Relentless

by Skye Jordan

  Giselle cleared her throat softly, trying to find a response with a brain that was suddenly soaked in a combination of alcohol and need. Her heart beat in her ears. Her breath came quick and shallow.

  “Bet you like controlling a man like that. Like teasing and playing until he's begging you to suck him off.” His fingers feathered over her jaw, around the shell of her ear, down her neck, leaving a blinding trail of heat. “Bet you like the salty taste of a man when he fills your mouth. The powerful sensation of his release deep in your throat.”

  Giselle pulled her gaze from the excitement on the stage, her eyes narrowed on his face, and she gave in to the irresistible urge to lick her lips. His full mouth kicked up in a knowing smile, showing a small crescent of absolutely perfect teeth-sparkling white and completely straight. Which only made her think of the way Troy's had overlapped a tiny bit.

  Then he slid his thumb slowly along her still-wet lower lip, his eyes following, and Troy slipped out of her mind again.

  “That mouth of yours was created to suck cock,” the stranger murmured. “Full lips, strong jaw… Bet your mouth wrapped around a cock would take a man directly to heaven.” He paused and barely whispered, “Want to go to heaven with me, angel?”

  Yes.

  Absolutely.

  “No.” The word came out weak and hesitant, so she said it again. “No. I'm just here to-”

  “Maybe you'd rather get sucked.” The backs of his fingers traveled up and down the side of her neck, flooding her with heat and tightening her breasts. “Do you want my hot mouth on your pussy? Tasting you? Licking you? Fucking you with my tongue? Fingering you open until I find your clit, then taking it between my lips and sucking…sucking…sucking…? Oh, so good. I can almost taste you.”

  “Please stop.” Her skin had become so sensitive, she couldn't take the slide of his fingers on her neck and covered his hand with hers, pulling it away. “I'm just here for a little research. I'm not interested in participating, as inviting as it may be. I'm sorry.”

  He'd twisted their fingers around until his big hand covered hers, but he held it lightly. The calluses scratching her skin confirmed her theory of him being a self-made man. And that piece of information, more than any other single thing she'd learned, was a huge turn-on.

  “Research,” he said, his voice entertained, possibly a little condescending. “Looking for some ideas to spice up the bedroom at home?”

  “It's for work.” She picked up her glass and drank. She should have stopped at two glasses of wine so she had more control over her barriers. This intimate pressure from a stranger made her want to run. And it was too soon to run. If she left now, she'd walk away feeling stupid and weak and ashamed.

  “What kind of work do you do?” he asked.

  The fact that he didn't recognize her eased a sliver of stress. “I'm in entertainment.”

  “Ah,” he said, sitting back, his hand still lying over hers, his fingers stroking absently. “You work at a club like this, then?”

  She laughed, relaxing a little. “No.”

  “Stripper?” he asked with a teasing edge now. “Escort?”

  She laughed harder. “No, look-”

  On stage, dual climaxes hit, the performers' vocal enjoyment drowning Giselle's brush-off and shooting what was left of her nerves to hell. She was officially fried.

  “I'm in entertainment too,” the devil said, drawing her attention back to him once the moans and groans died down.

  “What?” she asked, unable to follow the conversation in such a bizarre setting. The overstimulation dragged her mind in five different directions, the dim lighting cast shadows over everything and everyone, and the alcohol was starting to mess with her head. She focused on his grin. A hot, teasing, I'm-so-messing-with-you grin that sparked her impish tendencies. “Entertainment, huh? Do you work at a place like this?”

  He chuckled, and the warm sound tingled through her belly. “No.”

  “Stripper, then? Escort, maybe?”

  “No.” He laughed the word, then grew a little more serious. “I'm in movies.”

  “Oh.” She drew out the word as if everything made sense now. She grinned and pointed at him with a lazy gesture. “Porn. I could totally see that.”

  He dropped his head back and laughed. The sound was so deep, so rich, so absolutely buoyant it turned just about every head in the room and made Giselle smile. And, yes, once again, she heard a little of Troy in his laugh.

  “Oh damn,” he said, his voice light and happy. “That was good.”

  The sizzle in her belly told her it was time to leave. This was the kind of man who could get her in big trouble.

  She picked up her purse. “Look, it was nice talking to you, but I'm about done here.”

  “Already? You could have gotten that”-he swung a loose gesture toward the stage-“on the Internet and saved yourself fifty bucks in drinks.”

  He was right. “Well, I tried.” She stood. “It just didn't turn out to be what I needed.”

  “Why don't you tell me what you're looking for? If I can't give it to you, I promise to point you in the right direction.”

  She shook her head and reached for the glass, grabbing a sip for the road. “I don't think you can help me.”

  She'd gotten two steps toward the door when he said, “Hope you find what you're looking for, angel. The experience makes the performer.”

  Her feet stopped, his last sentence resonating in her head. In her heart. An expression she'd heard while filming her music videos. “What?” She turned to face him. “What does that mean?”

  One shoulder rose in a lazy shrug. “That's why you're here, right? To gain the experience of a swingers club so you can accurately portray it…somewhere else?”

  “I'm not an actress.”

