CHAPTER THREE
Brooke
This isn’t really happening.
I kept repeating that to myself as he led me up the narrow staircase to the second-floor landing. The air was hot and thick with the heavy, cloying scent of sex. My sweater adhered to my body in unnatural places, making me feel itchy all over, and sweat coated my palms.
But Cameron’s? His were smooth and dry perfection, without a callus to be felt. This obviously wasn’t his first time in a sex club.
Cameron Brice, the Republican hopeful, is in a sex club.
I had to hold my other hand against my heart to keep it from doing a victory beat out of my chest. This was better than I’d expected. Much better.
Wait until Owen Blakely hears this.
Then I snapped to and remembered that I wasn’t quite headed to fill Owen Blakely’s ear just yet. Far from it. First, I had to somehow get my subject to take his mask off. The next hurdle was getting out my camera and taking photographic evidence without him getting royally pissed off, and then I’d win the adoration of my employer.
Getting him upstairs was just the first battle. I’d far from won this war.
The walls around me suddenly started to close in, and my throat, coated with the sour taste of scotch, went completely dry.
I looked around as we reached the top of the staircase. Moans echoed down the blue-lit walls, like some perverted haunted house. The hallway was choked with people, and all the masked faces seemed tilted in my direction. There goes Jackie O, ready to pop her sex club cherry.
The hallway was long. He led me down it, stopping every so often at a room to check the door. Each one had a little message scrawled in Day-Glo marker on the outside. OCCUPIED, one said. STAY THE FUCK AWAY, another practically shouted. ALWAYS ROOM FOR MORE! said one farther down, and I hoped he wouldn’t take me into that one. But he moved with purpose, like he had very specific plans for me. I wasn’t sure if that was because he knew where he was going, or because he was a Brice, and that’s just what Brices did. They made decisions, got things done.
“Here,” he said finally, stopping at an open door.
I tried to peer inside, but it was dark. He reached in and flipped on a light, but it did little good, igniting a warm orange column of fire in the center of the room. He turned his masked face to me, and this, I knew, was where I needed to take the initiative. I started to walk into the room and suppressed a shudder as I saw a long, slinky-looking chaise shaped like an S in the center, along with a table covered with what I knew were various sex toys and bondage devices. I nodded my approval. “This could work.”
He didn’t say anything. He picked up a pen and wrote something on the wipe-off board outside the room.
Curiosity welled inside me. “What are you writing?”
I could tell from the way the mask raised up slightly that he was smiling. Probably smirking. But he didn’t say a word. He merely dropped the pen, stepped inside, closed the door, and twisted the lock, effectively sealing me up with him.
Alone.
I drew breath into my lungs, wiping my palms against my pencil skirt. He removed his jacket, laying it down on the edge of the couch, then unbuttoned his vest, very slowly and precisely, as if he had all the time in the world. As if he was just undressing after a day at the office. He laid that down, too, then started to remove his cuff links.
I looked down at myself, wondering if he expected me to undress too.
No. I certainly wasn’t doing that.
Although I’d come up here with him… to a sex room in a sex club. Had I really expected I could do that and keep my clothes on?
Once he’d set down his cuff links and rolled up his sleeves, revealing thick, masculine forearms, I heaved in a breath. He sidled up close enough that I could smell the seductive scent of some woodsy, likely expensive aftershave I’d never smelled before. We stood about two feet away from each other, mask-to-mask as I tried to picture the handsome, wholesome, all-American face underneath.
I couldn’t.
Though it may have been dull politician Cameron Brice’s eyes in the eyeholes, here, in this Guy Fawkes mask, he was someone else... someone wicked, dangerous, and incredibly sexy.
I broke the gaze first, looking away. My eyes landed on the chaise lounge. It was covered in a plain white slipcover, something that reminded me of a hospital bed, and there were odd loopy metal grommets placed in various locations at the top of the backrest. When I stepped back, my heel caught on something fastened to the floor. There were more loops sprouting from the floor. I could only imagine what they were for, and my breath hitched.
People came in here to be fucked.
When he took a step closer, I felt a pang of need low in my abdomen.
That was new.
Sure, Cameron Brice was utterly fuckable, as most of my friends on either side of the political spectrum would agree, but I wasn’t the type to go gaga over guys. Not only was I the good girl, boys didn’t interest me because they tended to get in the way of my career aspirations. I’d had too many run-ins with chauvinist pigs — most of them Republicans like the man in front of me, who thought a woman’s place was barefoot and pregnant. The asshole would always suggest I should take up modeling whenever I mentioned my FBI dream. I stifled the feeling of guilt blooming inside me.
