Beautiful Bastard: Beautiful Beloved Part 8

He brought his toast to his mouth and smiled around it, "Yes, that thing."

"We'll be out late," I warned.

"I certainly hope so." He maintained eye contact, eyes wry and knowing as he chewed, swallowed.

"I'm not going to tell you what we're doing, if that's what you think."

He laughed, shaking his head as he poured some more tea. "Well, until you said that, I a.s.sumed it was just dinner. Now I think maybe I'd rather not know."

Sara brought Anna out into the kitchen, making her way over to me, but Niall wiped his mouth and his hands with a napkin before he reached for the baby. "Come here, love. Guess who gets to watch you tonight?"

Sara folded the baby in his arms and turned to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of milk. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Might kick you out myself."

She smiled at him gratefully. "Well, I'm leaving around six, but there's plenty of bottles in here for the rest of the night," she said, looking at him over her shoulder. "We use this bottle warmer. See?" She put the bottle in, pushed the b.u.t.ton, and we all watched as it began to steam, and then beeped when it was done. "Easy."

"We'll manage fine," he said, taking the bottle and expertly shaking it to warm the milk evenly as he looked down at Anna again. "Won't we, princess?"

Watching him like this, I realized how much more experience he had with babies than I did: between our eight siblings there were seventeen nieces and nephews, and Niall was the favorite uncle to them all.

Sara put her hand on his shoulder. "Thanks for doing this."

He waved her off, making one of his stiff, dismissive grunts.

"That's awkward Brit for 'you're welcome,' " I said, laughing as I waited for Anna to push the bottle away and cry for Sara.

Niall gazed down at her as he offered her the milk. "That's a girl. Who's a good baby?" He bent and kissed her forehead. "Ah, but she's a hungry one, isn't she?"

I gaped at him, at her tiny hand clutching his thumb as she drank happily.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l.

If my daughter had one superpower it would be the ability to locate her mum from several rooms away. If Sara were anywhere in the house, Anna wouldn't dare take a bottle from me.

I scowled at Niall. "You must smell like a woman."

"p.i.s.s off," he said to me, still using his baby-soothing voice. "Why is your daddy such a w.a.n.ker, hmm? I've got a hundred nieces and nephews and he expects I can't give this tiny miss a bottle?"

Laughing, I stood and cleared our dishes.

"Baby girl knows which uncle's gonna spoil her rotten," Niall whispered just loud enough for me to hear. "Who wants a pony? Is it you? You do? I'll make sure you get a pony."

I groaned, smacking the back of his head as I walked past him to go find Sara.

"You're welcome, w.a.n.ker," he sang sweetly.

I found Sara in the bathroom, putting on the pair of diamond earrings her father sent after Anna was born.

Bending to kiss her neck, I said, "I'll have Scott come for us here at eight-"

"No." She turned to face me, running her hands up my dress s.h.i.+rt and straightening my collar. "Don't."

I blinked, tilting my head as my stomach dropped. Had she changed her mind? "You don't want to go?"

Her smile was a sweet rea.s.surance. "Of course I do. But I want to meet there. Scott can bring me. You come separately."

She wanted to leave for the club separately? "But we've always gone together."

"I don't want to drag anything behind us when we leave. If he picks us both up here, we'll fuss over the details of leaving Anna, we'll talk about her in the car. I think I'm going to take her out and do some back-to-work shopping then head to your mom's. I'll coordinate with Niall. Scott can get me there and I'll see you at Johnny's. We can just be us tonight."

"You sure?"

She pulled her lip between her teeth and smiled around it before whispering, "Yeah, I'm sure."

Innocence, antic.i.p.ation, l.u.s.t, and something sweeter than pure sugar. It was everything I loved about Sara distilled into a single expression.

"Right then. I'll meet you there at nine."

I left for work, expecting to see Sara at lunch, or even get a call from her as I usually did during the day, but knowing I might not. I suspected Sara might want a little distance today to help put her in the right mind-set, and I was right. A text came just as the office was clearing out, to let me know Niall was picking Annabel up at Mum's flat and she would meet me at the club, as planned.

