4. Marla
MARLA
Russ doesn't see me, thankfully, but my heart pounds as I hurry through the lobby and out to my car, trying not to think about what Russ was doing there.
Do they know each other? God, that would be just my luck.
The week that follows is strange. I throw myself into writing, adding pages and pages to my manuscript.
The contrast between Russ and Alex has given me so much material to work with and my characters are coming alive on the page in ways they never would have if I hadn't thrown myself into my research.
But I can't shake the feeling that something's off. The way Russ appeared at Alex's building with armed men.
The way both of them carried themselves with such authority at the Ivory Wolf. How other people in the club seemed to defer to them without question.
By Friday evening, I've convinced myself I'm being paranoid. Rich men know other rich men.
That's just how the world works. And I have one more piece of research to complete before I can call this experiment finished.
When I walk through the doors of the Ivory Wolf, the atmosphere feels different.
Or maybe I'm just more aware now. I notice the way conversations pause when certain people walk by.
The way some men have obvious bulges under their jackets that can only be weapons.
"You're being weird," Sharon says when I mention it. She's wiping down a table near the bar, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. "These guys are just rich. They all know each other. That's how it works in their circles."
"But the guns," I say quietly. "Sharon, some of these men are armed."
She rolls her eyes. "Rich people have security. It's normal. Stop overthinking this and go have fun. Isn't that why you're here?"
She's right. I came here with a purpose, and I'm not going to let paranoia derail me now.
I've learned so much from Russ and Alex. One more experience and perspective, and I'll have everything I need for my book.
I order a drink at the bar and let my gaze wander across the room. I'm looking for someone new, someone different from the first two. And then I see him.
He's sitting alone at a table near the back, and his attention is focused entirely on a glass of whiskey in front of him, but somehow I know he's aware of everything happening around him.
He's younger than Alex but older than Russ, maybe thirty.
His black hair falls past his shoulders, and even from across the room, I can see the intensity in his green eyes when he finally looks up and meets my gaze.
He's tall, powerfully built, with tattoos visible on his left arm from elbow to wrist.
There's something about him that's different from the others.
Where Russ was playful and Alex was controlled, this man is quiet in a way that feels dangerous.
He doesn't smile or gesture me over. He simply watches, and the weight of his stare makes my skin prickle with awareness.
I pick up my drink and walk toward him, my heart pounding harder with each step.
As I get closer, I can see the sharp angles of his face, the way his jaw is set like he's constantly prepared for a fight. He's wearing a black shirt that stretches across his broad chest, and I can see more tattoos peeking out from beneath the fabric.
"Mind if I sit?" I ask when I reach his table.
"Sit." It's not an invitation. It's a command, delivered in a deep voice that sends a shiver down my spine.
I slide into the seat across from him, suddenly very aware of how intently he's studying me. It's not the appreciative assessment Alex gave me or the playful interest in Russ's eyes. This man is watching me like he's cataloging every single detail about me.
"I'm Marla," I say, trying to break the tension.
"Nick." He doesn't offer a last name, and I don't ask. His gaze travels over me slowly, deliberately, and I feel exposed under his scrutiny. "You've been here before."
Again, it's not a question. He knows. They all seem to know everything that happens in this place.
"A couple times," I admit, keeping my voice casual.
His eyes narrow slightly, studying me with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. "Interesting." He pauses, his gaze never leaving mine. "What are you looking for?"
The question is direct, almost invasive, and I feel heat creep up my neck. I can't exactly tell him the truth about my research project.
"Just enjoying the atmosphere," I say, taking a sip of my drink to avoid his penetrating stare.
"Bullshit." The word is delivered without malice, just flat certainty. "You don't come to a place like this for the atmosphere. You come here hunting, or you come here hiding. Which one are you?"
My breath catches. There's something about the way he sees through me that's both terrifying and thrilling.
"Maybe a little of both," I admit.
The corner of his mouth lifts, but it's not quite a smile.
More like acknowledgment of a worthy opponent.
"At least you're honest about being evasive.
" He leans forward, his forearms resting on the table, and the movement brings him closer.
"You're not like the other women here. You watch people. You're careful. Deliberate."
"Is that a problem?"
"No." His voice drops lower. "It's fucking intriguing."
The intensity in his green eyes makes my stomach tighten. This man misses nothing, and I have the distinct feeling that trying to keep secrets from him would be impossible. Good thing I'm only looking for one night and not a relationship.