If playing along gets me closer to the FBI, it’s worth it. It’s worth it, no matter…
I swallowed, making up my mind. No matter what happened in here, no one ever had to know. After all, I wasn’t Brooke Ellis now. I was Cassandra.
It was in that moment of weakness that he reached for my bag, his movements fast and fluid. I flinched, but not quick enough, because he managed to wrap a hand around the strap and lift it off my shoulder. I could tell from the way he held it, in midair, that he was questioning my strange behavior. Cool it, Brooke, I screamed in my head. Act natural.
“Heavy,” he observed, shaking it a little.
My heart was beating like a drum, but I shrugged like it was nothing and took it from him. I set it down on the shag carpet, out of the way, planting myself between it and him so he would forget it.
“I like to be prepared. Besides, I didn’t know you were into handbags,” I said to him with a teasing lilt in my voice, flipping my blonde mane to redirect his attention. “I thought you were into ponytails.”
Quick as a flash, he came closer, reaching around me, yanking my ponytail until I had no choice but to tilt my face up to him. Pain screamed up my scalp as my nose bumped against the chin of his mask. All the breath whooshed out of me as he held me there for a moment. Then, he ran one searing fingertip lazily down my throat, stopping at the hollow. His voice was calm, slow, and even, and his breath was spiced with the smell of scotch mixed with something sweet, like cinnamon. “I am very, very into ponytails.”
I thought maybe he was going to kiss me, and to do that, he’d have to remove the mask. Score one for me.
Instead, he simply reached to the top of my ponytail, tugging on the hair tie, letting my hair fall around my shoulders.
“But I like things even better when they’re loose. Unstructured. Wild.”
Unlike his life. Unlike my life too. After all, all I’d ever done was make plans and lists for my future, following my ambition. He’d done the same. I didn’t follow politics closely, but everything I’d heard Cameron Brice stood for had very nearly repulsed me. It was hard to think that we had something in common.
He stepped back to look at me. I couldn’t see them fully, but I could feel his eyes appraising me. “Take them off.”
My eyes widened. “Them…?”
“The pearls. They interfere.”
I instinctively lifted my hand to my chest to touch the string of imitation pearls hugging my neck. Before I could think, he reached over, seeming to know exactly the right amount of effort to exert to tear them from my neck. Pearls went skittering everywhere, some landing in the thick shag rug, others pinging against the hardwood floors, the walls.
He made no apology.
I just stood there, mouth half-open, stunned.
“They’re not real,” he said after a few silent seconds ticked awkwardly by, as if I should thank him for relieving me of them.
“What?”
“Obviously imitation,” he answered, like the snooty upper-crust snob he was born and bred to be.
I blinked at him, offended. “And what difference does that make? You still shouldn’t have—”
“No. You shouldn’t have,” he said over me, his voice hard. This must have been the famous Brice influence, the power he and his other family members possessed that could make anyone think whatever the mighty assholes wanted. He’d broken my necklace, and all I could think was that I was somehow at fault. “You’re better off without them.”
“Oh? Are you that much of a perfectionist?”
He reached into his pocket and took out the flask. Tilting the mask up ever so slightly, he drained the contents into his mouth. “When it comes to pearls, it’s imperfection that’s beautiful, Cassandra.”
I hoped the mask was big enough to hide my cheeks because I knew they were flushing. Despite thinking these clothes would help me fit in with him, my lack of culture was obvious. Before I could think of any witty retort, he turned away from me. He paced around the room, his hands laced behind his back as if he were addressing a boardroom. All the while, I felt myself getting weaker in the knees. This was the man with a silver tongue that could slay giants. I’d seen him on television, his voice impassioned and bold, commanding the audience, bending them to his will, but here? Alone with him in this room, I already knew I was a goner.
When he whirled to face me, I knew I wanted that mouth on me. “Now. What do you want to do?”
I felt the words escape me without thought, but even when they were out, I knew they were the absolute truth. “Anything you want me to do.”
His laugh was low and sexy. “But what do you want?”
As flustered as I was, I still managed to keep my purpose in the front of my mind. I gestured to his mask. “For you to take that off.”
He laughed again and shook his head. “No,” he said with a note of absolute finality.
Shit. My mask only covered my eyes, so my mouth was exposed, while his covered his entire face. “But how are you going to…” I started, but then stopped when realization flooded in. Of course he didn’t plan on kissing me. A kiss was personal, and this encounter, whatever it was, was not. “No?”
