Perfect Match (Vice Club Nights #2)

18. Tori

Chapter eighteen

Tori

I t’s a girls’ night out. Except Charli just left to go home, and Sadie is virtually climbing over the bar to reach the cute blond bartender who has made it clear that he’s happy to deliver whatever she’s looking for. Maybe I should have left with Charli.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text, and it’s my sister to say she’s safely home. I thought it might be Gio, as he’d texted earlier today asking if we could meet. I was tempted to refuse when it’s the first message I’ve had from him in days, and there’re still no calls since he canceled Paris.

My sense of self-preservation is screaming at me not to meet him, but like an addict looking for their next fix, I said I might.

It’s too late to keep my heart safe; I’m already too far in, and that’s probably been the case from the first moment I saw him in his cousin’s pizzeria.

Throwing caution to the wind, or maybe the result of a couple of cocktails, I scroll to his earlier message.

Me: I’m free to meet you now.

Three little dots start bouncing, and then his reply comes through.

Gio: I’m at The Vice Club. Can you meet me here?

The Vice Club. An interesting choice to meet, but at least I’m familiar with it. Not the club itself. I’ve never been to the upper levels, but I’ve visited the members’ gym on level one with Charli a few times since arriving.

Bending closer to Sadie so she can hear me above the loud music, I ask, “Are you ready to go?”

“No, Mark is finishing his shift soon. As the only one of us who hasn’t had hot, steamy sex for nearly a year, I think I’ll indulge in a little fun tonight.”

While Sadie has the looks of an angel, she does have a wild side that matches my own. I give her a quick hug while saying, “You go girl. But stay safe. I’m going to meet a friend, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then, just to be sure, I lean across the bar to say to Mark, “If anything happens to my friend, I’m going to hold you responsible.”

***

The Vice Club is amazing. Bigger, better music, and more vibrant than the club I just left. I’ve not seen so many sequin-encrusted skimpy outfits since the last time I went to Sydney’s annual Mardi Gras. My gold satin halter top, black mini, and ankle boots have me blending in perfectly with the eclectic crowd.

I make my way over to the bar, passing some waiters on the way, who say hi. They think I’m Charli, and with the music pounding, it would be too hard to set the record straight, so I smile back and return the greeting.

At the bar, I slide onto an empty stool and cross one leg over the other, giving my black mini a little tug in the process. A broad-shouldered bartender with a buzz cut turns and smiles.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” Then, doing a double-take, he says, “Charli?”

“Not Charli. I’m Tori. And you must be Tony?”

He laughs. “I knew Charli had an identical twin, but wow. You really do look so much alike.”

“Not enough to fool you, though?” Most people struggle to tell us apart, but it seems like Tony isn’t most, and even in the bar’s blue lighting, he could spot the subtle differences.

With a wink, he adds, “It’s my job to notice the little things. Now, what can I get you to drink?”

“It has to be one of Charli’s signature cocktails that I’ve heard so much about. But don’t tell my sister that I couldn’t wait for her to make me one.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” he says before turning to make the saffron-infused cocktail.

Taking my phone from my purse, I text Gio to let him know I’m here.

“Are you meeting someone?” Tony asks as he places the pretty tall-stemmed cocktail on the bar in front of me.

“Yes, a friend,” I’m replying when he glances over my shoulder and grins. Firm, familiar hands land on my hips, and I twirl on the stool into Gio’s embrace.

He hugs me close, his hand slipping under my butt to drag me closer as he steps between my legs. My hands stretch up to thread through the hair on the back of his head.

“I missed you,” he murmurs so close to my lips I feel his breath brush them. But his mouth doesn’t claim mine. Instead, he places tiny kisses along my jawline and down my neck. I tilt my head, giving him better access. And dampness floods my panties.

“I missed you too,” I admit breathlessly. “But we should probably take this someplace private before I start stripping you naked.”

“It’s a sex club, bella. It’s what people do here. And if you want to strip me naked, then I’m okay with that.”

“Wow, you’re one of those—” I giggle and hitch one shoulder as his light kisses tickle below my ear. “—an exhibitionist,” I end with a gasp.

“Let’s just say I have no issues being naked in front of other people.” His voice drops an octave as he continues, “I suspect you might not either.”

My mouth turns up into a wide smile. “Maybe,” I reply quizzically. I’ve missed his teasing banter and his sexy damn mouth, which is now kissing and nipping a path from my collarbone across my shoulder. A shiver skitters up my spine.

