Page 20 of Carved Obsession

However, the most interesting things don’t happen on this stage, but down the wide corridor to the left of the bar, where six playrooms sit, three on each side. The wall is only hip-height, and the rest is all window, apart from the door, allowing anyone to watch what’s happening beyond it. If the players want, the curtains can also be closed for private sessions. Or the window can be turned into a mirror, for those who like the thrill without seeing who or how many watch them.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“Hello, Magpie.” I turn to the left, where Margo appeared.

“I’m still getting used to your new mask. The top half with all its antique gold baroque elements is pretty, but the skull bottom half, weathered and grim, looks so...aggressive.”

That was the point.

“Are you available tonight?” I cut off the small talk.

“Always for you. Shall I go secure a room?”

I nod.

“Room three?” she asks.

I nod again.

She smiles from underneath the pink-feathered mask covering her down to the tip of her nose, and turns on her heels.

I watch her walk away, waiting for that spark to show up in the tips of my fingers. The one that makes me itch for a paddle, for the feel of a pulse under my fingers as I ram my pierced cock into her, for the crack of the braided whip as it hits the skin. And so much more. My brows knit together as I keep waiting for that moment, yet even by the time Margo returns, it doesn’t come.

“I wasn’t hiding . . . you simply didn’t find me.”

Scarlet’s daring words penetrate my mind, spoken in that soft voice that I can’t rip out of my brain no matter how hard I fucking try.

That must be it—I’m distracted. Tense. And that’s why my enthusiasm hasn’t come yet.

It will. It must.

The whole point of tonight is to get the dark-eyed woman out of my goddamn mind.

My pocket vibrates and I fumble to pull out my phone, rolling my eyes at my own impatience.

Bring it on, killer-boy.

Over and over, I read that challenge, along with that ridiculous nickname she gave me. With each re-read, I squeeze the device harder until I swear I feel it crack.

This kitten is playing with fucking fire.

Chapter 5

Scarlet

At some point in the last half an hour, the music has turned ethereally sultry. Lascivious notes thread through the dimly lit space as a woman performs a burlesque show on stage.

But my attention is somewhere else—the small crowd gathered in front of one particular window, down the wide corridor. I’ve been visiting this club for about three months now, and something interesting is always happening over there. I wonder what it is tonight.

I make my way between the people who all seem keen to look at my wrist to check where I stand, but I excuse myself every time someone attempts to stop me. I want to see what’s there. The curiosity has been killing me since a woman gasped loudly enough that I heard her over the music.

Gently nudging the bodies standing before the window, I finally make my way to the front. It takes me a moment to acknowledge the image before me, and a moment longer to understand it.

“It can’t be . . .” I whisper to myself.

But it is—the motherfucking Carver himself stands before me, with only glass separating us. And he is not alone.

As much as I loathed my teenage years, always trapped inside the house by my darling mother, pouring my frustration into learning code and honing my tech skills has made me who I am today. And it allowed me to keep my eye on Carter Pierce over the last six months. From a safe distance, but close enough to observe patterns and find out more about the man.