“You heard me. Anything else?”
The mask probably didn’t help to hide my disappointment. Without that, what did I have? Nothing. I could catch him stealing the Liberty Bell in a negligee, but with that mask on, it wouldn’t matter, because no one would know it was him.
Shit.
The silence stretched on, and what little confidence I had waned. Even with the mask, he could probably see right through me. I didn’t belong here. Maybe he knew exactly why I was here and was just playing with me. After all, I wasn’t the first person to try to catch him up to no good. Plenty of people had wanted to bring his family down over the years, and he’d survived this long unscathed for a reason. He wasn’t just going to whip off his mask because some girl in imitation pearls asked him to. I needed to bide my time and think.
No going back. Time to put your money where your mouth is.
I walked over to the table with the sex toys scattered over it. They were all in sealed plastic packages, very sanitary, but honestly, the cleanliness of this room was the least of my worries right then. I didn’t know what most of these things were. One of my friends had gotten me a pocket vibrator as a gag gift for Christmas in college, but that was the end of my experience with sex toys. Except for the giant purple dildo, I was lost. There were lumps of plastic and rubber, clips, ropes, beads… what the fuck did all these things do?
Carefully, I picked up a round wheel with a bunch of pink ridges on the edges, sort of like one of those fidget spinners, and held it out to him. “I want to use this.”
He tilted his head. “Is that right?”
Yes. No. Maybe. I had no idea. I thought about telling him that I had no clue what this particular toy did, but if he was already on to me, that would only make him more suspicious. I nodded, heat creeping up my neck.
He took it and ripped the plastic off it in a slow, precise motion. “Good choice.”
Was it? Clearly, Cameron Brice, conservative golden boy and frontrunner for the White House in 2024, was a closet kink expert.
Holy shit, I had absolutely no idea what kind of pain or pleasure I was in for. Was I really going to go through with this?
Then he reached over and picked up a plastic bag I hadn’t noticed. He ripped it open and pulled out a long black sliver of silk. A blindfold.
A blindfold! Why hadn’t I seen that before?
“I want you to wear this,” he said, as my mind started to churn with ideas. If I could get him to agree to wear the blindfold… tie him up… then I could get the picture and split.
I stiffened and held up a hand. “Wait.”
He paused, holding the blindfold in front of me. It was clear he wasn’t going to do anything unless I was one-hundred-percent into it. In the seconds that passed, a feeling of loss crept in.
I was already in this too deep. I wanted more than just a picture of him now. Much more.
“Just…” I stammered, making a weak attempt at trying to get what I’d come for. I forced a smile. “I want to do that to you.”
He shook his head. Then he leaned in until I felt the smooth lines of the mask against my cheek and whispered, his voice featherlight and smooth, “I believe you’re the one who needs loosening up, Cassandra.”
So my nervousness hadn’t gone unnoticed. Of course it hadn’t gone unnoticed. My back and neck were so rigid I could already feel how sore they’d be tomorrow. “I’m not going to take off my mask.”
“Not a problem.”
He was right. With or without the mask, I had no protection from him. I was powerless as he whirled me around. He wrapped the blindfold right over my mask, the silk cool and pleasant where it touched my hot skin, and I could feel him tying a knot tight at the back of my head. “Not too tight, I hope,” he whispered in my ear.
I shook my head. Then he put a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward where the couch had been.
He sat me down, and when I did, my knees knocked together, my teeth chattering. I clamped them shut, wondering what he planned to do as I felt the pressure of his hands on my hips. Their warmth seeped straight through the fabric of my clothes. He ran them down, strong and commanding, to the tops of my thighs. I shivered.
“Your skirt is too tight.”
Like the rest of me.
I didn’t know why I felt it was something I should apologize for. So when he added, “You need to take it off,” I leaned forward to give him better access to the zipper at the back. I could feel him leaning close, the plastic of his mask pressing against my breasts as he reached around me. He easily lowered the zipper, the fabric giving way, loosening its iron grip on my stomach so that I could draw in the first enormous breath I’d been able to all night. I raised my hips off the couch so that he could pull it to the floor. He lifted up one of my shoes, then the other, and then I was free of that damned skirt. A definite relief. I felt the rush of air on my bare legs and heard a gentle swooshing noise as it landed somewhere behind me.
His hands were still on my shoes. “These heels are hot. Keep them on while I fuck you.”
He’s going to fuck me.
