2. Chapter 2
Maddox
I hear her before I see her. The soft click of stilettos against marble, the quiet drag of silk brushing the floor as she walks. Each step echoes down the hall until it fades at the heavy oak doors of my office.
Lecia enters without knocking as usual, despite knowing damn well she's meant to.
I'm going to need to install an electric locking mechanism because it's clearly not sinking in.
Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth as she slips into the room, she wants something big from me, I'd bet my left nut on it.
The doors close behind her with a muted thud, sealing us into the dim hush of the room.
The fireplace casts flickering gold across black floorboards and shadows that ripple up the black lined walls, before reaching the vaulted ceiling.
Lecia stands before me in silence, head bowed beneath her hood, a cloak of blood-red silk pooling around her delicate curves.
I study her from the seat behind my mahogany desk, and for a moment, I simply watch her breathe.
House of Velvet's revered attraction… The Blood Woman.
Everyone else sees the untouchable goddess, the apex predator in stilettos. Here with me, she's still those things, but she's also a cheeky little shit who likes to have a bit of fun now and then.
Usually I'm more than happy to indulge her in that, except I haven't been able to get that big-tittied blonde tart from the waterpark out of my head.
The way she was so unashamedly eye-fucking Rylen in public gave me the urge to carve those pretty little eyes out of their sockets.
The muscles in my jaw twitch and begin to ache at the memory.
I stay seated behind my desk, watching the subtle sway of Felicia's hips as she shifts her weight from one heel to the other.
Even speechless, she easily commands the room.
No one brings millionaires to their knees like The Blood Woman does.
No other domme walks out of scenes with that same feral gleam in their eye, either.
Moments pass in suspended silence, each of us waiting for the other to break. She knows I'm annoyed about her showing up unannounced, and I know she wants something from me, probably to get fucked senseless and treated like the dirty little whore she so desperately pretends to be. Well not tonight.
I break eye contact and resume the task she so carelessly interrupted.
Velvet's security system is on the fritz again and Rylen isn't answering my texts so I'm left to deal with it myself, except I've got no idea what the fuck I'm even looking for.
My finger tapping on the mouse button gets increasingly more aggressive the longer that it takes to navigate the absolute cluster-fuck that is our camera feeds.
I glance at my phone screen seeing no new messages.
Where the fuck is Rylen? It's not that I need him to answer because he's my friend, it's that I expect him to answer because he's Velvet's head of security and I'm his boss.
That's the only reason. It has nothing to do with the fact that he's been avoiding me since our trip to the waterpark over the weekend.
And definitely nothing to do with how much it hurt to see him freak out over some random woman mistaking us for a couple…
like that's the most awful concept imaginable.
Felicia breaks my train of thought by letting out a long sigh as she lifts her hands in a smooth, practiced motion to peel back her hood, not even trying to hide the little eye roll thrown my way—she's nothing without her attitude.
Her auburn waves billow out over her shoulders, blazing in the firelight.
She flicks it back with a small flourish for added effect.
What feels like minutes pass without so much as a word, my left eye begins to twitch involuntarily and I grow more agitated with every second that she stands in front of me not speaking.
"What do you want Felicia?" I finally ask, the deep growl of my voice snapping through the silence like a rubber band pulled too tight. " Just wanted to see what you're doing," she says coyly, ever the actress. I really wish she'd just cut to the chase already.
"Now's not a good time," I grumble. Her smile curves like a blade, sharp and knowing.
“Aw. You’re no fun when you’re buried in your toys,” she laughs, sauntering closer.
The hem of her cloak skims the polished floor in a whisper, her heels clicking like a metronome marking the beat of my pulse.
I don’t bother looking up as she rounds my desk.
“It’s not a toy , it’s a multimillion-dollar security system that decides to shit itself once a month,” I snap.
She props herself up on the corner of my desk, too close on purpose, silk spilling over the edge.
“Maddox, you don’t even know how to check your email. Just call Rylen.”
My jaw ticks at the mention of his name.
“ I have. He’s not answering.” Her grin is instant and wicked, and her pupils are blown wide in amusement.
