Interesting. This is new.
There was a three foot stage. Two men stood on top of it. Tied up in rope, a naked woman hung in front of them. The rope dangled from the ceiling. Oil had been smeared over her luscious skin. The men continued beautifully binding her in colorful rope. She looked like an erotic, helpless creature.
I stopped walking. “What’s this?”
Vanya checked where I was looking. “They’re my new performance artists.”
“Are they going to have sex with her?”
“They’re just tying her up.”
“Because?”
“They’re exploring the ancient Japanese knot-tying technique of Shibari.”
“Hmmm.” The idea excited me.
It was surreal. A haunting juxtaposition of beauty and trapping—bare flesh against rough rope, strength and exposure, peace versus danger. Heightened sensuality within the rope’s tightened boundary.
Viktor smirked. “We should go, Dima. It is a busy night.”
Frowning, I headed off. “Vanya, I want more information on this rope stuff.”
She chuckled. “You get rid of this reporter and I’ll tie you up myself.”
I shook my head. “I’ll never make the mistake of fucking you again.”
Her usual confident expression cracked.
Viktor gave us space.
What? I shouldn’t have said that?
Vanya huffed and sped up her pace.
But it’s the truth. Why are people more comfortable with soft lies?
Viktor chuckled to himself.
We left the other side of the dance floor and headed toward the bar.
I spotted the reporter instantly. She had dark brown skin. Her long black hair was slicked back in sexy waves. My fingers itched to run through it. My hands yearned to fist the strands as I pounded my cock into her.
This will be a much better ending for the evening. She’ll be a lovely distraction.
Then, the reporter turned around and took my breath away. I slowed my pace, drinking her in.
She was visual poetry. A goddess.
Obviously knowing who I was, she left her seat and stood. Her brown eyes showed fear. And they were pretty ones at that.
I assessed her body and was pleased. She had on a tight dress that showed off her cleavage—which appeared like two nice melons trapped in fabric. Her small waist exaggerated the curve of her hips. Her legs ran for days. I pictured her wrapping them around me as I fucked her raw.
She'll be fun. I may keep her around for a month.
I continued forward and took the lead.
She grabbed her purse as if she were about to leave.
Not so fast.
I stopped in front of her. Only two feet ran between us. Her scent filled the space.
Unable to help myself, I deeply inhaled. It was a decadent overdose of exquisite fragrances all in one—rose and lavender, melted sugar over apple pie.
The inhale must've caught her off guard.
She gazed my way, holding her credit card in mid-air.
I studied her, and an odd sensation rippled in my chest. Like something hot and wicked was being roused from an eternal slumber. I inhaled the air again, filling my body with her seductive scent. “What perfume are you wearing?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
Even her voice is sexy.
“You smell delicious.” I sniffed. “Rose and jasmine. Yet, there's a base note of ginger and cinnamon.”
“The perfume is called Wild Rose.”
“It is a wild rose indeed.”
She blinked again.
I curved my lips into a smile. I couldn't help imagining the things I would do with her. Those full lips would wrap perfectly around my cock. I lowered my gaze to her breasts, wondering what her nipples looked like—little points or stiff and long.
Far away, I thought she was pretty. Now that I was closer, I found her even more enchanting. Those eyes were big and bright. I could have been lost in them for days.
The bartender arrived. “Hello, Mr. Ivanov.”
I nodded.
She looked at Viktor on my left and then Vanya on my right. “Is there something wrong? I'm just leaving.”
I spoke, “Show me your Lush membership card.”
She held her purse closer to her body. “No.”
Not used to that response, I quirked my brows. “What did you say?”
It was soft, but defiant. “No.”
I closed the space between us.
She widened her eyes.
Drinking her scent in some more, I leaned her way. “I don't like the word no. The sound actually hurts my ears.”
“No disrespect, but maybe you should get that checked.” Her voice was confident, yet her hands shook. She placed the credit card on the bar. “I have to go. My friends are waiting on me.”
Right when the bartender was about to grab the card, I waved him away. “Put the drink on my account.”
She pushed the card toward the bartender. “That won't be necessary. I pay for my own drinks.”
“Take your card.” I leaned in. “Now.”
Swallowing, she picked it up.
“In fact,” I moved back and gestured to my left. “Viktor will put your card back in your purse.”
She shook her head. “I don't need any help—”
Viktor had her purse in seconds. He spent the next moments rummaging through it.
“Excuse me!” Outraged she reached for the purse. He backed up, and I was still in the way—barely a foot from her.