Microsoft Word - Seven Nights of Sin (28 page)

charity business, babe. That’s something you can’t be soft on, okay?”

He was right, of course, so she nodded. “Except…he’s good. Really good. Don’t you think? And he even has a nice stage presence.”

“But he hasn’t played one original song.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them.”

Damon grinned, probably at how argumentative she’d suddenly gotten. “Tell you what.  When he takes a break, you can introduce yourself. Give him my card but write your name on the back. Tell him to send you a CD of original stuff if he has it. How’s that?”

She smiled. “That sounds perfect.”

And it did.

As the guy quit playing, saying he’d be back in a few minutes, Brenna took a deep breath and approached him, leaving Damon on the perimeter of the crowd. When she told him she was from Blue Night, his crinkled-at-the-edges eyes lit up, and he flashed a smile showing he needed some dental work. After expressing her interest, she requested he send her a CD of any original music, and he thanked her, shaking her hand so hard it nearly fell off—at which point she glanced up to see Damon smiling at her.

“Nice work,” he said, sliding an arm around her shoulders as they turned to go.

“That was actually fun.”

“See? I told you—this is the best job in the world when you can make someone’s day—or,

in some cases, life. ”

“So what’s next tonight?”

“Well,” he said teasingly as he glanced around them at the blend of artisans and tourists,  “we could get your caricature done. Or we could taunt one of the mimes. Or we  could…proceed to your surprise.”

Going coy and confident at the very suggestion, she said, “This surprise—it’s sexual in nature, right?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Then give it to me, baby.”

Five

They caught a cab back to the Strip, on the way talking more about the business—and dear God, there was so much to learn that, at moments, Brenna wondered if she would ever take it all in.

Of course, they also flirted and made out a little. Enough that by the time neon-lit casinos towered on both sides of the car, she was thinking a lot more about doing naughty things with Damon than about music. Each time he kissed her, the sensations seemed to dissolve through her, making her breasts tingle and her pussy swell. The clingy fabric of her halter top rubbed against her hardened nipples with every move she made, adding to their sensitivity.

So, again, she didn’t quite notice where the cab turned off the boulevard—in fact, she was so busy twining her tongue around her lover’s that it caught her off guard when the taxi stopped beneath another of the large, neon-lit awnings that fronted all the big resorts. As  Damon paid the driver, then led her into one more busy, ornate lobby buzzing with people, she wondered if they were visiting another stylishly risqué club like Rendezvous. But she didn’t bother asking, because she knew he would only cast her a chiding look and remind her it was a surprise.

They approached the concierge desk, where a handsome man in a dark suit looked up—then pushed to his feet. “Mr. Andros, welcome back.” He reached out to shake Damon’s hand, and as usual, Brenna stood amazed at how many people knew him—and clearly revered him.

Damon smiled easily. “Thanks, Richard.”

Richard’s gaze flicked quickly toward Brenna, then back to Damon. “Can I trust you’d like to visit our special club this evening?”

When Damon nodded, Richard smiled, then left the desk. “Right this way,” he said, guiding them across a whirring, clanging casino floor, until they reached a back corner of the room and a rather nondescript door marked PRIVATE, which Brenna would have assumed was a supply closet or maintenance room—until Richard inserted a key in the door’s lock.  “Enjoy your evening,” he said, showing them inside, then letting the door fall shut behind them.

Brenna found herself in a space about the size of a large closet, yet it was decorated in lavish Las Vegas decor—plush red carpet and wallpaper of tan and gold—and before them stood a shiny gold elevator door. Damon pushed the only button, an up arrow, and  Brenna said, “Um, I know this is a surprise, but…why is this place behind a locked door?”

“It’s a very private club,” he said, his expression giving away nothing.

Beginning to get a little nervous, she swallowed. “Private how?”

Just then, the elevator door opened. Inside, the walls were mirrored from top to bottom, and each corner sported thick gilt molding from ceiling to floor. They stepped in, Damon’s hand at the small of her back. “Not many people know about it,” he replied, “and when we reach the top, we’ll be asked to sign a statement saying we won’t reveal anything about the club—its location, what we see, who we see—to anyone.”

“Um, why?” Her skin prickled. “There’s nothing illegal going on, is there?”

Damon ran his palms reassuringly up and down the tops of her arms. “Relax, babe. This is just a place where people come to indulge in activities they’d rather keep private, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Not that he’d really answered her questions or assuaged her curiosities.

But before she could ask anything else, the ride ended, the elevator doors parting to reveal a small, dark area that automatically drew the eye to yet another shiny gold door. Above it, a rather old-world, Roman-looking script spelled out Caligula’s .

Stepping from the elevator, she turned to Damon. “Caligula. Wasn’t he the Roman emperor who had a lot of sick, kinky kinds of sex?”

Damon’s eyes glimmered in reply. “Correct.” And without another word, he opened the gold door.

Inside Brenna found a hallway lined with pristine white Roman arches draped with greenery and flowers. The walls on either side sported murals that gave the impression they stood on a Roman street and that the ancient city stretched in all directions around them. A man and woman, each attractive and wearing white togas trimmed in gold edging, greeted them.

“Welcome to Rome,” the guy said, lifting a hand as if to motion to the city’s splendor.  Around his head rested a gold laurel wreath like those worn by Caesar and other men from  that age.

“We’re pleased you have arrived,” the lady said, her voice warm, formal. Her short, togalike frock draped over one shoulder and left her pointed nipples clearly visible through the  white cloth. She held out two rolled pieces of what looked like weathered parchment tied  with thin gold cord. “These are the terms you must agree to before entering our fair city.”  Then she motioned to two open archways on either side of the hall. “And there you shall  find the garments of our citizens—choose one to your liking and prepare for an evening of  sensual delights unlike you have ever known.”