“Did you have a fight with your little boyfriend?
" she gasps. I finally drag my body away from the monitors to turn towards her, hating the delight in her voice.
It's no secret that Rylen and Felicia don't get along, I just wish they'd leave me out of it.
“Do you need something, or are you just trying to annoy me?”
“Both,” she chimes sweetly, untying the clasp of her cloak. It slides from her shoulders, pooling onto the floor like fresh blood. “Security issues can wait, I can’ t.”
I sigh, leaning back in my chair, arms folding over my chest. “You show up uninvited, interrupt me, and think I'll just fuck you?” I scoff. She smirks, slipping from the desk into my lap, legs encapsulating my hips with a languid pace that make her heels glint in the firelight.
“That's exactly what I think,” she murmurs against my throat, kissing and nipping at the skin. And she’s right, I always cave, only I strangely don't want to this time.
Her fingers thread together behind my neck, pushing us deeper into the creaking leather chair.
My fingers tease the hem of her corset, toying with it even though its wearer no longer holds my interest.
There was a time where I considered claiming Lecia as mine, and mine alone, and yet now, even with her straddling my lap, I can't recall why that was.
She's beautiful, truly, but she's not the five-foot-eleven pain in my ass man whose had my heart since I was a scared kid with nothing and no one. Not until him, anyway.
"Maybe we should invite Rylen to join us?
Since you're so distracted by him. Wouldn't mind getting stretched out by both of you at once," she purrs in my ear, almost as if she can read my thoughts.
A painful heat sears through my spine at the image her words conjure, and my lip curls up in a sneer as I grab her wrists, pushing her off of my lap and away from me.
The chair creaks once more as I swivel back to the monitors, my heart thundering in my throat.
Why the fuck would she even suggest something like that?
Her gaze hardens as she stares down at me, gripping onto her wrist like I've hurt her.
I couldn't even care less if I had to be totally honest.
"We're done here. Get out," I snipe, still not making eye contact.
"God, he's really done a number on you hasn't he?" she scoffs, snatching her cloak from the floor. Her heels click away, the door closing with a harsh thud. Silence falls again, but my focus doesn’t return to the monitors. Not really. It drifts back to Rylen, to his absence, to the way he couldn’t even stand being mistaken for mine.
That sting hurts worse than anything Lecia could dish out.
I scrub a hand down my face, my shoulders slumping forward as I release a pent up sigh, and before thinking it through, I send Rylen one more message.
"Don't worry, Felicia took care of my… problem."
I toss the phone across the desk with a clatter and turn my attention back to the rows of camera feeds before me. I'm probably going to regret that later, but I know bringing up someone he despises will at least garner some kind of response from him.
I'm absentmindedly clicking away trying to fix the blank fuzzy screens when it resolves itself within the time it takes me to blink. Live feeds fill each screen, dozens of camera angles split into precise quadrants. "Look at that," I smirk. "Don't even need Rylen."
My gaze drifts over the main dining hall first; a vast space with obsidian floors polished to a mirror shine, the chandeliers dripping with crimson glass pendants that catch the low lighting and scatter it across the tables like blood spatter.
Millionaire men and women sit in tailored suits and designer gowns, sipping hundred-thousand-dollar wine, they all wear masks to protect their identities, yet their eyes are glazed with the apathetic hunger of people who can buy anything, except a meaning to their lives.
Servers glide between them, silent ghosts draped in sheer black silk that conceals nothing and everything all at once. Red ropes mark the perimeters leading up to the voyeur rooms. I tap to enlarge a feed showing one of them—a narrow, candlelit space lined with mirrored panels and padded benches.
A woman kneels naked on the marble floor, head bowed, arms secured behind her back in an intricate rope harness.
The man standing over her holds her by the throat, his other hand lining himself up with her entrance, while he murmurs words I can’t hear but have no doubt spoken myself a thousand times before.
The crowd sits in a darkened area before the stage, bodies writhing on each other, unable to contain their lust as they eye-fuck the couple performing for them .