Chapter 28 - Bianca
BIANCA
Harrison’s kiss is raw and hard.
I knew I looked hot in this getup, but I had no idea I’d get such a reaction.
I tangle my tongue with his, and our lips and teeth clash.
Until—
Pain lances into my lip.
He bit me. “What the hell, Harrison?” I bring a finger to my lip. “You made me bleed.”
His face is flushed, and there’s a fire in his eyes I’ve never seen before. He’s become unhinged, animalistic.
Without a word, he reels me in again and keeps kissing me, and the blood from the cut on my lip gets all over his own face.
The pain morphs instantly to ecstatic pleasure.
The men in the club tend to get more handsy once spring comes. Maybe that’s what’s going on.
March comes in like a lion.
March Harrison.
He’s devouring my mouth, and already he’s fidgeting with the zipper at the back of my dress. He brings it down and slips the top half of my gown off, exposing my breasts.
He grabs one with one hand and fondles the nipple while taking the other in his mouth.
I gasp as he again engages his teeth more than usual, biting me.
But I like it.
I like how forceful he’s being.
Like he’s taking what’s his.
He sucks at my nipple like his life depends on it, and—
A moment later, I’m naked except for my high heels. How did he get my dress down? My panties off?
He switches his mouth to my other breast and dips a finger into me with his free hand. He presses up against my G-spot quickly.
And I’m seeing stars.
“Oh, my God, Harrison!”
He laughs against my breast while he continues to suck on the nipple. Then he licks down my belly, around my bellybutton, and dives headfirst into my pussy.
He’s voracious. His tongue darts every which way—along my folds, inside me, and then circling my clit until… until…
I shatter, letting out a loud moan.
“Yes, babe,” he growls against me. “Moan for me. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”
Easily done. Because orgasm number two is rounding the bend. What the hell? What are these multiples I’m having with him?
I let out another moan, this one nearly a shriek.
He only eats me faster and more passionately until he brings a third and then a fourth orgasm.
I’m nearly sobbing with pleasure.
He finally relents and, quick as a flash, picks me up into his arms. “Bed?” he asks gruffly.
I swallow and point toward my bedroom. “Over there.”
He crosses the room in a few long strides, enters my bedroom, and throws me on the bed like I’m a sack of potatoes. He slowly undoes his belt buckle, unbuttons his jeans, and whips out his magnificent cock.
“Suck it.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and take his entire length into my mouth.
He groans as soon as I close my lips around his shaft. “Fuck, babe.”
I take that as a hint to speed up. I pump my mouth over him, running my tongue up and down his dick, stopping to pay special attention to the head. I pull on his balls with my other hand, which really drives him crazy.
“Babe, I’m getting close.”
Good. I keep sucking him while keeping my gaze locked on his. Three more pumps and he’s shooting into my mouth.
I swallow every last drop.
I pull back.
God. He’s still erect.
“Lie back on the bed,” he says, his gaze dark.
I inch my way back toward the headboard, and he’s on top of me.
Most men need some time before round two, but Harrison is ready to go again.
He’s naked in a flash.
He jumps on top and thrusts his cock inside me.
The minute he nudges my pubic bone, I shatter again.
And again.
I’ve never experienced this many orgasms in one evening.
Thrust, thrust, thrust…
And he’s releasing again. This time inside me.
Taking me, claiming dominion over me.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
* * *
We got dressed in silence.
Not a word exchanged about our brutal roll in the hay. Harrison didn’t even apologize for making my lip bleed.
I hope he knows that I enjoyed myself. That I liked being dominated, liked giving him the reins.
We go down the golden elevator to my lobby and meet with the valet, a young blond man in a red vest.
Harrison widens his eyes. “You’re not the guy I left my car with.”
The valet cocks his head. “I’ve been working the last few hours, sir. Have you been here a while?”
“Not more than a few hours, unless…” He checks his watch, his eyes uneasy. “No. It’s been forty-five minutes or so.”
“Let me check, sir.” The valet pulls out an iPad. “What’s the make and model of your car?”
