Page 32 of Take Me Under

A corner of Zeke’s mouth turned up in a smirk. “Yep. I found her.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t feel the need to tell me that first?”

“Come on. You know me. I like to save the best for last. She’s right outside the gates to the club. I spotted her on one of the perimeter cameras while I was training a new hire on the security system.”

“She’s here?” I asked incredulously.

“Nothereper se, but nearby. As soon as I saw her, I came totell you. If you want to catch her, she should still be on the block.”

My mind began to race. A person didn’t accidentally loiter beyond the gates. To the outside world, the people within these walls were freaks. Although experience taught me that the most judgmental voices were the ones who often harbored the filthiest desires.

Be that as it may, sex clubs were not part of civilized conversations, so I couldn’t think of a single way she could have found out about Club O.

“How in the hell did she find this place?”

“Not sure if she did, boss. Looked like she was just out for a walk.”

“Well, I’m about to find out.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Serena

Iwandered aimlessly on the sidewalks of New York, determined to find some semblance of peace before I got on a plane to return home. The past few days had felt like a whirlwind, even if I had been sleeping for half the time.

After I’d left Anton’s penthouse, I tried to get a room at the motel I’d been staying at before, but when I arrived at the Midtown, I’d found it swarming with police. Everything had been roped off with crime tape. I overheard some of the conversations had by those loitering around and was able to piece together fragments of their chatter. A member of the hotel staff had been found dead. The presence of crime tape suggested foul play. I recalled Anton’s warnings about the seedy motel, and I was glad I hadn’t been there for whatever had gone down.

Not left with much choice, I ended up at a hotel a few blocks south. It was nice, clean, and three times the price. But I was past the point of caring. Cash would be low for the foreseeable future,so I’d pulled out the emergency credit card. Within thirty minutes, my only zero balance card carried the financial burden of a hotel room, a one-way ticket to Rome, and an overpriced bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

Living in Italy had trained my tastebuds to appreciate a fine wine, and this bottle had failed to hit the mark. But beggars couldn’t afford to be choosey. It was an unnecessary splurge, but I’d earned it, and had happily consumed two glasses of the mediocre wine before heading out for a walk.

I meandered slowly, appreciating that I had nowhere to be for the evening—even if that hadn’t been the original plan. When I left the penthouse, it was merely to create some space. Once I was settled, I had every intention of calling Anton about dinner, but then I realized I didn’t have his phone number. After hours of indecision, I decided I would have looked stupid if I went back after leaving so abruptly. So, now here I was, committed to looking him up once I was back in Italy where I could safely do business over the phone.

I browsed the store fronts and landmarks as I walked. It was getting late. Other than a smattering of restaurants and bars, most places had closed up hours ago.

My thoughts wandered back to my short time with Anton. I pictured piercing onyx eyes, razor sharp cheekbones, and the knowing smile that made my pulse quicken and my stomach twist. I was familiar with desire, even if it had been a long time since I’d last felt it.

I’d wanted to give myself over to it—to flirt, to fall into a game of seduction, and see where it led. In hindsight, I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t. I was a grown woman after all, not a blushing virgin, despite what my mother might think. Catholic guilt was real, and she was quick to lay it on thick whenever the opportunity presented itself.

I’d never been promiscuous and had always been in a steady relationship with the men I took to my bed. Perhaps that waswhy I’d hesitated with Anton. I didn’t knowhowto have a one-night stand. Emotional connection held too much value for me to allow one to happen.

I wasn’t sure how far I’d walked or where I was, but it didn’t matter to me at that moment. The noise from Midtown Manhattan had long since quieted, and I found myself on less eventful streets with few cars and even fewer pedestrians. My mother would say that a woman walking alone at night in such a big city was reckless. Perhaps it was. That was the thing about parents. No matter how old we were, some lessons stayed with us forever. The GPS on my cell might get me back to where I needed to be, but echoes of her warnings ensured I stayed ultra-aware of my surroundings.

A flash of light to my left caught my attention. At first glance, it looked like I was staring down a dark alley. However, upon closer inspection, I realized it was a driveway. The light had come from a car’s headlights as it turned and disappeared into blackness. I squinted into the night, trying to make out where the car had gone but the moonless sky left me blind.

As if they had a mind of their own, my feet began to walk in that direction. After a few moments, I was able to make out the outline of a large, wrought iron gate. I continued up the drive, slowing my steps when I realized the gate was closed.

I was about to turn back, but a shimmer of glass to the left of the nondescript entry caught my eye. Illuminated only by a nearby streetlight, the tall glass casement was built into one of the two stone pillars flanking the entrance. The statue inside is what gave me reason to pause.

I placed my hand on the brick pillar, needing a closer look at the artistry of the carved stone statue. It was a full body rendition of a woman with her head tipped back slightly. One hand covered a naked breast while the other was buried between her thighs. Her gaze stared out into the unknown, defiant almost, as she captured her pleasure.

At her feet, glass flames rose up to meet her, a symbol of the burning hot orgasm that she’d gifted to herself. The blown glass was a balance of color and form, blue and orange flames that evoked a sense of movement and energy. The vibrant colors gave life to the gray marble statue centered within. The translucency and depth of the glass made it feel alive with the flickering essence of fire, allowing light to pass through and enhance the vivid colors.

“Beautiful,” I whispered.

I found myself wondering what I looked like in the throes of an orgasm—what I would look like to Anton if I’d allowed his hand to press between my legs.

Would I look like this woman? Could I allow the world to completely fall away, fully embracing the sensuality of the moment?

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