“Sure.” Ganz had been careful to keep his relationship with Madeline hidden, but after the recent upheaval in Shanghai, pursuit was bound to be ratcheted up.
“If I don’t see you later, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Rafe said as they pulled up to a nondescript facade in a commercial neighborhood.
A doorman guarded the entrance, but he knew Ganz, so their party was waved in without delay. The club had a dress code requiring a suit or sport coat for men and no trousers for women, so Rafe was wearing a sport coat and slacks. He’d always found that money took care of any dress code requirements, but Ganz had told him what to wear and they were going in as his guests. No point in acting like a fuckwad.
The Chandelier Club was an upscale club, a favorite of celebrities and politicians, a place to see and be seen. Rafe didn’t go to sex clubs to be seen. He went to engage in hard-core kink, so he preferred privacy and perversion rather than the spotlight. But for Nicole’s initial foray into clubs like this, the Chandelier was relatively tame.
After a round of drinks at a neon-lit, glitzy bar all sleek glass and white marble, red leather chairs at the tables, scoops of shiny aluminum for bar stools, Ganz handed Rafe a key to a private room, held up another key, said, “We’re next door to your room if you need us,” and he and Madeline left. A DJ was spinning records and a few dancers were on the minuscule dance floor, although the majority of the patrons were watching a couple at a nearby marble-topped table who were beginning to undress. Nicole couldn’t tell if it was a performance or spontaneous, their disrobing was so languid. But when the man suddenly pushed the woman facedown on the table and began fucking her from behind, a small gasp drifted across the room.
Nicole glanced up at Rafe, who appeared unmoved. “Are they for real or actors?”
He shrugged. “Hard to tell. Want me to ask them?”
“Jeez, no. I was just curious.”
He slid off his barstool. “Let’s see what else they have here. Someone’s screaming in the next room. Could be interesting.” He lifted her down and took her hand. “Stay close,” he murmured and moved toward a large archway.
As they entered a more luxurious bar, darker, mirrored walls, plush carpet, black leather sofas and chairs, lit with several large crystal chandeliers, Rafe pointed to a small stage set in a corner where a performance was under way. A standing woman was tied to a black velvet-covered wall, her wrists and ankles shackled to metal hoops. She was nude except for heels, her back was to the room, and a large man, also nude, his erection impressive, was forcing a huge dildo up her ass.
The bound woman was whimpering now, her screams having quieted, and she could hear the man’s voice over a sound system, telling her if she screamed, he’d ram it in harder.
“Understand?”
“Yes, yes.”
“You can take it all. I know you can. And if you’re good, I’ll let you have my dick after the dildo. Understand?” He paused. “You must answer me.” He nudged the dildo in a fraction more as though to encourage a reply.
She gasped, tensed, whimpered, “Yes, yes.”
“You want to come don’t you?” A low, husky whisper.
She nodded frantically.
“I can’t hear you.”
“I do, I do.”
“That’s what I want to hear. Now, relax, I’m going to push this deeper.”
Her wild scream boomeranged around the room, Nicole sucked in a breath, and Rafe said, “That’s enough of that,” and quickly guided her out of the room. Leading her to a quiet corner of the grand salon next door, he dipped his head and said, “Sorry about that. Would you like to go home?”
Nicole shook her head. “Not yet, but wow, that was rough.”
“Some people like it that way.”
“Really?”
He stifled a smile; that was blushing innocence. “So I hear. Would you like to sit down, have a glass of champagne? Pretend you’re in the palace at Chambord? They brought this room wholesale from there.”
Nicole surveyed the large, high-ceilinged room, an eighteenth-century masterpiece of walls painted with pastoral scenes of beautiful young men and women amusing themselves in the country. Some clothed, others not, the ambiance one of languid arousal. The furniture was antique, upholstered in pastel damask, the carpet a plush reproduction of an Anatolian design, the chandeliers dimmed to a soft luminescence. “Me in a palace with champagne?” She smiled. “Why not?” But as Rafe turned to guide her to a chair, Nicole’s eyes widened. “Ohmygod, Rafe!” she said in a shocked whisper. “Look! That couple on the bar! Don’t they care if people watch? And those two against the wall. She’s giving him head and the crowd around them is—”