“But tonight I was thinking we could visit the French Boudoir.”

My brow rises. “Where is the French Boudoir?”

“Upstairs. It’s a private playroom, so no showing off your gorgeous body to anybody but me tonight.” He grins, then threads another string of kisses back to my neck.

“It won’t be as special as what I’d planned for you in Paris, but I promise it will have the important elements: you, me, and a few little surprises.” His deep-timbered voice is turning my insides to goo. Knowing that he’s thought to make up for having to cancel Paris with a French-inspired evening already has me unraveling.

Curling my fingers into the lapels of his black dress shirt, I bring his face up to mine. “Gio, please take me to your boudoir now.”

“ Bien sur , Mademoiselle ,” he replies.

“You speak French too?”

Is there no end to this guy’s talents?

He laughs. “Only a little. I was just trying to get you in the mood.”

“Oh, I’m in the mood. Don’t you worry about that.”

He steps back and places his hands on my waist to lift me off the barstool, then threads his fingers through mine. It reminds me of our nights in Florence, walking hand in hand.

“My drink!” I say, tugging Gio to a stop before running back to grab it off the bar and gulping down the remaining sweet liquid. It’s too delicious to waste.

Tony is standing on the other side of the wooden counter, grinning at me, and I give him a wave before rejoining Gio.

He leads me up an extravagant staircase on the left to a mezzanine level and through another smaller bar area. Gio told me this place was exclusive, but what he failed to mention was the five-star opulence you wouldn’t normally associate with a club. Three lavish chandeliers hang from the high ceiling in this area, bouncing light off the gold fittings at the bar and the diamonds dripping from the group of women standing there sipping cocktails. And I’m sure I recognize the guy lounging on one of many sumptuous leather sofas, a glamorous redhead draped along his side. A sequin-clad waitress places an ice bucket with a bottle of Dom Perignon and two crystal flutes on the white marble table in front of them.

I try not to stare at the couple, but I must be when Gio leans closer and says, “This is the VIP bar, and there’s usually a celebrity or two here on busy nights.”

This club is by far the fanciest I’ve ever been in, and I’m excited to see what awaits me in the French Boudoir.

We walk toward a woman at a high desk stationed in front of a dimly lit hallway.

“Hi, Jules. Do you have my room ready?” Gio asks.

“Yes, Gio. And the items you requested are on the console table,” she replies before passing him a keycard that looks like the kind you get at a hotel. The whole vibe in this part of the club is like a boutique hotel.

Again, he takes my hand, leading the way. The heels of my boots sink into the thick deep-red carpet. Small lights above a series of erotic gold-framed paintings are the only spots of light spilling down the walls and up to the ceiling, which is painted black. We stop at one of the solid wood doors that divide the paintings into groups of three.

“Jules seemed to know you?” I’ve no idea why I feel the need to say this to him. Maybe it’s the jittery butterflies swirling in my belly. Or the spike of jealousy I felt when he greeted Jules like a friend. How often does he bring women to this club?

What I felt for Gio in Italy was special because that’s how he treated me. But lately I’ve wondered if I imagined the feelings that were developing between us in Florence. It felt real, and the obvious sexual attraction between us is undeniable. Could that be all there is to us? Maybe after tonight I’ll have my answer.

He shrugs a shoulder as he swipes the card across the reader at the door, and the little light turns green. He opens the door and gestures for me to enter. As I slip past him, I don’t miss the way he stares at me like he can read every one of my thoughts.

When the door snicks closed behind us, he cages me against the wall before I’ve even had a chance to fully see the room. “I’ve never pretended to be a saint, but I’m also not a regular.”

The question seems to have touched a nerve. In fact, Gio seems more tense in general than the fun, flirty guy I met in Florence.

Looking him in the eye, I respond forcefully, “Let me be clear, Gio. I’ve never pretended that I wanted a saint in my bed.” I start to undo the buttons of his shirt, but I don’t get very far before he’s grabbing my wrists and pulling them high above my head.

“Tonight, I need to be in control. You can take control next time.” His voice is gruff, and I nod, wide-eyed. I’ve not seen this slightly desperate side of him before.

“Does that scare you?” he asks, softening his grip.

“Not at all. Nothing you do could scare me.” My words hang between us for a moment before his mouth descends to take mine in a bruising, mind-numbing kiss.

