I laugh. “Are you worried about the gossip mill blabbing to the bingo ladies?”
“No,” he replies with a wide grin. “They’ll keep it to themselves. I just thought it was only fair I warn you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I have tough skin,” I reassure Branson. Between my mother and her big-mouthed social circle, I like to think I’m prepared for anything. The loose-lipped small-town biddies have nothing on the ferocity of mean-spirited New York socialites.
Branson twines his fingers with mine as we walk, and I watch as he brings them to his lips. I get the distinct impression that taking me to this club is a stretch for him.
He’s visibly nervous, and something about it just makes him more attractive. Maybe it’s the vulnerability to exposing something he normally hides. Or maybe it’s just the simple fact that he’s worried about my comfort. I can’t really say, but regardless, my heart pounds a little harder as his lips brush over my knuckles. We walk until we come to an innocuous building. Branson raises his hand to an ornate iron knocker mounted on the dark wood, but then he pauses, seemingly thinking better of it.
“Come here,” Branson mutters, shaking his head. He pulls me to the side, just a couple feet from the door, backing me against the building. He cups my face in both hands, his hips pressing me to the brick.
He searches my eyes, a gentle frown at the edges of his mouth. “If you’re at all uncomfortable, I don’t want to be here.”
“Branson,” I laugh. “I’ll be fine—”
“No, Alex. I’m serious and I need you to understand. I’m bringing you here because you asked, not because I expect something. I promised not to hide anything from you but—”
“I think you might be underestimating me,” I interrupt him with a wry smile. “I’m not some innocent little virgin who’s going to faint at the sight of some skin.”
Branson purses his lips, and God almighty, is he sexy right now. The dim light catches his cheekbones and the hard set of his jaw. Something akin to determination flashes in his eyes as he lowers his face to mine.
He draws my lip between his as warm breath whispers over my skin. He tips my face up to his, drinking me in until my head swims and my mind empties of everything except how good he feels.
I work the buttons on his coat so I can wrap my arms around his waist. His hard stomach flexes under my touch, contracting as he pins me to the wall with his hips. A long, hard bulge grinds against me and I gasp as it lights up nerve endings that have been long neglected.
I want his hands all over my bare skin. Inside me. Under me. Over me. I don’t care as long as I can feel all of him. Branson hooks a hand under my thigh, lifting it around his hip as he moves against me, devouring me.
A couple exits the club, laughing softly as they pass us. I break the kiss, my heart pounding with excitement. “Show me,” I whisper.
Branson nods, lowering my leg. As much as I’d like to grind against him like a stripper pole, a dark parking lot doesn’t feel like the right venue. He takes my hand again and leads me to the door. He gives me a sidelong glance as he raises the knocker, waiting for me to chicken out.
“Let’s go, Harkness. I don’t have all night,” I tease, bumping him with my hip. He smirks and bangs the knocker twice. A few seconds later, a beefy man with a shaved head and gauged ears opens the door wearing a sleek black suit.
“Hey man,” he says, lifting his chin at Branson. He cocks an eyebrow at me and steps aside, holding the door for us to step into the dimly lit entryway. “You brought a friend?” He’s clearly surprised by my presence. His eyes sweep down to my feet and back up, not in a lecherous way, but sort of calculating.
Branson glances down at me and the expression is… proprietary. Possessive. He angles his body between me and the other man. I can’t tell if it’s purposeful or not, but I love it.
“Hey Nick. This is my date.”
“No name?” The bald man asks as he steps behind a tall black desk and opening a ledger. A tall display of white orchids stands in the corner, and the fragrance tickles my nose.
“No.” Branson’s reply is short. “Red mask.”
Both of Nick’s eyebrows shoot up this time, but he just mutters, “Okay…” as he reaches under the desk and pulls out two masks. One red, one black. He hands them to Branson, who secures the black one over his face with practiced grace.
He turns to me, eyes deeply focused on mine as he places the red mask over them. It’s satiny smooth on the inside and doesn’t restrict my vision except at the very edges. Branson reaches around me, carefully knotting the long ties at the back of my head.
“Give us a second, Nick.” Branson’s voice is darker, rougher than I’ve ever heard it. The other man chuckles but steps away. Branson hooks a finger under my chin, lifting my face to look up at him.
“Anonymity and consent are the two things you can’t fuck with in here. The red mask makes you off-limits to everyone but me. No one else can touch you or talk to you. Technically, they shouldn’t even look at you. ‘Red’ is your safe word. You say ‘red,’ and we’re out of here. Don’t speak to anyone, and don’t leave my side.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I smart off sarcastically.
Branson lowers his face to mine, but it’s not like the before. He doesn’t stoop to my level. He steps right into my personal space, his chest pinning me to the wall. He looks straight down, forcing me to tip my head back to look up at him. It’s not meant to be comfortable. It’s meant to control.
A shiver runs up my spine at the dark expression in his eyes. I don’t know why I like that, but I really do. “While we’re here, Iamyour daddy.I’min charge.Ikeep you safe. No one touches you but me.”
“No one ever taught you how to share?” I whisper. I don’t want to be shared, but I can’t help pushing his buttons.