Page 41 of Room Seventeen

I count the seconds until all three send back notes of dark promises awaiting me after sundown.

“Until then boys.”

I remove the nipple clamps and quickly shower. I find the suitcases and dress in leather pants and a blood-red silk top that barely extends far enough to cover my bust.

I turn in the mirror. “Dante will lose it when he sees me.” None of them will be able to keep their hands to themselves. I contemplate clamping on the nipple jewels and wearing them for a while, but I opt to wait for them.

I dry my hair and pull it into a high ponytail and do my usual light makeup—mascara, powder, and tinted gloss. I slip on a pair of ankle boots with a low wedge heels and step outside my room.

I stop and go back for my purse. Inside is a small snub-nosed revolver. Club Sin and a gun? I don’t think so.

I lock the door behind me sliding the key into my pocket.

On the lower level of Club Sin, everything is much louder than on the fourth floor. The rooms must be soundproof because I know for a fact sex is loud.

I leave the lobby where the front windows allow pedestrians to see into the establishment. Beyond that part of the club, walls block off the rest of the club from outsiders. In here where the walls are dark and the lighting is low the sensuality is instant the second you enter.

Members mingle amongst themselves. There doesn’t seem to be a dress code either. As in, you can have them on or off. A busty blonde with thick falsies and nude lips wears latex stripes woven into an intricate design that strategically covers all the essentials but leaves the rest on display. She’s talking with another woman when she spots me.

A perfectly tweezed brow angles up at me as Busty leaves the settee she’s perched on and crosses the room in my direction.

“You’re new, beautiful. Don’t mind my frankness, but we’re looking for a third woman to join us on stage and those nipples tell me you might be interested?” I look down and sure enough, my girls are hard enough to cut glass. Her voice is smoky and rough like she’s puffed on that cigar in her hand all day. For the right person, she would check off a lot of boxes. But for me, she makes me wish Dante was here to sweep me into his arms and tell her I belong to him. Or Con to growl at her and stake his claim like a caveman. Bastian would simply level a hard look at her and that is all it would take to send his message.

I move in close until our nipples are almost touching. Not for the arousal but to let her know I’m not afraid of another hot chick. “Flattered, baby. But I’m waiting for my men.”

Her gaze drapes over me sensually and I won’t lie. I appreciate the love.

“Aren’t we all? Lemme know if you change your mind. We perform In the Mirror Room after Belle and her SEALs four nights a week.”

I take the card she offers and head deeper into the club. There’s a lounge past the Mirror Room my new friend told me about. The door is black and beside the name is number two on it. As in Room Two? Hmm…I quietly slip inside and see a beautiful blonde being shared between three men and it makes me crave my men again. Gasps and moans filter over the light sounds of low-fi beats and a heavy base.

Maybe I should go back to the room and get ready for this evening. I could tease the men with dirty pictures until they arrive.

My phone vibrates and I immediately pick it up.

“Con? Dante? Bastian? Are you on your way?”


I pull the phone away to see the screen turn black. Call dropped.

I step out of the Mirror Room and head down the hall. Carpet muffles my footsteps and back this far I don’t see any other club members. I turn the corner and see a bank of elevators. I pick up my pace, focused on the green up button. Dante must be trying to call the room by now. They’ll be worried, drop their business and come rushing for no reason. There must be no service this far in. I’m so focused on getting upstairs, I don’t notice the moving blur coming from my right until it’s too late. All I can do is brace for impact.

My trajectory changes from dead ahead to a hard right, giving my neck a hard jerk. But what hurts is the plank of wood breaking my fall. A door to my left crashes open with the bulk of my weight being thrown into it. I land on my ass before rolling.

I would scream, but the air has been knocked out of my lungs and I can’t seem to make my vocal cords work while I am also trying to gasp for air.

The stench of cigarettes and whiskey hit me first. I shake my head to clear the fog of pain.

“You thought I wouldn’t find you, cunt?” It’s the knuckles against the cheekbone that always hurt the most. I learned that through my mother’s pain. My stepfather never hurt me with fists. No, he liked punishing me in other ways and the aftermath was ugly.

I stop my thoughts from reversing into the past and force myself to stay in the here and now. I slap a hand on the floor and push to my knees. Salt and pepper hair comes into view as a bulky man looms over me. I strike out, but he anticipates my blow and dodges it easily enough.

“Stupid, useless cunt. Just like your worthless mother.” I quickly take in my surroundings, but I can’t take my eyes off the snake in front of me. Not ever for a second.

I spit on the ground at his feet. “Fuck you, Vincent.”

He’s baiting me, but I’m not the weak fourteen-year-old he abused anymore.

Tags: Penelope Wylde Erotic
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