He’s like a statue beside me, radiating heat and the promise of sex. I’ve never seen or felt anything like it before. Most men wait for the prescribed moments to even think about bringing up the topic. Dinner first. Car ride home. Invitation to come inside. Small talk. Nervous waiting. Only when they’re absolutely confident there’s no chance of rejection, only then will they try to take the final step.

But Angelo?

He has the kind of confidence I can only imagine a man has to earn. It’s a confidence that says he doesn’t need to tiptoe around any topic or request, that he knows there’s no shame or embarrassment in being refused because anyone who refuses him is the one missing out. He doesn’t even have to say it for it to be painfully obvious.

He knows I’m going to sleep with him tonight. Not only does he know it, he knows it’s going to be mind-blowing. Toe curling. Life changing.

All of that knowledge rests in his icy blue eyes, those pools of fiery passion that seem endlessly deep and intoxicating.

He’s going to be my undoing. He’ll use me and forget me, in all likelihood, and I can’t even stop myself from following along all the same, even when I know the only way this ends is heartbreak.

“You never asked why,” I say as we wait for the elevator to move.

“Why what?” he asks in his low, rumbling voice.

“Why I needed you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

“I didn’t ask because it didn’t matter. I knew I’d do it when I saw you, so I didn’t care to know the reason.”

He looks back to the doors, completely unworried about pressing the issue and learning more.

Somehow his lack of interest is refreshing. After a lifetime of being questioned over every minute detail of my life by my father, it’s nice to imagine what it would be like with Angelo, not having to explain every little thing and every action.

“Well, I still should’ve thanked you. I got a little caught up and forgot to—”

“No need to thank me,” he says. “Yet,” he adds meaningfully. “You’ll have an opportunity to show me your gratitude tonight. Don’t worry.”

I’m left to ponder exactly what he means until the doors slide open and reveal the second floor.

He gestures for me to step out.

I first notice how much less crowded this floor of the club is. It also feels even more luxurious. The first floor had a modern, classy feel with bright lights and expensive furniture, but this…

My eyes move from glossy, polished marble floors inlaid with intricate designs to the dark wood walls carved into panels and archways to the twinkling chandeliers hanging overhead. If the first floor was a club for the average person, this floor looks more like a club for the wealthy elite.

“Wow,” I say.

There’s no dance floor, and the music is a light, atmospheric piano playing from somewhere deeper in the room. Nothing seems too out of the ordinary until I notice a man and woman disappear into a black-curtained room set off to the side of the main lobby area.

“What’s back there?” I ask.

Angelo’s mouth curls up at the corner. “Play your cards right, and you’ll find out.”

I wait for him to say more, but he seems content to leave me confused and off-balance as we move deeper into the area, passing through the lobby to a seating area with booths and a stage where the piano plays. I notice more of the curtained areas near the back of the room. They draw my eyes, curiosity gnawing at me. What is back behind those curtains?

The smell of roasted meat and sweet, savory sauces reaches my nose. I realize many of the people here are eating.

Angelo notices my attention. “Hungry?” he asks.

“Uhh,” I say. “I completely forgot to bring my money from the car. Do you mind if I just run out and get it real quick?”

“You think I’d let you pay for your own dinner? I invited you here, Ana. This is my club. I own everything in it,” he adds with a suggestive twitch of his eyebrow as he eyes me.

“I don’t want you to think I’m just taking advantage of—”

“Ana,” he says firmly. He takes my face in his hands gently, brushing my lip with his thumb when his eyes fall to my mouth. “You wanted me to pretend to be your boyfriend. That means I get to take care of you. I get to fucking pamper you if that’s what I want. You understand?”

I give him a wry smile. “I understand.” My father’s overprotective bubble has always made me bristle when guys try to treat me like I can’t do something myself, but somehow… Somehow it feels different from Angelo, like he knows I could handle it myself but he simply enjoys doing it for me. It’s a small distinction, but it’s the only reason I can think that I’m not itching to slap him or tell him off for treating me like some helpless, wounded animal.

