Page 21 of Forbidden Mistress

The next morning, I wake up to the notification that two thousand dollars has been deposited directly into my account from Deerfield Park, Inc. In addition, there’s an email from Lucien’s assistant, offering a day and time for us to meet at his office. He’s all the way out in Beverly Hills, so it’s going to be a trek and five million dollars in gas, but it’ll be worth it. If I can get my share of my dad’s company, then the time and distance to Lucien’s office will be a small price to pay.

And honestly, I’m a little excited to be in a room one-on-one with Lucien. No masks. In the club, it’s never just him and me. I wonder if he’s just as powerful and commanding in the office as he is in the bedroom with Willow—and the way he was with me last night. Sara sets up an appointment for me to meet with Lucien tomorrow afternoon at three.

The rest of the day is a bit of a haze—I have two classes, and then spend the rest of the afternoon in a coffee shop, getting caught up on my assignments. I’m done by six, so I decide to get dressed and head over to Obscura early to look around a little. I call the club and get Andrew’s cell number, then text him and ask him for a pickup in an hour.

Two hours later, I’m inside Obscura, prowling the lounge area. I arrive at eight o’clock, a full hour before my shift and turn in my phone, as usual. I have an hour to explore. The only bummer is that I can’t take any of these guys into a dark corner and make out. But I can look. There’s no rule against that, right?

I’m in my uniform—the little black dress, black heels, and the necklace, of course. But this time, I have my hair up in a high bun. And for tonight, I did some smoky eyes, which look really good with my mask. The eye cutouts are large enough to make it really spectacular—glittering rhinestones and all.

I grab a drink at the bar, then work my way over to the dance floor, watching people move and sway to the fast-paced rhythm. Everyone here looks so elegant in their skimpy outfits and elaborate masks—each mask as individual as the person. Ms. Lawrence gave me mine. It’s pretty, but nothing fancy. It’s just as well, I guess, because I don’t even know what I’d pick to represent myself here. I don’t even have an Obscura name yet.

Casually, I scan the crowd, looking for Hart’s familiar stag mask. He’d be easy to spot. He’s tall, commanding, and can possess an entire room. I’m convinced I’d spot him in seconds, even in a room like this.

By my second drink, I’m feeling a little more at ease, and I’m in the mood to dance. I can’t let anyone touch me—because heaven forbid Hart see that—but I can dance for fuck’s sake. He didn’t say anything to me about not dancing.

I pound back the dregs of my second pear martini and hand my empty glass to a passing waitress. As I make my way onto the dance floor, I scan the crowd again, just in case. This part of the club doesn’t feel like his scene, but I have to admit I’d actually like to see him. I try to shake off thoughts of him so I can enjoy the now thirty minutes of quasi-freedom I have left before I have to go up to the room and watch him put his hands and mouth all over another woman’s body. It’s beginning to feel more and more like a punishment than an easy job, incredible pay or not.

The music is bumping, and I’m really feeling the rhythm. I close my eyes and tilt my head up and give myself up to the music, my hips swaying. A few guys sidle up to me, but I either turn away or back up to make it obvious I’m not interested. A couple of guys catch sight of my necklace and can’t get away from me fast enough, which is really handy, but also a little baffling. Maybe news of the incident last night with Phantom has spread.

I’m caught up in my own little world when I feel a pair of strong hands on my hips, tugging me against a very definite male form. I pause immediately and whip around to tell this motherfucker off. I agreed not to allow anyone to touch me—and one thing about me, I’m true to my word.

But the second I whip around, I realize it’s the man himself. The lights overhead are pulsing, and I can’t see a whole lot, but I can see the amusement in his eyes. I imagine he’s smiling behind that mask. Well, that’s good…at least he isn’t angry.

His hands find my hips again. Technically, he shouldn’t be touching me either, since those are the terms of our work agreement, but I’m not working right now and I’ve been craving his touch since the first moment I laid eyes on him so…who’s complaining?

Hart dips his head to speak in my ear. “Every man in this place is hungry for you.”

I smirk a little. “Every man except one, it seems.”

I don’t know why I’m teasing him. He’s already got a thing going with Willow, obviously. I’m just the girl that’s been hired to watch and let them play out their kink. I frown. His possessiveness confuses me. If he has a dedicated sub already, why worry about what I’m doing? It’s clear he gets off on control, and maybe that’s all this is between us—control, nothing sexual. Except…I don’t get that vibe. There’s definitely something sparking between us.

The way he looks at me…it’s like he’s with her, but he wants me. Am I imagining that? Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part. Just me wanting to be desired by this over-the-top sexy-as-fuck guy.

I sigh if only to myself. In three months, it’s not going to matter anyway. I’ll have my money, and he’ll have…whatever it is that he’s after. Then, we’ll both go our separate ways.

I brace a hand on his arm and go up on tip toes to shout-ask in his ear. “Where’s Willow?”

He just shrugs. He doesn’t look even vaguely interested in knowing where she is. Maybe the level of trust between them means he doesn’t have to worry about it. She said they’ve been together for a year, which is a long-ass time. My longest relationship lasted about three months, before he just randomly ghosted me. I get that a lot. Guys will date me for anywhere from four to eight weeks, until they discover some defect in my personality, maybe, and they just…poof. They’re gone without explanation. Not even a text or sticky note. Nothing. I’m starting to develop a complex about it, actually. And have no clue what a long term relationship would be like, because I’ve never had one.

Hart smooths his hand down my bare arm, then hooks his fingers with mine and pulls me off the dance floor, to a quieter spot with couches and low tables. A couple of couches are occupied with people making out, practically dry-humping right here in the public part of the club. My heart skips a beat. Is this what Hart has planned for us? Is he going to make out with me in front of everyone as a way of “claiming” me? I have to admit, that thought turns me on more than a little bit.

Of course, that would be so wrong, considering the Willow thing, but I don’t really know whether their relationship is open or not. Maybe now would be a good time to ask.

As we sit down, he signals a waitress and speaks in low tones—ordering us drinks, I’m guessing. When she flits away, he turns and refocuses his attention on me. I cross my legs and fold my hands on my lap—all professionalism. Well, as professional as I can be in a sex club.

“What are you doing here?” he asks pointedly.

I scrunch my nose, confused. “What do you mean? I work here.”

“Your shift starts at nine-fifteen.”

I shrug one shoulder and look around, not meeting his eyes. “I came early. Are you telling me that’s against the rules, too?”

He ignores my question. “Why?”

I glance back at him. No way I’m telling him the truth—that I was hoping to catch a glimpse of him before starting my shift. I don’t know how to describe it, but the thirty minutes I get to see him at night isn’t enough. It isn’t nearly enough. I find myself thinking about him when I’m home. While I’m cooking, showering, doing homework. I think I might actually be going insane.

I push out a breath. “Does it matter? No one has touched me, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

---