The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

me, I can’t give it to you.” He pushed up his glasses and straightened his shoulders. “As a rule, I don’t scene with someone unless they know already. I’m sorry about how I handled that.”

I swallowed a breath. “So, what you’re saying is . . . you don’t want to be my boyfriend?”

He went utterly still, but when I laughed and he realized I was joking, he returned to life.

“Don’t sweat it, Clay.” I grinned. “I’m not looking for any of that right now.” My last several relationships hadn’t gone so well. Maybe I was like him. “I’m not any good at dating either.”

My response was so unexpected to him and, God, the way he looked at me. As if I were a structure he wasn’t able to figure out, a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

I mashed his pillow beneath my chest. “Do you do this a lot?” What was the word he’d used? “Scene?”

He hesitated, but it didn’t seem to be reluctance. More like he was trying to word his answer carefully. “I haven’t in a while.” He reached out, tracing his fingertips over the curve of my shoulder. “You liked what we did?”

“Yes.”

His tender touch was disarming. “I’m meeting a client tonight at Club Eros.” He pushed a lock of my hair back and his tone was cautious. “Are you interested in coming with me?”

“Club Eros,” I repeated. I’d never been to a BDSM club, and suddenly now I was dying to. What would it be like? I said it teasingly, even though I was serious. “Are you going to show me your world?”

His gaze snapped to mine, and his intensity made me shiver with excitement. “Yes.”

I wore a black corset top, paired with a teal skirt, and the same black heels from earlier. The strapless satin corset was the sexiest thing I owned, and I’d never been brave enough to wear it before tonight.

I sat beside Clay in the back seat of our Uber as it drove us toward the club. He’d given our driver the address, and I wondered most of the drive there if the guy knew what kind of club he was going to deliver us to. Clay was dressed in a black suit without a tie, and the collar of his white shirt was unbuttoned. He looked nice and professional, and not at all like he’d be the type of guy to spank me with a metal ruler hard enough that sitting was still uncomfortable hours later.

But I liked the sensation. I spent every quiet moment thinking about who had caused my discomfort, and heat flushed through me.

When I climbed out of the car and stared up at the club, I was surprised at how unassuming it looked. The rest of the block was warehouses, but this building was a house. Two-stories tall and brick, it was set back a little from the road, and had no signage other than a backlit chrome E glowing beside the door. I wouldn’t have even known it was a club if it wasn’t for the black-suited man standing on the porch out front. He was clearly security. Otherwise, the place was dark and quiet.

I strolled alongside Clay, moving across the sidewalk and up the porch steps to the entrance.

The security man seemed to recognize Clay, because the guy smiled and opened the door for us. He gave me a casual once-over. Not leering at all, more simply curious. Clay said he didn’t date, but he’d probably brought other women here before me. Maybe the bouncer was interested in who this new girl was at this regular customer’s side.

The guard gestured politely for me to go first, and I stepped across the threshold into the club.

The walls and ceiling of this small entry room were painted black, and subdued lighting lit the woman sitting behind the counter. She was older, but had a bright, youthful smile.

“Welcome back,” she said warmly to Clay before her gaze turned to me. “Can I see your IDs?”

“She’s new,” he explained as we both pulled out our drivers’ licenses. “Not a member yet.”

I set my ID on the counter, and the woman’s smile widened. “That’s great. I’ll get you all squared away, honey.”

She scanned our IDs and typed into her computer, nodding along to the soft thump of music that could be heard coming from deeper inside the place. I was handed a clipboard with a release to sign and date, which I did.

After the paperwork was completed, she looked pleased.

“Your membership’s been approved,” she said, handing back my license. “The new member fee is twenty.”

Clay must have been expecting this because he dropped a credit card on the counter, right next to his ID. She picked up his license and got to work scanning it in.

“The cover for her will be ten,” she continued, “and for you—”

The scan of his license popped up on her screen, and the title ‘Preferred Member’ flashed along the top.

“Oh.” She straightened in pleasant surprise. “So, the total will be just sixty.”

I blinked. Just sixty? I lowered my voice to a whisper so only he’d hear. “How much is it regularly?”

His expression was fixed. “For the guys who are regular members, it’s a hundred a night.”

“Jesus.” That was a lot for one night, not to mention sexist, but also . . . it didn’t surprise me. The strip club I went to years ago with my guy friends had no cover charge for women. Maybe this place wanted to entice as many women as possible like other clubs did.

The woman turned her attention to him. “Do you want to give her the tour, or would you like me to call someone from staff?”

“I can give it to her.”

She nodded and focused on me. “All right, the rules are easy for women. Really, the only one is no phones are allowed. If you get caught using one, you’ll be asked to leave. You’re allowed to go anywhere inside the club, except staff areas, behind the bar, or the restroom that’s opposite the