“My lady, you shall find your dressing room through the arch on the right,” the guy said,

“and sir, proceed to the left.”

And before she knew what was happening, Brenna found herself ushered through the indicated arch, her roll of parchment clutched in her fist.

She wasn’t sure whether she was happy or sad to find another “citizen of Rome” waiting inside. The lovely dark-haired girl wore another revealing white dress and smiled prettily as  Brenna entered. “Welcome,” she said. “I am your maid, Clodia. Once you’ve signed the document, I will help select your apparel for the evening.”

Brenna stood dumbfounded, given that she still didn’t know exactly what took place here.  “Um, okay.” Hurriedly, she unrolled the parchment and found, in historic-looking script, the same general message Damon had relayed. Signing with a pen fashioned to resemble a quill, she passed it to “Clodia,” who then motioned toward various styles of women’s togas displayed on mannequins around them.

“When you choose,” the woman said, “bear in mind that everything you’re wearing now

must come off. All jewelry and undergarments included.”

“I see,” Brenna murmured, studying the scant apparel.

She selected the same dress Clodia wore—gold shoulder straps led down to silky white cups that held her breasts and a bodice wrapped with gold, crisscrossing cords. The varied hem flowed to mid-thigh on one side, higher on the other.

When she slipped it on in a private dressing room, she feared it might too easily allow her pussy to be seen, but decided not to worry, since all the togas were short, and they’d come here to have sex, after all. As also seemed to be the case with all of the outfits, her nipples showed clearly through the white cloth and the cut of the fabric created ample cleavage. She wasn’t sure if she felt sheepish or sexy exiting back to where Clodia waited for her.

“Lovely,” the young woman said, taking her in from head to toe, her slow perusal causing a

frisson of anticipation to race up Brenna’s spine.

Next, she was fitted with gold shoes—essentially strappy heels with cording that crisscrossed their way up her calves. Finally, they chose a headpiece from the many available—a circle of entwined gold links that rested around her head like a delicate crown.

“There,” Clodia said, spinning her toward the mirror. “You are now a perfect Roman

goddess.”

And—oh God—she was. She felt as if she were going to a Halloween party, but…the kind  Damon probably went to, where every woman was hot and sexy and every guy was ready.  Though she’d never indulged in any sort of Roman fantasy, she suddenly thought maybe she could get into this—and for the first real time since stepping off the elevator, she found herself truly anxious to see exactly what awaited her.

“Go,” Clodia said, still in character. “Meet with your lover. He is waiting to take you to a

bacchanalia at the emperor’s palace.”

Exiting into the hallway, Brenna found Damon, sexily clad in his own white toga and laurel wreath. She wouldn’t have guessed he could look so hot in what was technically a dress, but on the other hand, she wasn’t sure how Damon could succeed in not being sexy. She also couldn’t help noticing that despite the no jewelry rule, his cross still adorned his neck.

His eyes traveled appreciatively from her head to her feet, making her pussy pulse slightly.

“Damn, babe—I should have brought you here sooner.”

She fleetingly worried that she’d end up with the same problem she’d experienced the other night with no panties to absorb her moisture—but she had bigger things on her mind.  She pressed her palms to his chest, letting her eyes widen, but spoke low since their

original greeters stood nearby. “So what happens here exactly?”

He gently squeezed her elbows, his expression sultry. “You’re about to find out.”

She was on the verge of arguing when the white-clad woman from the entrance approached. “Proceed onward toward pleasure,” she said with a smile, so Damon led  Brenna farther down the hallway still lined with Roman murals as a patrician voice began to echo from hidden speakers.

“Welcome to the Holy Roman Empire. You have been invited to Caligula’s palace for a  grand bacchanal feast. Many of the emperor’s guests have already arrived. While you are  here, your wish is Caligula’s desire. You may swim in his baths, eat his grapes, drink his  wine, play with other visitors, indulge your every pleasure. You may also choose to simply  observe our riotous Roman festival. Whichever you choose, be respectful of others, and  remember…when in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

The recording had been timed to end precisely as they reached wide double-doors beneath an elaborate facade of a Roman building. The atmosphere, already, was nearly overwhelming.

“Should I be nervous?” she asked Damon once the voice had ceased.

“No,” he said. “You should be…open-minded.”

She stopped, looked at him. She’d decided she was ready for this—whatever this was—back with Clodia, when it was more about a game of dress-up, but now she began to worry again. “What do you mean?”

His reply came in a steady, frank tone. “I mean you’re going to be shocked at first by what you see—but then you’re going to relax and enjoy. You’re going to let yourself go. Just like you did on the Eiffel Tower. And in the gondola. And last night, with Jenelle. You’re going to experience the most pleasure you ever have. It’s that simple.”

She stood speechless before him. It didn’t sound simple.

Because up to now, with Damon, she’d always felt…as if she had a choice. About everything they’d ever done together. Their sex had only reached certain extremes because she had lost her inhibitions and wanted it to happen.

But this, now, felt more thrust upon her than anything they’d done. Whatever waited behind that door would be something she’d have to endure , could not easily escape. The fantasy was at once alluring and…intimidating.

“I’m a little scared,” she said, deciding to lay it on the line. “I’m not sure I want to be here,

want to do this.”

He stayed quiet, but his dark eyes bored through her as he, again, placed his hands on her upper arms to gird her. “Have I brought you anything but pleasure so far?”

“No.”

“Do you have any regrets?”

“No.” Not even about Jenelle. Part of her had feared feeling remorseful or weird upon

waking up this morning, but it hadn’t happened.

“I never planned any of this, Brenna. But I like helping you discover the bad girl inside you.