Chapter 36
BIANCA
I rarely drive my Silver Lexus. That’s the nice part about living in the Loop. Everything I need is within walking distance, and if it isn’t, it’s an easy trip on the L. I only drive it to Aces when it’s too cold to walk. So I’m glad I get to take the old girl out of town.
I stopped at Aces this morning and grabbed two brands from my dressing room. The Club and the Ace. Quite a few are stacked in the corner along with other items from Rouge’s office, so I doubt they’ll be missed if she looks around. I’m on my way to Harrison’s home in Oak Park now.
I park in front of his house. It’s a nice ranch-style home with a dark-red roof and light-yellow siding with navy shutters on each window.
He has a tidy front yard surrounded by a white picket fence and a small garden in the corner.
He walks out his front door—the same color as the shutters, of course—and waves at me as I park.
I get out and give him a hug. “Happy birthday, Harrison!”
He exhales sharply through his nose. “Some birthday.” He breaks the embrace, but then his eyes soften. “There’s no one I’d rather spend it with, though.”
“Same goes for me, handsome.” I look toward his house. “Your home is so charming.”
He smiles. “Thanks. I’ve done a lot of work on it since I got it a few years ago.”
“I’ve been living in the big cities so long, it’s almost startling when I meet someone who doesn’t live in an apartment.” I gesture to the garden. “Planting anything soon?”
He shrugs. “The only thing I’ve ever been able to grow in that damned garden is carrots. And I avoid those like the plague. But I’ll get some seeds laid down soon enough. With a little luck, I might be able to get something to take root.” He nods to the door. “Let’s go inside.”
“Yes.” I grab the brands out of the trunk and hand them to Harrison.
He eyes them warily but doesn’t say anything.
The interior of Harrison’s house is just as quaint as the outside. Beige carpeting and light-blue walls. His living room is dominated by a leather sectional and a big-screen TV complete with a speaker system. A light-yellow rug covers the floor.
“You must like yellow,” I say. “There’s a lot of it in your home. Is that your favorite color?”
He frowns, rubs at the back of his neck. “I like it, but my actual favorite color is…green.”
I narrow my eyes. Nothing in this house is green, and I’ve never seen Harrison wear anything green. Not that I’ve known him that long, but…
“If it’s your favorite color, you’ve certainly gone out of your way to avoid it.”
He purses his lips. “Guess we’d better get on with the branding.”
I seem to have struck a tiny nerve. I didn’t mean to offend Harrison. I suppose I still don’t know much about him. We’ve only known each other for a few days, after all.
Harrison’s fireplace is at the side of his living room, framed by dark-gray stones along with a rack of firewood and a wrought iron stand holding a poker, tongs, and a small shovel.
He places a few logs in the fire and then rips up some old newspaper for kindling before tossing a lit match in.
The logs light quickly after that, and smoke drifts toward the chimney.
I place the branding irons over the flames. “These’ll take a few minutes to warm up. Do you have any alcohol wipes? You’ll want to sterilize both your shoulders before we do this.”
He nods and takes his shirt off.
I’ve seen his chest before, but that in no way diminishes the awe it inspires. The man could be a statue by Michelangelo. That’s how perfect he is.
Such a shame to mar that perfect body with these brands.
But I don’t see any other choice.
A few minutes later he reenters the living room, his shoulders gleaming from being wiped down. I remove a pocket-sized bottle of hand sanitizer from my purse and use it myself. I then check the irons. They’re getting red.
“Moment of truth,” I say.
He nods, his eyes vacant. “Right.”
“You’ll…probably want something to bite down on. It’s going to be painful.”
“Makes sense.” He removes his belt, folds it in half, and places it in his mouth.
“Any preference for which shoulder we do first?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Okay.” I look at the brands. The Ace brand is a brighter red than the Club because the letter A has a lot less surface area to heat up. “We’ll do your right first then.”
He nods, presenting his right shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut.
I remove the brand and steady myself, making sure my knees are slightly bent and that my stance is shoulder width. I don’t get a second shot at this. I have to knock it out of the park on my first try. Twice.
I will my hands not to tremble as I position the branding iron in place. “On the count of three, then. One…two…three!”
With just the right amount of force, I push the iron A onto his right shoulder.
The sound of searing flesh hisses into my ears, followed quickly by an acrid and coppery smell as his skin burns. Harrison lets out a groan of pain, but he doesn’t collapse to the floor like I’ve heard a lot of Aces waitresses do. He stands in place, remaining stoic.
