by Renee Rose
The Britney song plays in my head, the one he commented on, but this time I change the lyrics to match my night. “Bite me baby, one more time.”
I touch the spot on my neck that still throbs, pulses with hints of pleasure. He said he drew blood, but it didn’t even hurt much at all. It was more of an immense burst of pleasure that connected to my clit and my entire nervous system. And I want him to do it again, so much that I’m almost ready to tell the driver to turn around, take me back to Locke.
I laugh to myself and shake my head. What the hell am I doing? This is so wrong.
But I don’t care.
And as I enter the quiet house, moving softly so I don’t wake Abuela, I know that I’m going to dream about Locke all night. Every night. Until I can see him and touch him again. One more time.
Chapter 5
“Temi, can you reach this for me?” Abuela’s voice is thinner than usual. She’s breathing hard as she reaches up to the top shelf in the pantry next to the stove.
I hurry over, concern pricking the edges of my imagination. “What is it?” I peer up into the shelf. “I’m barely taller than you are. I’ll get the ladder.”
It’s a day after my adventure with Locke in the gallery, and I’m in the middle of an assignment for class before I head off for a few hours at the warehouse. But there’s always time to help Abuela.
When I come back with the stepladder and set it up, she nods. “The box at the back, behind the cans of tomato sauce.”
“There’s nothing behind the cans. Just the back of the shelf.”
She smiles a little. “Pull the cans forward and use your fingernails to slide the back of the cupboard out. It’s a secret door.”
“For real?” I turn to look at her, ready to laugh.
But she’s serious. “Yes, Temi. I haven’t opened it in years. You do it for me.”
“I just pull? Where do I do it?” I slide my fingernails gently up and down the side of the board. “It all seems pretty solid—oh.”
I find a slight indentation, and tug. The wood creaks and pulls out on hidden hinges, a tiny back door. “Oh my God! It really is a secret door, isn’t it? How long has this been here?” I pull cans forward and stack them atop each other precariously, so I don’t knock them out of the cabinet by opening this little door. “Wow.”
“Get what’s inside for me, please.”
I reach back. “This? The oatmeal cannister?”
She nods. “Yes.”
“Okay.” It’s dusty and old—I don’t think we’ve used it in a decade, but Abuela saves dry goods forever. She says the expiration dates are nonsense if you keep food dry and free from insects. Of course, nobody would have found it hidden behind that little extra strip of wood.
She holds out her hand. “Thank you, mija.”
I push the stepstool to the corner and sit down at the kitchen table beside her. The yellow light overhead makes her face look sallow, and I think she seems more tired than usual.
I touch her hand, confused. “You want me to fix some cereal for you?”
She laughs, more animated now. “No, mija.” She pulls off the plastic lid. “This is something else.”
I look into the can, and my eyes widen. There’s a fat wad of folded bills, folded over and secured with a thick red rubber band. At first I think she’s got a small fortune here, until I realize the bill are mostly ones. Under the money are several small boxes, and a little folded up bag.
“Dios, Abuela. Something else, indeed.” I frown. “Is this a special savings? I can take it to the bank, if you want—”
“No.” She shakes her head. “This isn’t very much money. Just for a rainy day. No, I wanted to give you this.”
She reaches back into the cannister and pulls out a small black box, worn and scuffed. A jewelry box. “These were mine when I was younger. I gave them to your mother, but now they’re for you.”
She flips the lid open, revealing a pair of beautiful sapphire earrings.
I gasp. “I remember these.” A sudden image flashes into my mind.
I don’t have too many clear memories of Mami, but one sticks out: she’s dressed up and laughing, her face happy and carefree; her hair is pulled up into an effortlessly chic style, and these gorgeous golden and sapphire earrings dangle down.
“I hid them here, so.” Abuela tilts her head back and forth. “Away from. You know.”
I nod. Hiding these was the right move. These are clearly expensive and rare—probably worth a lot of money.
