Chapter 23

ANYA

“What would you take, sugar?” I ask in my sweetest birdlike voice, addressing the young billionaire in one of our private booths.

He and his friends chuckle, their gazes skating over my figure most lasciviously. A blond one licks his lips, so to rile him up, I bend forward and face my ass to him while I wait for his friend to answer.

“Pussy shots,” the billionaire replies, his eyes lingering on my cleavage, which has now become exposed to him.

I smile cheekily, straightening my posture. “Crude man!” I play slap him on the shoulder. “Coming right up.”

They exchange looks, and I glance at their tight pants.

~My job here is done.~

They are paying big bucks tonight; I just hope we have good artists available.

After placing their order in the system, I roam around the club, feeling extremely safe in the environment that has been created here. The fact that none of the customers are allowed to touch me without getting banned gives me a sense of power that makes me high.

So many men and women come here, willing to submit to their darkest fantasies under the erotic lights of the club. I walk among them in the mask of the utmost perfection they crave.

When my shots are ready, I stride up to the bar, tapping my glittery fingernails on the counter and ordering a Cuba libre from the cute bartender. While he prepares my drink, I serve the boys, collect a generous tip, and make it back to the bar just as my drink is finished.

I am about to take a sip when a hand slams on the counter, making me jump, and a chuckling Vanessa comes to a halt beside me.

“Aren’t we having so much fun?” she asks, unable to control her giggles.

“We are.” I hum in agreement. “This place oozes money.”

“And sexual power.” She leans close to me. “Don’t you feel so…powerful here?” She gives someone a wink, and I follow her gaze.

A new guy has just walked in, looking completely out of place with his soft features, turtleneck, and face quickly reddening as he sees the show playing onstage today.

It is of a woman giving a blow job to two guys who are both tied up on a bed of white sheets. She alternates sucking them, and their hungry looks are a sight to see. Their moans are amplified by the speakers but are unheard by the guests who aren’t in the viewing room.

“Not refuting that,” I say, wrapping my lips around the straw and sucking audibly like I like to. The liquid cools my tongue, sending instant relief to the dryness in my throat. I close my eyes from the delicious taste and instant buzz in my veins.

“Damn,” Vanessa says. “Isn’t that your Mr. Rossi?”

I fling my eyelids open, following her line of sight, which leads my eyes to Dimitri, who has just walked into the club.

Things have been difficult between us since our Skype episode—awkward, to say the least. Ever since he shut his laptop after Blake came into his room, I have been feeling some sorts of ways.

Ashamed because I masturbated in front of a camera, guilty because of what we are doing behind Blake’s back and because he almost caught us, and angry over Dimitri’s quick reaction, which is an irrational anger.

Of course he doesn’t want Blake to find out—and neither do I—but I can’t help but feel like he is ashamed to be with me, embarrassed somehow.

Because of all this, I decided I needed a break. Things could have ended badly if Blake had entered a minute earlier, and that was too close. So, when I returned from my parents’, I ignored Dimitri this time, not even attending his classes and completely ghosting him.

I am not proud of myself; what I have been doing is petty. But I know Dimitri understands because he has left me to sort my feelings out. Now that he is here, I wonder if my time is up.

All heads whip to him as his magnificently handsome presence strolls inside the room.

He is an image of masculine perfection, dressed in a white button-down and jeans that hang low around his hips. His hair is styled messily with short strands falling to his forehead. Strobe lights cast a checkered glow on his face as he meets with his fellow VIPs, one of them being the owner of the club, Luca Kane.

They talk among themselves.

His appearance heightens the buzzing in my veins, and I swear I can feel his body heat from here. He is not so far away from me; if he turns around, he will see me.

“I swear you’ve hit the jackpot. Just looking at him makes my panties wet,” Vanessa says, fanning herself with a heavily jeweled hand.

“Shut up,” I tell her in a hushed voice, making a point not to look his way. “He might hear you.”

“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes. “Holy shit! Mr. Rossi is coming right our way. Pinch me, Anya.” Vanessa stifles a squeal as she bounces on the balls of her feet.

Dimitri is indeed walking right in our direction, a small smile playing on his lips.

From the corner of my eye, I see Vanessa casting her glance between us—her smirk as sly as ever. I notice her mouth move too, but her words fade to silence as my stare gets hooked on Dimitri, who doesn’t stop looking at me.

His eyes hold a challenge for me, asking how long I can stay away from him. It appears he can’t wait any longer, and with every step he takes, my own resolve fails.

He stands beside me at the bar. “Miss Renée,” he says with a slight dip of his chin.

“Mr. Rossi.” I acknowledge him back as he orders his drink, and silence settles between us. My lips wrap around my straw, and he fixes his gaze on them, his throat bobbing. I wonder what he is thinking.

After the bartender finishes his drink, he takes the glass, throws a small smirk at me, and knocks elbows with me on his way back to his circle of VIPs.

Vanessa must sense that something isn’t right because her lips seal shut as she watches him walk away and take a seat in one of the red leather one-seaters, next to Luca and Hudson.

We both watch as a woman wearing a mask and a members-only pin saunters up behind him, snaking her arm down his chest, whispering something in his ear, and moving to his side.

Gripping my Cuba libre tight, I stare at the show before me, but when the woman slips off her mask, my jaw drops.

“What the fuck?” Vanessa is the one to speak first. “Isn’t that your other professor? The one who is a bitch to you in class?”

Mouth still agape, I nod. “That’s her.”

Miss Winslow crosses her legs while perching on the armrest of Dimitri’s seat. With one arm around him, she uses the long fingers of her other hand to undo several buttons of his shirt and caress his bare chest.

“What are you waiting for?” Vanessa shakes me. “Go to your man, girl.”

Her words bring me back to reality, and I loosen my grip on the glass. “Well, we aren’t in a relationship,” I say, feeling my chest squeeze at the declaration. “We’re just…having fun, for starters.”

Vanessa looks at Dimitri, who is watching me again. His stare is dark, and his jaw twitches slightly, which doesn’t go unnoticed by her. “He doesn’t look at you like he just wants to have fun.”

Miss Winslow slips from his seat to his lap, too comfortable for my liking.

~Time to get to work.~

I pull my mask over my face before walking toward them. When I pass by, I pretend to trip and spill my drink on Miss Winslow.

“What in the hell!” she cries, standing up with a jerk.

“I’m so sorry, miss.” I feign a sickly sweet and apologetic tone. “I didn’t mean to.”

Miss Winslow’s agitation is clear as she looks at her dress, her angry eyes then snapping at me. “You bitch,” she says. “You did that on purpose.” She brushes herself off and stands straight, her shoulders pulling back. “You’re jealous of me.”

I scoff. “Excuse me?”

The men stand when our voices rise, and Dimitri moves to stand right behind me as Miss Winslow begins raging.

“Have some shame, girl. What are you? Twenty? Twenty-two? Being bitchy won’t get you anywhere. And don’t forget, you’re just a serving girl. I’m a member. Respect the hierarchy.”

“Enough,” Dimitri’s deep voice cuts through the conversation. The hairs on the nape of my neck rise as his hand curls around my hip before he steps to my side. “She isn’t just a serving girl.”

Miss Winslow furrows her brow at Dimitri’s declaration. “In here, she is,” she says, her eyes narrowing on him.

“No,” Dimitri deadpans. “She’s my exclusive.”