Blue Velvet Read online

  Contents

  Blue Velvet

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue #1

  Epilogue #2

  Also by Linnea May

  Connect with Linnea May!

  Violent Desires

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  The Velvet Rooms

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Black Velvet

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Also by Linnea May

  Connect with Linnea May!

  Blue Velvet

  A Dark Billionaire Romance

  “And silence, like darkness, can be kind; it, too, is a language.”

  ―Hanif Kureishi, Intimacy and Midnight All Day: A Novel and Stories

  Prologue

  Melina

  The world darkens, and I sigh with relief.

  I’ve never felt safer, never felt more alive and more awake than I do right now. At this very moment, I’m no longer a bystander, watching as others live the life they were destined to lead.

  I have arrived.

  This is my place.

  This is where I belong.

  Despite my early reservations, the trust was there from the beginning—and so was the doubt.

  A lot has changed since the very first time we played, and a lot has stayed the same. We complete another, each of us holding the piece that makes the other person whole. Most of the pieces match the jagged edges left on our broken souls as they were shattered; sometimes in one brute impact, and sometimes in a steady and agonizing ascent while life wore us down. Me, especially.

  I took hit after hit, never knowing where I belonged, while life kept throwing obstacles at me. But that only increased my desire to find what’d been missing all along.

  Maybe I’m stupid for thinking that he may be it, that he may be the one to save me, to finally give my life meaning.

  But I so desperately want him to be.

  I know dismissing all the pieces that don’t fit is not the smartest thing to do. It’s easy to look away and hold on to the brilliant light of perfection that blinds me every time I see him, every time he touches me, every time a rapture of bliss overtakes my frail body, always under his command.

  But for now, it’s all good. And I want to believe it will be good for a while longer. Maybe forever.

  Forever. Such a heavy word, holding so much promise and so much despair alike.

  His hands guide me—trailing along my shoulders, down my arms, along the side of my body—until he stops at my hips, his palms closing around the curves of my hip bones before he gently pushes me back. The back of my knees meets the edge of the bed, and my legs give in automatically. I sink down in an almost robotic motion; my back straightened while my shoulders are relaxed.

  His hands leave me, and for a few seconds, I’m left to myself, hidden in dark silence. I can’t see or hear him, but I can sense his proximity. I feel the warmth of his body shifting from one side to the other, and my face follows his motions on instinct despite my inability to see him.

  I’m not bound but still at his mercy.

  Naked and exposed.

  I willingly gave up two of my senses, surrendering my will to him, because I trust him to take the lead.

  We both appreciate the darkness just as much as the calm. Our fondness for the absence of sound and light is what ties us together. It’s what makes us special.

  But it is also the biggest danger lingering between us.

  1

  Rowan

  I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing here.

  With slow but deliberate steps, I walk through the curtain that frames the entrance. Thick velvet graces my shoulder as I enter the main guest room and am greeted with dim light and soft jazz music running in the background. The modern décor of damask wallpaper meets the antique tin ceiling, and accents of heavy velvet curtains frame the archways that lead to other areas of the club.

  Dwight wasn’t lying when he said this club was all about class, kink, and exclusivity. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for his personal referral. He insisted I come here, “To let off some steam,” he said, adding an awkward wink. I never cared much for the guy, but he has been one of my father’s closest business associates for a very long time, and given the situation I find myself in right now, I can’t afford to let my feelings toward him get in the way.

  My eyes roam the interior, perusing the furniture and the décor, before my attention trails to the main attraction—the girls. Dressed in black and white, they move throughout the giant room with rarely seen elegance. Each one of them oozes sex and pleasure, but some do so in a much more obtrusive way than others. The black lingerie of the sinful devils leaves little to the imagination, inviting a man’s touch and holding the promise to fulfill all his desires. The girls wearing all white, however, hold no such promise. Flirtatious conversation is all they will provide.

  But none of them manage to hold my attention for longer than a few moments. Their beauty is fleeting, and the allure too ominous to capture me. I can’t get close to them.

  Hell, I shouldn’t even be here. There’s no point really.

  What the fuck am I doing here?