“They’re so pretty.” I touch one with my index finger, a soft brush. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. Try them on.” She holds out the box. “The family brought them when they came to Mexico from Spain, generations ago. They’re very old. Well made.”
I remove my small gold hoops and carefully put on the dangling earrings. “I should be at a fancy ball with these.” I touch my neck. “Let me see how they look.” I get up and jog to the bathroom to check my image in the mirror. “They don’t exactly go with this outfit. I love them.” I look like a queen. I look like my mom.
“Oh, mija, they’re perfect for you. Maybe you can wear them to the masquerade ball.” She gives me a sly smile when I return.
“What masquerade ball?” I wrinkle my forehead. The earrings swing gently.
“Hmmm.” She makes a little satisfied noise. “I have a feeling you’ll get invited to a party.”
My interest is caught. “What kind of party?”
“Oh, how would I know?” She puts the lid back onto the cannister. “You young people are always going to Halloween parties, aren’t you? I’m sure your friends will think of something.” She holds the container out. “Will you please put it back?”
“Of course.” I get back onto the stepstool and put the oatmeal container back where it was behind the door, close it, and rearrange the stack of cans. Eddie never cooks, and he’s not imaginative enough to even suspect Abuela has hidden treasures in the pantry, thank God. I have my own hiding place in my room, under an old floorboard. So far, he’s not found my small stash of cash, either.
“And I won’t tell, you know.” I shrug my shoulder towards the front room, even though Eddie isn’t here right now.
Abuela looks away, biting her lip. “He’s doing his best, too.” Her voice is hopeful, as if she’s trying to convince the both of us. “I know you think I spoil him. But…” she trails off. Her eyes are sad.
“But what?” I come back to the table. Is it the right time to tell her he’s a piece of shit and she needs to be firmer with him?
“I don’t think we can always change the future, Temi.” She looks at me and her eyes are earnest. “But you have to try if there’s the slightest possibility. Maybe one little word, one specific action, might tip the scales. One extra kind word, one more forgiveness. One more chance. Maybe it will turn the tides. You know?”
“No, I don’t. What do you mean?” I lean in. “Is this about Eddie?” I frown. “Is there something I should know?”
“Oh, nothing.” She gives a little laugh. “I’m just old, mija. Getting emotional. You know I want the best for both of you.”
“I know that. And you’re amazing to both of us.” I take her hand. “But what did you…” There’s something about her tonight that makes me feel on edge. Like she’s trying to tell me something important.
“Don’t think I don’t see what you do for me, all the time.” She squeezes my fingers. “You’re a good girl, Temi.” Her hand feels so frail in mine. “Things may be difficult for you, but it will be okay in the end.”
“Do you mean about school?”
She looks away. “And everything. Life.”
“Abuela, are you okay?” My voice is a little high. She’s acting strangely, and her words are so cryptic.
“Oh, I’m fine.” She looks back at me and her face is fond. “Just tired tonight.” She touches the earring box. “She would have been so proud of you, mija. So proud.” Her voice catches.
/> “I miss her.” I touch the box too, as if it connects me to the past. To my mother.
“I know.” Abuela sighs. “So do I.” She shakes her head. “Wear the earrings this weekend, Temi. They’ll bring you luck.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in luck.” I smile.
She laughs and shakes her head. “You’re right. Not luck, then. Something else.”
“Okay.” The truth is, I want to wear the earrings every day if I can; they’re so pretty, and they make me feel connected to my roots.
They also make me feel sexy.
As I sit with Abuela, asking to hear stories about her childhood and mine, and tales about my mother, part of my mind drifts to Locke. How he’d react to seeing me dressed up in a sexy gown and the earrings; high heels. I smile at the thought, because I can’t wait to be with him again.
Chapter 6
“Whiskey, rocks.” I nod to the bartender, who shoots me a smile and hands over my drink. “Thanks.” I slide him a twenty, take a sip, and look around.