  He laughed softly, but the sound wasn't nearly as happy as it had been moments ago. One finger rose to slide around the rim of her half-finished snakebite, his gaze following the motion as if drifting in thought. “We're all actors to some degree, aren't we?”

  That was an insightful statement. And if he was in movies, he had to know more about acting than she did-because she knew a thimbleful in an ocean of information. She didn't even act onstage in concert. While she rehearsed with a choreographer for flow and audience engagement, everything she did was natural. Everything she did was what she'd do anyway, maybe just in a different order or from a different location onstage.

  This devil could easily be full of shit-they were in Las Vegas, after all, and everything here was one type of façade or another-but he also had to be someone to have a membership. Which meant he might be a great source of information.

  She strolled back to stand in front of him and crossed her arms. “Go on.”

  “It sounds like you're looking for the same input method actors use-drawing on an experience to research a role, gaining the emotional, psychological, physical, sensory information they need to transfer into the character they're portraying.”

  When he paused, she said, “Maybe I am.”

  His smile flashed, then instantly faded. “So, why don't you tell me what kind of role you're going for? If you can't find the experience here, there are several other clubs in the city that might work for you.”

  She glanced away. “I can't go to those other clubs.”

  The curtains reopened, and a new couple wandered onto the stage. She didn't think she could handle another show like the last. Not without coming apart at the seams.

  She heaved the air from her lungs and faced the devil, but she stared at the ink disappearing beneath his shirt, wondering what he'd depicted so permanently on his skin.

  “It's…just a part in a music video,” she said, “which includes simulated sex. There will be cameras and lights and costumes and makeup and crew and…”

  Her throat grew so tight with the admission, she had to pause to deliberately draw air. She licked her lips. He was staring again, those dark eyes so intense, it felt like he was digging around i
n her soul.

  “Anyway,” she said, growing uncomfortable, “I'll figure something out.”

  “So,” he said, catching her just as she turned for the door again. She turned back to find her half-empty drink in his hand. “Why didn't you just bring your man and get it on in one of the rooms? Most guys would jump at that opportunity”-his gaze slid along her body again-“especially with a woman as gorgeous as you.”

  “I don't have a man in my life at the moment.”

  He laughed. “Bullshit. A woman like you always has a man-or five-in her life.”

  “Actually, I do have five, but they're my coworkers…or, more like employees…not my lovers. My career is all-consuming.”

  “That's…a serious injustice to all of mankind.”

  She laughed. “Just a tad overstated, but thank you.” She glanced toward the stage, where a man was hooking a woman to a metal screen with cuffs at all four corners. “Ugh. This is too much. I'll figure something else out.”

  “I have the perfect solution.”

  She met his gaze. “Unless it's a solution that doesn't include screwing you, I'm not interested.”

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “If that's your line in the sand, I'll respect it. And I'll still give you the experience you need.” With his eyes on hers, he finished off the snakebite and set the glass down. “If you want to nail that part, angel, I'm exactly the man you need.”

  This was so not what Giselle had planned for her excursion tonight. And as the devil pulled open the door to a room called Indulgence, he also kept what felt like a possessive grip on her waist. A grip that created opposing sensations in her body and mind.

  You've gone too far, a little voice whispered in her head. What are you thinking?

  Inside, the room was illuminated by hundreds of candles and subtle cove lighting. It smelled of exotic flowers and soft spices. Giselle fumbled for something to do with her hands since she'd stopped at the front desk and left all her belongings in a locker. The guide hadn't shown Giselle this space, probably because it wasn't one of the most popular. While the dungeon had been filled with dozens of couples and several groups, Indulgence held four other couples and one threesome, each in various stages of undress, some engaging in full-on sex, others performing oral sex, and still others toying with foreplay. The music was far more sedate, quieter and sexier while still edgy.

  The existence of clothing gave Giselle a little room to breathe. When she'd taken the tour, the guide had explained that clothing was only allowed in the main salon and two other rooms in the club. All other areas required partial or full nudity to enter. But even without being forced to strip, her chest felt as if it were wrapped in steel.

  She still wasn't sure exactly how this man had charmed her just enough and in just the right way to get her back here, but her sex ached, and all she wanted to do was turn into him and lose herself, yet she wasn't ready to make the first move. And wasn't that just a big fat laughable irony? The woman who was considered borderline animalistic in her single-minded ambition to hone her craft and build her career didn't have enough self-confidence to take the first step with a guy.

  The devil's hand slid up her back and beneath her hair, where he took a gentle but possessive hold on her neck. Giselle curled her fingers into fists and dug her nails into her palms to quell her jittering nerves.

  One wall of the room held platforms with mattresses and ornate chairs. Mirrors were scattered throughout the space, reflecting darkness and debauchery. A few private rooms had been tucked into corners, where drapes were gathered to one side in a pretty swag. The sultry duo, Krewella, floated on the air.

  The most eye-catching elements of the room were three thick poles stretching from floor to ceiling, each spearing a lighted glass platform. One of the mini stages had been raised off the floor twenty feet or so, where a woman rode her partner bronco style.

  “You are wound wire tight, angel,” he murmured, as they strolled around the edges of the room.

