Three Little Mistakes (Blindfold Club 3)

After the meeting was over, I closed myself in the office. Alan’s indifferent attitude had left me grinding my teeth. His answer was to hire a club promoter, but that wasn’t a realistic option. Throwing money at a problem typically only bought you time, not a solution. Plus, it was a risky investment. I’d used them in the past and had little results.

The cases of the imported beer were still here, stacked four high against a wall, irritating me. My skin was jumpy and itching for relief.

I knew the source of my frustration. Noemi. The total lack of control was ridiculous. How had ten minutes in my car reduced me to this? I poured myself into my chair, determined to get the numbers done for the month. I needed the distraction.

It was just past midnight when I pushed back from the desk, my work finished. I didn’t feel the satisfaction I normally did when assessing my tiny empire. Four businesses in Chicago was a lot to manage, but I was open to considering more if it was the right fit. Dune was my least profitable, but my “members only wine club,” my front for the blindfold brothel, more than made up for it.

I went out onto the office balcony, glancing at the VIP area where one of the tables had bottle service. A group of men in suits lounged on the red velvet couches, chatting with the women at the next section over. Every one of them was looking to get laid. You could taste it in the air, the sex and need. I could smell it on myself.

Shit. I should swing by and check on Payton after leaving here. She’d only been back from Japan for six weeks, and while I was checking on her, maybe I could scene with one of the sales assistants. Making the deal with the johns always put them in the money and got them hot. It was a great combination for power play.

My gaze scanned the crowd, looking for the good girl who’d rejected me last night. Some of me wanted to find her and make her pay for what she’d done. What she was still doing to me, haunting my thoughts.

The same sensation from the previous night needled up my spine. Was she really there, or was it a figment because I wanted her to be? Noemi sat at a side table, her stare fixed in my balcony’s direction. Two empty glasses rested on the tabletop—why hadn’t those been cleared? She’d been there a while. Waiting.

As soon as she saw me, her face filled with surprise and she stood eagerly. She pointed to herself, then up to me, asking if she could come up. I shook my head, gesturing I’d come down. Putting us in the confined space of my office would turn my balls an even darker shade of blue.

Music thumped unrelentingly from the speakers on the main floor. I threaded through the crowd until I reached her. The bruise had faded to almost nothing—wait, it was makeup. She’d done a helluva job covering it.

The ends of her blonde hair curled softly on her maroon colored top, and the deep V showed off plenty of cleavage. Black pants with sheen clung tightly to her curves, and ended in black heels. Sexy makeup, big earrings, and an outfit that looked painted on. She still looked young, but the effort wasn’t lost on me. Noemi wanted to look like she belonged here.

She looked fucking amazing. Thank God I hadn’t let her upstairs. I’d have my hands inside that shirt in two seconds flat.

I leaned in close and yelled over the music. “How’d you get in? I took your ID.”

Her expression fell. She’d expected a warmer greeting. “I used my real one.”

“Where are your friends? You’re here alone?”

She nodded, setting a hand on my shoulder. “I came to talk to you. I . . . changed my mind.”

My cock twitched, but the rest of me kept it together. “Oh, you want to be bad now, little girl?”

“Yes. Ask me when I changed my mind.”

I was willing to play along. “When?”

“About fifteen seconds after I got out of your car.” Her posture was confident, but her eyes were anxious.

I gave a hard look. “I don’t believe you.”

“Dance with me? I’ll show you.”

My curiosity spiked and overwhelmed my desire to stay off the dance floor. I motioned for her to lead the way.

The heavy bassline pumped onto the floor, flooding over the heaving bodies. Her arm hooked around my neck and she placed her other hand on my chest, over the buttons of my shirt. I trapped her hips. Fuck, I liked having her back in my hands. We fell into an easy rhythm, matching the pounding music.

Beneath the strobe lights, she came alive. Her chest rubbed against mine, teasing and making promises. Her hips swung side to side, brushing her lower body over my fly. I slid a hand lower, gripping her ass tightly, encouraging her. Her heated expression said she knew what she was doing.

My cheek tugged into a smirk. She thought she had the power in this situation. Not even close. I spun her around, yanking her back up against my chest. My hands settled low on her hips and I pressed against her ass. Feel that. Feel who’s in control.

Her response was to grind on me. As the beat dropped, her back arched and it pushed her breasts forward. The guy on our right grinned. He had to be receiving a great view of side boob. The crowd was undulating with the music in a hot, chaotic mess.

My hips matched the sway of hers as I began to test her desire to be bad. I inched my hand lower, closer to her center. I expected her to balk. Instead, fingers laced on top of mine, pushing our hands over her zipper. Her head swung my direction.

“This goes here,” she said.

It didn’t matter that she was nervous a