Club Toxic is on fire tonight. It’s October 31, the evening of our exclusive, invite-only Venetian ball, and I’ve never seen this place so sexy.
Delicate filigree masks of lace or spun gold shine in the light; period authentic gowns and modern versions adorn the beautiful women—no expense spared. Everyone has the vibe of sophistication and sex, and just like at the art gallery, more than one woman shoots me a look full of desire and promise.
But I don’t want any of them. I invited Temi, but she’s not here. Yet. I glance toward the door.
Damian joins me at the bar. “Nice suit, Locke. Are you looking for a playmate?” His eagle vampire eyes, like mine, notice all the details.
I raise my glass to him. “I invited someone.”
“Let me guess. The student?” Yeah, I told him about her, too.
“She needs a little tutoring.” I chuckle. “To learn her lessons more, shall we say, thoroughly.”
He laughs. “I knew you weren’t going to let that go.”
“You know me too well.”
And suddenly, there she is—and she’s the most fucking beautiful woman in this entire club.
“Holy hell.” I drink the rest of the whiskey in one shot and stand up, my eyes locked onto her.
She’s staring at me, too, wide-eyed, cheeks flushed. The top of her gown, golden intricate swirls against black lace, is cut so low that her perfect breasts are barely covered. The skirt of the dress swoops down to the floor, soft and flowing, but a wicked cut all the way up to the very top reveals her toned thighs and gorgeous skin with every move she makes. Her mask is a delicate wisp of gold and black lace.
Fuck.
“Come.” I whisper the word, crossing my arms. Dom her from the start—begin as I plan to go on.
She ducks her head for a second before raising it back up, like an acquiescence to my command. She keeps her eyes on me as she walks through the throng, grace personified, all male gazes hot on her back and legs and chest.
It gives me great satisfaction that she chose me out of them all. I’m the one who will take her downstairs tonight and own her pretty little body until dawn.
“Temi.” I take her hand as she approaches, and drop a kiss onto her red lips. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you. So are you. Handsome.” She flushes.
I’m well aware of the effect I have on women—but hearing this from her means more than from any other woman tonight. Because she’s the one I crave.
“Would you like a drink?” I gesture to the bartender.
“A glass of white wine.”
She smells divine, floral and fresh. Her blood is so lush and healthy, so vibrant—I start to salivate, remembering how good she tasted.
“Of course. And this is my friend, Damiano. He’s a chef from New York.” Temi doesn’t need to know that he’s five hundred years old and is undead like I am. We give our human toys just enough information to satisfy them.
“And my date, Dahlia.” Damiano gestures to a human who’s joined him. We do the obligatory introductions all around.
“Are you enjoying the party?” Temi adjusts her mask. “This is so fancy.” She’s standing close to me, and I can tell that she wants me. Badly.
I put my arm around her and run my fingers over her bare shoulder possessively.
She shudders and steps closer. “Some of the outfits wouldn’t be out of place at a BDSM club.” She looks up at me through her lashes. A few of the guests have altered their Victorian gowns to show black leather straps and silver buckles here and there, hinting at dark deeds to come.
“And what do you know of BDSM?” My fingers tighten just a bit on her bare shoulder.
“More than you might think.” She narrows her eyes at me and gives me a sly smile.
“Do tell,” I murmur.
“If you ask nicely.” She gives me an impish wink. “Later.”
I growl. She’s not nearly as innocent as she likes to seem, not with those dirty fantasies I saw in her head.
Dahlia clears her throat. “BDSM?”
Damiano gives her a wicked grin. “I’d be happy to give you a hands-on demonstration.”
Dahlia flushes—surely she has some inkling of what he means? I assume they’re going to have an eventful evening, either way.
The two women step to the side and chatter as if exchanging confidences, low voices peppered with bright giggles, and I pull Damiano a few feet away. “You planning to introduce her to the real club?”
“Most definitely. She’ll be on the receiving end of a few chef’s specials, in fact.” He chuckles. “I’ve got my ginger, my pepper oil, my cinnamon essence… I think the fair Dahlia will be quite the meal tonight.”
