The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3)

by Nikki Sloane

  The corner of his sexy mouth quirked up. “No, it doesn’t look like it tonight.” He jerked his head toward the doorway. “Come on. Let me show you upstairs.”

  The wooden staircase was ornate and had to be original to the old, converted house. The stair treads creaked and groaned loudly as we ascended. I didn’t know if it was a stupid question, but I was too curious not to ask and lowered my voice to a hush. “Is everyone gonna be naked up there? Will people be fucking?”

  Amusement dashed through his eyes. “I doubt it. I mean, it’s still pretty early. Things usually start happening around midnight.”

  He was right.

  No one was having sex or even naked. It was because there wasn’t a soul on this floor, other than a staff member sitting on a stool at the top of the stairs. The second story of the house was smaller than the main floor, and the few rooms were basically more lounge areas. The only doors on this floor were for the bathrooms.

  The biggest room had an impressive stone fireplace and a huge black leather sectional in front of it. An oversized matching ottoman rested in the center of the U shape the couch formed. Like the rest of the club, the space was tasteful. It was sexy with mood lighting and sultry music wafted from speakers mounted in the corners.

  The biggest difference between this lounge and the one downstairs was what rested on the side tables. Tissues. Antibacterial wipes. And . . .

  “Is that lube?” I asked.

  “I think so, yeah.” He gave me an evaluating look, maybe as curious about my reaction as I was about him. “So, thus ends the tour.” He took a sip of his Manhattan. “Thoughts so far?”

  “It’s,” I had no idea how to put it in words, “interesting.”

  He understood. “Not what you were expecting?”

  I nodded. “Not in a bad way. Just . . . different.”

  He shifted on his feet, bringing him close and cutting down on the space between us. His voice dipped low, making it sound impossibly sexy. “Don’t be disappointed. The night is young.”

  “I’m not disappointed.”

  His gaze roamed over my face before settling on my eyes, and I’d swear he could see right past the lie I’d just told. “Sure you are. You thought there’d be whips and chains. Maybe a dungeon, or an orgy.” A gentle smile tilted his lips. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting that stuff, but it’s better this way. There’s a lot I’d like to show you, and it’s easier to learn how to swim in the shallow end.”

  How did he do that? His words filled me with this dark, impatient craving.

  Clay’s hand slid onto my back, then down over the curve of my ass, squeezing me just hard enough to remind me of the marks he’d put there.

  “I really like your enthusiasm, though,” he whispered.

  Fuck, I nearly melted.

  But instead of doing anything else with me, he glanced at his watch and announced it was time for his meeting. I followed him back down the noisy staircase and into the main floor lounge, then sat down in the chair he directed me to, while he sat on the couch.

  While we waited, I surveyed my surroundings in greater detail. The music was loud as it streamed through the open doorway to the nightclub room next door, but I could also hear activity in the red room down the hall. Perhaps they were finishing setup for the show.

  One of the doors to the private rooms across the way was closed now. In use, he’d said. There was a tall, narrow window framed between the two doors, but it was dark. Was it a functional window where the shade was drawn, or had it been painted black? I couldn’t see any bodies moving beyond it, and suddenly that was all I wanted.

  I’d been at this sex club for thirty minutes, and other than the woman who’d flashed her pussy on the dancefloor, I hadn’t seen any sex. It was so much tamer than what I’d done with Clay this afternoon, not to mention . . . this all felt normal. It only ramped up my sex drive.

  And I felt like I was fucking starving.

  Clay’s client was a skinny man in his fifties, who had a ponytail and wore black leather pants over his lanky legs. The guy’s southern accent was thick—much deeper than a Nashville one, and I wondered what he sounded like when he ordered his submissive around.

  As he evaluated the different swatches of fabric Clay had given him, the man talked about wanting extra padding on the kneeler. His sub was older, he said, and he wanted to be careful of her knees.

  That little detail caused unexpected warmth to slide through me.

