Page 91 of Fake Game

“That does tend to be the ideal place to begin.”

“The cocktail lounge you were at, do you know the name of it?”

I close my eyes, trying to recall what the sign outside said, but all I can see is the red door. I don’t even remember the bill I signed having any name on it.

That’s odd.

“No, I don’t.”

“The lounge is technically open to the public, but it mainly serves as a foyer and decompression zone from the actual club within. It also adds an extra layer of privacy for its clientele. Which is why, technically, it’s calledThe Foyer—it serves as a front if you ever need to search the address online.”

This is starting to sound kind of suspicious.

“But when you enter that red door in the back, you find yourself at the Cardinal Club.”

“Cardinal Club?”

“It’s a membership-only place.”

“What kind of membership?”

“The depraved kind.”

“It’s a sex club?” The words fall off my tongue before I can think of a better way to word them.

A crooked smile spreads across Jackson’s face, his eyes turning even darker than normal.

“For lack of a better term, yeah. But it’s also more than that. It’s also a discretionary place for any high roller to use. One of Parker’s friends turned me onto it after he heard about all the NDAs Sydney was dishing out to keep my sex life out of the press.”

“I see.”

My brain whirls, trying to slot all the pieces into place. What sort of person is Jackson behind those dark red doors? What side of himself did he show to those women?

My skin heats up as I imagine him in a dim room, removing each layer until just his muscular body was left on display.

Would he wear his hair loose or would he tie it up?

Jackson did say that I wouldn’t be able to handle what he’s into…is this what he was talking about? If it is, then he was totally wrong. Everything I’m hearing is pulling at my deepest fantasies.

And I want, no, Ineedto know more.

My lips part to ask, but I don’t know how to weave the words together without giving myself away.

Oh, fuck it. I’m not some pansy. And at this point, Jackson knows basically everything else about me. What’s a little more ammunition in his pocket?

“Is that all it is for you? A discretionary place?”

“No. They also help pair people up, depending on their tastes.”

“And what does your palate include?”

“Do you really want to know?” Jackson sits up, bringing himself closer.

“Yes.”

He continues to move closer until his hands come to rest on the top of my headboard, gripping the metal as he leans in. Mybreathing shallows, pulse racing through every inch of my body. Jackson’s cheek brushes mine, and I feel the ghost of his breath on my neck right below my ear.

“I love my women tied up. I like to take my time threading my ropes around their naked, wanting bodies. It’s calming, having them in the perfect little package for me to play with. I could edge you for hours, and you would just be squirming against my holds.”

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