Red Velvet (The Velvet Rooms Book 3)

by Linnea May

  He doesn’t hold back when he lashes out for the first time, the stick connecting with my body right below my lower back. The second strike leaves its mark right beneath, teasing the soft curves of my ass, before the third blow lands right on top of them. He moves down with every hit, painting red stripes all across my ass. Even though they come in close succession, each and every single one of them grants me its own impression, hurting so much that my eyes are filled with tears before we’re even halfway done.

  The agony is excruciating, a thin line burning into me with ferocious intensity, stealing my breath and pushing me further into that abyss inside my head. There’s a calling coming from there, a promise to rescue me from the torture that I asked for.

  Sweet vertigo takes a hold of me when I’m about to reach that special place, inviting me with open arms that close around me in a warming hug. My elysium is red and filled with hummed melodies that not only soothe the ache my body is going through but turn it into something so much more, something so great I will forever lack the words to describe it.

  And I’m eternally grateful for Kade, the only man who’s ever brought me here.

  The only man I’ll ever want.

  Epilogue II

  Kade

  She always looks so peaceful afterward, so happy and content while she’s napping, curled in my arms. Her ass must hurt, even when it’s just pressed against the soft cushions of our oversized chaise lounge, but she doesn’t show any signs of pain. Nothing but pure bliss colors her expression when she sleepily looks up at me.

  Her makeup is smeared across her face, telling of the tears she shed earlier when the cane connected with her skin in violent strikes. She crumbled to my feet, panting and mewling while the streaks on her ass turned a deep red. I didn’t draw blood this time, but that doesn’t mean her agony was any less than during other beatings she took under my hand.

  She refused the cane for the longest time after I first tried it on her. One lash and she’d had enough, telling me she never wanted to see that goddamn thing again. I told her that’s not how it was going to work. Most of the time, I decide what she deserves to feel, and I’ll be the one to judge how much she’s capable of enduring.

  Tonight, she was the one who suggested the cane before I could. As if she knew tonight was special in a way that’s bigger than our nine-month anniversary.

  I like to be in control of things. I like to make plans and then bring them to fruition under my guidance. That’s how I operate.

  But with Lila, things have been different from the beginning. She never really gave me a choice. She called out for me from the very first moment we met, and she made me want things that were never part of the plan.

  I feel dumb for ever doubting her, for ever thinking that she would run back to the alleged safe haven she left behind, when all she did was worry about me. Her ex never went through with his threat, just like I suspected. It was nothing but a desperate attempt to unsettle Lila while she was still in the process of finding her path in life. He knew her well enough to know that his empty threat would cause her to sway, but he didn’t expect her to find strength and comfort in what she’s experiencing with me. Because he doesn’t understand it.

  Lila’s need for this was so strong, her yearning so overpowering that it swept me off my feet with her.

  And with the way she’s looking at me now, she’s pushing for another leap that would cause me to stray from my perfectly contrived planfor tonight.

  I’ve had the little Tiffany box for weeks, and I’ve had this image inside my head. An image that had me kneeling in front of her after a perfect dinner that was to follow an intense play session.

  We have reservations at the same restaurant I took her to on our first real date nine months ago. I asked for one of their few private rooms that has a balcony attached, and despite the chilly temperature, I would’ve asked her to follow me outside, where a layer of rose petals would greet her and I’d go down on one knee to ask her that one question I never thought I’d pose to anyone.

  But now, as she lies here, freshly beaten and fucked, the remnants of our play still visible on her pretty face and her dreamy gaze searching mine, I can’t stop myself from wanting everything all at once. I want her to be mine forever, and I can no longer wait to find out whether she feels the same way.

  “Marry me.”

  The words come out so suddenly that even I’m surprised at the wording. I didn’t just ask her a question—I demanded her to be mine.

  Lila’s expression changes in an instant, the loving haze in her eyes replaced by sheer confusion as her jaw drops.

  “What did you just say?”

  I groan, angry at myself for ruining the moment.

  “I can do this right,” I promise her, gently pulling from her embrace and leaving her on the chaise lounge while I stride over to the wardrobe. I grab the tiny box inside my suit jacket pocket, hiding it in my palm as I head back to her, making sure I’m at least down on one knee when I correct my earlier statement that was born out of impatience.

  Lila sits up, hugging the blanket and gasping at my display.

  “Please, Lila, will you be my wife?”

  A wide smile spreads across her face, her eyes glistening with tears of a very different nature than the ones she shed earlier.

  “You’re not good at this,” she says, chuckling and shaking her head while she clasps her hand over her mouth.

  I shrug, trying to play it cool. “I never thought I’d ever want to do this.But you convinced me otherwise, without even trying.”

  I pause, watching a tear trail down her cheek while her eyes flit back and forth between me and the ring.

  “And you did it so well that I lost my patience. I had a plan for tonight… I wanted to do this later. But I couldn’t wait any longer. Now all I need to hear is you say yes.”

  Lila laughs, falling into my arms while she exclaims through tears, “Yes! Yes, of course!”

  I join her wild laughter, wrapping my arms around the girl who promised to be my wife while barely holding onto the box that contains the diamond ring I had made especially for her.

