Conceited (Crimson Elite 3)

1

Falcon

I was made for this life, I know it. I’m struck by that realization each and every time I step into an establishment. I compare it to my own, our club, Crimson Elite—one of the most notorious exclusive sex clubs in the world. To even gain entry you have to be approved by me. If you’re a man, that is. A woman, well, that’s all Creed’s job. Thank fuck. I think if I had to recruit women we wouldn’t get far, I adore them way too much. I especially like the way they taste. Not once have I had a woman that tasted nasty, each and every one is sweet and delectable and I relish their flavor. And Darby, well he is as Echo would say, the king of the place. While Echo is your man to track anything and everything there is to find on a person, Darby’s the main owner holding the largest share, while we all hold an equal percentage. Our club was built by us, we run it, and it’s the best place in the fucking world.

As I stalk through the club, the men stare, the women linger, it’s part of the job. They have ideas about who I am. Where I come from. But none really know the truth unless they have been there. And I’m very picky in my selections, we don’t hold the title Elite for no reason.

Hands touch my hip, soft, delicate hands, and I know instantly it’s a woman. I stop, liking the way they feel. It’s been two days since I’ve had my fill of a woman, and that’s two days too long. So hands on me is almost the perfect sin. Turning, big blue eyes stare back at me. I know those eyes. But how?

She smiles as her hands start crawling up the front of my chest until she reaches my collar and leans in. “I knew you would be back, too much fun last time.”

Shit! I’ve fucked her before.

I never go back for seconds, unless those seconds are all that’s left, or they were at least memorable. This one, I don’t remember. Fuck!

Lifting my hand, I touch her chin. “Not tonight, sweetheart.”

Her nose scrunches, and she makes this weird sound in the back of her throat. It’s then I remember her. I was fucking her from behind when she started making animal noises. If she thought it was a turn on, she’s so wrong. The pig sounds were the last straw, and I had to ask her to leave. I had work, and it was my excuse.

“You told me you’d call.”

I know that’s a lie. Not once have I told a woman I would call them. Not once, unless it’s my sister. Even then I try to not call her.

My finger brushes against her chin. “I didn’t. I never call. Goodnight.”

Her mouth opens in shock as I walk away.

Moving across the room, I notice the man I’m here to see tonight. He’s roped off in an exclusive part of the club. Girls dance around the outside hoping to gain his attention. He’s famous—too famous to be here where he can be seen. But he has tastes, very particular ones. You see, it’s my job to know exactly what kind of tastes the men have, and what makes them tick.

The minute I’m let into the roped-off area his eyes land on me. His friend leans over, whispers something into his ear before he stands and offers me his hand.

“I didn’t think it was true.”

I raise my eyebrows at his statement. “What?”

He leans in close. “The club… is it true?”

I smile and lean back, taking a seat opposite him but not answering. So far, he’s passed all our security checks, and his history check has met our standards, but some people can be squeaky clean if they have the money to ensure they look that way. We know he has the money, which is why I’m here. To make sure he isn’t a bad egg, because no one wants to crack open something that smelly.

He sits opposite me, his hands in his lap as he stays leaning forward like I might tell him some dirty little secret. “You came alone?” he asks looking around.

The night depends on who’s available, but usually, I do come alone.

I nod my head, smiling and nodding to the waitress for a drink. She already knows what I want and brings it over straight away.

“Should we go somewhere private to talk?”

He’s uneasy. I bet he hasn’t had to work for anything in his life for a long time. He has the looks, there’s no doubt about that. He’s in his prime, mid-thirties, and he’s at the peak of his career. All directors want to work with him. Yet, here he sits, his leg bouncing with nerves as he waits to see if I will give him what he wants, what he really wants, that he won’t share with the public. I’m sure every woman he’s been with he’s had to pay off because of his particular tastes. And most of them, in some way, end with him being tied and something stuck up his ass.