Admit You’re Mine (House of Velvet #1)

Prologue

Maddox

I step into the VIP corridor, and the temperature seems to drop a few degrees, the air turning crisp with the scent of sandalwood and premium gin.

It’s a stark contrast to the humidity of the communal playrooms below.

Here, the walls are padded with deep obsidian velvet, turning the long hallway into a sensory-deprivation chamber where only the most elite can play.

A rhythmic thrum of bass vibrates up through the foundation—not for dancing, but to provide a steady, heartbeat-like mask for the sharp snap of a flogger or the low pleas of a submissive. Every brass handle I pass is a gateway to a different fantasy, all of them under my control.

My fingers smooth down the front of my waistcoat, mentally rehearsing my pitch for the investor waiting in the lounge, when a sharp, muttered curse breaks my focus.

I slow down, my gaze snagging on a pretty boy crouched by the shower-play service door.

He looks barely eighteen, though he’d have to be at least twenty-one to be on my payroll here at Velvet.

He’s a mess of peroxide-blonde hair, golden skin stretched along his lean, sinewy limbs, and an angelic face that is twisted in a scowl as he shoves a pile of damp, dirty towels into a laundry hamper.

I stop in my tracks, letting my shadow fall over him.

"Problem?" I ask. The towel boy doesn't look up at first, clearly assuming I’m just another entitled patron he can ignore.

His knuckles turn white against the plastic rim of the hamper.

“Just saying I wouldn’t mind a fuckin' promotion is all,” he mutters, mostly to himself, his voice raspy and biting.

My eyes rake over the black mesh crop top clinging to his small frame; he's very pretty, and vibrating with an attitude that he clearly can't afford.

“Yeah? Planning to bend over for it?” I taunt, feeling a slow, dark spark of amusement spread through me.

The boy finally snaps his head up, a sharp retort dying on his tongue the moment he realises exactly who he’s talking to; his pupils blow wide, and the blood drains from his face as he recognises his boss.

Despite the sudden tremor in his hands, those amber eyes don't lose their heat.

“If that’s what it takes to not fold towels for the rest of my life,” he quips, his voice wavers despite the confidence his body language alludes to.

I let the silence stretch between us, memorising the defiant set of his jaw before a predatory smile touches my lips.

I like a brat who knows when to gamble. “Come to my office in two hours,” I demand, already turning to continue down the hall.

“Let’s see what other talents you possess. ”

"What am I here for Maddox?" Rylen sighs, his impatience will be the death of me.

"Let me have this, Rylen. For once in thirteen years, just let me surprise you on your birthday without the fucking interrogation," I beg, hopefully my eyes aren't conveying the annoyance I feel at his incessant whining.

Where the fuck is this brat anyway? He better not chicken out.

I’m perched on the armrest of the leather sofa in my office next to Rylen when Towel Boy enters. He looks the same as he did earlier, smooth bronzed skin on display, curly bleached locks slicked back, amber eyes full of defiance and distrust. It’s going to be fun fucking that out of him.

“Oh… I thought I’d just be, entertaining…

you ,” he voices uncomfortably. The boy's gaze darts back and forth between us, seemingly afraid of angering Rylen.

Which is fair, I mean Ry's resting bitch face makes him look like he could rip a man's throat out with his bare hands and sleep soundly that same night.

“Yeah, well, I thought about it and I can’t very well vet you for sex work if I don’t see you perform on someone else.” My arms extend wide in a half-hearted shrug. “That work for you, Ry?” I muse, lips curling up at the edges.

" This is the big surprise you had in store for me?

" Rylen asks incredulously, his mossy eyes getting swallowed by the furrowing of his brows.

My lungs burn trying to hold back the laugh that threatens to burst free.

"What? It's not every day that your best mate turns twenty-five," I shrug sheepishly.

Towel Boy obnoxiously clears his throat, and our eyes cut to where he stands. "So, we doing this or what?"

“Whatever. A hole’s a hole,” Ry proclaims, looking down at his phone like he’s already bored of the whole conversation.

I don’t know why he pretends that he doesn’t love to fuck twinks, because we both know it’s his guilty pleasure.

He’s been such a moody bitch lately, ever since the other night when I drunkenly passed out in his bed, after mistaking it for my own.

Figured he could use an orgasm or two as an apology.