  The stone is the same color that brought us together: a deep, passionate red.

  Thank you for reading!

  This was the final book in The Velvet Rooms Series – a series of standalone dark billionaire romances. Subscribe to my newsletter to be stay up to date on my upcoming releases. You’ll also get a FREE novel!

  Did you know that there is a book about Lila’s sister Elene and her husband Damon ? Their story is told in book 1 of The Velvet Rooms series. Click here for the first few chapters of BLACK VELVET.

  Already read that one? How about a peek at Blue Velvet? Melina and Rowen experience their very unique story in the blue room at The Velvet Rooms. Check out the first few chapters for free here.

  Also by Linnea May

  FREEBIES

  A hot & steamy Billionaire Romance about a mysterious thriller and suspense writer and his muse.

  His Secret Muse

  Prequel to The Velvet Rooms Series

  The Velvet Rooms (Prequel)

  Dark Billionaire Romances

  Stories of dark seduction, twisted desires and fateful encounters.

  The VIOLENT Series

  Silent Daughter

  New Adult Billionaires

  New Adult Billionaire Romances with a college twist.

  MASTER CLASS

  For my Master

  Billionaires & Bohemians

  Bad Boy Billionaires and their artistic counterparts.

  TAMED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  BARRED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  Social Links

  Linnea on Amazon

  Linnea on Facebook

  Linnea on Goodreads

  BLURB

  A dark billionaire. A disillusioned beauty.

  …and the twisted game of seduction she can’t resist.

  The Velvet Rooms welcome you.

&nbs
p; She is paid to lie and seduce – but I don’t want her insincere moans and fake smiles.

  My investment in the elusive Velvet Rooms holds a promise for more.

  And I always get what I want. Always.

  No man ever made her scream and beg for release. A release that remained unattainable for her.

  She claims I’m asking for the impossible. I will prove her wrong.

  Because I know it’s not her body that needs to be conquered – it’s her mind.

  But our relationship rests on unsound footing, a contract and nothing more.

  And when my actions turn reckless, the vulnerable agreement may be our undoing…

  “Only fools rush in.”

  - Elvis Presley, “Can’t Help Falling In Love”

  Chapter 1

  Elene

  “Are you nervous?”

  Sandi regards me wide-eyed and grimacing, her thick false lashes fluttering in a state of distress while she hoists her bustier. Even as she tries to contain her boosted-up breasts in the form-fitting lingerie, her tits spill over the top of the cups. Her face twists when her long, manicured nails pinch the fleshy curves of her escaping cleavage and I can’t suppress a small giggle.

  “Are you sure this is going to be okay?” I ask, jutting my chin forward. “It looks uncomfortable.”

  Sandi replies with a dismissive wave.

  “Madam suggested it,” she says. “Besides, beauty knows no pain.”

  I nod in hesitant agreement and gauge my own ensemble in the full-length body mirror on the wall next to us. Unlike Sandi, I never invested in a boob job, so it’s much easier for me to wrap mine in tight-fitting clothing. Still, my outfit is anything but comfortable. A corset is laced tightly around my mid-section, transforming my outline into the perfect hourglass shape, but barely allowing me to breathe. I don’t plan on eating or drinking much tonight, but even if I wanted to, this getup wouldn’t allow it. I’m not as endowed as Sandi, but the corset disguises my small chest by forcing what cleavage I do have up until it’s nearly to my chin, and forcing my stomach to become completely flat.

  The bright, virginal white-laced corset, stockings, wrist cuffs, and four-inch heels all match. My rose-gold earrings match the little hooks lining the back of the corset and the somewhat tacky details on my heels.

  I skeptically survey my appearance in the mirror. White is not my color. With my pale complexion and platinum-blonde locks framing my face, it makes me look like a ghost. Black suits me better.

  Madam made the final decision about clothing colors; it wasn’t my choice. White was for the innocent angels, black for the naughty devils.

  Sandi is sporting the latter.

  “So, you’re not nervous?” she repeats her earlier question.

  Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I see her lips curve into a smile when I offer a tight nod. “Oh, yes, I am.”

  She sighs with relief. “It’s not just me then. Thank God.”

  “I have never done this,” I say, now turning to her. “I don’t even know what to expect out there.”

  Sandi huffs. “Well, at least you only have to talk to them, share a few drinks, listen to their boring stories. That should be easy enough, right?”

  I shrug. Truth is, I’m terrified. I have never done something like this before. I’ve never just spent time talking, drinking, providing company to someone without it also including being paid to have sex with them. I hate to admit it, but somehow it seems so much easier to fuck someone than to have to talk to them all evening.

  When I told Miss Barry about my concerns, she stopped me with a dismissive wave of her hand and told me to just treat every conversation like it was a normal first date. Engage in lighthearted conversation, but nothing too intimate or too risky, no talk about politics or religion, flirt a little, but not too much, provide a little touching here and there, but nothing too suggestive. I remind myself that I’m wearing white, after all, and need to adhere to the rules inside The Velvet Rooms.

  “Easy enough,” I say, repeating Sandi’s words.