  The steady murmur mixing with the soothing background music drowns out my sigh. The club is crowded, but the atmosphere is just as relaxed and calm as I was promised. In fact, the level of noise is just right. Just right to accommodate, just right not to lose my broken mind. Just the right amount to handle because it doesn’t challenge my fucked-up self.

  Still, I need a drink.

  Natural inclination makes me sway toward the bar to my left, and when I start walking toward it, my legs appear to move on their own account, not waiting for my head to question the decision. I dock on to the bar with an almost violent bump, my hands landing on the bar top as if I was holding on to a lifeline.

  I guess, in a way, I am. If anyone is watching me
right now, they’ll probably think I am already drunk, which couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s been days since my last drink, and I’ll adamantly point that out to anyone who questions me about it.

  My self-absorbed mind comes to a rest when I’m approached by the figure working behind the bar. Call it prejudice, but I expect to be greeted and served by a young man; a bartender in a vest and bow tie who discreetly nods when I voice my request, then prepares my drink with skilled and elegant moves.

  I did not expect her.

  The delicate hands resting on the edge of the bar top belong to a girl as she leans forward to take my order. She barely looks old enough to indulge in a cocktail herself, tilting her head back as she fixates me with doe eyes just a shade lighter than the thick brown locks that frame her face. Her mane is pulled up into a ponytail, leaving a few curly strands dangle playfully on each side as she cocks her head.

  “What can I get for you, sir?”

  Her voice is deeper and more solid than I would have expected based on her youthful appearance. She’s on the short side and slim, almost too skinny for my personal taste. Her petite frame doesn’t help me to judge her age. She looks like a girl but sounds like a woman, the volume of her voice just high enough for me to detect her words. It’s remarkable how much your focus shifts to such mundane details once your body threatens to fail you on something as basic as the ability to listen to a person speak.

  “A gin and tonic,” I order, involuntarily sinking into one of the nearby high chairs. It was never my plan to linger at the bar, but it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea now.

  She purses her lips, giving me the impression that my order displeases her, but then she turns around and steps away, her hands moving swiftly as she fills a glass with ice cubes. I watch mesmerized as she performs her magic. As young as she may look, she’s definitely not doing this for the first time. The way she moves behind the bar, and the way she handles the heavy bottles filled with costly liquids, not even measuring the liquor as she pours my drink—none of this makes her look like a beginner.

  She notices me watching her; I can tell by the way her eyes flicker to the side, catching my gaze for a split second before her focus returns to the job at hand.

  “Gin and tonic,” she announces as she places a black coaster on the bar top before setting the heavy glass down. “Enjoy.”

  “Impressive,” I comment, pausing to catch her gaze before I add, “Thank you.”

  She regards me with a quick nod, accompanied by a coy smile.

  “Impressive how?” she inquires. “With all due respect, sir, it is a pretty basic recipe.”

  I huff, shaking my head. “Yes but you displayed an admirable level of proficiency while preparing it.”

  Her face lights up for a moment before the beam is overshadowed by insecurity. She is a beauty, but in a very different way compared to the other girls present in this club tonight. She’s not dolled up the way they are. She’s dressed like a bartender with a black vest over a tight-fitting white blouse and even a miniature bow tie at her throat. It’s endearing, to say the least.

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have the skills,” she says, sounding slightly offended. She creases her eyebrows a little as she fixates her gaze on me, crossing her arms in front of her chest to enhance the stance.

  I raise my hand in a defensive manner, trying not to show how endearing I find her cute little display of defiance.

  “No offense,” I say, throwing her an apologetic smile. “I’ll be honest with you, though. I’ve never seen a female bartender, especially one at such a tender age.”

  “Tender age?” she repeats, arching her eyebrows. “How old do you think I am?”

  With the way she carries herself right now, she gives off the vibe of a goddamn teenager, but I’m not crazy enough to tell her that.

  “You should take it as a compliment,” I say. “You look young. Isn’t that what women strive for?”

  She huffs, scanning the bar as if to check for additional customers, before returning her attention to me. The way she looks at me now holds a hint of conspiracy.