I put the brand down on the tiles in front of the fireplace and rush to my purse, pulling out a small blood-red bottle.
I uncork it, place a quarter-sized amount of creamy ointment into my hand, and cross back to Harrison.
“This is Rouge’s special tonic. It’ll provide relief from the pain and will help the burn to heal cleanly.
It should also reduce swelling and the reddening of the skin surrounding it. ”
Harrison spits the belt out. “For God’s sake, please use it.”
I apply the ointment to the brand. At first Harrison winces from the sting, but then the muscles in his face relax.
The stuff works quick. I have no idea what Rouge puts in it, but she usually has people on the Aces floor within twenty-four hours of their branding without any infections or anything.
God, my sister could really do some good in the world with her tremendous intelligence if she wasn’t pure fucking evil.
Harrison’s breathing is slowing now, and the skin around the brand is returning to its original shade. I take a deep breath in. “Do you want to do the next one?”
He runs his left hand through his hair. “Fuck. I forgot there were two of them.”
“I’m sorry.” I grab the Club brand. “But now you know that Rouge’s tonic will help you immediately.”
“Can’t you apply it before you do it? To help with the pain?”
“I’m afraid not. It has to be done after. But I’ll do it quickly.”
He nods and places his leather belt back between his upper and lower teeth, this time presenting his left shoulder.
I grab the Club brand and make quick work. The Club takes up more space than the Ace, so I imagine it’s more painful since more skin is being burned, but Harrison remains steady as I remove the brand and apply the ointment.
Once he stops gritting his teeth and opens his eyes, he flops back onto his couch. “Fuck. Maddox owes me big time.”
“He does.” I sit next to him, caressing his cheek gently. “Does it help if I tell you that they make you look kind of sexy?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Do they?”
“Might just be the fact that you’re kind of sexy. No way to tell. Which reminds me.” I jump to my feet and pull a small pair of black shorts speckled with white clubs out of my purse. “These will be your uniform tonight. You’ll probably want to try them on, make sure they fit.”
He takes the shorts. “These will barely cover one ass cheek, Bianca.”
“They’re made of spandex. They’ll fit.” My cheeks warm. “But they’ll be pretty tight. Won’t leave a whole lot to the imagination.”
He lets out a sardonic laugh. “Again. Maddox fucking owes me.” He gets to his feet and is about to head to the bathroom when he stops. “Guess I can change in front of you. It’s not like you haven’t seen everything at this point.”
I bat my eyes. “You certainly won’t get any complaints from me.”
He undoes his jeans, pulls them off, and then strips off his boxer briefs. I suck in a breath. He’s not hard—at least, not fully—but his cock is no less magnificent than when it’s at full mast.
With a sigh, Harrison places the Clubs shorts on the floor and steps into them.
He slowly pulls them up his tanned, muscled legs, struggling just a bit until he gets the shorts stretched enough.
Finally he pulls them over his waist. His face is redder than it was when I branded him just a few moments ago when he finally gets them on and turns to me. “How do I look?”
I bite my lip.
My God.
He looks fucking delicious.
I already know what he looks like naked, but these shorts enhance everything. His ass cheeks pop out like two bubbles, a tiny sliver of his buttocks peeking out from the bottom of the shorts.
And his bulge… Woof!
And I can’t help myself.
I drop to my knees in front of him, place my hand over his bulge.
He stretches his head back. “Fuck… Bianca. Do we have time for this?”
His cock is already hard under the shorts, and I can see every inch of it through them. “Always time for a little fun.” I pull down the shorts and his cock springs free as if slung by a damned trebuchet. I take it into my mouth, relishing how sweet, salty, and savory his cock is at the same time.
I pump myself over him, licking up and down his shaft and cradling his balls with my right hand. At first, my plan is to finish him off right here and now, but soon he’s bending over and bringing me to my feet, ripping my leggings and tunic off.
“On the floor,” he commands.
I obey without hesitation. I know what’s about to come.
Me.
I shake off my clothes and lie back on the floor. Immediately he’s on his knees, burying his head between my legs. “Damn, Bianca. You smell so sweet. Like fucking honeysuckle. It drives me insane, you know that?”
“Imagine how good I taste then,” I reply.
He grins as he descends, licking across my slit gently.
But I don’t want gentle. Not right now. Not when our lives could be on the line.