“Good for you.” My glance strays to Temi. “My little human will enjoy a taste of pain with her pleasure tonight, too, although we’ll be using leather and metal.” I’m thinking of how nicely her skin will redden under a sharp, supple whip. How her plump nipples will swell in my fierce silver clamps.
Damiano claps my shoulder. “I think it’s time for us to head downstairs.”
“Agreed.”
I turn to Temi. “Are you ready for the real festivities to start?”
Chapter 7
When Locke turns to me with that feral look in his eye, that dark undertone in his voice, a shudder of pure desire zips down my spine. He’s smiling at me, but it’s not a gentle smile. No, it’s the smile a victor gives to the vanquished.
“It’s time to pay your debts,” he murmurs, leaning down to speak into my ear. “Time for me to collect those promises you made so sweetly.”
I suck in a breath and put my wine glass, half full, onto the bar. “Why do you think I’m here?” I remember his hand on my ass, the hard spank. The way he bit my nipples. My promise to let him do what he wants without limits.
He takes my hand. “Then come.”
We follow Damiano and Dahlia into the coat check area, and I shoot Locke a puzzled look. “Where are we?”
A second later, the world around me goes a little fuzzy—and suddenly we’re through a door I didn’t even see, on a dark staircase. As the door shuts behind us with a solid click, the rock beat fades instantly to a dull thrum. When we approach the bottom of the staircase, I can hear new music. There’s electricity in the air.
“This is the real Club Toxic,” Locke says, his eyes bright in the dim light. “It’s only for those who aren’t afraid of their passions, Temi.” His gaze is hypnotizing. “For those who play with whips and safewords, and take pride in their naked beauty.” He examines me. “Is this a place for you?” He cocks a brow.
My heart pounds so fast, I may pass out. “Yes,” I whisper. “Show me.”
My first impression is of decadent perversion. It’s a sex club, obviously—a BDSM club. There are people dressed in Victorian garb, as upstairs, and some in lace and leather. Some are completely nude.
It’s like a surreal scene in gold and riches: Salvador Dali crossed with
Gustav Klimt. A woman fastened to a St. Andrew’s Cross with thick leather straps cries out and squirms as a man in black strikes her nipples with a crop—again, again, again. I catch my breath as he works the crop up and down over the nipple, hitting from above and then below, slapping so fast, the leather is a blur. The woman’s cries are full of pleasure.
My hand is over my mouth with fascination. Moisture grows between my thighs and I bite my index knuckle—
“You like what you see?” Locke brushes his lips along my neck.
All I can do is nod.
“I’m going to do that to you,” Locke says casually. “After I whip your pretty pussy. Would you like some champagne?”
“I-I…” I swallow hard, in instant image of what he said flashing in my mind. I can already feel it, the leather between my thighs, the way it will hurt and increase my pleasure at the same time. I squeeze my thighs together under my gown, feeling pleasure grow in my clit.
“Here.” He smiles and produces a heavy crystal glass full of bubbling liquid. “Enjoy.”
Damiano and Dahlia have disappeared, presumably to play.
“Perhaps we should discuss limits and desires.” Locke raises his glass to me; he’s got his own champagne.
“And a safeword?” I know these exist, although I’ve never used one with a partner before.
“Red is the simplest one.” Locke’s purple eyes gleam in the light. “I don’t plan to make you use it, Temi. But have it on your lips, just in case.” He smiles. “And leave a little room in that pretty mouth for other things, too.”
I glance at his cock without meaning to; I can see how hard he is for me already.
“That’s right.” He chuckles. “Good girl, you already know what I mean.”
My face is hot; I can feel it glow. “Locke.”
“Is red acceptable?”
I nod. “Yes.”
The champagne is just sweet enough and the alcohol hits my veins fast, mixing with my desire.
“Good.” He glances across the room. “See how she’s naked for her Master?”