“A 1972 Cadillac DeVille. Gold.”
The valet scans the log. “Yep. You’re here, sir.”
“Oh, thank God.” Harrison wrinkles his nose. “Then who the hell did I leave my car with?”
The valet shrugs. “Maybe one of my coworkers was on his way out and covered for me while I was parking another car. We do that for each other from time to time. What did the valet look like?”
“No idea. He had a scarf and a high collar covering most of his face.”
The valet laughs. “Yeah. That sounds like Chad. He gets cold.”
“Great. Well, can you get my car? We’re in a bit of a rush.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll grab it right now.” The valet takes the keys and rushes toward the garage.
I squeeze Harrison’s arm. “I’m excited to check out the clubs with you.”
“I’m looking forward to it too, babe.” He leans down and kisses my cheek. “But remember that we’re not just doing this for fun. We’re trying to figure out information about Maddox and Alissa.”
“I know. Still, though. It’s never a chore to spend an evening on the arm of a handsome man.”
He smiles. “Thanks. I’m happy to be with you as well.”
The valet pulls up in Harrison’s car. It’s a very nice vintage Cadillac with a long, boxy body.
“Where did you get this car?” I ask. “It’s gorgeous.”
He opens the passenger-side door for me. “Got it in an auction for a couple hundred bucks. Restored it in my garage every weekend for a year.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.” I get in the car.
“Not nearly as impressive as you.” He closes the passenger door, enters the driver’s side, and places the key in the ignition.
Our first stop of the night is the Noir Parlor, a moody, cinematic club themed around black-and-white film and television of the middle twentieth century.
We pay the cover and walk in. The entire place is outfitted in grayscale walls, fixtures, and fifties-style furnishings so that it feels like you’ve walked into an episode of Leave it to Beaver.
Even the waitstaff are wearing silvery makeup, grayed-out wigs, and black-and-white clothing to match the theme—the men in sleek black suits and the women in poodle skirts.
A jazz trio plays in the corner, and even their instruments have been layered with dark gray skins to fit the vibe.
On the walls, old black-and-white sitcoms and Hitchcock films are projected, and spotlights sweep across the place as though they’re searchlights in a noir detective film.
“Wow,” Harrison says. “Your sister really doesn’t half-ass anything, does she?”
“Correct,” I murmur, taking in the monochromatic décor.
The only indication that we haven’t gone completely colorblind is the patrons, some of whom are outfitted in colorful outfits.
I’m glad I’m wearing this black-and-white gown, as I’ll blend in a bit more.
Harrison’s more vibrant outfit will stand out like a sore thumb, but as long as my sister isn’t at the club tonight, no one should recognize us.
“Who’s in charge here when your sister is out?” Harrison asks.
I check my phone. “A woman named Lucille Vivienne.”
“Perfect. Do you know what she looks like?”
“No idea.”
Harrison nods and then gestures to the bar. “Let’s ask.”
We walk over to a long obsidian bar where a middle-aged gentleman is crafting black martinis and white Russians. He’s framed by shelves in concentric circles behind him holding top-shelf booze.
“Excuse me, sir,” I say as I take a seat. “We’re looking for Ms. Vivienne. Is she in tonight?”
The bartender—Griffith, according to his nametag—nods and points. “Yes. She’s over by the dance floor.”
Indeed, a tall, slender woman in a gray polka-dotted dress and light-gray hair tied in a bun—same silver makeup as the rest of the workers—is standing in front of the jazz trio.
“Thank you,” Harrison says. “Let’s go over.”
We cross to the dance floor, and I extend a hand to Lucille Vivienne. “Excuse me, Ms. Vivienne, my name is—”
Her long-lashed eyes widen. “Bianca Montrose. Rouge’s sister!”
I blink. “You know me?”
She nods. “Everyone in this club is familiar with every member of the Montrose family, up to your grandfather Ruskin Montrose.”
I suppress an eye roll. “We’re just normal people, I promise.”
Lucille laughs. “I’m sure. There’s no denying that your sister casts a long shadow, though. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Ms. Montrose?”
