Spotting Reece at the bar with a Scotch in his hand, I can’t help but remember the lesson he gave me on how to enjoy his favorite drink. He looks handsome but troubled with his broad shoulders pulled forward as he leans over the bar.
I stop beside him and lift myself onto the bar stool.
“What are you craving, sweetheart?” the bartender asks, stopping in front of me.
“One of those, please,” I say, glancing at Reece’s glass of Scotch.
Reece nods in approval as the bartender strolls away and grabs a bottle of Macallan, an expensive aged Scotch.
“Clever line. Is that your doing?” I ask, nodding after the bartender.
“The line? No, I paid a publicity company twenty thousand dollars to come up with that.”
When it’s placed before me, I take a small sip of the drink, letting the burn fade on my tongue before I swallow just like Reece showed me. We sip our drinks quietly, a strange energy burning between us. It’s sexually charged, but there’s something else too—something I don’t quite understand yet, but want to.
“What did you do today?” he asks.
“Nothing much. Ran errands, then I got a manicure.” I wasn’t thrilled about the expense since I’m not working yet, but unpacking chipped my nails all to hell.
He lifts my hand to inspect my nails. “Still black,” he says grimly, as if the dark color is a reflection on my mood.
“Yes,” I answer, though he can plainly see the color hasn’t changed.
The woman I saw in Reece’s office struts past, her lingerie-clad hips swinging. She treats him to a coy smile, and he nods at her. A flash of jealousy flares inside me. I know she must be an employee of the club, but still, it makes me wonder if he has a past with her.
“I’m not here for your little games,” I say, snatching his attention away from her like a little kid grabbing for her favorite toy.
“I thought that’s exactly why you were here,” he says, enjoying another sip of his drink.
Leveling him with an icy stare, I throw the rest of my drink back. “I’m here because I want a good time. And I think you want that too, need it.”
He looks down at the bar. “What are you saying, Macey?”
“No holds barred. If we’re doing this—let’s do it. No cutting out early. No going easy on me. I want the full Reece Jackson experience.” A smile lifts my mouth.
“You sure that’s what you want?”
“Positive,” I say, ignoring the wave of nerves fluttering in my belly.
“Then let’s go.”
Standing, he offers me his hand, and I take it, rising gracefully from the bar stool. Instead of heading for the elevator like before, he leads me to a stairwell that’s deserted and quiet. Nothing but the sound of our footsteps cuts through the heavy silence.
When we reach his private room, we stop in front of the door and I turn to him. “Do you ever do this in your apartment?”
“No.” Reece looks down at me. His expression is impassive, but his tone is harsh. “Do you remember the code?”
I nod, unsure how to feel about the knowledge that he doesn’t bring women to his place. That’s just weird.
“Your birthday.” When I punch in the code on the keypad, the door clicks open to reveal the same quiet, dark, and sensual room I remember, and my heart rate kicks up immediately.
“Undress and wait for me on the bed,” Reece says, his tone sure and steady.
This is Reece the Dominant, and I fucking love it. My belly is tingling with nerves, and I feel alive and eager.
“Yes, sir,” I say, then bow my head and cross the room toward the bed.
After stripping off my jeans, socks, and shirt, I fold everything into a pile and place it on the dresser, leaving my bra and panties in place, remembering that he seemed to enjoy removing those himself last time. The soft sound of classical music comes from overhead, and I turn to see Reece adjusting the settings on a built-in stereo panel on the wall.
I sit on the end of the bed and wait for him. Watching him cross the room toward me is a special form of torture. He’s so handsome and strong, but with an underlying vulnerability that tugs at my heart. I can’t help but recall my conversation with Brielle. There’s a sadness to him I want to chase away.
When he pulls his long-sleeved Henley off over his head, I’m treated to the elaborate ink that decorates his right arm from shoulder to wrist. I haven’t gotten the chance to fully explore it, but I want to. It looks delicious, and I’m eager to trace every inch of it with my tongue.
“You want to see them?” he asks, smirking at me.
“Can I?”
He shrugs. “Sure.”