Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“New Orleans?” He smiles. “I love the Big Easy.”
I smile too, pay for my coffee.
Then I take a seat to wait for my drink to be made.
The gentleman, who’s very nice-looking with blond hair and blue eyes, approaches my table. “You mind if I join you?”
I’m not really looking for company but… “Sure, why not?”
“Thanks.” He takes a seat, removes the lid from his coffee, and lets the steam escape.
“Black?” I ask.
“Oh yeah. I love New Orleans, but I always drink my coffee black. Even at Café du Monde. Everybody drinks café au lait except me.”
“When were you last there?” I ask.
“A couple months ago. I had a business trip.”
“Oh? What do you do?”
“I’m a corporate attorney. I work for Black, Inc.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Tom.”
Black, Inc.? Where Ronan is doing business…and he’s familiar with New Orleans. Shit, does this guy know Ronan?
I take his outstretched hand. “Mary.”
At almost the same time, the barista yells, “Mary!”
That elicits a chuckle from Tom. “I guess I could’ve waited another second. Then I would’ve known your name without asking.”
I force a smile, rise, and go fetch my latte. I bring it back to the table, remove the lid, and take a sip, wiping the mustache from my mouth with a napkin.
“Well? Anything like café au lait?”
“It’s good. But no. Coffee with chicory was something else. I’ve never had anything like it.”
“It is good,” he agrees. “I’m sure some of the coffee houses here have it. Or you could order it online. I order mine straight from Café du Monde. They ship it.”
“Duly noted.” I take another sip of the latte. It is delicious. Simple, strong coffee with steamed milk. But the chicory is definitely missing.
Funny how I’ll never look at coffee the same way now.
Or a few other things.
“So what do you do, Mary?” Tom asks.
“I work at Treasure’s Chest. It’s a boutique shop that sells clubwear and lingerie.”
He tilts his head and smiles. “Oh, yeah. I’ve walked by it many times. Maybe one day I’ll come in and say hi.”
“Sure.”
But he won’t. Men never walk into a lingerie shop unless they know what else we sell there.
He checks his watch. “I’ve got to get to a meeting. It was nice meeting you.” He pulls out a card. “Give me a call anytime.”
“What for?”
“In case you’d like to go out.”
Perhaps it’s the submissive in me, but I never ask men out. “I’m afraid you’ll have to call me if you want to go out,” I say.
“Happy to do that. But I don’t have your number.”
I’m not sure why, but I pull my business card out of my purse, my hand grazing the talisman again. I don’t want to be rude. “This only has my work number, so you’ll have to call me there.”
“Thanks. You’ll hear from me. So nice to meet you, Mary.”
I watch him exit the coffeehouse.
And though he’s good-looking, and I’m pretty sure he will call me, I won’t be going out with him.
I don’t date.
I hadn’t wanted to date anyone in a long time.
Until I met Ronan O’Connor.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ronan
Black Rose Underground has several sister clubs throughout the United States that honor our memberships. Clubs that are vetted as carefully as Black Rose is.
One of them is in Las Vegas, and I decide to pay it a visit Friday evening.
Maybe a scene with a willing submissive will get my mind off of Mary and her text.
Maybe it will get my head back where it needs to be.
To work. To play at the proper times.
I didn’t bring any of my club gear or any of my kilts to Vegas. I had to pack quickly, and I brought only business attire. I wear black pants, black dress shoes, and a white button-down. I remove my tie.
I haven’t been to any of the sister clubs because I just became a member at Black Rose.
Las Vegas is different from New York.
Definitely a different vibe, but a leather club is a leather club. If the owner of Black Rose Underground says this club is okay, it’s okay.
I walk in, and the atmosphere is livelier than Black Rose. Black Rose’s decor is red and black with a solid wood bar, very classy.
This club screams Vegas.
Neon lighting, a large dance floor, a black lacquer bar.
And sex out in the open.
The few times I’ve been to Black Rose, I haven’t seen that. People who want to have sex out in the open go to one of the exhibition rooms. Those who prefer privacy—as I do—reserve a suite or playroom.
But on the black lacquer bar located in the back of the main room, a naked woman sits, her legs spread, and a man sits on a barstool, eating her out.
Men are visual creatures, so my groin tightens, even in light of the obvious health code violations.
I look around, taking in the debauchery.