"So what now?" I ask, my voice coming out breathier than I intended.
He stands in one fluid motion.
He doesn't offer me his hand. He simply looks down at me with those intense green eyes, a command implicit in his posture.
"Now you come with me."
It's not a request. It's an expectation, delivered with such quiet authority that I find myself standing before I've consciously decided to comply.
There's something about him that demands obedience, not through force but through sheer presence.
We walk out of the Ivory Wolf together, and I'm acutely aware of the eyes that follow us.
Sharon catches my gaze and gives me a thumbs-up, but there's something in her expression that looks almost worried. I push the thought aside.
When we reach his floor and he leads me into his penthouse, the space is modern and austere, all clean lines and minimal furniture.
There's no warmth here, no personal touches. It's a display of power, pure and simple.
Suddenly he's right there, his hand gripping my jaw, tilting my face up to his.
"You sure about this?" His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and the touch sends electricity through my body. "Once we start, I'm not stopping until I'm done with you."
The words should scare me. Instead, they make arousal flood my panties.
"I'm sure," I breathe.
"Good."
Nick kisses me like he's claiming me, his mouth hard and demanding against mine.
His tongue invades my mouth with no pretense of gentleness, and I find myself responding with equal intensity.
His hands move to my waist, then lower, gripping my ass hard enough to make me gasp.
He walks me backward until my back comes up against the wall, his mouth never leaving mine.
I'm pressed between the hard, cool surface of the wall and his hard, hot body, and the contrasting feeling turns me on even more.
He's not much for talking or teasing and I barely catch my breath when he suddenly drops down and pulls my panties off before I know what he's about.
He tosses the flimsy material off to the side, but doesn't stand yet.
His tongue takes one long, hot, erotic swipe through my folds, and then he stands, his mouth on mine again, his body pressing into me so that I feel every exciting muscle and bulge.
Large hands cup the sides of my jaw and slide down to my neck as he tilts my head, and he deepens the kiss.
I hadn't even thought that was possible with the way he's been devouring my mouth so far.
Those wonderful hands slide down my sides, then nails lightly scrape their way up my thighs and hips, bringing the hem of my dress with them.
I can't seem to catch my breath, much less a single thought as he grasps my wrist and brings my hand between our bodies, placing it over the incredible bulge that promises pleasure beyond belief. I take the hint, though, and undo his pants.
His thick cock springs free and I take a moment to explore, my hand lightly brushing across the tip.
That's about as far as I get, because with a growl, he moves my hand and grips himself, then guides into my core.
When he enters me in one hard thrust, I cry out at the sudden fullness. He's big, stretching me, filling me completely. He doesn't give me time to adjust.
He simply starts moving, each thrust deep and powerful, angled to hit that spot inside me that makes pleasure spike through my body.
His pace is relentless, harder and faster than either Russ or Alex. There's no gentleness here, no careful exploration.
This is raw and intense, and I find myself responding to it eagerly. My body arches beneath him, meeting each thrust, and the sounds coming from my throat are desperate and needy.
The combination of his hand on my throat and his cock driving into me, pressing me against the wall, is overwhelming. I can feel the orgasm building, stronger and more intense than anything I've experienced before.
When his other hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit, I shatter.
I come with a scream that echoes through the penthouse, my body clenching around him so hard I see stars. He follows seconds later with a guttural groan, his body going rigid above me.
We stay like that just long enough for him to get his breathing somewhat under control, then he withdraws from me. He's pulling up his pants while handing me my panties before my vision fully returns to normal.
Damn, that was hot!
I clean up and get dressed on shaky legs, my body still humming with the intensity of what just happened.
As we walk through the hallway toward the elevator, I notice things I didn't see on the way up.
Men stationed at intervals, their jackets bulging with obvious weapons. Security cameras in every corner.
A checkpoint near the elevator where two more armed men nod at Nick as we pass.
This isn't normal security for a rich man. This is something else entirely.
The elevator ride down is silent, and my mind is racing, finally starting to clear from the sexual fog. What have I gotten myself into?
When we reach the lobby, there are more armed men stationed near the doors, near the front desk, watching everyone who enters and exits. Nick walks me all the way outside, and the night air hits my face like a slap.
He nods at me and offers a rare smile, then turns and heads back into the building.
Across the street, leaning against a black SUV with his arms crossed, is Alex. He's watching me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Our eyes meet, and even from this distance, I can see the intensity in his gaze.
My heart stops.