We eat a dinner of light courses like nothing I’ve ever had. Each is barely more than a bite-sized portion. I didn’t know what half of it was, even after the waiter described the dish, because most of the words he used sounded French or Italian. All I know is everything tasted like heaven in my mouth, from the delicate first courses that were light and airy, to the main course of A-5 Wagyu beef with various sauces dabbed on the plate to sample, and the dessert of a paper-thin caramel sheet drizzled with sugar crystals, chocolate syrup, and the ice cream it was served over. Everything was amazing, and it came quickly enough that I barely spoke to Angelo the entire time, except to bulge my eyes with delighted shock at him after every bite.

“I can’t believe the food is so good at a club,” I say, leaning back in my chair after the waiter has cleared the last of our plates.

“This isn’t just a club,” he says with a shrug. “I wanted this to be a paradise. It’s the perfect date in a building. Each floor is another stage. Another step.”

“What’s on the top floor, then?” I ask.

“You would need to promote me to real boyfriend to find that out.”

I run my fingers over a loose fabric in tha tablecloth, unable to think how even the seemingly beautiful tablecloth would start to come apart at the seams with the slightest tug. Just one little tug could ruin the whole thing.

He chuckles. “Easy. I get it. You’re not about commitments. You don’t have to make a face like I just told you someone died.”

“It’s not that,” I say. “It’s just… Well, It’s not that.”

He watches me curiously, then amusement slips into his expression. “You can have your secrets, for now. But know that when I have you where I want you, nothing will be hidden. You’ll be bare to me, little pet, body and mind.”

A chill runs through me. “And if I don’t want to bare my mind to you?”

“Then you had better leave now, before I am too far gone to ever let you walk out of here.”

“You’d just let me walk away?” I ask, feeling a little stung that he’d give me up so easily.

He grins. “I’ll admit I might try to persuade you to stay. But no, I wouldn’t force you. Part of the fun is knowing you could leave. I enjoy watching the struggle behind your eyes. The battle between what is sensible and what you know you really want.”

“And what do I really want, in your estimation?” I ask, heartbeat pounding in my ears.

“Release.”

I scoff, surprised and oddly annoyed, if only because his response rings so true that I feel violated. His answer seemed more right than the one that came to my mind. “Well, you’re wrong,” I say, voice edged with stubbornness.

“I could almost believe you if your cheeks weren’t such a beautiful shade of red.” His eyes drift down my neck and to my breasts. “And if your nipples weren’t hard. I bet you’re wet for me too. I wonder,” he says, the look in his eyes absolutely enthralling. “Will your pussy taste as sweet as your mouth?”

I drag my eyes away from his, trying to catch my breath and remain somewhat dignified, even as every nerve in my body seems to light up, red-hot and primed for activation, begging for his rough fingertips and hard body. “This is your idea of dinner conversation?” I say through a tight throat. I can feel him testing me with his words, watching and reading my reactions with skilled eyes that don’t seem to miss a thing.

“You want release, Ana,” he says, ignoring my question. “I don’t know what you’re running from. I don’t know why. And it doesn’t matter to me, unless you want it to. Release from responsibilities. From your past. From the future. From yourself. Whatever it is, I can give it. When you submit to me, you can lay all your burdens at my feet. You can set them aside for as long as you like. I’ll bear the weight for you.”

I realize I’m leaning forward, hands on the table, eyes intent. I lean back, trying to compose myself. Angelo is offering me a choice. Like a hand extending from the darkness, he’s offering to pull me through that doorway and into his world, but it’s a world I know nothing of. Yet, when I look around myself, all I can see is the cage my father has built. Year after year he has reinforced the walls, building the cage thicker and thicker. Angelo is offering me an escape from my cage. An escape to what?

Does it matter?

One deep breath. Two. Three.

“Just for tonight,” I say. I lick my lips, watching him and unable to help feeling as though I just stepped into the jaws of a waiting beast. “For tonight, I’ll be yours.”