"We pride ourselves on discretion. It's why clients rely on us, why we've built such a loyal following."
Skyler nods in understanding. "That makes sense. So what kind of fantasies do you help fulfill?"
"We've got private playrooms for every kink—medical, dungeon, schoolgirl, you name it. Clientele can get trussed up in full leather and latex outfits. We've got equipment for suspension bondage, hot wax play. Anything to get the adrenaline pumping."
Zeke's eyes gleam with interest. "I could see how that would be entertaining for the right crowd."
"Absolutely. We cater to all sorts of fetishes and roleplaying fantasies. As long as everything is safe, sane and consensual, anything goes within our walls."
“What are some of the wildest things that happen there?” Skyler asks, his eyes gleaming with interest.
I smirk. I’m used to this level of intense interest in what I do. "We've got private dance rooms with poles, cages, even trapezes if you want an aerial performance. Our dungeon area is fully equipped for bondage, discipline, you name it. We host costume parties, have specialty nights like Schoolgirl Wednesdays and Leather Fridays."
I have their full focus now. Aidan leans in, eyes wide. I smile indulgently as the men barrage me with questions, their curiosity piqued about my illicitempire.
"Leather Fridays, huh?" Skyler nods thoughtfully. "I could see how that would be entertaining for the right crowd."
I take another swig of beer, licking the foam from my lips. "Like I said, sex sells. And we provide the ultimate adult playground. Our clients trust us to make their fantasies come to life, no matter how dark or taboo. We offer them an escape from the mundane."
“What does Aria think about all this?” Aidan quirks a brow. “Doesn’t she get jealous? You must see… all sorts of things in your line of work.”
I nod. “It took a lot of conversations to get to the point she was comfortable with it. Now, I can barely tear her away. She’s very involved in the operations of the business, and has helped our client list grow exponentially through her sheer creativity with discreet marketing. It turns out there’s a whole network of influencers specifically focused on this type of club, and I had no idea until I met her.”
Skyler whistles. “I can only imagine what Devon would think if we tried to open a sex club.”
Zeke laughs. “Right? I know she’d have a lot to say.”
Aidan smirks. “Angel, too.”
“You’d be surprised,” I say. “It’s one of those things where you get an idea of it in your head and it can come across as quite unsavory. Dirty. Gross. But in reality, it’s clean and professional. We’re providing a service, and everything is done on the participants’ own terms. General feedback is that it’s life-changing and cathartic in a way that keeps people safe, if anything. Once Aria wrapped her head around that, she became a super fan.”
The guys nod as my words sink in.
Zeke raises his glass in a toast. "Well gentlemen, I think we could all use a little escape from the mundane right about now. What do you say we pay this infamous club of yours a visit sometime soon?"
I give him a devilish grin. "It would be my pleasure. I'll make sure you get the VIP treatment."
Chapter thirteen
Iscowl as I enter the kitchen, my usual grumpy demeanor in full force. The smell hits me first—pungent garlic, earthy mushrooms, rich tomato sauce. And as I glance over the array of fresh ingredients laid out on the counter—ripe tomatoes, fragrant herbs, plump vegetables—a thrill races through me. My fingers twitch with anticipation. It’s a familiar scent, one that brings a reluctant smile to my face despite my usual morning grumpiness. Okay, who am I kidding—my regular grumpiness.
This is my domain. My sanctuary. In here, I'm not just some sullen thug. I'm an artist. A master chef. My knives flash, slicing and dicing with expert precision. Spices rain down, filling the air with intoxicating aromas. Oils sizzle in pans, the promise of succulent dishes to come.
I shuffle further into the kitchen, my shoulders hunched in my soft t-shirt. But as I survey the ingredients spread across the counter, a glimmer of excitement flickers in my chest.
Angel glances up from chopping vegetables, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "Hey there, sunshine. Ready to work your magic?"
I grunt in response, even as warmth blooms through me. Angel knows how much I love cooking, that it’s my language when words fail me.
Before her, this kitchen was my domain that few dared to enter. And while I enjoyed the solitude, sometimes I missed having a partner to enjoy the ingredients and the whole process as much as me. When Angel showed an interest, and an appetite for the fun we could have in here, it changed things for me.
We move in sync, an orchestrated dance. I drizzle olive oil in a pan, and it sizzles as Angel adds the garlic. The scent is heavenly. My hands work on autopilot, dicing, seasoning, stirring. Muscle memory takes over.
"Looking good over there," I call out gruffly, a hint of affection peeking through.
Angel laughs, her voice sparkling like champagne. "Why thank you, chef. I learned from the best."
We cook side by side for a while in silent companionship.