Page 24

Ava

“Straight back,” he says. “Last door.”

The central room that opens onto the ground deck area is set up much like a living area.

It’s more casual than the rest of the home, and a flat-screen television hangs over an unlit fireplace.

My guest suite is off to the left. In front of us is a long hallway.

To the right is another hallway that leads to a well-equipped home gym and the office the security team uses.

A series of closed doors line the hallway to the back. The tip of Jack’s finger brushes my arm, and a fission of energy, much like an electric shock, zaps me. My knees wobble under the weight of my body as I shift forward.

The white painted walls, ten-foot doors, and substantial curvy molding intimidate. Underfoot, the glistening marble floor shines. White with black streaks cross irregularly in an erratic lightning pattern. The bright white elicits a heavenly glow, but the ebony strikes an ominous chord.

Somehow, I manage to traverse the hall without tumbling to my knees.

My feet stop where directed. It’s on the right side of the hallway, and there’s a lock. He presses his thumb to a black glass square.

Click .

He twists the knob. The door opens.

Across the threshold, the white marble transitions to polished black.

Warm black velvet dresses the walls. A thick, black, furry carpet spreads across the floor.

Faux flames flicker in spots along the walls, giving the room a seductive warmth.

The room itself is gorgeous, but it’s the furniture that steals my breath.

I step across the threshold, marveling at the lush design.

To my right is a glass cabinet held together by roughhewn welded metal.

A series of glass butt plugs sparkle under the shelf lighting.

Small whips and threaded tassels lay in a disordered pile on the bottom shelf.

Silky black material, fuzzy handcuffs, and masks are piled haphazardly on the eye level shelf.

An inviting silky bed claims the back corner of the room.

Bindings hang from all four posts. A large hook gleams from the ceiling near the center.

Silver hooks hang along the wall to the far corner, and rope dangles from the hooks.

And to the right, floor to ceiling glass panes held together by the same welded metal as the shelf surround an oversized walk-in shower with gold overhead shower faucets and handheld sprayers.

An oddly shaped curved leather bench occupies the area in front of the shower and folded black towels rest on top of it.

Between the shower and the wall hooks stands a blood red leather St. Andrew’s cross.

“I should ask if there is anything you don’t do.” His words send goosebumps scattering up my arms.

I should tell him that for what he paid me, I would think he didn’t care, but I’m speechless. Patrick said that if Jack was anything like his uncle, the sex would be fantastic. Is the entire family into kink?

“If there’s something you aren’t comfortable with, I want you to tell me. Don’t let the dollar amount sway you. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

I’ve had a wild past, but I’ve never been in a room like this. Even so, I’m aware I need to be careful what I say. I am not na?ve. There are definitely BDSM elements I’m not open to. This room is unexpected.

“I’m not sure I can answer that.” I step out of my sandals.

The cool marble tingles the pads of my feet.

I step onto the rug, and the moment my toes hit the silky fur, I suspect that it’s mink.

I’ve never owned a fur coat, but I did once touch the sleeve of a mink coat, and there’s a smoothness and luxury to it I’ve never forgotten.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have an extensive knowledge of kink. I don’t know all the words. Pain does not excite me.”

Overhead candelabras flicker, and I’m close enough to discern the exaggerated plastic rivulets mimicking candle wax. My heels dig into the fur rug as I slowly twist to face him.

He’s tugging on his chin, and there’s an infuriating smirk playing across those handsome lips. To this wealthy playboy, I’m his toy.

“Anal?” he asks.

I don’t think I’ve ever done anal, but my reality is I’m not quite certain about that. When segments of time are forgotten, it’s impossible to say what one has or hasn’t done.

“I’ve read about it. If it’s done right.

” I look at him pointedly, because right is an important word.

Owning a room like this doesn’t guarantee he knows what he’s doing, or that he’s good at it, or that he doesn’t get off on causing pain.

“It’s probably fine. Pain doesn’t turn me on.

” I glare, ensuring he understands. “I’m also not into golden showers or anything crazy. ”

“Good. We’re similar. How do you feel about being tied up?”

One glance around the room, and it’s clear he’s into it. My bet is we’re in a soundproof room. I’ve already placed my trust in him. If I go missing, Patrick will come looking.

“It’s fine.”

“Blindfold?”

