Red Velvet (The Velvet Rooms Book 3) Read online

  Content

  Copyright

  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

  Epilogue I

  Epilogue II

  Thank you for reading!

  Also by Linnea May

  Sneak Peek: Black Velvet

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Sneak Peek: Blue Velvet

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Also by Linnea May

  Copyright © 2018 by Linnea May

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Linnea’s Newsletter

  “Pain and pleasure, like light and darkness, succeed each other.”

  ― Laurence Sterne

  Prologue

  Lila

  He says he wants to break me.

  I don’t even know what that means.

  Why would anyone want to be broken? Why does my heart jump at the words as if they were a promise and not a threat?

  How did I end up here? On my knees, naked, with my hands tied at my back, trembling as I tilt my head up to him, seeking his unyielding gaze through watery eyes. Crusts of salt adorn my face, covering black streaks of ruined mascara that once thickened my lashes, while I wait for the next bite into my tortured skin.

  No, I’m not just waiting for it.

  I’m begging for it.

  That’s how I ended up here. I pleaded to be here. With him, a man who is too handsome to be real, too rich and powerful to fear anything or anyone, too strong to resist his demands—and too cruel to be loved.

  Or so he wants me to believe.

  His black eyes narrow and a crease appears between his eyebrows as he locks me into place. Just by looking at me like that, with that savage expression on his face, his gaze burning with hunger for me and a lust to hear me scream in agony.

  He wants to hurt me. Bad.

  His chiseled chest heaves in rapid beats while beads of sweat pearl down the valley of his muscles. Tanned skin stretches over his sculptured body, unscathed and perfect, kissed with nothing but the salty droplets that speak of his erotic exertion.

  He is painfully beautiful, and the cane in his hand only amplifies that impression.

  “How many?”

  His voice is deep and hoarse, sounding tortured even though he’s the one inflicting pain. A threatening flicker in his sinister eyes urges me to reply.

  “Nine,” I croak. “Nine, sir.”

  His left eyebrow arches, an expression underlined with surprise and a warning. There’s always a warning.

  “Be careful what you wish for.”

  “Don’t ask for things you can’t handle.”

  “Because I will ruin you, if you let me.”

  I’ve heard all of these warnings, and I’ve ignored every single one of them.

  I flinch when his arm rises, the cane dangling in front of my face as if he’s introducing us to each other. The stick will cut into my skin with every hot strike. It’ll leave marks. It may even draw blood.

  I’m sure it’ll draw blood this time, because I’m asking for it. I just asked for nine strikes, nine agonizing bolts of fire that he’ll unleash on my sore skin. That’s more than I’ve ever taken, more than I know I can handle.

  “Show me how much you want it.”

  He’s standing tall before me, holding the cane in a parallel up to my face. Our eyes meet for a split second when I tilt my head, seeking reassurance from him before I lower my gaze to the task at hand. Fear and strong desire blend at the sight of the discipline rod, the promise for a hard-earned paradise resonating with it.

  I can’t wait to get there.

  But I’m also terrified of the path I’ll have to take.

  I lean forward, brushing the cane with my lips as I grant it a gentle peck.

  Hello, cane. My name is Lila.

  And I’m here to receive your cruel and loving bites.

  Chapter 1

  Kade

  This is fucking ridiculous.

  I roll my eyes at the pathetic display in front of me. Two fools swooning like brainless teenagers as they clink glasses in front of a bewitched crowd. Their eyes are sealed on each other, evoking the question of whether they even need the audience gathered around them.

  I hate weddings. Always have, always will.

  Tying yourself to a single person like that has always baffled me. Why would anyone subject themselves to the horrors of never-ending boredom that comes with such a lasting tie?

  Because let me tell you, that boredom will come. Always and for everyone. We’re not made for this—none of us are. Even those two idiots up there must know that. But just like many, many others, they are experts at lying to themselves. They choose to close their eyes to the truth, only gawking at the flashing lie in front of them and all the promises that come with it. Promises that are impossible to keep.

  But who cares about that, right?

  The party crowd is still going wild with applause and cheers by the time I’ve finished my glass of champagne. The second of the day—or was it the third?

  Do I care?

  Not really.

  I can’t feel the soothing effect of the alcohol yet. My pulse is still racing, my shoulders tense with the discomfort that’s been hugging me ever since I stepped inside the venue.

  I don’t want to be here. Everything inside me is revolting against it. And I shouldn’t be here, either. My name wasn’t on the invitation. It was sent to my father, because he’s a business associate of the groom. He was the one they wanted to be their guest, him or my brother. They wanted anyone but me. I’m just a placeholder, a man with the right last name but the wrong face.

  I glance at my wrist, wondering if I can leave already. But the reception started less than an hour ago, and I was told to stay for at least two. As if anyone cares. I, for one, can think of a billion things I’d rather be doing right now.

  Admittedly, there’s some eye candy here. Dolled-up girls in evening gowns strut around left and right, just waiting to be the next one who gets to wear a dress in white.

  But I’m not the man who will give them that.

  One of them caught my eye earlier. The maid of honor. Blonde and slim, with bright skin and equally bright eyes that never locked onto anything or anyone for too long. She looked lost standing next to the bride, who is her sister, I believe. Moving like her sister’s shadow, her gaze remained absent, pensive and somber in a way that attracts the fucking hell out of me.

  Of course my eyes would fall on someone like her, someone off-limits and unattainable. Someone who looks like she’s never been touched before.

  I haven�
�t seen her around for a while now, and that’s probably for the better.

