Chapter 31
Damien
I’m not used to asking people to do things.
I’m more of a decide what I want and then tell people sort of man.
Now I know that Ellie is a mom and she can’t get a sitter without notice, I make a mental note of that.
No more finger snapping with the expectation of immediate results.
If I want to go to the Opal room, she needs forty-eight hour’s notice.
It isn’t entirely unreasonable. The way I see it, if my dick is more impatient than that, and doesn’t want to stick to the new schedule, then there is no reason I can’t fuck her in the hotel suite.
I hand her a note when she hands me my coffee even though I could easily just tell her. It says, “Opal Room on Friday night.” There is something about a handwritten note that feels exciting, and I know it’ll bring a smile to her face.
When Friday rolls around, there’s a knock on my door right before the office closes for the day.
“Yes?” I ask without looking up from my computer.
“Mr. Graves,” her satin-like voice tugs my gaze upward.
“Yes, Miss Bates?” The formality of it feels like flirting.
“I was wondering if there is something specific you’d like me to wear tonight?
” She shifts her weight and bites her lip.
I’m tempted to just take what I want now and forget about the Opal Room altogether.
But I’ll wait. Just because I can have whatever I want when I want it doesn’t mean I’m not a patient man.
“The green dress. The sheer one that touches the floor with the straps that fall off the shoulders,” I answer.
“And lingerie?” she asks.
“Whatever you want,” I answer. A hint of satisfaction flickers across her face. She liked that answer; I can feel it. And I like knowing that. Tonight is going to be different. Hotter. I am going to truly make this woman mine.
It’s too warm for a jacket, and I don’t expect her to cover up.
That means that everyone we pass from the car to the front door of the Opal Room has eyes on her.
I love it and hate it. It’s both exhilarating and infuriating.
But as she slips her hand into the crook of my elbow and squeezes, I know it doesn’t matter.
She’s not looking at anyone but me, and not just because contractually she isn’t allowed to.
We step inside and follow all our normal movements, all the protocol that comes with being a gentlemen’s club owner and his assistant. Others would refer to her as a mistress, but I don’t like that word. I know the way it looks, but this is different.
“Would you like a drink?” I ask as we head straight for the Velvet Lounge.
“Moving along rather quickly…” she says subtly enough that only I can hear her.
“I know what I want. Why waste time?” I ask as we reach the door. As it opens for us, I look back at her. “I’ve waited long enough.”
Ellie smiles, and pink blossoms on her perfect cheeks. It’s early enough in the night that most people are still warming up. I see women flirting while sipping drinks, wearing gowns and cocktail dresses. The ones in lingerie are most likely on drink number two.
At the bar, she orders her usual drink, a sugar-rimmed and pear-garnished version of the Salty Dog. This time as she plucks the pear slice from the glass, her eyes lock on mine as she slowly brings the fruit slice to her mouth. It’s both provocative and nostalgic.
“I still remember the first time you sipped that drink,” I tell her as I take a sip of my whiskey.
“I was a mess that night,” she says.
“You were beautiful. You still are,” I tell her.
A smile lights up her face, and that’s all I need.
I want her. Despite how gorgeous she looks in the green dress; I need to see her out of it.
I need to devour her and make her moan and scream while digging her nails into my back. I need all of her, and I need it now.
Wordlessly, I take her hand and pull her towards one of the private rooms. I’m done with other people having the unearned privilege of being allowed to look at her. Every stranger’s glance takes something from her. Something that belongs to me.
She ducks inside the room, and I follow, letting the sapphire blue velvet curtain fall behind us.
She takes another sip of her drink before setting it on the small golden table in the corner, and I close the space between us.
I pull her against me, and her arms wrap around me as our mouths crash together at the same time.
We both want the same thing; need the same thing.
I bring her body closer to mine; my posture curves back and hers arches into me. We fit together so perfectly that I am dead certain she’s ruined me for anyone else.
“Mmm…” the first of what I know will be many more moans escapes her mouth and into mine, sending a chill down my spine and heat everywhere else. The power this woman has over me, the way she can rattle me with the smallest of gestures is untouched by anyone I have ever been with.
“Tell me what you want,” I whisper gruffly against her skin. “You can have anything, Mariposa.”