Here I was, my bottom half nearly naked to Cameron Brice as he knelt in front of me. It was easy to pretend this was nothing but a dream while I was locked here in this dark, hazy room, with the bass from downstairs making the walls vibrate. While my head was fuzzy from the sips of scotch I’d taken. But when he said it, it suddenly became real. I swallowed, and then sucked in air as I felt the electric touch of his hands on my thighs, nudging them apart.
Cameron Brice was really going to fuck me.
I wasn’t a virgin. I’d been in three long-term relationships since my junior year in high school, and in each of them, we’d had sex, but only after several dates and I’d gotten to know them. I’d never had a one-night stand. The sex I’d had, though, in those committed relationships? Good girl sex. Perfectly sweet with whispered “I love yous” and lots of cuddling afterwards. I supposed that was every girl’s dream, and it had been mine too.
Until now.
I knew this was going to be a lot different.
And my body welcomed it, buzzing all over. I’d never felt hotter. When he tugged on my sweater, I eagerly — almost too eagerly — obliged by unbuttoning the pearl buttons and slipping it off. I wasn’t someone who liked baring my body to strangers, not at all, but it was bewildering, how easily it happened. Now, I was exposed to him, in my lace thong and bra, and my stupid Target heels. I’d come here wanting to bring this man down, and yet now I was the one being conquered.
He knelt before me, between my legs. “Damn, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, and though I couldn’t see it, I could feel his gaze. “Take your tits out of your bra for me.”
I never did such things, even home alone. Why I did as he asked, I’d never know. He had me under a powerful spell, and I supposed I wanted to give him the same feeling. I pushed aside the lace fabric and felt the cool air on my sensitive nipples. They hardened at once.
He drew in a ragged breath, and it was warm on my skin when he exhaled. “Squeeze them. Squeeze your nipples.”
I shrugged aside all feeling of embarrassment, and put my fingers over the puckered flesh. They were already hard, but as I did as he asked, they became painfully so. I bit back the cry in my throat, hoping this was what he wanted while in the back of my mind, I wondered how I’d let things come to this.
As I played with my tits, I heard him let out that breath and felt his presence as he leaned toward me. The crisp fabric of his shirt brushed against the skin of my abdomen, and I started to put my arms around him.
He froze, pulled away.
“No,” he said.
His footsteps trailed away from me. I sat upright, trying to understand. What had I done wrong?
The next thing I knew, he was taking my wrist in his hand, held it up behind my head and wrapped something silken around it.
“What are you…?” Then understanding dawned. He was tying me up, just as if he’d intuitively reached into my mind and pulled out exactly what I’d hoped to do to him.
Could he see inside my mind?
I sure as hell hoped not.
“You don’t touch me,” he said, voice full of authority as he tightened the knot on my wrist. “Understand?”
I nodded, even though I didn’t really. Was he afraid of fingerprints?
“Too tight?”
I shook my head. The amount of pressure was just right, not enough to hurt, but firm enough to render my arm completely immobile. It was clear that Cameron Brice had tied up women before.
“Good.” He gently took my other wrist in his hand and did the same. I wondered if he could feel my pulse thudding out of my skin because he said, “Have you ever tried bondage, Cassandra?”
I hadn’t wanted to appear so naïve, but it had to be obvious now. I tried to shift in my seat, but it was difficult with both arms tied back over my head. “No,” I murmured, testing the feeling out. I’d been powerless before, but now, I had no choice but to surrender completely. The tension inside me began to melt away, only to be replaced by a delicious, tantalizing anticipation.
I already knew I liked it. Like it was a dangerous drug, and I was entirely capable of becoming addicted.
He wrenched my legs even farther apart, managing to tie my ankles down too. The loops on the floor. I was now spread out, my ass on the very edge of the couch, my shoulders against the backrest. Ordinarily, not a very comfortable position, but I couldn’t care about my comfort. His footsteps on the floor sounded loudly in the room as he walked around me, very slowly, taking me in.
When he was behind me, he leaned down, his lips close to my ear. “You are gorgeous. Are you ready?”
I nodded.
More footsteps. Then his broad frame was between my legs. Ever so slowly, he lowered himself down and ran a finger up my thigh. There was the motorized hum of something, the sex toy, coming to life. Something flicked against my skin, and I tensed and let out a breath.
The next thing I knew, there was a nibble on my abdomen. This wasn’t anything mechanical — this was human. A tongue — an actual, human tongue. It had to be as nothing could ever mimic that warm, soft, alive sensation as it snaked its way down my hip bone. My body shuddered with the sharpest jolt of pleasure as a thought fluttered through my mind.
His mask was off. His mask was off.
But by then, I was so lost that I didn’t even care.