Page 14 of Claimed
Confirming the name, the guard reaches for the black velvet rope with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize.”
I give him a simpering smile and pat his chest as I pass. “Well, now you do.”
Easing past him down a near pitch-black hall, I step into the throbbing pit known as Velvet Sin. Rock music pours from the speakers, and I am familiar with the alternative cover for a popular rap song.
Black lights cast everything in a garish purple glow. Silver hoops hang from the ceiling; half-clad men and women do insane feats of acrobatics while being nestled in their curves. Bodies press on every side as dancers writhe on neon lit stages. I sway inside the doorway, letting the heavy thump of music rattle in my chest.
A second floor sports a viewing rail to watch and not partake in the craziness below, and I spy wait staff as they descend the steps with trays of drinks.
Destination chosen, I climb the stairs, rolling my hips for anyone who may be watching. My black nails gleam on the banister, their tips claw like. Deadly.
At the top landing, I peruse tables in all black, leather booths of the same. And a long midnight bar with rather attractive bartenders.
I sidle up to a stool but don’t sit down.
One of the men, a handsome young twenty something with too much eye make-up, tosses me a smile. “What can I get you?”
“Black martini.”
His grin broadens. “Coming up.”
I turn around and people watch the other patrons as he mixes what is probably a very familiar request. The sheer mass of people is astounding, but the music is good and a drink will make it even better.
“Here you go.”
I turn and take a sip of the dark rum beverage. The vermouth is bitter, and I am grateful.
Sweets have never been my thing.
“Oh it's good,” I say with a smile. “Very good.”
A slight flush stains his tan skin.
I reach into the pocket on my ultra-tight skirt.
“No need,” he says, still smiling. “It’s on the house.” He props his hands on the counter, his focus locked on me.
My eyes roam over him, taking in the lean breadth of his shoulders, the sharp angles of his face. He’s attractive and human.
Very human.
Leaning closer to the bar, I watch as his eyes dip to my cleavage where the edge of my lace bra is visible at the top of my tank. “Thanks,” I breathe.
He licks his lips. “My pleasure. Come back when you need another.”
Smirking, I lay my hand over his, squeeze, and scratch my nails over his skin before I step away. His pupils dilate into his green eyes and his nostrils flare.
With another slight smile, I step from the bar and know his gaze tracks every step I make.
Leaning against the rail, I peruse the floor below, taking in the guests. The pressed bodies. Taking another sip of my drink, I consider it.
I could have the bartender. He is more than interested and it would be a pleasurable distraction. A way to warm my skin after so long in Azz’s home this last time.
A way to wash away his kiss.
“He would be fun,” the voice is barely veiled sex at my side. I stiffen.
Of all the clubs in Miami …