“Fine.” No one has ever blindfolded me but given the size of some of those glass butt plugs, and the metal configurations on one shelf, a blindfold feels benign.

“Take off your clothes.”

He turns and steps to the wall. A loud click sounds, and I’m pretty positive he locked the door. My pulse quickens and my hands grow cold.

“Should we sign a contract?”

“A contract?”

The lift of his eyebrow and the quirk in his lip smacks of derision. Who am I, this lowly purchased person, to question his greatness? My gaze falls to the fur on the floor.

“A written document that outlines what we are agreeing to.” I’ve read about them. He doesn’t need to act like it’s unheard of.

“We can write one up if you like. But it would be unenforceable in court.” He pauses. He toes off his shoes and steps closer. Dark, unreadable eyes lord over me. An invisible vice constricts my ribcage. “Therefore pointless.”

He’s correct, of course. But other people have those agreements, and my understanding is that it sets expectations.

“If you wish to draft a contract, I’ll sign it.” Black socked feet protrude from the bottom of his slacks. His dress shirt remains pressed, but he rolls his sleeves halfway up his forearms. It’s Saturday night, and he’s in business casual.

This is insane. I should tell him I need time to think about this. I should go call Patrick and tell him what’s going on. Double-check that he still thinks this is a good idea.

“Ava, do you need some time?”

His facial expression remains unreadable.

His dark hair is ruffled at the top, and I envision stepping closer to run my fingers along his shoulders, and higher to feel the rough end-of-day growth that shadows his jaw, to inhale his cologne.

In this room, in this lighting, his eyes are dark. There’s no amber, no hint of light.

In the rest of the house, he’s stern. Intimidating. Out of my league. Hell, beyond my galaxy.

Yet here we are in the same playroom. And he’s a dream. Frenetic energy pulses between us. At least, I feel it. The current warms my skin and sends my heart racing. Is it attraction, or unruly nerves? Or some combination?

He’s attractive, and I’m not pure. Sex isn’t new to me.

I find it to be both enjoyable and fulfilling.

He’s offering me money for something I enjoy.

I don’t like how that makes me feel, but he’s offering me enough money I can get over it.

He’s the one who is being taken for a ride.

And I’ll do good things with his money. Life-changing things.

I lift the hem of my tank over my head and let it fall to the floor. Cool air circles my exposed breasts. I’m not wearing a bra. His sharp intake of air loans me the courage to raise my gaze from his socks up to his face. His gaze remains fixed on my bare breasts.

I wiggle my hips and let my loose, ripped jeans fall. They slide over my butt, down my thighs, and pool at my ankles. I stand before him in only my panties, tattoos and jewelry. The tattoos tell the tale of my sins while cleverly covering scars.

“Step to the wall.”

There are four walls in this room. He points ahead. A silver metal hook protrudes from the ceiling. I glance to the St. Andrew’s cross.

“Not tonight.” His smirk deepens. “Tonight, I’m going to get to know you.”

I face the wall, showing him my backside, knowing full well my thong bares my buttocks.

My feet pad across the fur, projecting a strength I don’t feel.

I’m not scared. I do not fear this man. A part of me wants very much to partake in the pleasures he offers.

But nerves fire ruthlessly, betraying my facade of calm.

A yearning grows, chipping away at those troublesome nerves.

Cool air circles my nipples. The audacity of standing nude in a sensual room, surrounded by pleasurable toys, turns me on.

With my back to him, it’s easy to imagine this is an erotic fantasy.

I stop below the hook and glance over my shoulder, silently asking if this will do. The sight of his heated dark gaze elicits shivers.

“Your eyes are enormous.”

I blink.

“Has anyone told you that?”

Surely this man is not looking at my eyes. “One kid said I looked weird.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t remember.” He wasn’t a nice boy. I remember the clothes he wore. The collared polo shirt and the pleated shorts. But oddly enough, all I remember is that his name started with a T. I haven’t thought about him in ages.

The glass door to the artisan cabinet clicks when he opens it and then clicks closed. Jack lifts black silk from the cabinet.

“Look to the wall.”

I do as told. Anticipation mounts. Will he tie my hands? What is his kink? What turns the billionaire madman on?

Smooth, cool fabric brushes across my temple. His hot breath warms my ear.

“Don’t lie to me. In this room, we do not lie. Ever. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Use your words.”

“I really don’t remember.”