  Up until now, I only knew the commercialized stuff when it came to BDSM. Porn and countless movies had conditioned me to think only young, beautiful people were allowed to play, to enjoy. But this guy and his older sub were real people—not the manufactured stories I’d seen. I was surprised by how much better I liked reality.

  So, I wouldn’t call Ponytail Guy good looking, but . . . was it strange I found him sort of attractive in his own way? His confidence and ease were undeniable. Or maybe it was the level of care he had for his partner. As the men continued their conversation, the guy revealed his wife was currently at the table in the other room with their friends. He’d snuck away for this meeting, because he was having Clay build the custom piece as a surprise for her.

  While details were hammered out, the window across the room abruptly lit up, and my gaze flew to it like it was magnetized.

  Holy shit.

  SIX

  The woman was curvy and, although she was larger than I was, she had beautiful proportions. She wasn’t entirely naked because her skirt was bunched around her waist, and a black collar wrapped around her throat, but everywhere else she was bare. Her large, sexy tits swayed each time the man behind her slammed his hips against her ass. Since she was bent over, she braced herself on the window with her hands, her fingers splayed out on the glass.

  Had she sensed me? The woman peered out through the glass, her gaze searching, and when she found I was watching, she locked in on me. A sultry smile bowed on her lips, wordlessly announcing how she wanted me to watch.

  Jesus, I was on fire, but I didn’t dare look away.

  The way the man fucked her was rough. The slap of his body rippled and reverberated across her skin, and his face twisted with pleasure. The woman definitely liked it, but it seemed like she was enjoying me even more. To put a finer point on it, she leaned forward and flattened her breasts to the glass. Her tits became two perfect circles of pale skin surrounding her dusky nipples.

  Clay’s voice was sharp enough to break through. “Lilith.”

  My attention snapped to him, only to discover both men on the couch were looking at me expectantly. Clay had been sketching something on a notepad he must have been carrying in his suit pocket, but his pen was frozen mid-stroke.

  The client laughed. “Your sub didn’t hear a word I said.”

  I jolted. He thought I was Clay’s submissive?

  Was I?

  I didn’t correct the guy. Instead, I pinched my knees together and squeezed against the ache the thought of belonging to Clay caused. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I, uh, got distracted.”

  Clay helped me out. “He was complimenting your shoes.”

  “Oh, thank you.” I smiled, hoping to appear grateful and not embarrassed.

  I smoothed my hands down my skirt, suddenly not sure what to do with them. Even though my gaze was fixed on the men, I could feel the man and woman next door fucking against the window. It was like they were pressed against me, trying to get inside my brain.

  Clay’s pen resumed moving, and it gave me something else to focus on. He drew in bold, confident strokes as he explained where he’d place the attachment rings.

  “Good.” The client nodded. “She still hasn’t mastered how to stay still.”

  The understanding look Clay exchanged with the man made goosebumps lift on my legs. God, did I want to know what he’d do to me if I couldn’t stay still. Would he give me a disapproving look over the top of his glasses? Maybe use the ruler again?
Or would it be something with an even sharper bite?

  I clamped my teeth to hold in my moan.

  When the discussion finished, Clay promised to email over a rendered proof by the end of next week, and once he had approval, he’d be able to come up with a delivery date. The men shook hands, I nodded my polite goodbye, and then the man was off to return to his unsuspecting wife.

  My gaze darted to the window. The couple was still there, still fucking, and her gaze was still pinned on me.

  “I’m surprised,” I tried not to sound breathless, “that you like coming here.”

  Clay pocketed the notepad and pen and settled back in his seat, his drink in hand. “Why’s that?”

  “You said you’re a private person.” I motioned to the window. “Doing something like that’s not exactly private.”

  “No, it’s not.” He smirked. “But I don’t do that.”

  “What?” I asked. “Lift the shade when you—”

  “I don’t fuck while other people watch.” His tone was serious. “I’d rather do the watching.” He blinked slowly, his eyes heavy with desire, and swirled the drink in his glass. “What about you? Is that your kink?”

