Page 80 of Mr. Wilde

The bass from the main floor of The Devil’s Playground vibrates through the soles of my shoes, a reminder I should keep my feet planted on these lower floors.

“Cass, seriously, you’re overthinking it,” Fern chastises playfully, her eyes darting toward the red velvet-lined stairs that separate the second-floor lounge from the secret spicy upper floors.

I adjust the tray tucked under my arm, my knuckles white. “Fern, we’re literally forbidden from going up there. If Gianni or Lala found out, we wouldn’t just get fired, they’d probably make us disappear. We’re cocktail waitresses, not millionaire members.”

“Oh, sheesh. You make them sound like the mafia. And you’re exactly right,” she adds, a mischievous glint in her eyes that spells trouble. “We’re waitresses. We’re trained to be invisible. Besides, the bosses are all at that big dinner tonight, Brier is working. The coast is as clear as a bottle of Grey Goose.”

She doesn’t wait for my rebuttal. She slips toward the service stairs, her movements fluid and practiced. I should turn around. Go back to the bar and refill the scotch for the high roller, who keeps trying to touch my ass. But the inquisitive detective in me is louder than the girl who’s afraid.

So against my better judgment, I follow her. At least we’re wearing our all-black slinky dresses tonight. Hopefully, we’ll draw less attention to ourselves. Then I consider my pink hair and nearly palm myself in the face.

Reaching up, I try to tie my hair up into a messy bun, knowing it may not stay that way long without a hair tie. The air changes as we ascend. But it’s probably my own fear I’m sensing.

We reach the landing of the third floor. My internal 5-4-3 coping mechanism kicks in as if on autopilot.

Five things you can see: A hand-knotted Persian rug, a massive mahogany door with a gold-plated handle, an antique humidor, the dim glow of recessed amber lighting, and Fern’s ridiculously big grin.

Four things you can touch: The cold brass of the stairs railing, the velvet wallpaper, my own damp palms, and the satin of my dress I keep tugging at nervously.

Three things you can hear: The muffled, distant thud of the club music, the hum of a high-end HVAC system, and my shallow, anxious breathing. Jeez, I’ve been on stakeouts that didn’t cause me to break out into a sweat like this.

“Look at this place,” Fern breathes, running a finger over a marble bust that looks like it belongs in a museum.

My eyes are drawn to a flickering blue light that spills from a room at the end of the hall. There are several people standing in front of what looks like a large window. My feet are moving before I realize what I’m doing.

“Cass, get over here,” Fern hisses from behind me. She’s standing in front of a door that is slightly ajar. It’s one with a biometric scanner that’s currently glowing green. “I think someone forgot to lock this one.”

I freeze. This is the line. Crossing the threshold into this secret sex lair may be a step too far for me. “Fern, I’m not going in there. It’s bad enough I’m on this floor at all. If we get caught,” I whisper, stepping closer, “I’m telling them it was your idea.”

“Honey.” Fern smirks. “They already know I’m a bad influence. No need throwing me under the bus.” She giggles before stepping inside the open door.

I’m tempted to peek inside, but decide to try to blend into the shadows and investigate what’s happening down the hall. As I reach the end of the hallway, I find a dark alcove that faces the large picture window and dart inside. I may be shielded from prying eyes here, but have to clamp my hand over my mouth once I see what the others are staring at.

The hot billionaire from Max’s VIP group, Devon Sly, is seated in the center of the room with a completely naked brunette, save for the black silk blindfold. She’s seated in his lap with her back to his chest, but there’s no missing that she’s mounted on top of him. What do they call that? Reverse cowgirl or something?

Devon’s white shirt is open, revealing olive skin, firm pecs, and a smattering of chest hair. His pants are on, but obviously open enough to allow her access to… well… seeing him almost fully dressed with her naked form on top of him makes my thighs tense. Why do I find that so hot? It reminds me of how overcome with lust Max and I had been when we finally caved at his home. We hadn’t removed our clothes until we had that soak in the bath.

My eyes spring wide as a third person moves into view. She’s gorgeous. Another curvy naked female with long red hair slinks over to them. He gives her a saucy grin before saying something I can’t hear. She immediately drops to her knees between the pair seated on the chair. Oh. My. God. My heart stops as she leans in between the woman’s spread legs.

Devon has his mouth next to the brunette’s ear, whispering something. It’s hard to tell if she’s squirming because of his dirty words, his dick, or the redhead going down on… well, kind of both of them.

“You like to watch?”

My spine stiffens at Max’s familiar voice behind me. I swallow hard, unsure if I’m more nervous at being caught on this floor, or at being discovered by him.

“I—I don’t know.” I barely recognize my own voice.

His hands fall onto my hips as he moves closer.

“So, you do come up here.” My curiosity wins out, the words tumbling from my lips before I can think better of it.

“No. Not in years. And then only to watch.”

The heat of his body is radiating through my back. My heart is racing, my skin is flushed. Again, I’m unsure if it is from his nearness or from the activity on display within the voyeur room. He presses his firm erection into my backside, and a dangerous pulse throbs between my legs. “But I couldn’t fight the temptation.” He pushes my hair to the side before placing his warm lips on my neck. “To join you.”

I bite down on my lip to suppress gasping out loud at his admission. How is it his electric presence and sultry words are getting me more turned on than the show in front of me?

The woman on Devon Sly’s lap is clearly enjoying what’s occurring, writhing with her head thrown back against his shoulder. I’m so caught up in the sight I don’t notice Max’s hand until the hem of my skirt moves, and his fingertips brush over my damp panties.