Spiked Roses: The Complete Top Shelf Series

by Alta Hensley

  “What did you expect?” I asked, though I was fascinated by their attire just as much as Ivy was.

  Each woman wore a girlie dress with ruffles at the hem, patent leather shoes with white socks, the lacy cuffs folded down. Some wore little white gloves, while others had ribbons or bows in their hair. They were all flawlessly attired. Everything was pressed to perfection. And the eyelashes… the eyelashes were what amazed me the most. They were massive, thick, and black. They looked like the dolls that would close their eyes if you laid them down, but pop right open when you’d stand them up. And each woman had absolutely perfect stiff posture. They never slouched. Never seemed to relax in the slightest. They were as stiff as a… doll.

  “I don’t understand it,” Ivy whispered.

  “Understand what?”

  “Why they would do it?”

  We couldn’t take our eyes off of them as Ivy and I whispered back and forth. “Who knows? Money? People could wonder the same thing about us and why we would do a Tasting,” I said.

  “I know. The doll angle just seems odd.”

  “Interesting though.”

  “Oh, interesting as fuck. I agree,” Ivy said. “Do you think Victor has sex with all of them?”

  I raised my shoulders and crinkled my nose. “I don’t know. Seems to be a lot of dolls to have sex with. But I’ve given up on trying to figure out what floats the boat of these Spiked Roses rich fucks.”

  “Unless that rich fuck is Harley Crow,” Ivy teased.

  “Exactly. I would get on any sick and twisted boat if Harley was the captain at the helm.”

  “Maybe tonight is your chance.”

  “I hope so,” I confessed. “But maybe this isn’t his thing. What if he likes his sex simple and basic?”

  “I doubt it. One look at Harley and you can see that there is nothing simple and basic about him,” Ivy countered.

  “I don’t know. I can’t read him at all. I wish to fucking God I could.”

  “I heard that Victor Drayton sticks large dildos up the dolls’ asses to help aid them in being so stiff,” Ivy said, changing the subject back to her fascination with a light giggle. “Like really, really large. Right up the poop shoot in front of all the people at the gallery.”

  “Well, that would certainly make me walk and stand stiffly too.” We both laughed which drew some unwanted attention our way.

  Tennessee cleared his throat and glared in our direction. “I’m going to assume that everyone in this room has read the contract before even agreeing to come here tonight. Remember that everything in it is negotiable. I will be working the Tasting tonight, but every managing member will also be present. So unless you want Daddy”—Tennessee pointed to himself with his two thumbs—“to get mad and whip each of your tiny backsides, I advise you to behave,” he said as he straightened his paisley cravat that accentuated his burnt orange smoking jacket. Only Tennessee Charles could pull off such loud and boisterous attire in a room full of black and elegance. “So if you are ready to sign the deal later tonight, signal for me to come over with a contract. But don’t call me over until you have hashed it all out. I don’t have time to be your mediator. Decide what hole is used, whose lube, and what dirty words need to be said. I don’t want any part of your kinky rules. And keep your woohas protected, ladies. Make sure those little wieners stay covered. No one wants the clap.” He clapped his hands together hard to accentuate his choice of word which startled many in the room. I saw that the loud noise even caused a couple of dolls to jump and break their proper stance.

  Those poor things. They had no idea what a Tasting would be like. I could see on their faces they were downright terrified, and frankly, they should be. Though in all fairness, by some of the stories I had heard about Drayton’s Dollhouse, a Tasting may damn well be tame in comparison.

  “It’s a three- to four-day contract. Nothing more,” Tennessee continued. “You don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to. If you are okay with giving it up, make sure to note that in the contract. Also, be sure to state any and all hard limits. I mean it. If you don’t want the man to poo on you, say so. If you don’t want the man to shove a baseball bat up your cooter, say so. Hard limits need to be in writing. Hell, you don’t have to do a thing except stand there and look pretty if that’s all you want to do. But you must all have manners and act respectfully to every guest in that room. And remember, ladies, sometimes the ugliest, shortest man has the biggest cock and the largest pocketbook. Keep the judging to yourselves.” He paused and looked around. “Are there any questions?” Tennessee waited, and when no one asked anything, he concluded with, “Well then, put your best southern pageant smiles on and go charm those dark fuckers. And don’t forget, ladies… if you find out that you are indeed afraid of the dark once the lights are turned out, don’t be crying for Daddy to hold your hand. You have to face that boogieman head on once you sign that contract.”

  Chapter Four

  Marlowe

  He came. Harley Crow actually came. I could almost feel him before I even saw him. I knew Tennessee had said all owners were attending, but I hadn’t wanted to get my hopes up. It almost seemed unreal. Harley Crow and I were in The Tasting Room together. He would see me. I knew he would see me. It was just a matter of time until he’d peruse the women attending Who’s Afraid of the Dark? like everyone else did. And maybe if I was lucky enough, he would stop at my assigned table.

  All the available women for contracting stood next to a high black glass table with rose petals scattered along the surface as well as the black marble floor. A single red candle in a black spiked vase sat in the middle of the table meant for two. Black and red were the colors of the room just like the colors of the club. The gothic ambiance was perfect for the event. Large urns of long stem red roses were placed around the room, and the massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling cast an almost eerie light over the male guests dressed in sleek suits and ties that evening.