  His hand massaged her neck, and she wanted to touch him, but she wasn't sure how, didn't understand the rules or the etiquette in this strange new land, not to mention one of the reasons she'd come in the first place-that it had been so long since she'd had physical contact with a man, she feared she'd forgotten what to do and how to do it.

  “You'll be uncomfortable during the video shoot too,” he said. “And you probably won't have as much alcohol in you as you've got tonight.”

  They passed bodies writhing and rocking. Groans filled the air, making Giselle's hands fist. A string of pleasurable mewls made her sex clench.

  “I want you to take that little voyeuristic streak of yours,” he said quietly, “and soak in the material. Let the anxiety build. Let it grow and expand until you feel like you're going to pop. Until it becomes bigger than you are. Then, you'll focus your mind on whatever purpose you choose and drive all the potential energy from that anxiety into your target.”

  They paused beside one of the glass platforms at floor level. A purple-blue neon light framed the base, and a clear wall created a safe border. He turned toward her, cupped her face in both hands, and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. His eyes were warm and rich, rimmed in sooty black lashes, his gaze so completely intent and focused and compassionate.

  “Now, put theory to practice. Stop fighting the anxiety and use it. Give in to it, harness it, and let it drive.”

  He paused, watching her, waiting for her to follow his instructions.

  Giselle took in a deep breath, relishing his masculine scent, and let it out slowly, purposefully releasing the tension knotting her shoulders. She gathered all the anxiety and stress and fear scattered throughout her body, drawing it in and focusing on him the way she would focus on whoever the producers cast as her lover for the music video.

  “Good.” The single word drew her gaze to his lips, and they moved slowly with, “Now where does it take you?”

  Almost without thought, she lifted her hands and pressed them against his abdomen. She shivered at the first intimate skin-to-skin contact. He was as firm and supple and hot as he looked, and Giselle sighed in utter appreciation. She slid her hands beneath his open shirt, then stepped close and let her hands wander. And, God, he felt more amazing than her altered senses could fully appreciate.

  “Very good.” His lids grew heavy, eyes hot with lust. “As you've so perfectly demonstrated, giving in to the fear is the fastest way to regain control. Let's take the next step.”

  He slipped one finger beneath the strap of her dress and lifted it off her shoulder. Then lifted his opposite hand to the other strap. Giselle sipped a breath and covered his hand with hers. If that fabric fell over her shoulder, the dress would slide to her feet.

  By the spark of challenge brightening his eyes and the dare edging his smile, he already knew that. “This is the next step, angel. Unless that simulated sex scene is going to take place clothed…”

  Damn. Her eyes slid closed.

  She took a breath.

  Bit the inside of her lip.

  And released his hand.

  But he didn't move.

  “Open your eyes,” he said quietly. “Are you in control or is your anxiety? Choose yes or choose no, but own your decision.”

  Anger and fear blended. Her mind hyperfocused on where she was and what she was doing. Then she channeled her options-moving forward or backing out. Backing out left her right where she was when she'd come in. That was unacceptable.

  She opened her eyes and met his directly.

  He took a second to scan them, read them, then gifted her with a full, gorgeous smile. “I knew you had it in you.”

  And flicked the other strap off her shoulder.

  Her dress eased down her breasts, her belly, slowed as it glided over her hips, then vanished into a pool of darkness at her feet.

  And the devil's hot gaze followed every inch of its retreat.

  Giselle forced her eyes to stay open when they wanted to close, but let them blur i
n the distance. And her mind raced.

  What am I doing?

  What in the hell am I doing?

  Air hissed through his teeth, and Giselle forced her eyes to focus. But he was still scanning her body, his hungry gaze stroking her like a touch and kicking up heat.

  “Fucking beautiful.” The raw sincerity in his voice pushed a thrill through her veins. Then he offered his hand and gestured to the glass platform. “Are you ready to take your stage?”

  Panic trilled along every nerve. She glanced sideways, found a couple along the edge of the room watching them, then looked around, and found everyone watching. She swallowed, met his eyes again, and admitted, “I don't know if I can do this.”

  He lowered his hand. His voice was patient, but his gaze was direct. “If you can't do it now, here, in the dark with a stranger you'll never see again, around a bunch of other strangers you'll never see again, you can kiss that video role good-bye. Because when you shoot that simulated sex scene, there will be lights, cameras, and action with two dozen stagehands and cameramen looking on.”

  Giselle cut her gaze to the floor and swallowed again. Her throat was dry, her stomach felt raw. This wasn't all that different from the extreme butterflies she used to get-sometimes still got-before a performance. And if she wanted to take the next step in her career, she had to get past this.

  Bigger deals and bigger venues went to bigger names. She'd maxed out the leverage on her talent. She was considered one of the strongest voices in the business, one of the freshest songwriters of the decade. But that only sold so many tickets. Following sold more. Lots more. And Giselle needed a bigger following.

  Sexy sold. And as Chad liked to tell her, over and over and over again, she had to be the woman other women wanted to be, the woman men dreamed of. That would give her the following she needed to break out.

  “Your call, angel,” the devil said, sweeping one hand through her hair. “What's it going to be?”