Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 78521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“What’s the name of this place?” she asks.
“It doesn’t have a name,” I say.
She lifts her eyebrows.
“It’s a secret club,” I say.
“So I was right!”
“About what?”
“It feels like an old speakeasy.”
I lift the corners of my lips. “That’s the idea. Except nothing is illegal about this place.”
“I didn’t know there were places like this in Boston.”
“Every major city has places like this. They’re iconic.”
“And you…”
I chuckle. “Of course I had to have one.”
She nods.
“The bar,” I say, “is antique wood from the roaring twenties. I like to think it might have sat in a real speakeasy once.”
She nods again.
Her blouse is sheer, and her nipples poke through the fabric. For a moment, I see her in fishnet stockings and a black flapper hat adorned with feathers, and my cock responds.
As much as I love Black Rose, this place means almost as much to me. Like the leather club, it’s a secret, and admission is by invitation only. But unlike Black Rose, this place is steeped in history—in a time when the mob ruled the streets and people went underground not just to drink but to embrace counterculture. Men and women of all classes and races drank and danced together, laughed together, found common ground. Jazz found its home during prohibition in the speakeasies.
To me, speakeasies were the precursors to clubs like Black Rose Underground—places where anyone can live out their fantasies with other consenting adults.
“Undress, Skye.”
She widens her eyes.
“Do it.”
She timidly looks around. No one is here but us, of course. Does she want someone else to walk in? Skye has, in the past, shown some exhibitionist tendencies.
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
She peels off her blouse and her bra. Then her shoes and jeans, until she stands only in her lacy panties.
I suck in a breath. “Keep going.”
She nervously glances around.
“No one else is here, Skye.”
She shimmies out of her panties and holds them out to me. I take them and stare at them for a few seconds. I’m not a panty sniffer, but already I can smell her essence. My cock is fucking granite.
“Now, get on the bar.”
She walks toward the bar and hoists herself onto it.
“Spread your legs.”
She obeys. She’s wet and ready. I inhale her tanginess, and a subtle shudder racks through me.
I loosen my tie and remove it. I discard my suit coat and unbutton the top two buttons of my white shirt so my black chest hair peeks out.
I pull up a barstool and sit down in front of her bare pussy. I inhale again. “Mmm. I love your scent, Skye. I love that you’re always ready for me.”
I jam two fingers inside her, and she jerks.
“Oh!”
Her gasp takes me aback. Still, she’s ready. Wet. As I slide my fingers in and out and around, she undulates on the bar, her hips circling.
But something’s off. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Touch yourself,” I say. “Play with your nipples.”
They’re already hard and straining, and she fingers them lightly, her own touch sending her into shudders and moans.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say. “So hot.”
She closes her eyes, grinding against my hand. She’s trying to climax, but I haven’t given her permission. Or is she trying to find something else?
I regard her—her creamy body, her gorgeous lips parted, her fingers plucking at those succulent nipples.
And her pussy. My fingers are still sliding in and out of the sleek tunnel.
So beautiful. But something is missing.
Maybe she needs to be fucked. God knows I need to fuck her.
I free my cock quickly, and then I’m inside her, pumping.
Completion. I always feel complete when I’m inside Skye. But she’s holding back. Or I’m holding back. Something isn’t working. As good and silky as she feels against my dick, something isn’t right.
Perhaps she needs to come.
I can make that happen.
“Come, Skye.”
“Braden!” she cries out. “More! I need more!”
“Keep going,” I say through gritted teeth. “Keep going, Skye.”
My words. My words always make her jump, hurl herself from the precipice and plunge into ecstasy.
But tonight…
Tonight…they don’t.
Chapter Forty-Two
I want to fix this. Fix her.
But God…she’s so tight.
I have to release.
“That’s it, baby.” I ram into her harder, harder, harder…until— “God, yes. So tight. So sweet.”
My release is long and sustained. I push into her, perspiration dripping from my brow, my eyes squeezed shut.
I fucking give myself to her. I give her all that I am, and when my orgasm finally subsides, I realize—
Yes. My words didn’t work. She’s no longer coming. I finally withdraw.
“Skye?”
“Yes?”
I frown slightly. “I thought you’d enjoy this. Coming here.”
“I did. I do. This is a beautiful place. Dreamy, even. Reminiscent of another time.”
So she does understand.
“Yes, it is.”
“I’d love to do a photo shoot here sometime. Maybe for one of my posts.”
That gets a smile from me. This place is a secret, but for Skye, I’ll let her do a post. She just won’t be able to tell her followers where she is.