Hallie frowns at the paper as he hands it to her. Her frown deepens as she scans the document, then she looks back up at him. “Why?”
“Standard procedure.”
She only hesitates for a moment, then she hands the form back without touching the pen. “No.”
I like the sound of that word on her lips.
“What is this place?” Her gaze drifts around the room, briefly registering the other men before landing on me. It’s unlikely she recognizes me since we didn’t speak at the office party, but there’s a flicker in her gaze, almost like she does.
Hollis looks to me for direction, wanting to know if he should push the issue with the non-disclosure agreement or let it go for the moment. I shake my head faintly so he backs off.
Hallie steps forward, looking around the dark interior of the room we’re in.
The Hell level of the night club has different rooms for different play, but the one I chose has a dark, grungy aesthetic reminiscent of a castle dungeon. There are even shackles on the wall behind me with an assortment of toys hung up beside them—perfect for chaining up your unwilling partner and forcing any sensation you want on their vulnerable body.
I picture Hallie there, pulling on her chained wrists, bent over with her legs forced apart, her lovely pussy on display for me to touch, taste, or fuck any way I please.
There’s a cage on the floor, too—not the kind women dance in on the upper levels, but the kind you’d keep someone in if you wanted to treat them like an animal.
It’s not all cages and shackles, though. There’s a long black leather couch along the wall where I’m sitting now. In the corner there’s a wooden chair placed at an angle—a contraption that looks more like a medieval torture device than anything sexual, with leather straps for binding someone, making them entirely helpless as you inflict any pleasures or horrors upon them you choose to.
Jackson is sitting on a red upholstered bench on the wall opposite me, his wild-eyed gaze focused on Hallie.
I wonder if he’s having second thoughts.
Looks like he is.
He certainly should be.
Bastard.
Even though I’m the one who will benefit, I’m disgusted by how easily I convinced him to betray her.
Hallie is still mostly watching me, but her gaze drifts back to Jackson, warier than it was before. Sensing danger in this place, she tries to make her tone harder as she addresses him. “I can’t stay long. I have to get back to Charity’s bachelorette party. What do you need from me?”
Unsure how to answer, Jackson’s gaze flickers to me.
He doesn’t need anything from her, of course. It was a ruse to get her here, something he was sure would work. He was quite cocky when he expressed to me that he was sure she’d show up for him, no problem. His first attempt to get her here failed, but thankfully she answered his text a little later and got on board.
I stand. The movement catches her attention. She shifts, then covertly takes a step back toward Hollis as if he’ll protect her.
Not from me, he won’t.
“I’m the one who needs something from you,” I state.
Recognition lightens her expression, diminishing some of her fear. “You’re the man I was talking to on the phone.”
“Yes.”
I walk closer to her. For a moment, she doesn’t back away. It makes me think I must have made a halfway decent impression on the phone. Perhaps she’s lulled by the sense of familiarity into thinking I won’t pounce on her, that I’m not dangerous.
When I get about two feet away from her, she finally takes a step back. Some of the wariness returns, but not as much as before.
“You were supposed to introduce yourself when I got here,” she reminds me.
“I’m Calvin.”
“Hallie,” she says automatically, even though she knows I already know her name. Licking her lips and trying to maintain some distance between us, she asks, “And what, exactly, did you need from me, Calvin?”
“We’re going to play tonight, Hallie.”
She swallows, regarding me carefully as I move even closer. She tries to back up, but she’s already against a wall. With Hollis guarding the door and me in front of her, she doesn’t really have anywhere to go. “Play?”
“Mm-hmm. I like to come here and enjoy a certain kind of play you can’t enjoy in other places. The NDA is a mere formality. You should know that now, lest you decide tomorrow you need to tell someone what happened here tonight. Nobody will believe you. Your presence at this club—on this level—all but implies consent.”
“I—I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know what this place was. I still don’t,” she adds, looking around at the other people in the room for help, someone to take her side.