Page 92 of Deceitful Vows

With my confidence semi-restored, I toss down the document, snatch up Vlad’s jacket, and then hightail it out my front door.

An oomph leaves Vlad’s mouth when I thrust his jacket into his chest. It has nothing on the holler that leaves his mouth when I pluck the ticket for Vixens out of his hand and then gallop down the stairs two at a time.

We dated long enough for him to recognize when my wild side is coming out.

Regretfully.

34

ZOYA

My enthusiasm wilts like a picked flower on a hot summer’s day when we arrive at an industrial building approximately fifty miles from Myasnikov. The wealth of the cars in front of us showcases why Vixens is such a hard club to get an invite to, not to mention how elegantly dressed the people slowly filtering inside are.

I’m treading in water outside my means, but too stubborn to admit that out loud.

“Undo some of your buttons and give me your belt.”

As Vlad follows my lead, I remove my jeans and then tease out my hair. My makeup is already perfect from my day of glam, so all I need to do is get my outfit right.

“That’s good. You look hot.”

I backhand Vlad’s chest when his gaze lingers on my thighs longer than what could be classed as a friendly glance.

That is all we will ever be, and it won’t be a solid friendship like I have with Nikita. More one where I’ll wave hello when he passes by instead of acting like he doesn’t exist as I have for the past two years.

“Do I look okay?” Vlad scoffs. “I don’t know how a sex club has a dress code. It’s not like they stay on long after you enter.”

He screws up his nose when I say, “It’s a sex club, not an invitation to an all-out orgy.”

“A sex club with naked trapeze acts.” His wiggling brows are back. “Close enough.”

Needing space before my knee finds its way back to his crotch, I exit his car. Vlad bumps into the back of me just as I join the line. It moves fast, and within minutes we enter a space far more elaborate than my imagination could have ever conjured.

The aura of wealth is in abundance, and the scenes dotted through the oversized space are more erotic masterpieces than poorly scripted porn.

“Here.” Vlad hands me an all-black mask and a white tablet.

I place on the mask but “accidentally” drop the tablet before kicking it to the other side of the foyer. I don’t need a narcotic to keep my veins flooded with energy. They haven’t stopped strumming for weeks.

“You good?” Vlad checks.

I jerk up my chin before gesturing for him to lead the way. I’m not a forgive-and-forget person. It just seems the norm for the men to take the lead at this club. A woman on our right is walking a man through the crowd on a leash, and another directly in front is whipping a woman on a cross, but most of the scenes display that the ratio of doms to dommes is one to thirty, if not a little more.

“What scene do you want to check out first?”

I wet my lips while scanning the crowd. It’s almost overwhelming. There’s so much skin on display I feel overdressed even while wearing a T-shirt as a dress, but it doesn’t seem tacky.

It’s making me hot.

Mistaking the hue on my cheeks as embarrassment, Vlad leads us past a glass-wall cubicle where three men and one woman are performing.

As more scenes come into view, he says, “You don’t have to participate. You can just watch.”

“And if I want to participate?”

I check whose hand is warming my back when Vlad answers, “I’ll die a very happy man.”

A peculiar sensation prickles the fine hairs on my nape when he directs us into a closed-off room all men entering with us veer for first.

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