Page 41 of Black Velvet

"Too bad," Lila says. "She's fun."

I raise my eyebrows as I plop down on the couch next to her. "And I'm not?"

She laughs, raising her glass so we can toast and start drinking.

"Oh, you know what I mean, sis. Don't be so whiny," she says, still chuckling when she brings the glass up to her lips.

Sandi lives right next door to me in her own one-bedroom condo that is similar in size but very different in style to mine. Unlike me, she's really into interior decor and has put a lot of money and thought into her home. Mine is more practical than it is beautiful. I just never cared enough to do anything about it, and when I moved in here about three years ago, I didn't think I'd stay long. It was supposed to be temporary, the first place I could afford to live in on my own. Somehow I never really settled in.

"So, she's at theclubthen?" she asks, casting me a mischievous smile.

"Yep," I reply, nodding.

"The Velvet Rooms," Lila says, dreamily rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. "It sounds kind of magical, don't you think?"

I snort. "Magical? I don't know ifthat'sthe right word."

It definitelyisthe right word for what transpired between Damon and me the last time I saw him there. Four days have passed since then, four evenings during which I waited for him on the floor of the black room, naked and kneeling as he told me to. When I told Miss Barry what he asked of me, she expressed surprise at his demands, but told me that I should go ahead with it—if I wanted to.

"But only for the first month," she insisted. "After that, we're expanding our list of clients who are allowed to visit the club, and we can't have a room blocked for someone who doesn't even show up."

I'm fine with that. I knew it shouldn't cause any trouble, because the rooms are rarely used this early in the evening. Most clients don't even show up before eight or nine o’clock, and then they spend the first hour or two drinking at the bar before going upstairs to play. With how few of them are even allowed to make use of the club so far, blocking one of the black rooms for an hour doesn't pose a problem for business.

However, I'm beginning to feel like an idiot. I'd been waiting there every evening, my heart racing, flinching at every sound I heard outside in the hallway. My core was trembling and drenched with excitement—but nothing ever happened. He hasn't shown up once since he made me agree to his rules. Is this just a game he's playing to mess with my head? Does he plan to show up again?

Why am I doing this?

You could say it's the easiest money I ever made. I'm being paid to sit naked on the floor for one hour a day. When he doesn't show up by ten, I get up, throw on my black silk kimono, and walk down the stairs, calling it a night. Easy peasy. But there's always a shadow of disappointment casting its ugly darkness over my expression when I leave.

Because the truth is I'm not doing it for the easy money, but because I want to see him again. More than I care to admit. I barely know this man, but I feel so close to him, so intimately connected, that it's hard to ignore the longing I feel for him. When I climaxed in his presence, it was not only because of his skilled fingers, but because of the way he hijacked my head. He's so subtle, so exotic and sexy. I want more of him, and it bothers me that I don't know when I will see him again.

Lila shifts on the cushions, turning to me and placing one arm on the backrest as she fixates on me inquiringly.

"Tell me about it," she demands, naive excitement lacing her voice.

Lila has always known about my job. Telling her was easier than telling any of my friends. You'd think that she—as the older sister—would erupt in a protective freak-out upon hearing that her baby sister decided to work as a high-class escort. And she did, at first. It took a little convincing to assure her that I wasn't selling my soul, that I didn't feel pressured to do anything I didn't want to do, but that I merely found a well-paying job I was good at. A job that suited my natural inclination for being a night owl.

Luckily, she never asked to hear any of the intimate details about it. Often, she acted as if all I was doing was accompanying rich guys to events or going out on an innocent dinner date with them. And sometimes I did. But most of the time, the reality of my job was entirely different.

"Tell you what about it?" I reply to her question with a question. "Please don't tell me you're thinking of—"

"Oh, please, El, no way," she interrupts me. "Like seriously, how awkward would that be with my little sister there?"

I arch my eyebrows. "That'swhat's stopping you? Maybe we're more alike than I thought."

She shakes her head defiantly. "Don't try to divert the subject, sis. I know you too well to fall for that. Tell me about The Velvet Rooms."

"I already told you about them," I insist. "It's a kink club—though Miss Barry would not like to hear me call it that. She says that it's way more than that. All marketing, if you ask me."

"Have you been to other... kink clubs?" Lila asks, a skeptical expression spreading across her face.

I avert my eyes, unable to hide my discomfort. Even with her I fail to be entirely comfortable with the choices I made, despite my adamant attempts at confidence.

"Yes," I reply. "A few clients have taken me to other clubs."

"So?" Lila probes. "Are the velvet rooms just like them? Or does your madam have a point?"

I ponder for a moment, sipping on my drink as I wonder how to reply to her. Are The Velvet Rooms really different than other kink clubs, or is it my own experience that makes them feel special?

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