Page 52 of Wicked Player

“Keep her busy. I’ll be there in thirty but do not let her get to a room. But prepare one for me.”

“Je te comprends.”

I hoped that meant yes. Why he insisted on speaking French when I had no clue what it meant was beyond me. He hung up and I tossed my phone to my bed. Stepping into the closet, I didn’t grab the black I usually wore to The Velvet Club. Thankfully, getting your kicks in a sex and voyeur club meant pretty much anything went. Some people wore masks to disguise their own identity. Some wore barely anything at all. The women who walked around in lingerie never grabbed my attention previously and so help me God. If that was what Elizabeth chose to wore when she roamed the gathering room searching for prey, or intent on being taken…

I refused to finish the thought.

I gripped a gray shirt and yanked it off the hanger. Dark blue jeans came next. I shucked off my sweats, tugged my clothes on, and grabbed a black mask that covered half my face on the way out of the door.

Thirty minutes later, I stalked into Velvet and took a spot along a back wall where the crowds socializing were thicker and the lights darker.

It didn’t matter where I stood, though. I found her immediately. All that glimmering blonde hair, spun like gold, curled and falling down her back. It helped Tristan was talking to her at the bar. Her back was to me, I had no idea if she wore a mask or if within these walls, she didn’t care who saw her.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the wall. I lifted a booted foot and bent my leg, pressing the bottom to the wall for extra support.

And then I waited. The blood rushing through my veins didn’t cool.

Ineeded to chill.

Then, I had to figure out once and for all, what would I do with the sexy little reporter, and how wicked would she let me be?

And then after? Who in the fuck knew, but I already knew we couldn’t continue like this.

Later. I’d figure that out later.

My mission then was to ensure she wouldn’t go fuck another man.

Seventeen

Elizabeth

I almost didn’t come. It was a mistake when I slid into a black tank top and short, super short but flirty black and white striped skirt.

It was a mistake when I signed in and took the wristband…pink indicating a taken sub. I didn’t need more men complicating my already headache-inducing life filled with more men and lies and secrets than I could already handle.

Yeah, I definitely shouldn’t have come. I might have been ready to venture into the private room with well-vetted interested men likeJohn,but the gathering room had never been my thing.

I didn’t make a lot of friends when I came here before and I tended to keep myself tucked into a corner at the bar. Not to drink, thanks to the standard one alcoholic drink limit. Lucky me, the club soda with lime flowed copiously.

Not exactly what I wanted so I was prepared to face Connor, so I was taking my time enjoying a glass of white wine, taking in the room.

The Velvet club was a classy place. It wasn’t a trashy sex club with oiled up stripper poles. There weren’t any public shows on a stage unless it was a private night for demonstrations. Those you had to register for separately and were put on before the club opened at night. They were for anyone interested in learning more, practicing techniques or learning new ones. Tristan always took the safety of his club seriously so he put as much time into training and practicum nights as he did into the decor.

Which he nailed. Rich, dark purple lined velvet chairs and booths surrounded silver tabletops. The floors were a light gray and sparkling chandeliers with thousands of tiny, miniscule lights hung from them throughout the room. It was decadent and sensual. And none of it screamed, “take me to your sex dungeon and flog me.”

Thankfully. The first time I stepped into Velvet for a tour, I was freaked enough. Had it been all black and red screaming, “kinky sex happens here,” I might have fled. As it was, the softness of the grays and lights along with the lure of the dark velvets and purples soothed my nerves upon entrance.

Tonight, it was that first night all over again, without the soothing presence.

That was until Tristan slid up next to me. He didn’t sit and his eyes glanced at me quickly before continuing to survey the rather quiet gathering. For a Thursday, it was pretty slow. It was also on the early side.

“Hello,chérie. This is unexpected.” His hands clasped together on the bar. “All is well?”

Everything was a tangled mess of knotted extension chords inside of me.

“Oui,” I responded. It was one of the few French words I knew. “I’m just here to observe tonight.”

“Bien sur. Of course.” Tristan’s gaze roamed the room and looked over my shoulder. As it did, his expression darkened. “Be careful this evening,s’il te plait?”

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