by Sarah Piper
She’d just finished making the last few notations when Sasha burst into her room, a ball of sunshine and smiles.
Charley shoved her work under the bed and plucked out her earbuds, forcing a big grin. “It’s nine in the morning on your day off. Why aren’t you sleeping? Something must be up.”
“How did you not hear all that racket?” Sasha asked. “They’ve been setting up for twenty minutes!”
“I had my music on. Who’s been setting up?”
“Delivery guys.” Sasha grabbed her hands and hauled her off the bed. “Come on. You’ve got to see this.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Pretty sure Mr. Already Forgotten is not so keen on being forgotten.”
A spark of intrigue warmed Charley’s insides, and the minute she stepped out of her bedroom, the scent of roses enveloped her in a sweet, heady cloud.
“Holy roses,” she gasped, the sight nearly taking her breath away.
Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. She’d never seen so many roses in one place before—not even at a wedding. Deep reds, sunny yellows, fiery oranges—vases full of lush, gorgeous blooms lined the living room walls, set up on pedestals of different heights. The effect was incredible, like a vista of autumn hills in miniature.
It reminded her of the Catskills—the lookout point on Cole Diamante’s land where Dorian had bared his supernatural secrets.
Emotion tightened her throat, her eyes glazing with tears. It was crazy and over-the-top, but it was so damn beautiful it made her heart ache.
“Open the card!” Sasha bounced on her toes, handing Charley a cream-colored envelope. “The suspense is killing me!”
Grinning, Charley slid open the flap and removed the note.
Ms. D’Amico,
Now that I have your attention, I thought I might tempt you with another offer.
Option one: you refuse my gift, continue to ignore my calls, and thoroughly ruin my day.
Option two: you join me for dinner and a sleepover tomorrow night at my home in Tribeca. There’s one room in particular I’m dying to show you—a dark, secret place that’s perfect for my beautiful bad girl.
I promise it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—not even in your wildest fantasies…
So… what will it be, love?
Option one, or option two?
“Well? What did he say?” Sasha tried to grab the note, but Charley quickly stuffed it in her bra, her cheeks already hot from the naughty promises laced in every word.
“That is none of your business.” She swatted Sasha on the butt and laughed, then scooted back to her bedroom for a some much-needed privacy.
“I don’t know who sent those flowers,” Sasha called after her, “but if you don’t call him right now, I will!”
“Don’t even think about it!” Charley teased, but she didn’t need further prompting. The roses were the last straw. There was no way she could go another day—another minute—without calling that crazy, ostentatious, ridiculously hot vampire.
He answered on the first ring.
“So you’ve received my invitation,” he said, his voice low and sexy in her ear.
“Option two,” she said. “Always option two.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement, love. I’ll send Jameson for you at eight o’clock tomorrow evening. Wear something… comfortable.”
“Um. Should I be afraid?”
“No.” Dorian laughed, so rough and gravelly it made her wet. “You should be utterly terrified.”
Chapter Forty-Three
“Three conditions,” Dorian said, his firm tone leaving no room for discussion.
“Conditions?” Charley gulped as he led her down a corridor in the basement of his Tribeca penthouse—all part of the building he owned. She hadn’t even seen his actual apartment yet; the moment she’d stepped out of Jameson’s limo, Dorian whisked her away without so much as a kiss hello.
“Normally I require a signed agreement,” he continued, “but I’ll make an exception. Just don’t mention it to Aiden.”
“A signed agreement? Aiden?” Charley’s mouth went dry, a mix of curiosity and anxiety roiling in her stomach. She had no idea Dorian could be so… official about things.
Rough sex, dirty talk, bondage? Hell yes, she could get into all that—even with a vampire. Especially her vampire.
But a secret room? That required signed forms? That his best friend, business partner, and fellow vampire knew about?
Just how kinky is this man?
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Charley said, second-guessing her decision to meet him tonight. “Let’s go out for dinner instead. Suddenly I’m craving dim sum.”
“The conditions are simple, really,” Dorian said, ignoring her protests. They’d reached a door at the end of the corridor, and he punched a lengthy alarm code into the keypad above the handle—a code she thankfully didn’t see. It beeped and flashed green, and he cracked open the door.
“One,” Dorian said, turning to face her. His muscled body blocked her view into the dark room, but she could still make out the faint glow of colored lights, the hum of electronics in the distance. “What I’m about to show you is highly confidential. You must never tell a soul what we do in here.”
Charley’s knees weakened, but she nodded, anticipation barely winning out over anxiety, both rushing hot and prickly through her bloodstream.
“Two, I make the rules. For your own safety, you must obey me.”
“But… rules?” Charley’s voice was creaky and thin, her lips dry. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What’s the third condition?”
Dorian winked—definitely not a good sign—and reached inside the doorway to grab something. When he finally revealed it, Charley’s heart dropped straight into her stomach.
“Three, protective gear must be worn at all times.” With a wicked grin, Dorian handed her a helmet and a set of kneepads, then fastened a thick black bracelet to her wrist. “Heart rate monitor.”
