Her lips tremble, and a solitary tear runs down her cheek. “My God, Harrison.”

  “I mean every word of it, my angel.” I brush the tear off her face and bring my lips back to hers.

  The kiss is gentle at first. But then it deepens, and soon our lips, teeth, and tongues are clashing. It’s not long before I’m heading back down to her beautiful pussy, licking her slit and playing with her delicate folds, doing everything in my power to pleasure the woman I love.

  Soon she’s thrashing, kicking her legs up in the air as I home in on her clit.

  “Harrison… Harrison… fuck!”

  I’m able to pull another climax out of her with ease. Then a third.

  She whimpers as I leave her pussy and trail kisses up her beautiful body, stopping at each nipple on the way before I meet her gorgeous mouth once more. While we kiss, she unbuckles my belt and whips it off my waist.

  “Bianca,” I say. “I want you to suck my dick.”

  She giggles. “That was my next stop.”

  “No, but—” I eye the belt on the floor. “I want to give myself to you fully. I want you… I want you to tie my hands behind my back with that belt.”

  She drops her jaw. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I want to be restrained, give you free reign to place that beautiful mouth, your silky tongue, anywhere you want on my body.”

  She grins. “Twist my arm, why don’t you?” She glances toward the suite’s adjoining bedroom. “Might be a little comfier in the bedroom, though.”

  “Right.” I help her to her feet and then lead her by the hand into the suite’s bedroom. More of the same greens and pinks as the living room, with a king-sized bed topped with colorful throw pillows and an elegant down duvet. I toss the pillows off the bed and sit on the edge, turning my back toward Bianca and twisting my arms behind me.

  She slowly wraps the belt around my wrists. I scoot over so my back is against the headboard. “Take my pants off,” I command.

  She unbuttons my jeans and slowly slips them down my legs. She peels each of my socks off but leaves my underwear.

  “The undies, too,” I say.

  She smirks. “You seem to have forgotten who’s in control right now.”

  Right. The whole point is letting her be in charge. It’s harder to relinquish than I thought.

  “Of course.” I bow my head.

  She tips my chin back up. “No. I want you to look at me. See everything I do to your beautiful body.”

  I chuckle darkly. “Have at it, my queen.”

  She blinks a few times at my chosen pet name—it’s what the Kings call Rouge, so I probably could have chosen better—but as she breathes it in she seems to relish this new role.

  My queen.

  My beautiful queen.

  She runs her arms up my legs, massaging them gently. It feels incredible, but my hard cock is aching behind my boxer briefs.

  She descends to my feet, massages them as well. I can’t remember the last time I had a foot massage, but damn! It feels fantastic.

  But my feet aren’t the part of me that wants her the most.

  “Bianca… Please…”

  She grins. “You want me to free that gorgeous cock of yours?”

  “Yes. God, yes.”

  “Very well.” She peppers kisses up my legs before reaching up the left leg hole of my boxer briefs, grazing my balls with her fingernails before wrapping her fingers around my dick. Her eyes widen. “You’re so thick. I always forget how thick you are.”

  I grit my teeth. “It’s all you, babe. You turn me on so much, make me so fucking hard.”

  She pulls my dick out through the leg hole and tenderly strokes it. It takes everything in me to not blow right now.

  She finally pulls off my briefs.

  I really have to strain when she finally wraps her lips around my head, licking it softly.

  “Fuck, Bianca…”

  She looks up, my dick still in her mouth, bouncing her eyebrows playfully. “We’ll get there, love.” She returns to my dick, running her lips up and down the shaft, driving me fucking nuts.

  She accelerates and pretty soon I’m jackhammering into her skull. Normally I’d hold a woman’s head while she sucks me, but mine are behind my back, so I have to put my hips into it. But it makes it feel ten times better than any other blow job I’ve gotten, even from Bianca.

  She’s sucking me up and down, up and down, up and down.

  Finally I can’t take it anymore. “Bianca, please… Sit on my dick.”

  She brushes a lock of hair from her face. “As my king commands.” She straddles her legs over my body and then slowly sinks her pussy over my engorged cock.

  And it’s…everything.

  She’s just tight enough to hit every nerve ending in my dick. It’s fucking phenomenal, and I’m quickly thrusting inside her, making her entire body bounce with my rhythm.

  Her eyes roll back in her head as I hit her G-spot. “My God, Harrison. My God… My God… I’m going to… I’m going—” She throws her head back in orgasm number four.

  The reverberations of her pussy clamp down on my dick, and with a few more shoves into her, I release.

  It’s volcanic, and her body twitches as I shoot inside her once, twice, three times. Filling the woman I love, taking her forever and never letting her go.

  Without being asked, she unbuckles the belt and frees my wrists. I wrap my arms around her, kissing her warmly. We sink into a spooning position on the bed, and my heart thumps against hers.

  As the post-sex haze falls over us, I pray we’ll both be alive after this weekend has finished.

  I’m awake.

  It feels early. The sun has barely begun to rise. I get up and pad to the living room to check my phone.

  A little before seven a.m.

  Good. We have the whole day.

  I cross back into the bedroom, check on Bianca. She’s still snoozing, her hair splayed across her head like a crown.

