Page 2 of The Club

At least, I guess Dante’s my friend. That’s a weird, difficult relationship, one hard to put a label on, but Dante and I do help each other with certain things. Like revenge.

Dante more than deserved his revenge, because he was in hell too—and it was Dominic’s father who sent him there.

For years, Dante had been taking a slow revenge against Lorenzo Capelli, cutting into his business, killing his thugs. But everything kicked into high gear when Capelli kidnapped Dante’s … what? Fuck toy? Boyfriend? Who the hell knows. Inany case, it was time to take real action. And even though Dante put the final bullet in Lorenzo Capelli’s head, I had already put one in his chest.

So, yeah. I keep a close eye on Dominic’s hands. He wouldn’t have gotten through the door with a gun, but he might have a knife stashed somewhere.

His dark eyes travel from my face down my torso. I’m wearing a red and black corset vest with no shirt. I’ve got it snugged tight, putting a subtle curve in my waist and emphasizing my chest and shoulders. I didn’t work this hard on my body to not show it off, and I know exactly how good it looks. I’m vain as hell.

Dominic’s eyes half close. “You’re so fucking gay.”

“This is a gay sex club. Everyone here is gay.”

I expect him to throw something back at me, to separate himself from that comment, but instead his jaw clenches. His full, pouty lips compress.

Interesting.

Maybe I’m not the only reason he’s here. He wouldn’t be the first man to cover his sexuality with a layer of filth. Besides, up until his father’s death, Dominic had a very good reason for doing just that.

I eye his glass where it sits on the table, his fingers loosely curling around it.

“You’ve barely touched your drink. No good?”

Before he can answer, I pluck his glass from his hand. His eyebrows draw down in a scowl, making his face even more intense, even more beautiful.

I sip the gin and tonic then set it down.

“Tastes fine to me.” I settle my hand on his thigh. “You want something else?”

Dominic sucks in a breath. His muscles turn to steel under my hand, which I start sliding up his thigh.

“Don’t,” he warns, his teeth gritted, his dark eyes boring into mine.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as I keep going. When my fingers brush his balls, I find them firm. Swollen.

He grabs my wrist. His grip is punishing, hard enough to hurt. A sound of pleasure escapes me.

I use my other hand to brush one of his nipples, which shows vaguely through his semi-sheer shirt. His upper lip curls back from his teeth. God, he’s sexy.

I draw back because I don’t want him to yank away from me and leave. I’m enjoying this too much.

I pick up his drink again and sip. He watches me intently, with hostility.

I want to touch his balls again, and his cock. I want to touch my own. I’ve been hard since he walked in. I’m usually hard, so that only means so much, but still. It’s what I want.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Dominic takes the drink from me, careful not to let his fingers touch mine. His other hand is fisted on his thigh. He sets the drink out of reach as though to say that he won’t deign to drink it but I can’t have it.

My eyes narrow. Nothing gets under my skin quite like denial.

“I’m thinking about killing you,” he tells me.

That’s no surprise. I’ve been expecting him to come after me for the past two months, but I suppose he’s been busy with the transfer of his father’s assets. Interesting, though, that he’s coming after me instead of Dante.

“You’d have a hard time of it in here.”

“I didn’t say I was here to do it. I said I was here to think about it. I’ve been imagining it tonight. How I would do it. What you would look like.”

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