Charley trembled inside, her heart already pounding, sending the monitor into a frenzy. The kneepads were light and flexible, but the helmet wasn’t. The thing had a face shield that felt like bulletproof glass.
Whatever lay beyond that doorway was serious business.
“Frightened, little mouse?” he teased, clearly enjoying her torment.
Still. After so much build-up, there was no way she could walk away now. She had to know what awaited her in the darkness.
“I don’t scare off that easily, Mr. Redthorne.” With a defiant smirk, she pulled the kneepads on and fastened the helmet, hoping he didn’t notice the tremble in her hands.
Could she do this? Give herself over completely to whatever dark fantasies lived in Dorian’s wicked mind?
How far would he take it?
How far would she let him take it?
Her brain was screaming at her to run, to call the whole game off. But she’d missed him too much, missed his kiss and his touch, and beneath her jeans, she throbbed with fresh desire.
“Are you ready, Ms. D’Amico?” Dorian lifted her face shield and took her hand. She couldn’t read his expression; he’d gone neutral.
Charley closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She’d had plenty of practice shutting off her brain, but she’d never ignored her instincts. Her physical being. Her desire. And right now, despite her trepidations, that desire was on red alert.
Whatever he’s got in store, you fucking want it, girl.
Opening her eyes, she flashed another smirk. “Show me to my demise, Mr. Redthorne.”
“With pleasure.” Dorian led her inside and turned on the lights, bathing the room in a soft red glow that gave off an upscale club vibe. “But first, a drink.”
Charley shivered, her nerves firing off in rapid succession as Dorian led her to the bar, gesturing for her to take a seat as he stepped behind it to play bartender.
A bar. Seriously. His freaky, secret sex dungeon had a ba
r.
It was like a club, just as she’d thought. A kinky, sexy-as-hell club that Charley—now that she was here—couldn’t wait to explore.
But the moment she looked around—really looked around—her nervous anticipation turned into a giggle, and within ten seconds, that giggle exploded into unabashed, belly-aching laughter.
“Oh my God,” she said. “This is a game room. As in… video games.”
With a shameless grin, Dorian sliced a lime and dropped it into her drink. “What else would it be?”
Charley couldn’t get her laughter under control. “But… the helmet? And the whole ‘the first rule of the secret room is don’t talk about the secret room’ thing?”
Dorian handed her a Sapphire and tonic. Pouring himself a scotch, he said, “Nothing I’m about to show you—including the gear you’re wearing—is on the market. The game I have in mind for us is called Midnight Marauder, and it’s still in beta. If the FierceConnect board knew I’d let you see it without signing the non-disclosure, they’d probably fire me from my own company. Cheers, love.”
Charley clinked her glass to his, her laughter finally subsiding. After a long pull of her drink, she set down the glass and met Dorian’s eyes. “I have a confession, but you’re not allowed to laugh.”
“Hmm.” He leaned across the bar, trailing a finger along her collarbone. “I hope it’s about your naughtiest fantasies.”
A shiver overtook her, her body responding immediately to his touch, igniting a firestorm across her skin. God, she’d missed him. What had she been thinking, blowing him off all week?
Feeling the blush in her cheeks, she said, “I thought you had some kind of… room.”
“Room?”
“A secret, kinky, sex-dungeon room.”
Dorian’s eyes glittered, his mouth wet from the scotch. “My, my, Ms. D’Amico. You have quite the imagination.”
“It’s your fault, Mr. Redthorne.”
“I’d hate to disappoint you. Perhaps we can make a compromise.”
Charley narrowed her eyes.
“You have to wear protective gear,” he said, his voice dark and low. “But you don’t have to wear clothing.”
“You are a scoundrel and a reprobate,” she teased, hopping off the barstool. “Now that you got me here under false pretenses, the least you could do is give me the tour.”
“My pleasure. Follow me.”
Unlike Dorian’s sprawling manor, the game room boasted no fine art, no priceless ancient statues, no hand-woven tapestries from dynasties long past. Instead, it was sleek and modern, with black padded walls and surround-sound speakers. The bar took up one side of the room, complete with cocktail tables and chairs. A massive curved screen dominated the front of the room, and at the back, Charley spotted a half-dozen old stand-up arcade games—Ms. Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, Space Invaders, and a few she didn’t recognize.
“This is incredible,” Charley said. “Is this where you do your product testing?”
“One of the places, yes. I’ve got an entire floor of virtual gaming rooms in our office. We do beta testing for developers looking to launch new games and gaming technology on the FierceConnect platform.”
“So you don’t make the actual games?”
“No, we make the distribution and social platform for them. Gamers in every country can sign up, friend each other, buy games through our network, set up tournaments, design and test new games and modules, and play together in real time. Partnering with developers allows us to offer our users a huge selection of games, and it gives the developers access to our millions of users, which makes everyone happy all around.”
Charley was beyond impressed. “I had no idea you were such a nerd, Mr. Redthorne.”
“Believe it or not, video games are one of the few things I actually love about this era. Besides…” Dorian grinned, eyes sparkling with new mischief. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you gamers make the best lovers? Excellent manual dexterity and control, not to mention our dogged persistence in the face of a worthy opponent.”