  Even in the morning, she’s beautiful.

  And we finally confessed our true feelings for each other last night.

  It’s early in our relationship, but I couldn’t give a rat’s ass. When you know, you know.

  And we know.

  My stomach growls lightly. When was the last time we ate?

  I grabbed a protein bar on my way to the hotel last night. We didn’t eat dinner.

  I’m hungry. I open the Google app on my phone and search for breakfast places nearby.

  I don’t want to go to a sit-down place. The less time we spend on the Chicago streets today, the better. But there’s a bagel place just a few blocks away, one that claims to have bagels that rival New York’s.

  I’ll let Bianca be the judge of that. She lived there for the better part of a decade.

  I order a dozen assorted bagels along with some cream cheese and butter. The food delivery app says it will be ready in ten minutes. Perfect. Just enough time for me to put some clothes on and walk from the hotel. I scribble a quick note letting Bianca know what I’m up to and leave it on the bedside table.

  I open my suitcase on the living area couch—it never made it to the bedroom—and pull out a clean pair of undies, socks, jeans, and a T-shirt. I slip them on and then put on my leather jacket. I call the elevator and the operator brings me to the ground floor.

  I pull out the Maps app to figure out which direction to go after I exit the hotel. People always say it’s easy to tell which way is which in Chicago, since Lake Michigan is due east. But it’s hard to see which way the lake is when you’re surrounded by buildings, so I’ve learned not to shame myself for using the tech at my disposal to figure out where the hell I am, even in a city that I’m familiar with.

  I pull it up and am charting a route to the bagel place when I run into someone. I drop my phone, and I bend down to pick it up. “Sorry about that,” I murmur.

  “You should be. Watch where you’re going.” A man’s voice.

  I look up to tell him to watch his tone and my stomach flips. The man I ran into is wearing a charcoal suit with a navy tie pinned into place. Gray mustache and thinning silver hair.

  I recognize him too late.

  Mr. Rose, the patron at the club who tried to get in my pants Tuesday night.

  The night we found the hearts.

  The night everything fell into place.

  And now he’s here.

  Fuck.

  The hotel is called The Gilded Rose.

  He’s not the owner, is he?

  I whip my head to the side, hoping he didn’t see my face.

  “Ace?” he asks quietly.

  Too fucking late.

  I blink a few times, return my gaze to his. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

  Rose chuckles darkly. “Don’t play coy with me, Ace. It didn’t work Tuesday night, and it won’t work now.”

  “Sir…”

  He silences me with a finger to my mouth. “I thought you weren’t supposed to talk.”

  Fuck. He’s not going to think I’m someone else.

  “When we’re outside of the club, we can speak,” I mutter.

  He cocks his head. “And Rouge allows you to leave the club, wander the city unattended?”

  “From time to time.”

  He presses his lips together. “But surely The Gilded Rose is a bit luxurious for a waiter’s salary. I’ve run the place for years, and I’ve never seen a card here. Especially one who just started, who isn’t yet taking”—he brushes a finger over my cheek—“clients.”

  “I came into a little money and treated my girlfriend to a weekend away,” I say.

  “But isn’t Aces open on weekends?” Rose asks. “You’ll be busy every evening while you’re here.”

  Fuck.

  I’m not thinking straight.

  Time to nip this in the fucking bud.

  “Can we speak in your office, Mr. Rose?” I ask. “I don’t think Rouge would like to find out a patron of hers was speaking of the club so publicly.”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “I’ve known Rouge for years, Ace. I know far more about her than you.”

  Damn it.

  Think fast, Harrison. Think fast.

  I have one more ace to play—pun intended.

  I steel myself and then run a finger over Rose’s chest. “I really would prefer to meet somewhere private, Mr. Rose. If you get my drift.”

  He furrows his brow. “You’re offering the services you denied me Tuesday night?”

  “Think of it as an olive branch, sir.” I bow my head, hoping Rose doesn’t see how clenched my jaw is.

  He glances toward the elevator. “And you’re here with your girlfriend…”

  “I swing both ways, sir.”

  “I’m not offering any money.”

  “Of course not. I want”—I grip his shoulders tightly—“I want you. No charge…this time.”

  Rose grins. “All right then. Right this way.”

  Into the lion’s den I go.

  I’m not going to have sex with Rose. But once I’m in his office, maybe I can talk my way out of this.

  As Rose walks ahead, I grab my phone out of my pocket and start a voice memo. Maybe I can get Rose to say something I can use against him as leverage.

  He opens the door. “After you, Ace.”

  “Right, sir.” I walk inside.

  Rose’s office is decorated in the same colors as the suite Bianca and I are staying in. Green wallpaper, sparkling pink tiles on the floor. A dark wooden desk anchors the office’s center, with two computer monitors, a large calendar, and a marble bust of a man I’m guessing is his father.

  “I’m ready.” He unbuttons his pants and displays his droopy dick and balls. “Get on your fucking knees and suck my cock.”

  Fuck. Why did I think this was a good idea?

  I slink across the room, hoping inspiration will strike me before I find another man’s penis in my mouth.

  And then I see it on his desk.