Towel Boy is starting to look defiant but he’s in no real position to argue, considering he’s the one who doesn’t want to be cleaning up after patrons anymore.

“What’s your name?” I ask, watching as the brat scowls as if to say ' what's it to you '.

I sigh, looking down at him like he's beneath me, just to see that fire blaze in his eyes.

“Well, I can’t keep mentally referring to you as 'Towel Boy' if I’m going to take this seriously, can I?”

That gets a laugh out of Rylen. The boy juts his chin out, squaring his shoulders.

“Dylan,” he grumbles. I push off from the couch and stalk towards him, circling until my chest is pressed against his back.

My mouth hovers beside his ear but my eyes are locked on Rylen.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, Dylan," I murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You’re going to fuck him for me. You’ll take my instructions, you’ll move when I say, and you won’t stop until he’s had enough. Are we clear?”

Dylan's back stiffens and his breathing turns heavy; the situation excites him, no matter what picture his bratty demeanour is painting.

He nods feverishly. I press my palm firmly along his lower stomach and push my semi against his pert ass.

He sucks in a sharp breath and grinds back onto my thickening cock.

"Consider this your audition—make sure he’s pleased, or you’ll be back to the laundry room by morning,” I growl, tightening my grip.

Rylen has put his phone down now and is intently watching our exchange.

Well well well . Looks like someone is turned on by twinks after all.

How interesting, if only a certain someone else could have predicted this. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

“Now, go suck on his fingers. Get them nice and wet for me,” I whisper, nipping at Dylan's earlobe. He sidles over to where Rylen is lounging on the couch, then without missing a beat, sensually slides his pants off until he’s gripping his ankles, that perky little ass waving high in the air.

Dylan glances over his shoulder, pointing the filthiest grin in my direction.

He stands fully naked from the waist down in front of Rylen, who’s staring up at him with pupils blown wide, mouth hanging slightly ajar.

Skin prickles along the back of my neck.

Why doesn’t this feel as satisfying as I thought it would?

A hollow pit begins to form in my stomach.

Never thought I’d get FOMO from not fucking a Towel Boy, but I guess that’s what it must be.

Rylen makes a strangled noise as Dylan straddles his lap, then slips three of Ry’s fingers into his mouth. He works them in, taking them down to the knuckles, his whole body rolling as his head bobs up and down in quick succession.

“Oh pet, you’re drooling everywhere,” Rylen murmurs, his teasing cuts through the room as he clears the spit from the boy's chin. He looks up, his gaze catching mine, and the intensity behind them feels dangerous. It’s a look meant for a lover, not a boss, and it leaves me standing here, hard and hateful and far too jealous over a man that isn't mine.

Pulling his slick fingers back, Rylen traces a slow path down Dylan’s ribs and stomach.

He winds his hand around to the base of Dylan's spine, fingers dipping lower until they find his opening. Dylan lets out a broken moan, his head falling back. “Let me ride you,” he whimpers. Rylen looks to me for permission, I dip my head in a curt nod, jaw flexing, then watch in awe as he pushes the tip of his middle finger inside. Dylan’s jagged breathing fills the room as he grinds against Ry’s hand.

“Such a needy little thing,” Rylen chuckles darkly, adding another finger.

My knuckles clench and unclench at my sides watching how much Dylan is enjoying himself.

Rylen’s eyes are glued to the bead of pre-cum welling up on Dylan’s cock between them.

Jealousy burns through my system, I can’t fully tell who it’s aimed at, I just know that it’s pissing me off.

I step up behind the boy once more, squeezing my hand around his slender neck and tip his head back to claim his mouth in a searing kiss.

“You take his fingers so well, don’t you?

” I praise, dragging my thumb down his full lips, Dylan nods frantically with lidded eyes.

My fingers clench around his jaw in a harshness that surprises even me.

“I don’t care how good it feels, you don’t get to come until I say you can,” I grit out, knuckles white from how tight I’m gripping on.

His moan echoes through the walls, hand flying to his cock to stroke out his release. Little fucking brat.

“Quiet, Towel Boy, or everyone’s going to hear what a naughty little slut you are,” Rylen spits, his free hand curling around the boys wrist, ripping it from his cock.

“It’s Dylan ,” he snarls, wrenching his hand free.

Rylen thrusts upwards until he's knuckle deep, earning another deep moan.

He tilts his head just enough to glance around at me, the corner of his mouth twitching.