He ran a hand over the curve of her ass, but Charley sidestepped him. She’d been wet since she’d stepped out of the limo; at this rate, she’d never get to see the actual games.
“Less flirting, more gaming,” she scolded.
Dorian hit a button on the wall, and two round platforms rose up from the floor in front of the screen, each about eight feet in diameter, with waist-high control panels that looked like something out of Star Trek.
Before she could make another nerd joke, the screen lit up with a logo written in bloody, obnoxious lettering, brightening the entire room.
MIDNIGHT MARAUDER… TIME TO GET HOUSED!
“It’s a virtual reality, supernatural street fight,” Dorian explained. “Each creature has different powers—for example, vampires can blur, demons can conjure fire, shifters can alternate between human and animal form—so choose your avatar wisely. Anything you do with your body here will translate onto the screen, activating your avatar’s different abilities. The more brutal you fight, the more entertaining it will be.”
Charley laughed. “I see we’re playing in full testosterone mode.”
“It’s the only way to play, love.” Dorian helped her up onto one of the platforms, then stepped onto the other one. “Care to place a wager?”
“Hard pass.” Charley touched the control panel in front of her, and a series of white lights illuminated the dashboard. “I’ve never played. And you basically invented this stuff.”
“I’ve only played a few times.” Dorian took a pair of fingerless gloves from his center console, nodding for Charley to do the same. They were covered in electrodes and sensors, and the moment Charley put them on, her heart rate monitor lit up in tandem.
The game finished loading on the screen, and a voice boomed through the speakers, rattling through her bones. “Welcome back, Bone Crusher. Are you ready to brawl?”
“Bone Crusher? Are you serious?” Charley scanned Dorian’s stats. His avatar was a wolf-like creature with massive jaws and clawed fists the size of wrecking balls. “Twelve hundred forty-three hours of game play. You call that a few times?”
“It’s a demanding job,” he teased, securing his helmet and flipping the face shield down.
Charley did the same. The game sharpened before her eyes, so crystal clear it looked real. “These graphics are incredible. I can’t even imagine the time and talent that goes into something like this.”
“A whole team and then some.”
She waved her hands at the screen, watching as her temporary avatar’s hands mimicked the movement in real time.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I think I’m about to get my ass kicked.”
“Don’t worry,” Dorian said, his maddening laugh doing nothing to alleviate her concerns. “I’m an excellent coach.”
After Charley set up her avatar—a horned demon princess she named Miss Demeanor—Dorian gave her a crash course, showing her how to work all the controls on her gloves. The game was incredibly detailed and accurate; every time she punched, kicked, or dropped to a crouch, her onscreen likeness followed suit, flashing her heart rate and game points as she did.
After a few practice rounds, “Miss Demeanor” finally started to get the hang of it, incorporating some of her special powers, like conjuring balls of hellfire and “smoking out” of her body when she was in danger of dying.
Charley had never been in a man’s sexual playroom, but she had a feeling this was even better. Fifteen minutes into the game, she was hooked, and she loved seeing this unexpectedly playful side of her stern, commanding vampire.
“Okay,” she said after she’d landed her first surprise hit, knocking Bone Crusher on his ass with a fireball. “This is kind of awesome.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Dorian paused the game and flipped up his face shield. “Time to up the stakes.”
Charley knew that look. It flooded her core with molten heat. “You�
�re so transparent, Bone Crusher.”
“Option one,” he said. “We shut off the game, head upstairs, and have dinner like civilized people.”
“And option two?”
“Winner takes all… of the loser’s clothes. One piece for every knockout. And the loser must do the winner’s bidding for the rest of the night, no questions asked, no talking back, no disobedience.”
“Tough call, Bone Crusher,” she teased, flipping down her face shield. “But I’m gonna have to go with option two.”
They sparred back and forth, trading hit for hit, until a quick error in judgment left Bone Crusher wide open. Miss Demeanor dropped to her knees and lunged forward, catching her opponent around the legs. The unexpected move sent him skittering backward, tripping over the curb, and landing on the sidewalk, flat on his back.
The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Oooh, Bone Crusher! You got housed!”
Charley laughed. “Lose the shirt, Bone Crusher.”
“I hardly think that’s fair,” he said, his avatar struggling back to his feet. “We’re just warming up!”
Taking advantage of his lapse in attention, she launched another fireball, knocking him back on his ass.
“Housed again, Bone Crusher!” the speakers boomed. “Your game is off tonight.”
“Your game isn’t the only thing I want off tonight,” Charley said. “Lose the pants.”
“I don’t think so, love.” After all his tough, winner-take-all talk, Bone Crusher abruptly turned off the game, stripped off his equipment, and leaped onto Charley’s platform, sweeping her into his arms and bringing his mouth to her ear. “Since you have a fondness for playing dirty, Miss Demeanor, I’ve got a new game in mind.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Charley had won the game fair and square, yet minutes later, she was naked and blindfolded, flat on her back on the polished oak bar.