  We stand in silence next to each other, both checking our profiles out one last time, before it’s time to stride through the door, our chests pushed out, heads held high, radiating confidence that is as fake as our eyelashes. We allow ourselves one last moment of weakness, our nervous gazes meeting again in the reflection of the mirror.

  “Godspeed,” Sandi says in a low voice.

  I smirk at her. “I don’t think He’d approve of this.”

  She giggles and gives me a little nudge in the side. She flinches when she makes contact with one of the steel strings of my corset instead of me.

  A hiss escapes her lips. “Damn!”

  “That’ll teach you,” I say. “Don’t mess with an angel in white.”

  “Play with the devils instead,” she counters, winking at me. “Let’s go, you little slut.”

  “Right back at ya.”

  She squeals when I land a loving slap on her firm ass. Years of friendship lessen the awkwardness of such a move, as Sandi and I go way back. We’ve even served clients together as part of a menage a trois, becoming far more intimate with one another than most best friends ever do.

  I follow behind her, admiring the artistic design her body is sculpted into by the lavish lingerie. It’s a harness design, enveloping her curves with an array of strings that travel across her skin like lacy snakes. The beautiful set is a lot more revealing than my outfit. Her bare ass is on display under a richly adorned garter belt, strapped to the left and right by black garters that hold up her sheer stockings.

  We exit the dressing room, joining a group of white angels and black devils in the foyer. As a group we gather in front of a massive dark red velvet curtain that shields our view from the main guest room. We all received a site tour a few days ago, but it was still being readied for the grand opening tonight. It was lacking the final touches for this evening, the drinks, bartenders, and most importantly, the guests.

  Tonight is different. It’s opening night—and they’re waiting for us.

  My heart rate quickens as the realization sets in.

  Focus.

  No mistakes. Not tonight.

  Chapter 2

  Damon

  They didn’t skimp on tonight’s event, that’s for sure.

  When I first saw the gray brick building a few months ago, I thought it was nothing but an old ruin. It looked like a miniature version of a rundown European castle built by an aristocrat who didn’t have the means to build a real palace centuries ago, and then didn’t have any heirs to keep the place intact for future generations. As it turns out, my assumption wasn’t too far off, only that the building isn’t as old as it appears and it wasn’t built by a family, but by local officials.

  Located on the outskirts of the city, the building was originally designed to be a themed hotel, one resembling a castle that was connected to a park-like setting with a swimming pool. It was meant to be a getaway for families who wanted to experience Europe, but couldn’t afford to travel to the Old Country. The whole idea sounds tacky to me, and I’m not surprised it never played out the way city planners intended. Once shut down, the building was left to deteriorate, that is, until the high-class escort agency approached the city with an attractive offer.

  My business intuition tells me that The Velvet Rooms will be extremely successful, I have great trust in The Velvet Rooms, and it shows in the money I was willing to invest in this venture. My financial adviser was less enthusiastic about this than he was about the deal with Scott and his tech start-up, but I’m pretty sure his reluctance was based on prejudice more than it was on actual business sense. Scott’s tech start-up may have been more conservative than The Velvet Rooms business model, but if you ask me, it’s not any less risky of a business investment.

  The Velvet Rooms has a lot going for it, starting with the location. It’s perfect for this type of dark, kinky establishment. The brick walls corroded by years of neglect and weather have been
extensively renovated, and now complement the modernized Victorian décor on the inside. It really resembles a miniature version of an old castle, the walls lined with damask wallpaper under the antique tin ceiling and underscored red lighting.

  Today is the first time I’ve seen the main room since that very first tour a few months ago. I was invited to check in on the progress of renovations since then, but I refused the offer, so as not to ruin the overarching effect of the grand opening.

  The agency has been heavily promoting tonight’s grand opening, as well as the club in general for the past few weeks. I have no inside knowledge about their client files, but based on the number of clients present tonight, it appears that Miss Barry was telling the truth when she said that the invitation process would be highly selective.

  The main receiving room housing the open bar, lounge, and public play stage provides enough space for about a hundred people, and maybe a few more. By my estimations, the number of guests invited tonight doesn’t total more than a fifth of that. There are two lounge areas, and I’ve positioned myself in a plush leather arm chair at the far end of the larger one of the two. The extravagant velvet-tufted button furniture rests on a platform, slightly elevated above the rest of the room, which allows for a good view across the entire main hall.

  Another gentleman, probably about fifteen years my senior, sits across from me. Like me, he has one arm resting on the backrest of the sofa and is holding a scotch in the other hand. We haven’t spoken a single word, though we greeted one another with a mute nod when we sat down. The majority of the other guests are scattered throughout the room, with plenty of distance between one another, doing the same thing, sitting in silence, nursing a drink. The only sound is the mellow jazz music playing in the background, occasionally interrupted by a whisper here and there, or the low intonation of a waitress taking an order.

  We’re still waiting for the main event, the big reveal of the heart and soul of The Velvet Rooms. Angels and devils.

  The girls.

  My anxious gaze rests on the heavy bloodred-colored velvet curtain shielding the guests from seeing what awaits behind it on the play stage. Only the occasional fluttering of the velvet drapes hints at the nervous tension and sexual energy lying behind it.