheeks heat as I shuffle on the leather seat, my arse cheeks smarting.
“I wasn’t being a brat,” I complain, my tone sullen and very brat-like. He just stares at me, taking the seat belt that Roman passes him and pulling it across my body to click it in place. The car is deliciously warm, and so are the seats, the inside pretty luxurious and high spec.
“You definitely were being a brat,” Roman whispers in my ear, taking my hand in his and weaving our fingers together.
I huff, but can’t really say much considering he’s absolutely right.
I was teasing Rowan on purpose, and if I’m being honest, I don’t totally hate the idea of being spanked by either of the twins.
Or Hunt. Even the thought of the driver watching isn’t terrible.
I really have fallen off the virginity wagon straight into a sexual deviant.
“Don’t worry, Lamb, I’ll put you over my knee and spank you properly later until your peachy arse is glowing and you won’t be able to sit down without feeling my handprint,” Rowan murmurs in my other ear, and his hand lands on my thigh, gripping tightly as my body flushes with heat, especially as we’re not alone.
I cast my eyes to the driver, who is looking straight ahead at the road, completely ignoring us.
He’s a huge guy with a scar across his face, ink covering his hands that grip the wheel tightly. Not your typical chauffeur.
We drive the rest of the way with Hunt issuing orders to the twins, both of whom listen intently while I melt between them from the visual that Roo created.
It doesn’t take long and soon we’re pulling up outside the club, the queue already a mile long while bouncers wait at the entrance, a red carpet leading inside with a rope in front of the doors.
The club itself looks to be housed in an old Georgian building, the windows all above the ground floor level are lit up, the outline of drapes pulled open, giving it an upper class feel.
The ones on the lower floor are blacked out, and I wonder if that is where the club is.
There’s a lit-up sign across the front, swirling script announcing the name of the club, written for all to see.
Hunt is the first to get out, then Roman opens his door, stepping out before reaching inside to help me from the car.
I glance at the driver and say thank you, but he just grunts in return, keeping his eyes focused ahead.
Shrugging, I let Roman pull me from the car, careful not to flash Roo this time.
Once we’re all out, Hunt steps up next to me, Rowan taking our back as Roman goes slightly in front as if they’re using their bodies as a protective cage around me.
We move as a group, Hunter’s hand on my lower back underneath my coat, sending all kinds of delicious shivers across my body.
The bouncers nod, opening the rope before we even reach it so we don’t have to pause in our stride.
As soon as the large doors close behind us, warmth envelops me as we enter a plush reception area.
The walls are decorated with grey flocked wallpaper, chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, and a beautiful woman behind a tall reception desk.
I can’t hear any music, but can feel the slight pulsing of deep bass as we make our way over to her.
She beams at the guys, her eyes faltering slightly when she catches sight of me, but she quickly recovers as a man in a shirt and waistcoat takes our coats from us.
“Welcome back, Mr Anderson, Mr Kent, and Mr Kent. And you brought a guest, how lovely,” she enthuses, and I want to call her out on her fake bitch bullshit but don’t bother, instead, stepping back into Hunter’s side, his arm coming round my waist as I snuggle into him.
“Mine,” I whisper as I practically rub myself over him, and he gives a deep, manly chuckle that does unspeakable things to Evangeline.
“Evening, Jessica,” he greets, squeezing my side. “No trouble tonight?”
“None at all, Hu–Mr Anderson,” she gushes, and I glare at her, pausing in my snuggles to make it extra menacing.
“I’d like some champagne brought up to the VIP area, Jessica. Dom Pérignon if you have it,” I order before Hunt can reply, and I catch the twitch of his lips as she blinks rapidly.
“O–of course, Miss…” she trails off, and a wicked idea pops into my head.
“Mrs Anderson,” I tell her, feeling Hunt stiffen beside me as her eyes widen.