by Erika Wilde
Her car came into view, then parked next to his. A few seconds later, the driver’s-side door opened, Stephanie slid out of the vehicle, then she was climbing the stairs with a computer tablet tucked under one arm, a purse slung over the other, and her widened eyes taking in the huge house behind him with amazement.
She looked very sophisticated and put together in a long-sleeve white blouse that tucked into a pair of dark gray fitted pants, and a pair of plain black pumps. But her professional attire did nothing to stop his gaze from being drawn to the way her curvy hips swayed with every step she took up those stairs . . . swinging subtly to the right, then the left, again and again. She finally reached the top, forcing him to raise his eyes back to her beautiful face and all that thick, gorgeous blonde hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders and down her back and made his fingers itch to feel all that silkiness wrapped around his fist as he—
“Nice digs, Mac,” she said, yanking him out of his fantasy with a smile that was filled with both teasing and awe. “This place is really impressive.”
He exhaled a breath and forced himself to relax as she came to a stop right in front of him. So close that he could see the faint hint of lace from her bra through the white cotton of her blouse, thanks to those full breasts straining the front of the material. “Thanks.”
Her eyes danced with humor as they held his. “Are you sure you’re not trying to overcompensate for something with this huge house?”
Despite his determination to be all business and remain impassive to her presence, a grin tried to slip past his composure and twitched at the corner of his mouth at her implication that he might have a small dick. Jesus Christ. No other woman would have dared to insult him and question his manhood, even if it was in a cute albeit playful way. And clearly designed to get a reaction out of him.
Wasn’t going to happen. “You’re going to have to trust me when I say I have absolutely nothing to overcompensate for.” Of that, he was confident.
She feigned a letdown sigh. “And here I was hoping you might consider proving it.”
God, that mouth of hers. So full of sass, with no filter, and sexy as fuck even when she was provoking him to cross that line he refused to step over with her. Stephanie’s attempts at flirting with him were nothing new, but they’d always been around a lot of people, and this was the first time they’d ever been alone together. Obviously, she was taking advantage of that fact.
“I’m dying to see inside the place. I’ve heard all about the club from the girls,” she said of her circle of friends who’d been here with their now significant others. “But seeing it in person is quite a different experience.”
She looked as excited as a young girl who’d been invited to enter a secret candy store filled with all things sweet and decadent. He supposed The Players Club did provide candy . . . of a very different kind. “Then let’s head in so we can get started on the consultation.”
He led the way inside, watching the way her big blue eyes lit up at the beautiful split staircase that greeted them just past the entryway. Directional signs informed members that the public viewing rooms were to the right and the private rooms that he wanted to redesign were to the left. Another wide stairway led down to the lower level designated “The Dungeon,” where the sounds of the contractors working and men’s voices could be heard.
She casually started in that direction, and he was quick to grab her arm. “The private suites are this way,” he said, guiding her to the stairs that curved off toward the left wing of the mansion.
She stopped and cast a disappointed glance his way. “What? I don’t get a tour of the place?”
Was she actually pouting? Again, a smile threatened his lips at how bummed—and adorable—she looked, but he held firm and shook his head. “No. I’ve got men doing renovations and flooring and installing furniture, and not only is it a safety issue while they’re working, I don’t want them to be distracted when I need them to be focused on finishing the updates before the reopening on Saturday.”
A perfectly shaped brow arched, highlighting the amusement that now sparkled in her eyes. “You think I’m a distraction?” She sounded way too pleased by the notion.
He swallowed back a groan at the way she was twisting his words, even if they did hold some truth. “For those men working in there, yes,” he said, admitting to nothing. “Head up the stairs and it’ll take us to the section of the club with the rooms I want to redesign.”
He let her precede him up the steps and tortured himself by staring at her firm ass—and thinking about all the things he’d like to do to it. It wasn’t a big shock that he was half hard by the time they reached the second level.
“Go through that sitting room and down the long hall,” he instructed as he followed her, until they reached an area that was sectioned off by a thick, red velvet rope with a sign that said This wing is closed for renovations. He unlatched the closure and accompanied her into the first suite.
He’d had the workers downstairs clear these rooms so each one was completely empty, which gave Stephanie a clean, blank slate to work with. She looked around and peeked into the adjoining bathroom, which was also bare, and as he stood off to the side, she took the dimensions of the room with the measuring tape she retrieved from her purse, and even included the height of the walls and the size of the windows. She was quiet as she made some notes on her tablet . . . and that’s how it went for all six rooms.
When the dimensions of the last suite had been recorded, she finally looked at him as she put the measuring tape back into her bag. “So, I have a few ideas I came up with that are more fun and erotic, to counter all the hard-core kink the dungeon on the other side of the mansion has to offer.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Hard-core kink?” he asked, curious to know what she considered sexually extreme.
She shrugged. “Stocks, fucking machines, cages, shackles and chains, bullwhips. That sort of thing.”
He was impressed with her knowledge. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
“You seem so surprised,” she said with a light laugh, the husky undertones washing over him like a too arousing caress. “I always do my homework before any job. As you know, Raina owns a sex toy shop, which has been incredibly educational, and fun. And Paige and Kendall were more than happy to give me all the details from their visits here, which helped in my research.”