  “Not when they really are young,” she says, lowering her voice almost to a level that makes it hard for me to understand. “Don’t worry, I am old enough to pour you a drink but also young enough to feel the pressure of having to prove myself.”

  She pauses, biting her lip before she adds, “Especially to men like you.”

  “Men like me, huh,” I repeat. I narrow my eyes, relishing the way she looks at me now. Defiant and sassy but laced with caution.

  “And what kind of man am I?” I want to know. Jutting my chin forward, I challenge her to give me a witty reply.

  She doesn’t take long to come up with something to throw back at me.

  “Men who order gin and tonic in a place where most opt for a good single malt,” she says. “Men who don’t even ask for our gin selection when ordering but just accept whatever I place in front of them.”

  She surprises me, and I’m afraid it shows on my face. Did she really just say that?

  She laughs when she’s met with the dumbfounded expression on my face.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurts out. “I didn’t want to be rude, but—”

  “But you were rude,” I cut her off. “And this is a place where girls get a good spanking for being rude.”

  She shakes her head. “Not me. I’m just the bartender.”

  My eyes follow her gaze as it trails across the bar, browsing the guest room.

  “If your hands ache to spank someone, you’ll have to pick one of the ones dressed in black,” she says, her voice lacking emotion. “The devil girls.”

  She turns back to me, cocking her head to the side with her chin forward as if she’s challenging me to do it. As if she wants me to leave the bar and mingle with the crowd of willing call girls who’ll give themselves to me in a way she won’t.

  Well, that’s not how it works for me. Not anymore.

  “No thanks. I’m good,” I say, holding her down with my gaze. She reciprocates my stare, but her eyelids twitch when I take a generous sip from my drink.

  “But tell me, what’s so wrong with a good old gin and tonic?”

  The glass lands back on the coaster with a heavy clonk, adding urgency to my question and causing her to flinch as she feels pressured to reply. She takes a deep breath before she places her elbows on the bar and leans closer to me.

  “I’m not good with words,” she says, “but I can show you.”

  2

  Melina

  His black eyes are glued to me the entire time, never scurrying to the side for even a second as he observes me working behind the bar. I have to admit it’s intimidating. The man himself is intimidating.

  I noticed him the moment he stepped through the entrance. Not only because of his outstanding looks but also by the way he carried himself and the way he leisurely scanned the room. He’s tall and athletic, but on the slim side—not sporting the same bulky strength I’ve seen on the doorman, whose thick muscle stretch his suit jacket.

  This man displays a different kind of power, one defined by agility just as much as it is defined by pure strength. He’s wearing a dark suit, just like all the other men in here, but otherwise, his style appears less polished and rougher around the edges. His hair is almost as dark as his eyes, short but still long enough to be ruffled. Coated with a dark stubble, his strong jawline contours his handsome face, adding wisdom to his otherwise boyish features. Even the beard can’t hide the soft and young looking face beneath. He’s not much older than I am despite his remark on my “tender age.”

  “There’s nothing inherently wrong with a regular gin and tonic,” I say, turning my back to him as I go through the rows of liquor bottles behind the bar. “But it could have so much more to it if you knew what you were doing.”

  I hear him chuckle behind my back, adding a scoff as I turn around with a bottle of gin in each hand.

  “This one, Aviat
ion, has notes of lavender, sarsaparilla, and a hint of orange peel. A lot of character, but it blends well in cocktails,” I lecture, holding up the bottle in my right, before shifting my focus to the one in my left. “You may be familiar with this one, a Bombay Sapphire, but this is the special Laverstoke Mill limited edition, a decanter gin. Not as much character as the Aviation but still a distinct taste in its own way.”

  “I’ve never been much of a connoisseur,” he adds for consideration. “You may be wasting your time with me.”

  I wink at him. “Maybe we should do a blind tasting? I could put a blindfold on you and—”

  “Not gonna happen,” he cuts me off, lifting his hand to stop me. “Between the two of us, I will never be the one to wear a blindfold.”

  My cheeks are burning with heat, and I’m unsure what to do with the flurry in my chest caused by his words. He keeps making these insinuations, but does he really mean it?