Virtuous(25)

“Rough night?”

“No, a good night.” A great night. A fantastic, life-changing night. I take a sip of my drink, and the Bowmore burns its way through me. “How are things here?” I spot Kristian on one of the sofas, fully clothed and speaking with a woman I don’t recognize.

“Same as always.”

“Who’s that with Kristian?”

“A new member.”

Though Gabriel knows the full story on everyone who steps foot into the club, he’s good about staying out of the personal business of the five celebrities he works for. When Kristian wants me to know more about the new member he’s brought in, he’ll tell me himself.

“Is Hayden around?”

“In the dungeon with Cresley.”

“This I’ve got to see.” I take my drink with me when I cross the room, waving to several other members of our exclusive club who are making use of the sofas and sitting areas to get to know each other. Perhaps they’re negotiating the terms of a Dominant/submissive relationship or maybe they’re talking shop. The Hollywood lifestyle is as present here as the BDSM lifestyle is. Both are a big part of my life, which is why I have no business starting anything with Natalie.

“I won’t sleep with any man unless I’m married to him.”

What would she think of this place? The thought, which I would normally find amusing, saddens me. I’ve been a part of this lifestyle for most of my adult life, and have long ago stopped feeling like I have to explain myself to anyone. My need for sexual domination is as much a part of me as my parents’ DNA or the chin that comes straight from my paternal grandfather.

I lay my hand flat against another palm scanner and gain entry to the stairwell that leads to the dungeon in the basement. This area is available only to the five principals and their guests, all of whom are subjected to the same in-depth background checks and medical testing that prospective members endure. The difference being that full members are required to pay million-dollar initiation fees and sign confidentiality agreements that make it clear we’ll ruin them if they ever speak of what goes on here. Guests are only required to sign the confidentiality agreement, and we let them know we’ll enforce every word of it without hesitation.

Our chief counsel, Emmett Burke, drafted airtight language that has kept our clubs here and in LA the best-kept secrets in show business for more than a decade now. The five of us approve every member, all of whom come to us via referrals from existing members, and we admit only people who have something to lose. Case in point—the supermodel currently being vigorously f*cked by Hayden.

Cresley Dane, one of the most famous faces in the world, a dynamic, aggressive businesswoman who rules the runways from New York to Paris and everywhere in between, is a true sexual submissive. Tonight, the gorgeous blonde is trussed up in an elaborate web of rope with her arms tied above her head, her spectacular breasts and torso tightly wrapped and her legs hoisted up and apart. Hayden is a master of Kinbaku, the Japanese art of erotic tying.

Standing in the shadows of the dungeon, I sip my drink and watch my friends, thinking of the many threesomes we’ve enjoyed in the past. Cresley is always up for an adventure, as she calls the scenarios Hayden and I have dreamed up over the years. We think of it as harmless fun among consenting adults who like to stretch their boundaries. We’ve only recently brought her into the club as a member, thus the formal training process she’s embarked upon with Hayden as her Dom. A year ago, Cresley won a hard-fought battle with her vindictive ex-boyfriend for custody of their three-year-old son. She has a lot to lose, thus we trust her implicitly.

Hayden catches my eye, nodding slightly to acknowledge me without losing his focus.

He’s also a master of delayed gratification, a skill he taught me after making me aware of the BDSM lifestyle. An actor he met on a film set when we were twenty-one introduced it to Hayden. He introduced it to me, and we were both instantly hooked. It was like we’d found the missing piece to a puzzle. I like to watch him in action, though I’m not attracted to him or to men in general. I’m objective enough to admit that my best friend is an extraordinarily good-looking man. He has dark hair and blue eyes that women go nuts over. Watching usually turns me on. Not tonight, however. Tonight, I’m stuck in a weird never-never land thanks to Natalie.

Thinking about her, I realize just how long it’s been since I spent time with a woman outside the lifestyle. A “vanilla,” as we call people who prefer their sex straight up with no embellishments. The term, which implies blandness, doesn’t do her justice. There’s absolutely nothing bland about Natalie, except perhaps her thoughts on sex, which make her extremely vanilla by my usual standards.