“So what do you have in mind for the rooms?” he asked.
“Well, I have three ideas I’d like to get started on right away while I come up with concepts for the other three suites.” Excitement infused her voice. “I’m thinking one can be an Arabian Nights theme, with vibrant, sheer curtains for color, some up lighting to add to the sensual atmosphere, and lots of silk and big, soft pillows on the floor and strewn across the bed. We’ll add some Moroccan décor and dozens of candles can set the mood, as well.”
“Which would be great for wax play,” he said, liking the idea.
“Is wax play one of your kinks?” she asked curiously.
“No.” Her eyes were filled with expectation, as though she was hoping he’d divulge his personal sexual preferences, which he refused to do. “But anyone who likes that sort of thing will enjoy the room and the theme.”
“I’d definitely enjoy it,” she said with a sensual smile.
His dick perked up at the image of dripping warm red wax onto her creamy skin, around her tight, hard nipples, and down her quivering stomach to the soft mound of her pussy . . .
“I can put in an armoire with some harem costumes for the woman to wear during the fantasy to heighten the experience,” she went on. “And of course every suite can be stocked with a cupboard of sex toys and light bondage items to enhance the experience. Just because these rooms are based in fantasy, there doesn’t have to be a limit on what’s allowed play-wise.”
“Agreed.” Before he could stop it, a wicked grin appeared on his lips. “Even bad harem girls need to be spa
nked, too.”
Her blue irises darkened imperceptibly at his words. “Yes, they do.”
The breathy sound of her voice caused heat to pour through his veins—and made him stupidly bold, just to see her reaction to his next suggestion. “And make sure to add some jeweled nipple clamps to the supplies, which would look fucking hot with those loose-flowing harem pants a woman would wear in this room.”
“Noted,” she said huskily, then cleared her throat. “The next suite, I’d turn into a stripper’s den, with a sturdy silver post up on a small stage in the middle of the room so the woman can pole dance for . . . whomever is watching.”
“I like that,” he murmured, getting caught up in the fantasy. No doubt, he’d love to watch Stephanie strip down to nothing but a g-string and pole dance for him.
She licked her bottom lip, her face flushed with awareness. “I’m thinking a long, velvet couch for lap dances and other activities, a mirrored ceiling, and one of those flashing disco lights to replicate a strip club.”
“Have you ever been to a strip club?” Did she like to watch? That’s what he really wanted to know . . . if voyeurism turned her on.
“No, but I have seen Striptease with Demi Moore. And Showgirls,” she said almost impishly, a total contradiction to all the confidence she’d displayed thus far. “Sadly, that’s the extent of my research.”
He chuckled, she grinned at him, and he felt a few of the walls he’d erected crumble a bit, which gave him the ability to actually relax around her. And that was a good thing, since they’d be spending a few weeks around one another while she completed the rooms. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know that your description is pretty accurate.”
He’d been fighting his attraction to Stephanie for so long now that it had become second nature to be abrupt with her, which was his way of keeping his desire locked down tight. But in the short time that they’d been alone, he’d found himself loosening up, and if he was honest with himself, he liked bantering with her, which was something he’d missed with a woman. He told himself there was nothing wrong with enjoying the flirtation, because he knew it would never become anything more than that. He wouldn’t allow it to.
“And the third suite?” he prompted, surprisingly anxious to hear more of her ideas.
Her eyes lit up with renewed animation as she hugged her tablet to her chest. “That one will have a Fifty Shades of Grey theme.”
He frowned, not nearly as thrilled with this idea. “Fifty Shades of Grey, as in those books and movies that are so popular with women?” Of course he’d heard of the phenomenon. He just wasn’t sure how something like that would translate into a fantasy-themed room.
She nodded enthusiastically. “I want to make that suite into the Red Room of Pain.”
“Red Room of Pain?” he echoed, not sure if he should be amused or appalled.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, a bit breathlessly. “Christian Grey was a dirty, filthy man. In the best way, of course. He had a playroom that was, for the most part, decorated in red. Red walls, a red leather bed, and even the floor was the same shade of leather, which made it more comfortable for a submissive to kneel on. If you’ve seen the movies, which judging by your reaction I’m sure you haven’t, the Red Room of Pain is really quite beautiful, as well as sensual and erotic.”
He pushed his hands into the front pockets of his slacks, not fully convinced. “I’m not sure about it.”
“That’s because you’re thinking like a man,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “The stripper suite is mostly about indulging a guy’s fantasy with pole dancing and lap dances, but this . . . this would be all about pleasing a woman’s senses. Trust me, any female would be thrilled to have her man channel his inner Christian Grey.”
She sounded extremely excited about the idea, and Mac tipped his head to the side and dared to ask, “You, as well?”
She met his gaze, her expression candid. “Yeah, the thought of having a strong, dominant man who can make a woman weak with need just by demanding her surrender is a total turn-on.”
