Page 7 of Tempting Kat (Lust & Luxury #2)

Katarina

I 've done dumber shit for less money, but walking into the Lovelace Hotel wearing cutoffs and a faded Nirvana tee feels like I'm about to be escorted out by security.

The lobby is full of marble and crystal, dripping with old money and judgment.

The woman at the check-in desk looks at me like I just tracked dog shit across her pristine floor.

Okay, well fuck you, Babs, or whatever the fucking bougie ass name you possibly have.

I spot Vivian immediately—impossible to miss in her skin-tight black dress and killer heels that probably cost more than my college education.

Her dark hair is pulled back in a severe bun that somehow makes her cheekbones look even sharper.

She's scrolling through her phone with perfectly manicured nails, radiating “don't approach me unless you're worth my time” energy.

I’d fuck her in a minute, as I’m sure literally anyone would. She’s not someone who you say no to.

I take a deep breath and walk over, suddenly aware of how my sandals slap against the marble. Vivian looks up, those ice- blue eyes scanning me from head to toe like she's calculating my worth down to the penny.

Then she smirks. “Perfect. He will literally lose his shit.”

“That's good?” I shift my weight, resisting the urge to smooth my hair or adjust my shirt.

“Very good.” She slips her phone into a tiny purse that couldn't possibly hold anything else. “Follow me.”

I trail after her, trying to match her long stride as we cross the lobby. She doesn't lead us to the main elevators but to a discreet hallway off to the side where a single elevator door waits, unmarked except for a small black panel beside it.

Vivian raises her wrist, and I notice the delicate silver bracelet she's wearing. She waves it in front of the panel, and the elevator doors slide open silently.

“Fancy,” I mutter as we step inside. “What is this, some billionaire's private elevator?”

“Something like that.” The doors close, and we begin descending. “There's a club in the hotel. Very exclusive, fully vetted, completely secure. Strict requirements for entry.”

“A sex club?” My eyebrows shoot up. “I thought you said no sex.”

“It's not just about sex.” Vivian rolls her eyes like I'm a child who needs everything explained. “It's about fantasy, desire, power exchange. Some members never have sex at all—they come to watch, to be seen, to experience.”

“Okay...” I draw out the word, my mind racing. “And my client? The one dropping six figures to keep me all to himself?”

“He wants to look. Only look.” Vivian's perfectly painted lips curve into another knowing smirk. “There's no sex, but he does have an interesting kink.”

“Oh, here we go.” I can't help the sarcasm that creeps into my voice. “Let me guess—he wants me to bark like a dog or something?”

Vivian laughs, the sound somehow both musical and condescending. “No, nothing like that. Though I do have clients who would pay handsomely for such services.”

“Then what?”

“He enjoys a gloryhole.”

I nearly choke on air. “A gloryhole? Like, an actual fucking gloryhole?”

“Precisely.” Vivian looks pleased at my reaction. “Not what you were expecting, I take it?”

“I mean...” My brain scrambles to process this. “I've watched that kind of porn, not gonna lie. But there's usually, you know, a dick involved. And sucking. Lots of sucking.”

“Mm.” Vivian nods, completely unfazed. “In this case, you'll be fully clothed, simply lounging in the hole, no dick peephole in this room. He'll just be staring at you.”

“That's it? Just…looking at me?”

“That's it.”

“And he's paying six figures for that privilege?” I can't keep the disbelief from my voice.

“Some men find the forbidden nature of seeing what they shouldn't to be incredibly arousing.” Vivian shrugs one elegant shoulder. “It doesn't violate any of your stated limits. I knew you'd be perfect for this.”

The elevator doors slide open to reveal a dimly lit hallway with plush carpeting that muffles our footsteps. I follow Vivian, mulling over what she's just told me.

“So I just…hang out? In shorts and a t-shirt? While some rich dude stares?”

“Precisely.”

“And that's worth a hundred grand to him?”

“More, actually.” Vivian glances back at me with a knowing smirk. “Much more.”

I fall silent, thinking it over. It sounds too good to be true—a ridiculous amount of money for basically doing nothing.

“Fuck it,” I shrug. “Okay. This will be one hell of a story to tell Frankie.”

Vivian's steps falter slightly at the mention of my sister's name. She sighs, a hint of genuine emotion cracking through her perfect facade.

“I miss her. She was one of my best girls.”

“Yeah, well, she hit the jackpot with Alexander,” I say, feeling a twist of something—not quite jealousy, but close—in my stomach.

“She earned it,” Vivian says simply. “Perhaps you will too.”

We reach the end of the hallway where a single door waits, unmarked except for a small brass number 7. Vivian waves her bracelet in front of another discreet panel, and the door unlocks with a soft click.

“After you,” she says, gesturing me into the room where I guess we’ll let our freak flags fly.

I step into the room, and my jaw nearly hits the fucking floor. Holy shit. This isn't just some sleazy back room with a hole cut in drywall—this is luxury. The space glows with soft amber lighting that makes everything look warm and inviting, like I've stepped into some fantasy suite.

“Damn,” I breathe, turning in a slow circle.