  “Watching?”

  He paused, and—shit—his intense look trapped me in place. “Being watched?”

  This question was too hard to answer while looking at him, and my gaze fell to the glass tabletop. Even there, I saw his muted reflection watching me. He was so good looking, it wasn’t fair.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’m not shy.”

  Had he been holding his breath? His chest rose and fell like he’d let out a deep breath. “No, you’re not.”

  I lifted both my gaze and my shoulder. “I’ll try anything once.”

  “Is that so?” Electricity crackled between us, and it intensified as his attention swung to the window. “Prove it.”

  Oh, Jesus. My mouth went dry and my voice faltered, even as I wanted it to sound strong. “How?”

  “She seems to like you. Why don’t you go to the window and give her a kiss?”

  I nearly laughed with delight. It wasn’t just easy and safe—it was sexy too. “Okay.”

  The woman watched me with interest as I stood and sauntered toward the window, and a smile grew on her lips as I closed in. When I put my hands on the glass, she followed suit, placing her hands on the other side right where mine were. Like we were touching.

  I leaned forward and planted my lips against the glass, leaving behind the faintest stain of lipstick. As soon as I drew back, she eagerly leaned forward, parted her lips, and dragged the flat of her tongue over the spot. It was as if she wanted to lick up my kiss, and it was erotic. I turned to see what Clay thought about it, only to find him standing beside me.

  His fingertips glided across my bare shoulder as he moved to cup the back of my neck with a hand. He didn’t speak, but I swallowed thickly. This simple action of his hand on me felt possessive and controlling, and God, did I like it.

  His voice was quiet but powerful. “That was my fault. I wasn’t specific about where I wanted you to kiss her.”

  “What?”

  The dominating hand on me began to press down. “On your knees.”

  Fuck. Was it possible to shiver from heat? Because that was exactly what I did.

  Clay urged me down to kneel in front of the window. The couple on the other side hadn’t slowed down. If anything, my participation had turned them on even more. The man’s thrusts were relentless, making her tits jiggle and bounce violently.

  My knees abraded on the stubby carpet as I stared up at Clay, awaiting his instruction, and watched his lips part to take in a breath. Having me on my knees and under his command was so satisfying to him, for a moment he looked overwhelmed. But he blinked away his haziness and leaned over me, bringing his mouth right against the shell of my ear.

  As he spoke, his hot breath brushed against the sensitized skin of my neck. “I want to watch you lick her pussy.”

  There was a power that took hold of me when he issued his command. It was a need I didn’t know existed until he put it into words, and now it was real and living. There was no indecision or questioning if I wanted this. He wanted it, so now I did too.

  I pressed my palms to the glass, tipped my forehead to the cool pane, and waited. It announced to the couple what I needed, and as soon as they realized, the man shoved her forward. Her hips and the delta of her thick thighs pushed to the window.

  I’d kissed a girl once when I was in college at a house party. The upside-down margaritas had been flowing freely, and someone had dared us to do it. Maybe she’d been the one who’d dared me . . . the night was fuzzy. I remembered the kiss as being nice but not earth-shattering. Kissing girls wasn’t any different than kissing boys, I’d discovered.

  And for as curious as I was in life, it was surprising I wasn’t more than mildly curious when it came to women. I’d always been far more attracted to men. And I was certainly interested in this self-proclaimed complicated man whose demand made me shudder in excitement.

  Following his order would be easy, and I wondered if it was possible the simulated sex would be even hotter than the real thing. I tilted my head, opened my mouth, and slicked my tongue across the glass, right over her neatly trimmed landing strip.

  “Fuck,” Clay groaned appreciatively. “Again.”

  Satisfaction washed down me in waves. I did as asked, dragging my tongue along the smooth glass that was damp and smudged from my first pass.

  “Look at you,” he said, “being such a good girl now. I think you should stand up and show her what happened when you weren’t.”