  Even Harley Crow wore a suit. I damn near melted as I watched him while he spoke casually with the other gentlemen guests. His colorful tattoos peeked out from the edges of his respectable clothing, giving him an even more mysterious appearance than normal.

  Regardless of the fact that Tennessee said I would look like a vampire with my long black hair and wearing a black dress, I still wore one. The fabric hugged my curves and flowed long in the back all the way to the open-toed heels I wore, but the dress was also short in the front, showing off my muscled legs I maintained by running at least a couple times a week. The entire back of the dress was cut out, exposing everything but the top of my ass and lower. Maybe Harley wouldn’t like black, but I sure as hell knew my red lace dress uniform hadn’t caught his eye, so maybe something along the lines of how he dressed would.

  Every single woman in The Tasting Room was beautiful—even the creepy, yet oddly sexy dolls. I knew that my chances of hooking Harley on looks alone would be a challenge. But at least I had a shot. Maybe he would feel the same pull for me that I had for him. Maybe his insides would sizzle like mine did for him, if he only saw me. I just wanted him to see me.

  A low hum mastered the room. Light chitchat had begun, blending with the soft music that played in the background. I had to remind myself to breathe when Harley finished his conversation and his eyes scanned the room, stopping on me when our eyes connected. Our eyes connected! It was brief because he broke our stare to walk up to the small mahogany wood bar to get a drink. A vodka as I knew he would.

  Usually eye contact was enough to at least have the man approach a table. It was our way of silently communicating that we were at least interested in exploring the talk of a possible contract. Everything about The Tasting Room was consensual. The guests knew this, as did all the women. In fact, the women had all the control. We didn’t have to sign on the dotted line. If we weren’t interested and weren’t feeling the vibe, all we would have to do was politely decline and the man could move on to a different table and test his luck with another. I
just wanted Harley to come to me before sampling another female. I knew these ladies. I lived with many at Marie’s Boarding House. They were beautiful on the inside and out, and they were sexy as hell. Granted, they all knew how I felt about Harley, so I was pleased to see most were already talking with others, or showing no interest in the man I wanted.

  After getting his drink, Harley turned and watched the room like he had done every night before in the main room of the club. He studied the people, he glanced at the entrance several times, and even looked out the large floor to ceiling window that took up the entire west side of the room. The streetlights of New Orleans twinkled through the paned glass framed by red velvet curtains that flanked each side, and Harley appeared to be staring at each light individually. Like so many times before, it seemed as if he were off in another world. Not the world I presently occupied.

  A man walked up to my table, and I panicked. He was a guest for the evening, because I didn’t recognize him as one of the regular patrons. But I didn’t want him to stop in front of me. No. I wanted Harley.

  I tried to not be rude, but I looked up at him and shook my head. “No, thank you. I’m waiting for someone else.” I gave a warm smile, hoping I didn’t offend him.

  The quickest way to be banned from future Tastings was by giving Tennessee the impression you couldn’t conduct yourself in a polite and respectable manner at all times, regardless if the men where total assholes. It was all about being in control. Tennessee wanted us to maintain that control at all times as he had lectured over and over, time and time again. I understood this fact, and actually prided myself on the ability to do so.

  Luckily for me, the man nodded and moved on which cleared the path for Harley once again. But I didn’t know how long I would have before someone else approached me. Men had started to watch and wander as they sipped on their cocktails. Some were still chatting with others in the room, not ready to engage in the Tasting fully quite yet, but I could still see that some were getting restless to get the event of contracting with someone started. Would it be possible to turn down every single man who approached me without upsetting Tennessee? As any good housemother would do, he watched us all like a hawk. He would catch on to what I was doing, and he wouldn’t be happy about it in the slightest.

  And then it happened…

  Harley Crow looked at me again. But this time it wasn’t a simple glance like moments ago. This time he watched me like he had watched the people of Spiked Roses so many nights before. I could practically feel his eyes heating their way to my core. The intensity… but I refused to look away. I wasn’t one for flirting. It made me feel ridiculous every time I tried. I wasn’t good at the lure that some of the girls in this room had mastered. I only could stand there and hope that he would walk my way. I fiddled nervously with a rose petal between my fingers, and finally had the courage to smile at him.

  Though I felt cheesy doing so, it seemed to have worked. He started making his way across the room to where I stood. Holy shit. Harley Crow was walking straight toward me!

  As he approached the table, there was an awkward silence before I finally said, “Hi.”

  With a devilish smile, he nodded his head slowly. “Is this where we have small talk?”

  “I guess so.”

  I was so out of my league. I had no idea what to say or do. My legs felt weak, and I now wished that they provided us with chairs rather than having us standing by the tables. I leaned my weight against the table to help, but I still worried I was going to faint and make a fool of myself. The nerves were attacking at full speed.

  He glanced down to where I had nearly pulverized the petal between my fingers, and asked, “Nervous?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?” I placed the destroyed petal on the table, but then wondered what I would do with my hands now.