Yeah, the thought of it did turn her on . . . her breathing had changed, and her nipples were now taut and pushing insistently against her white blouse. But getting hot and bothered based on reading a book that was fluffy romantic fiction was much different than the reality of submitting to a man’s commands. Of having the sharp bite of clamps on her nipples or the smack of a crop on the tender insides of her thighs while her legs were forced wide open with a spreader bar.
Fuck, now he was getting turned on.
He shifted on his feet. “Okay, so we have the red room concept . . . where does the pain come in?” he asked, both joking and serious.
“There would be an entire wall of crops, paddles, floggers, and bondage gear,” she said, indicating with her hand where they would go. “And of course a spanking bench and ceiling-mounted hoists to use however you’d like.”
“Now we’re talking,” he said with a grin. “And toys?”
“Lots of them,” she said with a grin. “Mr. Grey was all about using toys. Assorted vibrators, anal plugs, Ben Wa balls. They can be offered for the member to purchase if they’d like to make the experience more . . . authentic.”
“Okay, you’re starting to persuade me,” he admitted, maybe because she was so enthralled by the idea and it didn’t hurt that envisioning playing with her in the Red Room of Pain gave it a whole different perspective. Not that that would ever happen.
She walked around the room, her eyes scanning the area as she spoke. “I imagine making it extra-luxurious, and you could charge a premium and get top dollar because any woman would love to be in a playroom that’s so iconic, and any guy would enjoy playing the powerful leading role of Christian Grey to please his girl.”
“Okay. Let’s do it,” he said, and she abruptly swung her surprised gaze his way as if to say, Really? “Worst case, if it’s the least-used room, we can change it.”
“Trust me, that won’t be an issue,” she said confidently.
Oddly enough, he did trust her idea. “What about the other three suites?” he asked.
“I’m not sure yet what themes those should be.” She strolled toward him, a mischievous glimmer suddenly brightening her gorgeous blue eyes, putting him on alert. “I’d like to attend the masquerade party on Saturday, to get a better feel for the club and what else might work for your members.”
He stiffened at her unexpected request. The temptation of having her in this domain—wanting her but refusing to touch her—wasn’t something he wanted to endure. And watching her possibly hook up with someone else, like Rick? Complete fucking agony.
He shook his head. “I don’t think attending the masquerade party is necessary. I’m sure you can come up with a few other ideas without being here when everything is in full swing, which is probably going to be more distracting than helpful.”
“What if I want to be here?” the little vixen proposed, her voice holding a hint of a challenge. “You know, to mix a little business with pleasure?”
His expression remained composed, his resolve firm. “I’m going to have to say no.”
She tipped her head to the side, studying him much too astutely. “I can always get an invitation from Jillian, you know,” she said as she came closer and closer.
“No, you can’t,” he countered. “I put a freeze on any new invitations until I’m done going through the current membership.”
She laughed softly, huskily, the sound like a stroke along his cock. Much like her hand was suddenly stroking down the length of his tie before giving it a playful tug. “Do I make you nervous, Mac?”
His hands curled into fists in his pockets, because it was taking extreme effort not to grasp her face in his palms and kiss that soft, plush, impudent mouth of hers—hot and hard and deep. “Do I look like a man who’d be intimidated by any woman?” he asked, his voice surprisingly steady.
She thought about that for a brief moment before giving her hair a subtle toss and repl
ying. “Intimidated, no.” Then a sexy, knowing smile curved her lips. “Nervous, definitely, because if you weren’t a little uneasy about whatever this thing is between us, you wouldn’t have an issue with me coming to the masquerade party and being at the club.”
“The last thing you make me feel is uneasy.” Instead, her presence had lust pumping through him like a heady surge of adrenaline. She was certainly testing his control.
Her free hand came back up and splayed on his chest, the heat of her touch searing him through his dress shirt. “If I don’t make you nervous, then prove it,” she cajoled. “Let me come to the party on Saturday. I promise not to be too shocked by what I see.”
His jaw clenched as she met his gaze and held it, so bold and brazen when she really had no idea what she was messing with, or what he was capable of. This woman was no shrinking violet, and she was the furthest thing from the kind of submissive, obedient female he preferred—and Jesus Christ, his dick was hard as stone for her. This was a woman who liked having the advantage, who enjoyed a little power play, and fuck if that didn’t make him want to pin her against the wall behind her and make it very clear who really had the upper hand between them.
“So, what will it be, Mr. MacMillan?” she murmured huskily. “Inviting me to the club on Saturday, or are you going to chicken out?”
Dean’s words echoed in his mind. You’re too chickenshit to take a chance on a woman you really want, and now Stephanie was calling him out, as well. He’d never been a coward, and he wasn’t one to back down from a conflict. He wasn’t going to start now with her. Just because she came to The Players Club did not mean he’d give in to their attraction. Self-control and discipline were what he was made of.
“Fine,” he said abruptly. “Consider yourself invited.”
A triumphant smile flashed across her lips. “Awesome. I’m looking forward to it,” she said, as if she’d just been invited to a casual get-together, instead of a party where she’d be surrounded by every sexual escapade imaginable—and some scenarios even her dirtiest fantasies couldn’t match.