The walls are covered in rich burgundy silk, and the floor is black marble with gold veins running through it.

But it's the furniture that makes my eyes widen—or rather, the single piece of furniture dominating the room.

It's a chaise lounge that looks like it belongs in a museum, upholstered in deep crimson velvet that practically begs to be touched.

And at the end of the chaise, where your legs would normally rest, there's a circular opening in the wall.

Not some crude, splintery hole, but a perfectly round portal trimmed with intricate gold filigree that curls and twists like frozen flames.

The craftsmanship is ridiculous—this isn't some DIY gloryhole; it's a fucking work of art.

“This is where you'll be positioned,” Vivian explains, gesturing to the chaise. “Your lower half will go through the opening. Mr. Gallo will be on the other side, observing.”

“Just observing?” I can't help asking again, running my fingers over the velvet. It's so soft it almost feels wet.

“Just observing,” Vivian confirms with a slight smile. “Though I should mention he's paid for the privilege of speaking to you as well. There's an intercom system.”

She points to a small gold button near the head of the chaise. “Press this if you wish to communicate. Release it when you're done.”

“Like a drive-thru speaker,” I snort. “Want fries with that ass?”

Vivian doesn't laugh. Instead, she reaches into her tiny purse and pulls out a slender silver bracelet. “This is for you.”

I take it, examining the delicate chain. There's a small charm hanging from it—what looks like a sapphire encased in silver filigree.

“It's beautiful, but...”

“It's not just decorative.” Vivian takes it back and fastens it around my wrist. “Press the stone firmly if you need assistance. It's a panic button. Security will be here in under thirty seconds.”

I blink at her. “Is that necessary?”

“It's standard procedure for all our clients,” she says smoothly. “Mr. Gallo has been thoroughly vetted and has an impeccable reputation with me, but your safety is our priority.”

The bracelet feels cool against my skin, the tiny sapphire glinting in the low light. It's oddly comforting, knowing I have an escape hatch if things get weird.

“Any other questions before I leave you to prepare?”

“Mr. Gallo,” I repeat, testing the name. It sounds familiar somehow. “Why can't I see him?”

“That's part of the arrangement. The mystery enhances the experience.” Vivian pours two flutes of champagne, handing one to me. “For your nerves.”

I down it in one gulp, earning a raised eyebrow from Vivian before she checks her watch.

“He'll be here in ten minutes. Make yourself comfortable.” She gestures to the chaise. “Position yourself so your lower half extends through the opening. You can read, use your phone, whatever you like. Just relax.”

Vivian gives me a final once-over before heading toward the door. “Remember, six figures.” She winks. “Enjoy.”

With that, she's gone, the door closing with a soft click behind her, leaving me alone in this weird luxury sex dungeon with a fancy-ass glory hole.

“This is definitely not the weirdest thing I've done,” I mutter to myself. “Not even close to the weirdest.”

I climb onto the lounge and holy fucking shit—it's like sitting on a cloud made of angel tits or something. My ass has never experienced such luxury. I wiggle around a bit, getting comfortable, running my hands over the velvet.

For this kind of money, I'd let him stare at my ass through a fucking telescope.

It takes some maneuvering, but I manage to shimmy down until my legs slide through the hole. The velvet caresses my bare thighs as I adjust my position, and I can't help wondering what the other side looks like. Is Mr. Gallo sitting there in some fancy chair while he waits for the show to start?

The thought sends an unexpected tingle between my legs. There's something undeniably hot about being on display like this, even fully clothed.

A crackling sound makes me jump before Vivian's voice fills the room through hidden speakers.

“Comfortable, Katarina? There are leg rests on the other side if you'd like to use them—no restraints or anything like that will be used tonight. Just for comfort.”

I press the intercom button. “I'm good. All settled in.”

“Excellent. Mr. Gallo has arrived and will be entering the other room in one minute.”

My heart rate kicks up a notch. This is really happening. Some stranger is about to spend his Saturday night staring at my ass through a fancy hole in the wall.

“Remember, you can press the bracelet if you need anything,” Vivian adds before the intercom goes silent.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. What the hell am I supposed to do? Just lie here? Should I arch my back, make my ass look better? Wiggle around a bit for effect?

I hear a door open on the other side of the wall, then close with a soft click. My breath catches in my throat as I hear footsteps and the rustle of fabric.

My skin prickles with awareness, and despite myself, I feel a rush of heat between my legs. There's something intensely erotic about being watched by someone I can't see.

“Hello, Katarina.”

That voice. Holy fucking shit.

My entire body freezes. It's deep, gravelly, and commanding in a way that makes every single nerve ending in my body stand at attention. My thighs clench involuntarily, and I feel a rush of wetness between my legs that has no business being there this quickly.

“Oh, I am so fucked,” I whisper to myself, my thighs involuntarily pressing together.

“I can hear you, kitten,” the voice rumbles, amusement lacing those dark tones. “Every little whisper.”

My breath catches in my throat. There's something eerily familiar about that voice, about the way he says my name—like he's tasting it on his tongue.

I press the intercom to turn it off because of fucking course I had it open and he heard that.