  “Are you afraid of the dark?” he asked with the same devilish smile he’d arrived with. Clearly, he was finding this all amusing. I, on the other hand, was not. My armpits were sweating, and I was forced to transfer my weight from one foot to the other just to make sure I didn’t lose feeling in my legs and collapse.

  “I’m not afraid. Just nervous,” I countered, trying desperately to get my shit together by taking big and even inhales of air. Man, oh man, Harley had a breathtaking power over me. Just having him so close was like a punch to the gut.

  “Nervous of what?”

  “You,” I said too quickly, instantly wishing I hadn’t when the single word escaped my lips.

  His eyebrow rose. “Me?” He looked down at my hands again and noticed that I was picking at my cuticles with the same nervous energy that had destroyed the rose petal. He placed his palm on top of my two fists. Though he didn’t take hold, the rough skin, the warmth, and the weight of his hand simply resting on mine seemed to instantly calm the restless energy. “Why do I make you nervous?”

  “I don’t know,” I said softly. It was the truth. I wasn’t exactly a smooth operator when it came to men, but I normally didn’t act like a crazy, naïve schoolgirl either.

  “Do I scare you?”

  “No. Why would you scare me?”

  “Because of who I am.”

  “Who are you?”

  The wicked smile returned as he tilted his head slightly as if looking at me from a different angle. “You know. I know you know.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m scared of you. I don’t scare easily,” I said, which was a complete lie.

  But I was getting a bit more control over myself and felt as if I could play this game at least a little. I didn’t want to lose him completely because I was nothing but a fumbling mess. I glanced down at his hand that rested on mine and saw a tattoo along the curve of flesh that ran from his index finger and thumb that read, Your Throat Goes Here, in thick black ink.

  I smirked. “So is that tattoo meant for your victims or the women you fuck?”

  “Some would say they are the same thing,” he answered so quickly and easily that my heart skipped with the dangerous warning, but I wanted do my best to keep that hidden, so I simply smiled as my eyes locked with his.

  “Your past doesn’t frighten me.”

  He took his palm off of mine, which actually made me feel a sense of loss. I’d enjoyed the weight and heat of it. He took a long sip of his vodka which he held in the other hand before asking, “Is that why you are here tonight at this Tasting? Because you can’t be scared?”

  “I’m not scared of dark tastes in the bedroom, if that’s what you are asking,” I said, focusing on not picking at my cuticle even though without Harley’s palm, the nervous energy had returned. He, however, seemed completely cool and collected as he stood before me with his vodka in hand.

  “And you feel you know what all those dark tastes would be? What they would be with me?” His voice seemed to deepen slightly as he asked the question. It was subtle, but I felt the energy shift between us. There wasn’t as much nervous energy, but more sizzle coursing through the space between us.

  “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

  “And you are experienced in these dark tastes?”

  I couldn’t read him. He seemed amused and curious. But there was something more going on behind those veiled eyes of his.

  As for his question on experience… I wasn’t. Not really. I knew about dark tastes. I had heard about, seen videos, and had even spoken to other staff of Spiked Roses about what dark desires really could mean. I knew I liked the bite of pain. Because of past Tastings, I had played with being spanked like a naughty girl, flogged, and paddled. I had been tied with rope before. But was I really experienced in truly dark tastes? No.

  “I don’t have to be experienced to not be afraid.” I tried to divert rather than answer clearly. I didn’t want to lie to him. Something about the way he watched me with such intensity told me lying to a man such as Harley Crow was a bad idea.

  “Why are you here tonight?” he asked, as he finished the last sip of his drink.

  Tennessee had told a
ll the staff time and time again to never answer that type of question with “for the money”. Never. It was a big no no in The Tasting Room because he said it made Spiked Roses sound like a whorehouse in the Wild West. And though I’d attended every Tasting for the one purpose of making money only, tonight really was different.

  “To meet you,” I answered truthfully. Why I was being so blunt and bold, I had no idea. But again, it was almost as if Harley demanded my complete honesty. Like he had some type of spell cast upon me.

  His eyes narrowed, and that impish smile that had been on his face for most of our conversation straightened. It was as if the clouds from the storm blew in. “To meet me? Why would you want to meet me?”

  “Why not?” I wanted another rose petal to crush between my fingertips.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, still looking serious and pensive.

  “Marlowe Masters.”

  “What’s your real name?” he asked. “That clearly isn’t your real name.”

  I had never had anyone call me out on that fact before. The question almost felt like a smack to the face. “How do you know Marlowe isn’t my real name?”

  He didn’t reply but raised one dark eyebrow and leaned his body against the table top between us.

  “And what’s your real name? Is Harley Crow really the name you were born with?”

  I succeeded in breaking the dark energy that had washed over him when he smirked and that devilish grin returned. “If I told you my real name, I would have to kill you. And I think we both know that I am capable of doing such a thing.”

  “Fair enough,” I said with a smile as well. “I, too, would have to kill you if I told you. And you don’t know what I am capable of,” I added with a playful wink.

  “Well then,” he said as he extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Marlowe Masters.”