Page 4 of His to Keep
“Your room?” I manage to squeak out.
He nods. “I rent an upstairs room. Much more privacy than we’ll find in the back.”
Holy shit. I know about the rooms upstairs, of course. It’s not all that unusual to see people disappearing through the locked, blood red door behind the bar. But in the few months Aden has been bringing me here, I haven’t actually met someone who had that kind of access. I do know that the upstairs rooms come at a hefty price, far beyond the means of a majority of even the most affluent members of Club Wyld.
The stranger pulls out a key and opens the red door behind the bar, leading me through. He’s still walking fast, practically dragging me along with my much shorter legs, and when we start up the stairs, I stumble on my heels.
“Shit,” he mutters, clutching me around the top of my arms. The contact sends a rush of electricity through me, his big palms warm on my bare skin. I can’t help wondering where else I’m going to feel those hands tonight.
He doesn’t drop his grip even when I’m steady on my feet. Instead, he stares down at me, studying my face. My instinct, born of intense training with Aden, is to drop my gaze, but the stranger gives me a little shake when I do so. “Look at me.”
It shouldn’t be so difficult. I just have to raise my eyes a few inches. So why does it feel like a monumental task? Why is my heart racing so hard?
“Look at me,” he urges, gruff voice a touch more gentle. “Please.”
Fleetingly, I wonder if there’s anything this man couldn’t get me to do with the power of that velvet voice. I lift my face and raise my eyes, letting my gaze latch onto his.
Fuck. He’s gorgeous. I hadn’t really let myself take him in when he showed up to escort me from the stage. There had been a hungry look in his eye that captured all my attention, scrambling my already overtaxed nerves. That look is still there, but it’s tempered by concern. Strange. I’m not used to seeing that from a dom.
I let my gaze roam over his face, taking in the hard planes of his jaw, the neatly trimmed beard, the full lips. The fire in his dark eyes. He’s gruff, all man, and I find the contrast between his rugged features and his very fine suit to be intoxicating. I’m struck with the sudden urge to feel those big strong arms wrapped around my frame.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, distracting me from my perusal. He’s apologizing to me? I didn’t think men like him do that sort of thing.
“For what?” I manage to squeak out.
His lips twitch, maybe from amusement. “Sorry for rushing you up the stairs. I wasn’t thinking.” The lips twitch some more. “Too eager to get you alone, I guess.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure how to respond to that. I should probably be afraid right now. I’m standing here almost completely naked with a stranger on a rarely traveled staircase behind a locked door. I don’t even know this man’s name. The fact that he admittedly wants to get me alone should be a warning sign. But it’s hard to feel anything like fear when I’m standing this close to him, when he’s looking down at me with so much warmth in his expression.
“I promise to be more of a gentleman,” he says, slipping my hand into the crook of his arm. Then he winks at me, mouth twisting into a full smirk. “To start with, at least.”
His room is at the end of a long hallway of non-descript doors. I’m not exactly sure what I’d been expecting, but I’m surprised by the room all the same. The space is plain, utilitarian. White, unadorned walls. Several white cabinets. A king size bed on the far wall, sheets and blanket the same shade of white.
It would look like someone’s boring bedroom—if it wasn’t for the rest of the furniture. A whipping bench in the center of the room. A sawhorse against a wall. A St. Andrew’s cross. A closer look at the ceiling reveals a suspension track.
There’s no denying the fact that this is a dominant’s playroom. My heart beat kicks up all over again, making my breath come in shorter pants. I can’t tell if I’m excited or terrified by the trappings of this room—a familiar sensation since I started up with Aden.
I’m more than a little surprised when the stranger nudges me towards a high backed chair in one corner of the room. With the hurry he’d admittedly been in, I expected him to want to get started right away. Surprise turns to shock when he grabs a soft blanket from the bed and wraps it around my shoulders.
“As much as I enjoyed the view, you were cold,” he murmurs, his fingers unexpectedly gentle as he tucks the blanket around me. Then he meets my eyes, the fire slightly muted in his chocolate brown depths. “What can I get you to drink?”
“I…uh…” This is nothing like what I had expected. When Aden told me his plans for the evening, I’d expected to find myself downstairs, in one of the rooms behind the steel door. Most likely a public room, where my owner for the night could show off his depravity to the not-so-lucky contestants who hadn’t won in The Draw. Instead I’m cuddled up in a blanket in a private room, where a man with a kind expression offers me a drink.
“Gin and tonic?” I finally manage, mostly because it’s the first drink my addled brain can come up with.
He nods once and walks to a metal bar cart on the opposite wall. He lifts several bottles, peering at labels. “I’ve been away for quite some time,” he explains. “Wasn’t sure what I’d left here.” He shoots me a quick grin. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that the fine proprietors of Club Wyld replenished the stock in my absence.”
“Where were you?” I ask, then immediately bite my tongue. If I’ve learned anything from Aden, it’s that doms aren’t interested in my idle chatter. This guy is here for one reason, and I need to remember that.
But he surprises me yet again. “I’ve been in Hong Kong on business for the last six months.”
Six months? This guy has been paying astronomical rent on this room he hasn’t even used for half a year?
He finishes my drink and pulls a beer from the small fridge next to the bar, then turns to me. “Have you ever been to Asia?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t really been much of anywhere,” I admit, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. What must this obviously insanely wealthy, worldly man think of a girl like me? Boring and plain, with too big hips and a wardrobe straight from the thrift store—or Target, to be fancy, when I have a little extra room in the budget.
He stands in front of me, reaching out to run a knuckle gently across my jaw. “Perhaps we’ll change that one day,” he murmurs in that low, rough voice. “I bet you’d look absolutely beautiful spread out on a hotel bed in Paris.”