When he releases me, I get my first real look at the room. A circular canopied bed with intricately carved wooden posts is the centrepiece and reminds me of the ones I saw at the Palace of Versailles in Paris. I go to stand at the end of it. Decadent swaths of royal-purple satin fall from the round canopy to the four corners of the bed and are fastened to the posts with thick gold tasseled ropes.

Crystal wall sconces on dimmers form pockets of warm light that are bounced around the room by three full-size ornately carved mirrors hanging on the walls. The large mirrors and other gold mirror-fronted furniture make it impossible not to catch my reflection whichever way I turn.

Gio watches me from where I left him at the door, and only when I catch him staring does he move.

“Would you like a glass of champagne?” he asks, walking toward a console table where an ice bucket sits with a bottle of Dom Perignon poking out the top and two crystal flutes beside it.

My lips feel dry from the moisture-draining kiss moments ago. “Yes, please.” I move closer to him, knowing the moment I’m in his orbit, he will reach for me again.

Pop . The cork eases from the bottle with just the right amount of pressure so none of the precious bubbles are lost. Beside the ice bucket is a gold-footed bowl filled with ruby-red strawberries. Unable to resist, I pick one up and bite into its juicy sweetness as Gio fills the two glasses, golden bubbles fizzing to the surface.

He hands me a frosty flute, then lifts his thumb to brush it across my bottom lip. Pleasure chases the blood through my veins at his touch.

I step closer to him so the buttons on his shirt rest against my satin top. The heat from his body filtering through the thin covering of fabric to tease my bare skin beneath.

My halter top, while high-necked at the front, dips to my waist at the back, and with a flick of his wrist, he releases the clasp on the collar around my neck. The fabric glides off my body to bunch in a shimmering band at my waist. His heated gaze devours every exposed inch of skin, and I feel like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. Goose bumps pebble my skin in anticipation of his touch. But he doesn’t reach for me. Instead, he turns me so my back is to him and I’m facing one of the large mirrors. He undoes the string tie still holding the gold satin to me, and my top falls to pool at my feet.

Gathering my hair in one hand, he lifts it to sprinkle a few kisses across my shoulders and down the middle of my back until he reaches the band of my mini, which is quickly unzipped and disposed of in the same way as my top.

I stand in front of the mirror in only a black lace G-string and ankle boots. I expect the boots to be next to go, but I’m wrong when he rises to his full height behind me to catch and hold my gaze in the reflection.

A sexy smile paints his handsome face, the sight of it turning the blood flowing through my veins into molten lava.

I’m soaked, my G-string damp and clinging to me uncomfortably. I want him to take it off, and it’s exactly what he does when he slides his hands up the sides of my thighs and twists the thin black lace strap on my hip until the delicate fabric is shredded and the remaining scraps fall from my body.

“You owe me new underwear.”

“I’ll buy you a dozen G-strings in the most expensive French lace if you’ll let me do that again.” His heated gaze traverses my naked body like a cartographer detailing a new map. Every dip and curve noted and memorized in a slow, methodical way, and it’s all-consuming. A shiver skitters up my spine.

“You’re so beautiful. I could look at you like this for hours.”

“Well, I was kind of hoping you were planning on doing more than just looking.”

His answering chuckle is low and sexy. “You’re right, I can look after.” Then, with a few taps on my butt, he says, “Hop on the bed. And leave the boots on.”

Excitement pools in my stomach as I crawl into the centre of the gold satin sheet and lie down on my back. It’s deliciously cool against my heated skin in a way my satin top hadn’t been.

From where he’s standing back at the console table, he looks over his shoulder at me. “Good girl.” The words pinken my cheeks. He strips with his back to me, and the view is almost as good as the front. I don’t think I ever noticed that before, but from his shoulders, down over his taut butt, to the dark hair dusting the backs of his thighs and calves, he’s a god.

And when he turns, I can’t unpin my gaze from his impressive, thick cock. My memories of our nights in Florence did him a disservice. He stops at the base of the bed, and a frown creases my brow as he’s hidden from the waist down.

“Spread your legs.”

I do.

“Wider.”

And again, I obey.

“Do you have any problems with being tied up?” he asks while holding out a black silk scarf.

This is different and not at all what I was expecting. I grin broadly. “Not that I’m aware of,” I reply.

“Perfect,” he mutters through a clenched jaw as he lifts my ankle and ties the strip of silk around it, then the other end to the corner post. In silence, he works his way to all four corners until I’m spread out, tethered to the bed.