  A framed photo of Rose, a woman with a beehive hairdo, and three kids who all inherited his condescending smirk. Judging by the darker color of Rose’s hair, this photo was taken fifteen years or so ago.

  I pick up the photo. “This your family, Mr. Rose?”

  “Never you mind who they are. Your business is here.” He snaps his fingers and then points to his dick.

  Thank God I chose to record this conversation.

  I back up toward the door.

  He cocks his head. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I pull my phone out of my pocket, displaying the still-recording voice memo. “I think I now have what you might call leverage, Mr. Rose.”

  He widens his eyes. “You little bitch.”

  I point to the family photo. “I have a feeling Mrs. Rose might not be so happy to hear you’ve been cheating on her. With a man, no less.”

  “We didn’t do anything, you prick.”

  “Yes, but you took your pants off and displayed your dick. I think that counts. Plus, I know you’ve slept with countless other men at Aces. The Jack of Hearts, for example.”

  It’s a bluff, but I’m playing my odds.

  Rose hastily rebuttons his pants, runs his fingers through his silver hair. “What do you want? I’ll be happy to pay you off for your silence. I’ve got plenty of money. Name your price.”

  “No money. Just forget you saw me here. Don’t mention it to Rouge or anyone else. My girlfriend and I are here on our own private business. It doesn’t concern you.” I tap on my phone. “But say anything and I’ll make sure it does.”

  “Illinois is a two-party consent state, you know. You could get in trouble for releasing that recording.”

  “I’m sure I would, Mr. Rose. But as much trouble as I’d get in with the CPD, you’d be in twice as much with your wife.” I glance around the room. “It’s a nice hotel. I’m sure she’d love to get her hands on half of it in the divorce.”

  Rose squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath in. “Fine. It’s a deal. My silence for yours.”

  “Excellent.” I open the door and exit the office. “Good-bye, Mr. Rose.”

  He doesn’t respond as I close the door behind me and leave the lobby.

  I’m proud of myself for thinking on my feet, worming my way out of that precarious situation. And all this early in the morning.

  I played Rose like a fucking fiddle.

  But as I walk through the revolving door onto Michigan Avenue, I can’t help but wonder if I should have just killed the bastard.

  17

  BIANCA

  I’ve lost track of how many nights I’ve performed at Aces.

  I could pull out a calendar and count the nights. It’s been several months at this point.

  When I was trying to make it as an actress, I booked a few runs of shows at regional theaters. The longest run I had was twenty-two shows singing and dancing in the ensemble of White Christmas with a dinner theater in Tennessee.

  Even with that long of a run, though, I remembered each individual show. I could tell you which moves I messed up on the twelfth show, which note I flubbed on the seventeenth, and how relieved I was to see the contract come to an end on the twenty-second.

  But I’ve sung my set, largely unchanged since Rouge insists on sticking with the “tried and true” classics, far more than twenty-two times. I’m probably in the hundreds by now, and the performances are blending together.

  Is this what I’m going to do forever?

  I pack up my bag after my final set and exit through the server’s entrance out of the ladies’ restroom. I’m in the same two-bedroom apartment I started renting when I moved back into town, but I’ll be moving to a nicer one in a high-rise right in the middle of the Loop soon. Ever since I started taking clients into the private suites behind the velvet curtains at Aces, my income has quintupled. It’s been nice returning to the lifestyle I grew up with. And at the low cost of throwing my dignity to the wind whenever a gentleman at Aces enlists my services.

  But I abandoned that the day I slept with Mr. Shippe at the Reflections callback. Once you pop, it’s hard to stop.

  I walk up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. I won’t miss the daily climb. My new place will have an elevator that opens right up to my apartment. Rent is steep, but I can afford it now.

  I’ve barely closed the door and latched the chain behind me when a series of loud knocks reverberates from the other side.

  I put my eye up to the peephole. It’s Jack.

  Shit. Did we have plans to hang tonight?

  I completely forgot if we did.

  I open the door, pasting on a smile. “Jack. I’m so sorry, were we supposed to do something tonight?”

  He shakes his head. His eyes are wide, like he’s seen a ghost. “No, we didn’t. But can I come in?” He glances over his shoulder as if he’s expecting someone to be following him. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. Now.”

  “How’d you even get here?” I ask. “I usually give you a ride. And you guys aren’t allowed to have phones, so it’s not like you could have called an Uber.”

  “I hitchhiked.”

  I gasp. “Jack! That’s so dangerous. Any weirdo could have picked you up and hacked you into pieces.”

  “Just goes to show how much I needed to talk to you.” He walks into my apartment and slumps down on my couch. “Do you have any booze?”

  “I’m afraid not. I usually only buy it when I’m expecting to have people over.”

  He runs his hands through his sandy hair. “It’s okay. Probably best to say sober, anyway.”

  “Would you like a glass of water?”

  He blinks a few times. “Sure.”

  I pop a few ice cubes out of the tray in my freezer and put three in one glass and a single one in another. According to Jack, Americans are obsessed with their drinks being cold. In Europe, ice is rarely included in water. I hold the two glasses under the tap and fill them up, bring them into my living room, and place them on two coasters on the coffee table.