Page 35 of Dirty Little Secrets
“Come with me.” I hold out my hand, inviting her to enter a world she’s only ever heard of. A world withmany misconceptions. Once she sees what I’m asking her for, maybe, just maybe, she’ll be willing to be mine. “I’m going to show you just how powerful giving up control can truly be.”
She stares at my hand warily. “Why should I go with you?”
“Because…” I give her an all-knowing smile, “I think Club Hades will become your new favorite playground.”
“Club Hades?” she asks, curiosity brimming. “Is that another strip club?”
I chuckle. Despite her attempts to be bad, Emery is still so goddamn innocent. “You said you don’t like fantasies, Miss Jones. Is that correct?” She nods tentatively. “Then you’ll enjoy Club Hades.” I offer her my hand again, beckoning her to take the first step into her new life. “There are no fantasies there. Only reality.”
“It’s a sex club,” Emery acutely muses, nibbling on her bottom lip, and I can’t look away. Oh, the things I want to do to that pretty little mouth. “You want to take me to a sex club?”
“And you want to go,” I observe, my smile growing as she reaches for my hand. When our skin touches, we find each other's eyes. They’re identical. Both glowing bright with possibilities. She follows me to my car, her gentle grip loosening when I open the passenger's side door. She pauses as if having second thoughts. “Get in, Miss Jones. What's the worst that could happen?”
“Will you let me leave if I decide I don’t like it?” she asks.
“You’re not a prisoner, Miss Jones,” I reply.I am. “You may leave anytime, although I am confident you will want to stay and watch.”
“Watch?” Her brow perks up.
“Tonight, we watch,” I say. “And then we decide.” She nibbles on her lip, mulling over my proposition. “Well? Shall we go, Miss Jones?”
Her answer is etched across her face. “If I get in…” she tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, “Will you stop calling me Miss Jones?”
I smirk. “I’ll take it into consideration.” Emery glares at me, fighting the urge to protest but with a shaky breath she slides into the car. “Good girl.”
Her gaze flicks up at me, and her plump lips curl into a smile. “I like that,” she whispers, chest rising with covetous thirst. “Say it again.”
My cock twitches. “All in due time, Miss Jones.” I close her door. “All in due time.”
THE VIEWING TOWER
EMERY
I’m usedto feeling numb. That’s my constant. My baseline. I don’t remember the last time that I cried, that I shed a tear. Everything that I’ve been feeling since laying my eyes on Damon has been alien, foreign. These emotions, dwelled in the innermost parts of my psyche, were never strong enough to break the surface. To ascend into the real world.
Whether I kept them hidden, or they were too weak to emerge themselves, is still unknown. But what Idoknow is that the heart in my chest has never beaten with such urgency before. It's never rushed blood this fast through my system. It’s never felt as if it were my own. Until now.
For twenty-eight years, I’ve led with my head. I’vemade decisions based on fact and logic. It wasn’t a choice. I didn’t decide to ignore the wishes of my heart. I simply had none.
A dim LED sign illuminates the dark alley ahead as Damon pulls up to the curb. I’m here because Idecidedto be here. With my heart. And perhaps another, more boisterous, organ.
“The Charlatan?” I read the sign as Damon hands the valet attendant his keys. “I thought you said we were going to…” I pause, recalling the name. “Club Hades?”
Damon gives me a knowing grin. “Club Hades doesn’t exist, Miss Jones. Not on paper, at least.” I frown as we approach the entrance, and Damon pulls out a matte black card with gold foiling. He hands it to the guard. “It might be expired.”
The bouncer remains stoic as he says, “You’ll have to renew at the desk.” He unclips the velvet rope. “Enjoy yourself, Mr. Cavanaugh.” He pauses. “And welcome back.”
Damon finds my hand as we walk into the club. I draw in a sharp breath when we enter the establishment. Rich, decadent shades of red and purple decorate the room. I was expecting a club like Lux with rave music and the scent of booze and cigarettes. Instead, to the left of the membership desk, is a 1920s-inspired lounge with private alcoves tucked along the sides, a stage at the far side of the room, and a four-piece jazz band playing classics I’ve heard before on the radio. Pristine leather couches and chaises sit around glasstables, and a dozen men and women, radiating wealth and prestige, sip on cocktails. Every detail is opulent, regal even. I tighten my coat around myself, feeling like a fish out of water. Expensive, luxurious water.
“I need to renew my membership,” Damon says, stopping us at the desk. The two attendants, both dressed like runway models, stare up at Damon. “Quickly, please.”
“Mr. Cavanaugh.” The blonde gives Damon a wide smile. “We’ve been wondering if we’d see you again.” She glances at me, and I stiffen. “A guest?”
“For now,” he says, checking his watch. “Has the schedule changed since I’ve last been here?”
The blonde chuckles. “Madame Vee doesn’t like change.” She takes Damon’s metal card off the counter and replaces it with a hard stock card. “The Pit opens in five. Dominic will let you in.” Damon picks up the temporary pass. “Just stop by on your way out.” She calls over another girl. “Can we take your jackets?”
“Miss Jones?” Damon shrugs off his heather gray overcoat, handing it to the woman.