  He extended a hand to help me up, and I took it. “You want me to—”

  “Show her the marks your bad behavior earned you earlier today.”

  It was intoxicating being with him, and exhilaration simmered in my blood, like I was high. As soon as I was on my feet, I turned around, bent slightly at the waist, and lifted the back of my skirt.

  Cool air drift over my exposed cheeks. I’d worn a thong tonight, not just to prevent panty lines, but to avoid putting anything over my irritated skin. As soon as his handiwork came into view, Clay let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. Like I’d done earlier, I wiggled my hips, showing off my ass, and that earned me a spanking.

  It wasn’t mean or harsh—it was playful, and I nearly giggled.

  There was a dull bang that came from the window, and although the woman had probably raised her voice, it sounded muted. “Join us!”

  But Clay shook his head, pointed to the nearly empty glass in his hand, and then gestured toward the main room, telling them we were going to get fresh drinks.

  “The show’s going to start soon,” he said as we made our way back to the bar. “We should get in there if you want a seat.”

  A quick glance revealed Clay’s friend was gone, which was disappointing on several levels, but I tried not to show it. I brushed a lock of hair over my shoulder. “What’s it going to be like?”

  “The show?” His smile was cryptic. “It’ll be interesting. I think you’ll like it.”

  There were only a few seats left by the time we stepped into the red room, and Clay urged me down into the first available chair while I was distracted by what was on the center of the floor.

  Or more appropriately, who.

  The girl looked like she was in her early twenties. She had her dirty blonde hair twisted back into a bun, and that along with her slender frame made me think of her as a ballerina. She was pretty in both her face and her body, and colorful artwork was scrawled all over her skin. I could tell because she was completely nude.

  The girl had a lot of ink, plus a piercing in each nipple. She was lying on the floor, and as she took in a breath, the studs glinted faintly beneath the latex blanket covering her that was so thin it was nearly transparent. It was strange. The blanket was draped over a rectangular frame that surrounded her and the latex cinched aroun
d her neck in a thick black collar.

  I’d just gotten settled in my seat when a woman dressed in black stepped forward, and every conversation in the room ceased. She was probably already naturally tall, but the huge platform on her stiletto boots exaggerated her towering height. Her shiny ‘wet look’ bodysuit hugged her gorgeous figure, accentuating her in the right places. The woman was statuesque and incredibly beautiful.

  The braids of her dark hair were pulled up into a high ponytail, then they cascaded down her back like a beautiful tassel. Her latex bodysuit covered everything up to her chin, and even her hands were wrapped in the black PVC fabric. It left only her face visible, showing off her strong cheekbones and flawless brown skin.

  Mistress Theia looked otherworldly. Like a goddess from a planet where sex was a religion.

  A simple silk blindfold dangled from her fingertips as she strutted to the girl lying prone on the floor. There was power and confidence in every step she took, and she was catlike as she crouched by the girl’s head. The blindfold was slipped on and adjusted until both women seemed satisfied with the placement.

  While that was happening, more couples came into the room, hushed and respectful, like the show had already begun. Maybe it had. I was surprised, yet pleased, when Clay offered his seat to a woman and moved to stand behind my chair.

  The dominating woman’s voice was deep and seductive, drawing my attention back to her. “Ready, pet?”

  The girl shifted inside the latex, spreading out her arms and legs so they were a comfortable distance from her body. “Yes, Mistress.”

  A loud mechanical whirr rang out, sounding sort of like a vacuum cleaner.

  Oh . . .

  Wow.

  That was exactly what it was, because the girl wasn’t covered by a blanket—she was encapsulated in a bag, and once the machine sucked out the air, she was locked in place. As the latex molded tight to her body, it became even more see-through and gave her skin a smooth, plastic sheen. And as soon as the air was gone, the machine powered down and the room went utterly silent.

  A smile twitched on Mistress Theia’s lips as she gazed down at her pet like trapped prey. The dominant savored the scene before her. Then, she strolled to the girl’s side and knelt.