Ellie’s head falls back as she closes her eyes. I can feel her nipples hardening under the sheer satin of her dress, no bra underneath, as I nibble my way down her neck. “Why do you call me that?”
“Butterfly. Because your soft beauty is unmatched, and every time I am around you my heart speeds up, like the flutter of wings,” I say. I pull back and press my forehead to hers. “Now tell me, Mariposa, Miss Bates, Ellie, what do you want?”
“I want you to make me yours,” she says softly. I have never seen her eyes more direct.
“I make you mine every time we are together,” I say, my thumb tracing her jawline down to her lips, tugging on the bottom one as it trails down her chin.
“I know,” she says, leaning into my touch. “I mean…really yours.” My dick hardens in my slacks and my jaw unhinges at what she is implying. “I want you to make me forget who I am outside of that.”
Something within me awakens. It’s primal and springs free of its cage. But I don’t pick her up. I don’t pull her against me. I don’t toss her onto the chaise lounge or pounce on top of her. I don’t even kiss her. Instead, I grab Ellie by the hand and guide her out of the room towards the door.
For a moment, she struggles to keep up, probably due to the pointed stilettos she’s clopping across the floor in. When we stop to open the door leading into the entryway, it gives her a moment to catch up. “Where are we going?” she asks.
I wait until we are outside climbing into the back seat of the waiting car before I answer. “My house.”
In all my years, I have never brought a woman home with me. I tell her that on the drive back to my sprawling estate.
“Never?” she asks.
“No,” I answer. We had the driver take us back to the hotel, where we got in my car.
For the last ten minutes, we have driven mostly in silence.
A hot, thick, anticipatory silence. I am a man with no need for filling moments like that with unnecessary words.
But for some reason, I found those words to be…
necessary. I want her to know what kind of man I am, and what kind of man I’m not.
“Why not?” she asks hesitantly. I’m sure she assumes I’m not going to be open to such questions, but walls are a lot of work to maintain. I bite my bottom lip and drag it through my teeth.
“I’ve never wanted to,” I simply state. I let that hang in the air between us, and after a moment or two she breaks the silence.
“Have you ever been…” Ellie trails off.
“In a relationship?” I ask. “Not really. Not in the sense of the definition of the word. It never goes that far for me. It’s too messy, too disingenuous, and I’ve never let anyone that…close.”
“I was going to ask if you’ve ever been in love, but I guess that answers that too,” she says, and I feel a little foolish.
“I know how that must look. Being the age I am and never going down that road, but I have my reasons,” I say as I turn onto the street where I live.
“Too work-centric? Wanted to build your empire before settling down? You don’t have to make any excuses for me, Damien.
I get it. I never thought…I mean…I never planned on getting involved with my ex either.
I was determined to succeed and wasn’t going to let anything get in my way,” she says, swallowing hard before gathering herself and going on. “So I get it.”
Normally, it would make my skin crawl with jealousy hearing the catch in her throat over her ex, but I know it’s not him that she feels betrayed about. It’s the way things turned out.
“I haven’t personally had a lot of relationships, romantic or otherwise,” I say as I pull into my driveway. To my relief, the exterior of my home is distracting enough to let the subject drop.
“You live here?” She asks as we get out. It’s not modest, I am well aware.
“This is my home, yes,” I answer as we make our way up the steps.
“By yourself?” She asks as I open the door.
“By myself,” I nod.
“Jesus. It’s like a staycation.”
“Isn’t every Las Vegas house like that? A home away from one of the biggest tourist traps in the country.”
Ellie snickers as she looks around the chef’s kitchen and the porcelain tiles; the Neolith and Dekton countertops. “I live in Vegas, Damien. And my house, as you well know, is nothing like this.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t bring you here for the view,” I say, tugging at my thin, black satin tie. “I brought you here because you told me to make you mine.”
“Yes,” she says, and I can actually see her pulse quicken. It shows in her bare throat, her chest, and every other sensitive part of her body that can’t hide anything from me.
“Ever since the first time I saw you, in the mask and then walking into my office, I have wanted nothing more than to make you mine, Miss Bates,” I tell her.
“I want that too,” she says meekly.