“Please, call me Bianca.”
“Of course. And you must call me Lucille.”
“Thank you.” I look over my shoulder. “Is there somewhere where my friend and I can speak with you in private?”
Lucille blinks. “I assure you, Bianca. Everything is up to Rouge’s code here.”
“Oh, that’s not our concern. We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right.”
“I suppose so.” She gestures over to a gray door behind the jazz trio. “My office is in there. After you.”
We walk inside, and true to form, Lucille’s office is on theme, all grayscale just like the rest of the club. Harrison and I take seats in plushy black armchairs across from Lucille’s gray birchwood desk.
Lucille sits down in a white atomic swivel chair and faces us. “How can I help you two?”
Harrison leans forward. “We’re investigating some disappearances that may have something to do with Bianca’s sister.”
Lucille bites her lip. “Sorry?”
“A few friends of ours took off last-minute over a month ago on an extended vacation and we haven’t seen them since,” he goes on.
“One of the last places they were seen was Aces Underground, but I’m not a member, so it’s been hard to find intel.
Since the Noir Parlor is not as exclusive as Aces, we thought we might have an easier time asking around here. ”
Lucille crosses her legs. “I can assure you I’m not at all aware of any odd goings-on here at Noir. I’m here every night, even when Rouge is around, and I’ve never witnessed any funny business.”
“When was the last time Rouge was here?” I ask.
“Last Tuesday,” Lucille says. “That’s usually her day, though she sometimes makes surprise visits to keep us all on our toes.”
“Does Rouge hire all the waitstaff?” Harrison asks.
“She does,” Lucille says. “Because our waiters and waitresses have to wear extensive makeup to keep on theme, Rouge usually ends up finding struggling actors from California or New York. People who already have a good grasp of stage makeup.”
“Is there a lot of turnover with waitstaff?” he continues.
“A decent amount. Most people work five years, and then they go back to California or wherever they came from.”
That perks my ears up. The waitstaff at Aces has a similar deal.
I’ve never thought much of it, but I rarely interact with them.
Every so often I have one of them grab a hot toddy for me to bring to my dressing room after a long night, but that’s about it.
I made friends with one of them—the Jack of Hearts—the first week I was here, but it didn’t end well.
I have no idea where they go after their five-year terms are up.
I nod. “These are actors and actresses, so some of the people who have worked here might have gone on to have great acting careers, right?”
Lucille shrugs. “I suppose. The bulk of working actors are people who you wouldn’t recognize. Only the top tenth of a percent attain recognizability.”
“Do you ever hear from former waitstaff? Any updates on career successes?”
“Very rarely,” Lucille says.
“Rarely?” Harrison asks. “So you do hear every so often?”
“Yes. Once in a blue moon. But most people who work here are probably glad to be out—”
“Name a specific person,” Harrison says. “Who precisely have you heard from since they left Noir Parlor?”
“I’m a former actress myself,” I add. “I might know them. It might be helpful to see if we can use them to connect the dots of our little search.”
“I’m sure you do know him, but not because of his former career. He’s an older man, used to work as a character actor before he turned to the bottle, became a bit of a washout. He met your sister in the nick of time, got a job here and then transferred to Aces.”
Harrison raises his eyebrows. “He did? What’s his name?”
“Alban Night,” Lucille replies.
Harrison widens his eyes. “Mr. Night? From the Clubs section?”
I shrug. “I had no idea. He’s been at Aces as long as I can remember.”
Lucille gets to her feet. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. I wish I could be more help, but I should be getting back to the club.”
“Absolutely.” Harrison extends his hand. “Thank you, Lucille. We’ll give you a call if we have any more questions.”
Lucille shakes his hand. “I’ll try to help as much as I can, but I have to tell you.
I think you’re on a wild goose chase. Have you considered the possibility that your friends are indeed just on an extended vacation?
Aces Underground and Rouge Montrose tend to bring out the impulsive side in people. ”
“I hope that’s the case.” Harrison offers me his arm. “Come on, Bianca.”