Page 1 of Devilish

1

LUCIEN

THE VEIL WAS my fortress, and I was its king.

Its devilish king.

From my black-and-gold throne high above the private club, I watched over the sinful scenes taking place, the many naked, leather-clad, and rope-bound bodies, and felt a supreme satisfaction.

This was my gift, my contribution to the pleasure-seeking members of society: giving an indulgent, safe place to explore their fantasies and kinks, a place without judgment or fear. A place where sex reigned…and so did I.

“We’re at capacity.” Standing tall and formidable beside me, Malcolm scanned over every inch of the den. “New faces.”

I followed my manager’s gaze, locking on the two unfamiliar men who’d just arrived. Though I didn’t know either by name—yet—they would’ve had to pay a handsome sum to even be considered for entrance, with another member vouching for them.

Cocking my head, I studied the elder gentleman blocking his smaller companion as they walked farther into the club. Something about him made the hair at the nape of my neckprickle. Maybe it was the ruddy color of his skin, or the lecherous way he stared, licking his thin lips as he stopped at each scene.

“Name?” I said to Malcolm.

“Rupert McGuire. Head of the Manhattan Contemporary Gallery.”

“Hmm.” I ran a finger over my lips as the shorter of the two came into view. Well, shorter was an understatement, because though he had the face of a beautiful man, he was so slight in build that most of the guys in the room towered over him.

In complete contrast to his partner, this one didn’t openly stare at anyone, instead peeking at them almost shyly, like he didn’t think he was allowed to.

Did he belong to Rupert? It was possible, though he didn’t wear a collar and wasn’t holding Rupert’s hand or touching him in any way. Age-gap pairings weren’t anything unusual here. Neither were rich men with young playthings. Every relationship was different, something that was welcomed and even celebrated here.

Still, something about Rupert chafed, and being in the business of reading body language meant I wasn’t usually wrong about a red flag.

“Keep an eye on them,” I told Malcolm, who nodded once before quietly disappearing into the shadows of the club.

What I didn’t say was that he’d be providing the second set of eyes, because I didn’t plan to take mine off them.

Rupert stopped beside Zayne, one of the most revered doms to guest-showcase at The Veil, and watched as he made the complicated shibari techniques he was doing on his restrained partner look easy. Beautiful knots of bright red rope covered the sub’s body, making it not only a work of art, but a powerful experience for the one underneath Zayne’s skilled hands.

It didn’t escape my notice the way Rupert’s companion reacted to what he was seeing. Eyes wide, full lips parted. Clearlyhe wasn’t familiar with this style of bondage, and when Rupert said something to him, he shook his head.

Why, then, did Rupert roll his eyes, grab hold of his companion’s cropped shirt, drag him to the only empty spot in the club, and leave him there while he ran off to procure accessories for the evening?

I narrowed my eyes, and as if he could feel my stare, the one left behind looked up at me.

God, he was pretty. Even under the dark lighting made to set the mood, I could see the auburn in his short, wavy hair. He had stronger features than I’d expected from one so small, with a sharp jaw and full lips made for sucking…and biting. Very all-American.Veryenticing.

Very…not mine.

He swallowed hard as our eyes remained locked on each other. My fingers curled into the arms of the chair and my dick throbbed with an ache I was suddenly desperate to relieve. But as if the universe knew I was about to break one of my own rules, Rupert reappeared carrying a coil of red rope. A glaring reminder that the object of my desire was well and truly taken.

Frustration clawed at me as Rupert stopped in front of his date, blocking my view, and I ordered my cock to calm the hell down. No matter how pretty someone was, I wasn’t the kind of man to steal another’s possessions. Especially in my own club. If word got around I was willing to poach another man’s companion for myself, that wouldn’t be too good for business, now would it?

Resigned to the fact I wouldn’t be dipping my dick in the one thing it truly wanted this evening, I got to my feet and made a decision. Just because I couldn’t touch, didn’t mean I couldn’t look. Plus, I still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced that what was happening between the two that’d caught my attention was on the up-and-up.

I scanned the open space full of secrets and sin as I started forward through the crowd. The music throbbing out of the speakers was a pulse-pounding beat that made the blood pump through your veins almost as hard as the deeds going on around you and the orders being given and followed in different corners of the club. Some might see this as a den of iniquity, but for me it was a place of acceptance, self-expression, lust, and often love. Even if just for the night.

Anything goes, that was my motto—as long as it was consensual.

Something I was starting to suspect wasn’t the case between the two I was closing in on.

From my position I could see that Rupert had shoved his partner down to his knees in front of him. He was shaking the bundle of rope at him, as the pretty one adamantly shook his head. Not exactly the kind of response a willing participant in a scene would give, unless of course he was playing the role of brat. However, judging by the flash of fear that entered his wide eyes when Rupert leaned down and hissed something between his teeth, my gut told me this was no role playing but true panic.

---