Butterflies skitter about in my belly. I’ve never felt so exposed or vulnerable. Especially as, through Brazilian jiu-jitsu, I’ve always seen my hands and feet as my safety. Now that safety has been taken away from me with the silk ties, and I have to trust that Gio will keep me safe. I’ve never given someone that much power over me before.

When Gio climbs onto the bed, some of my nervousness must show in my eyes because he asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m a bit nervous,” I admit.

The smokey blue of his gaze softens to the color of the sea in Capri. “I would never hurt you, bella.”

“I know,” I say, and just like that, the butterflies settle.

He reaches across to the table and takes a small bottle of oil I hadn’t noticed earlier. And then I stare as he drizzles a line down my body. It’s warm and smells similar to my body wash.

“Is that bergamot and orange?” I ask, my body relaxing against the ties.

“Very good. It is, plus a couple of other essential oils. Do you like it?” He seems eager for my response.

“Yes; it’s like the body wash I use.”

“I know.” He almost whispers the acknowledgment before he begins to massage the oil into my breasts.

Holy hell, that feels good. My skin tingles under his touch.

With the skill of a professional masseuse, he massages from my shoulders, over my tits and stomach, around my hips, and to the tops of my thighs. Sometimes leaning over me to drop a kiss on my oiled skin or suck on my nipples. It’s excruciatingly good.

But when his hands move to the inside of my thighs and his tongue takes a leisurely path over my pussy, need literally crawls out of me as goose bumps dance across my fevered skin. The breath I was exhaling catches.

A muffled groan escapes his lips as he buries his face between my thighs.

“Delicious, bella,” he growls when he comes up for breath after thoroughly licking and sucking me senseless.

I’m teetering on the edge, my head thrashing from side to side and my wrists straining against the silk scarf ties. But the more I writhe on the bed, the more pressure he applies with his tongue.

When I’m sure I can’t take any more, he stops, and I pull against the ties, wanting to be free to tug his head back. Again, he reaches for something on the table.

A click sounds, followed by the distinct low buzz of a vibrator. And then he’s back, feeding the pulsing toy through my swollen channel until it curls to land on the spot. The bulbous head massaging my internal wall.

“Fuck!”

“Don’t come yet, bella,” he commands, with one hand now holding my hips still while his mouth returns to devour my clit.

“I don’t know … if I can stop,” I gasp out, my fists gripping the silk like I’m drowning at sea and this is my only lifeline.

The pressure is building, my muscles tightening. “Please,” I beg.

“Now,” he demands, and I explode with a shower of sparks behind my eyelids. Every muscle tensing, then releasing, and tensing again. I’m lost in the blinding, intense pleasure of my orgasm. I’ve never felt anything like this, and it doesn’t stop till the vibrator is switched off.

“Fuck, I love watching your reactions,” he growls, and my body melts further into the mattress.

The piercing sapphire blue of his gaze stares down at me when my eyelids finally flutter open, setting light to new fires in my belly. I need him to fill me, stretch my soaking walls around his cock.

He releases first one silk tie on my ankle, then the other, before snatching up a condom. My heartbeat picks up in pace as the head of his shaft nudges at my entrance. With more freedom of movement, my hips lift to bring him to me, and my muscles relax to accommodate his width and length.

I wrap my legs around his hips, changing the angle so he can drive deeper with each thrust. Even our rapid breaths are synchronized.

I love that he is fiercely demanding with my body. His eagerness for pleasure is only matched by my own insistent demands of his body.

Our rhythm becomes erratic, frenzied. The veins in his neck straining. The muscles in his shoulders and arms bulging as he continues to pump into me.

Then every muscle in my body tenses as another orgasm takes hold.

And every muscle in his body tenses as he follows me.

We both collapse onto the bed, panting heavily.

When his breathing returns to normal before mine, he unties my hands, checking for any marks—there are none—before placing a kiss on the inside of my wrist.

“Are you okay?” he asks, concern lacing his words. “I was a bit out of control.”

“Are you crazy? That was amazing.”

He hauls me into his arms. All my earlier concerns about tonight being a mistake have been firmly laid to rest. What Gio and I have is so much more than sexual chemistry.

“Can we go back to your place now?” I ask, smothering a yawn as I curl tighter into his lap. I’m barely able to keep my eyes open after our intense lovemaking.

“Of course we can, bella.”