Page 26 of Black Velvet

"Like pain," I utter. "Those are the red rooms, equipped with everything you could ask for to induce pain."

He growls hungrily and nods along as I speak, beckoning me to keep going. He moves closer to my waist, plucking at my black thong so it cuts into the soft flesh at my core. I flinch and let a moan escape my lips, playing along, acting as if I am as turned on as he is. I continue listing rooms and colors, possibilities and fantasies that I don't want to live out with him, while he can't wait to get up from these chairs and stare at my naked ass while I lead him up the stairs.

His hand graces the side of my torso, slowly traveling upward to my black bra with the sheer cups that reveal more than they hide. A forced smile crosses my face when he cups my breast, craving possession of something I'm not willing to give.

"Keep talking," he whispers, the lust flickering in his dark eyes while his mouth contorts into a dirty smile. "What else is up there? Where should I ask the lady to take me?"

Nausea feels like it’s choking my throat and steals my breath for a split second. This has never happened to me before. I've never suffered such repulsion at the thought of sleeping with one of my clients. I never had any feelings toward them at all. I never cared. But now I do, and I do it in the most awful way.

I bite my lower lip, trying to pull myself together.

"There's also...," I murmur, my voice barely more than a whisper as my gaze trails off again, locking onto a place far behind him, at the other end of the bar.

"The black room," I breathe, staring at the man who has robbed me of my sanity.

Gray eyes stare intensely back at me, and I’m further mesmerized by the man’s dark hair that is neither black nor brown, but something in between, and the dark smirk gracing the most handsome face I've ever come across.

Damon Graves is standing at the bar, his eyes glued on mine.

And my lips move in a silent and desperate cry for help.

Chapter 17

Damon

My eyes find her right after I step through the door, and there's one detail that catches my attention in an instant.

Black.She's wearing black tonight.

She's sitting at the bar, just like last time. But this time, she's not alone. A man roughly thirty years her senior is sitting across from her, painfully close, while his hand rests on her thigh. If his touch is bothering her, she's very good at hiding it, but she's not encouraging it, either. While he leans forward, trying to get as close to her as possible, she's trying her best to avoid him as much as she can. It’s obvious to me that she’s forcing a smile while listening to him talk, and moving out of his proximity every time he leans in closer.

He seems oblivious to her repulsion and acts as if he owns her, as if she's into him as much as he's into her.

Or maybe I'm the one misinterpreting things. Maybe I want to believe that she is trying to reject the guy who's touching her because I want her all to myself. Can you really own a girl who's working as a black devil at this club? A girl who openly reveals herself as available to anyone who wants her? A girl who is paid to entertain men like him? Men like me.

I've been watching her since I arrived. I was on my way to the bar to get myself a drink before I started wandering the room, but froze mid-motion when I spotted her in her black lingerie set. The dark harness detailing around her waist emphasizes her curves. It’s topped by a matching bra with sheer cups, and even from about twenty feet away, I can see her nipples through the fabric, teasing me and asking to be touched. She has a simple, black-banded choker with a small D-ring at the front around her neck, and her platinum-blonde hair is styled in an up-do tonight, only a few curly strands here and there framing her flawless face. The dark red lipstick she’s wearing stands out against her porcelain skin. My eyes wander to her black heels, which are even higher than the ones she wore the other night. A tall girl in heels—you don't often see that. I like rare sights. Her unique look is irresistible to me.

But there's one thing that Idon'tlike about her tonight.

She’s wearing black.

Why the hell is she wearing black? Why is she making this so easy for me? I hate easy. I'm sofucking tiredof easy.

A nasty jolt of jealousy travels through my insides when I see the man's hand moving along the pale flesh of her thigh. It sickens me to see him plucking the lace of her black thong, causing her to flinch, and I bet there's a gasp escaping her pretty red lips when she opens her mouth ever so slightly.

Mine.

That'smygasp, a reaction that belongs tome.

I can't help but growl with a possessive and furious hunger.

She's visibly trembling as she’s talking to him. My eyes follow the movement of his hand as it travels further, touching a body that I claimed before him, his fingers stroking skin that I wasn't allowed to touch.

I thought there was nothing I could do about this, but when she averts her eyes from him and turns to me instead, I realize that I'm wrong.

The expression on her face changes. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and for a moment, she doesn't even seem to notice the lusting hand cupping her breast through the sheer fabric.

Her lips are moving, but she's not talking to him.

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