The distance was odd, but also thrilling.

I went home, showered and dressed, and walked through the rooms of my empty flat. Niall had rung to say he'd be back with the baby shortly, and I had to admit that I agreed with Sara, it would be better if I left before they got here. Annabel was in excellent hands, and Max and Sara as parents could be put on hold for a few hours.

There was nothing left to do; it was time to meet my wife.

My phone buzzed on my way out, a text from Johnny: Use the front door.

We always came in through the back hallway and directly into Room Six. Having performed dozens of times at the club, Sara and I were recognizable to nearly everyone who would be there on a Wednesday night. Johnny wanted her to walk in, right in the middle of all of that?

My protective instinct flared.

Did Sara request this? I replied.

Shut up. In a f.u.c.king meeting.

This was as good as a yes; if it was for any other reason he would have said so.

Laughing, I replied in eight separate messages: It's A.

Shame About Your Tiny Shriveled d.i.c.k

Once I confirmed with our driver Scott that he was picking Sara up at my mother's flat, I called for a cab to get me over to the club, Red Moon. I'd put on something simple, not knowing how Johnny would have the room set up for our return to the club. I wore black trousers and a simple pressed gray check b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt. It had been so long since we came in through the secretive front entrance that I was actually nervous-wanting to make sure I remembered how to get down there: with a key, down several flights to the receptionist. Except standing at the desk waiting my arrival wasn't Lisbeth, but a stunning redhead who circled the desk, hand outstretched.

"I'm Trin," she said, smiling in welcome. "You must be Mr. Stella."

I f.u.c.ked my wife for everyone to see in this club. It seemed a little odd to be so formal. "Max, please."

"Lovely to meet you." She gestured to the heavy steel door that would lead into the club itself. "Mr. French is very much looking forward to having you and Mrs. Stella back in the rotation."

I smiled, arching a brow. "The pony play and multiple menage scenarios are growing a little tired?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "I think the regulars like your story," she said. "It's sweet. It's different from everything else we get in here."

And of course it was. What other married couple would let their most intimate moments play out in such stark display for complete strangers? Who else would invite the world into their s.e.x life?

But being back here, even in this unfamiliar anteroom to the main event, felt deliciously surreal. I could smell the mix of wood polish and leather emanating from the other room. I could hear the faint beat of music pounding through the enormous door. It was a sensory trigger for me, being here, knowing how Sara would get off on being watched, and how I would get off on watching her bloom. It never ceased to amaze me that her greatest turn-on was exhibition, given that in our everyday life she was beautiful but una.s.suming, brilliant but endlessly humble.

"How's the baby?" Trin asked, pulling my attention away from the door and back to her face.

"She's brilliant, yeah," I said, feeling my grin split my face. "Home with my brother."

Her eyebrows rose wickedly. "You have a brother?"

"I do," I said through a laugh. "He's tall, a genius, and has enough repressed s.e.xual energy to power this club. I should give you his number."

Trin tilted her head before finding a card in the top drawer of her desk with her name and phone number. "Give him this." She turned and gestured that I lead us to the door. "Mrs. Stella is inside. I don't want to keep you."

Through the door, the club opened into a large main room, dimly lit with wall sconces and lined with a lavish, intricate wallpaper of subtle stripes and swirls. Velvet curtains hung beside a number of small alcoves surrounding low tables, making the entire room feel both lavish and faintly medieval. A small bar stood in the corner, where I remembered, but the design of the room had been modified so that the stage was directly in the center, rather than jutting into the floor from one far end of the expansive s.p.a.ce.

Sara was tucked into an alcove in the middle of one long wall, sipping a c.o.c.ktail and looking surprisingly comfortable all on her own here. She watched the show-a woman stripping to a slow beat while a man behind her was tied naked to a chair.

It was surreal how quickly my brain switched from the daily reality of diapers and investors, bottles and contracts, to the present reality of a private-and rather illegal-s.p.a.ce where only the most well-connected and wealthy clients came to indulge their darkest voyeuristic fantasies. It didn't seem odd that the woman performing was stripped down to a long string of pearls hanging heavily between her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s, or that the man had begun quietly begging for pleasure. All around us, people sipped drinks and talked in low voices or simply sat and watched the main show, waiting for the individual rooms to open for the audience.

There were six other rooms in this club, connected to the main room by a long hallway. The setup was simple: each room had a different scene to watch, with tables outside a window looking in. Clients could have drinks while enjoying a perfect view of some of the darkest, sweetest, and filthiest fantasies come to life.

Some of the performers in the club were regulars-experienced Doms, Broadway performers with exhibitionist leanings earning some good money on the side, or dancers who were willing to try anything-and some were vague acquaintances of Johnny who had begged him for the opportunity to perform at the prestigious club. Sara and I were the only friends of his granted a consistent time slot: Wednesday nights were ours in Room Six for as long as we wanted.

Though we never took money-unlike a few others who "performed" at the club-Wednesday night in Room Six grew to be one of the most popular acts in the place, and quite a profitable show for Johnny. The only reason Sara and I knew this, however, was that he told us. We never saw a single face in our audience; other than our first night and until tonight, we'd only ever come into the club through the back entrance.

And just on my short walk from the front door to the table, I could feel the rustle of movement, the way people sat up straight in realization. I could feel the subtle gestures, the quiet whisper of They're back.

Had Sara felt it, too?

Had she liked it? I felt a s.h.i.+ver climb up my spine, felt my heart begin to thunder at the idea that she was sitting here, thinking of how many times these people had watched me f.u.c.k her. Thinking of her growing wet at just the idea of it all.

Sara looked up when Trin led me over to her, and stood, making my blood come to a thudding stop in my veins.

She wore a short black dress, simple but with a beading detail that gave just a hint of sparkle. It would look amazing under the lights, I realized, then smiled when I noted that it would look even better off, lying in a pool on the floor. Her eyes were lined with a soft brown, her lips an edible red. There was nothing particularly special about how she had put herself together tonight, but the heat in her eyes-the devilish fire, the flirtatious tilt of her mouth, the way she looked at my face for only a beat before ogling my body-set my skin into a heated flush.

Bending, I kissed her jaw. "h.e.l.lo, Petal." I inhaled the sweetness of her skin, dragging my lips to her ear. "You look f.u.c.king beautiful."

"Hey, Stranger." She sat, glancing at the s.p.a.ce on the bench beside her as if to say that I was meant to be immediately beside her, and not across the table. There were strict rules at the club: two-drink maximum, no touching between clients, everyone is there by choice and any evidence to the contrary results in the fist of G.o.d-aka Johnny-coming down.

I knew I wasn't supposed to touch Sara out here on the main floor, but did the rules really apply to us, when it was clear that we were part of the show? More people were watching us at our tiny table than were watching the naked woman deep-throating the man bound to the chair in the middle of the room.

Sitting beside, her, I leaned close, sucking at her neck.

"Max," she warned.

"They're watching," I told her. "You think they want to see me come in here and follow the rules?" I kissed my way to her mouth, parting her lips with mine and sucking deeply on her tongue before whispering, "I haven't seen you all day. I'm going to greet you the way I b.l.o.o.d.y well feel I should. f.u.c.k Johnny and his rules."

And proving that I was right, no one appeared at the side of our table asking us to leave.

No one signaled a warning to me across the room.

Instead, it felt like the entire room held its breath, watching.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

She shrugged, tucking her long hair behind her ear. That was another thing that had changed over the past year. Her hair had grown out, curves had bloomed. "About ten minutes before you."

I studied her face-the pink flush to her cheeks, the quick intake of breaths, the way her gaze could barely stray from my mouth. "Did you feel them watching you?"

She nodded.

"Was it weird?"