  Emptying another glass of champagne, I scan the room with no specified goal. I don’t know anybody here, and no one knows me. It doesn’t surprise me, given the fact that I’ve hardly been around in recent years. Not only have I never been involved in my father’s business, but I’ve also avoided my family’s social functions to the best of my ability, simply by being out of the country. France, Germany, the Netherlands—my trust fund allowed for an abundance of travel. And even if those trips came along with work, they were mostly for pleasure, and to get out of my family’s reach.

  I wish I was across the pond right now.

  When I introduced myself, I received nothing but confused gazes that quickly changed to understanding once they focused on my last name. Then they smiled, shook my unfamiliar hand and told me to give my father their regards. And then they were gone and I went to the next person, repeating the play I was instructed to follow tonight.

  That’s all I had to do. Be present, drop my family’s name, congratulate the happy couple and let those who matter know my family cares about their union.

  We don’t. I’m pretty sure my father and my older brother care as little as I do, which is why they were conveniently busy and unable to attend this mundane event. My family and the family of the groom aren’t close at all, not on a personal level as far as I know.

  What was his name again? I glance over to one of the tables next to the buffet where the numerous gifts are gathered. One of the greeting cards attached to a present tells me what I want to know: To the happy couple—Mr. and Mrs. Damon Graves.

  Graves, right, that was the name. My father mentioned him a few times. He’s one of the most well-known investors in the area, a clever prodigy—except for that one time when he got screwed over by a young fraud. Coincidentally, that happened during the exact time he started dating his bride.

  That just shows how poisonous a woman can be to a man. They have the ability to weaken everything a man prides himself in.

  And I can see how the young Mrs. Graves could hold such power over a man like Damon. She’s a beauty for sure, blonde, tall and slender, with ethereal looks that catch the eye.

  Just like her sister, who won’t fucking leave my head.

  I lift the glass to my lips only to realize it’s empty. I grunt in disappointment, disposing of the glass on a nearby table before making my way to the french doors at the other end of the party room. I need to get some fresh air if I’m to stay here another hour.

  Some fresh air and a smoke.

  Heavy curtains guard the glass doors, and for a moment I fear they may be locked, because they don’t open right away as I try to escape without anyone noticing. I have to jolt the handle violently before the door finally gives in, inviting me into the darkness outside. I slip through, greeted by the balmy summer night as I step onto the balcony that stretches along the entire side of the villa.

  Closing the door behind me, I stare out into the blackness, trying to find my bearings. Lanterns line the balustrade, but the light is very dim, only helping to detect outlines and vague shapes while my eyes get used to the darkness.

  I blame the poor visibility conditions for the shocked gasp that flees my lips when I hear a rustling noise right next to me, accompanied by movement I didn’t expect. Before my mind is able to comprehend what’s happening in my peripheral vision, I jump back, cursing at the shadow that startled me.

  A figure steps out of the shadows, blonde hair framing a pristine face with a set of bright eyes that look up at me with the same shock that just raced down my spine. Her pink and plush lips are slightly parted, topped with a small nose that gives her somewhat mouselike features. She steps forward, and the light cast on her face from a lantern shows a telltale blush on her cheeks—and a bottle of champagne in her hand. She flinches back in shame as my eyes land on the bottle, moving it behind her back.

  It’s her. For fuck’s sake, it’s the maid of honor.

  “Sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Care to share?” I cut her off, pointing at the golden liquid she’s trying to hide from me.

  The girl sucks in a sharp breath before she reluctantly hands me the bottle.

  That fucking look.

  She’s stunning in a way that appeals to me like no other. It’s why I noticed her in the first place, why my eyes traveled back to her again and again. She has something I haven’t seen in a while, something I’m naturally drawn to.

  Purity.

  Unspoiled and unbroken innocence, paired with yearning.

  My eyes never leave her as I bring the bottle to my lips, realizing that it’s half-empty already. The red on her cheeks tells me she was probably the only one drinking from it. She’s visibly tipsy, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about that.

  She winces when I hand the bottle back to her in an abrupt and invasive motion, almost pushing it against her chest. Her eyes linger on me, flickering with suspicion as she slowly takes the bottle out of my hand.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” I say as I produce a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from my inside pocket.

  There’s no protest from her side. Instead, she brings the champagne back to her lips, taking a strong swig that emits desperation.

  Chapter 2

  Lila

  It’s not a question, and he doesn’t await any response from my side. The flame bathes his handsome features in warm light and stark shadows when he lights his cigarette. He’s tall, towering above me by about half a foot, and his broad tapered shoulders only strengthen the impact of his height. The suit jacket stretches around his biceps as he bends his arms to bring the flame up to the cigarette that’s tucked between his lips.

  Damn, he is one handsome man. It might be the alcohol, but my heart flutters like a trapped butterfly as I watch him, my eyes flitting from his solid physique to his bold jawline to his onyx eyes and back to his large hands as the smoke of his first puff twirls around them.

  Who is he? Why can’t I place him? I thought I knew every single guest at this wedding, or would at least be able to place them in a general group of acquaintances, friends, business associates or family. But he’s too young to be a business associate, and too unfamiliar to be anything else.

  Our eyes meet, causing me to jerk up, batting my lashes nervously as I wait for him to speak.

  “You’re not a smoker,” he states, his deep voice oscillating with dominance.

  I shake my head, despite the lack of a question mark at the end of his sentence. “More of a drinker.”

  I undermine my words with another sip from the bottle, knowing I shouldn’t do it. My vision is already blurred, and my tongue feels heavy when I speak. This will only get worse, and I’m torn between not wanting to care and not wanting to ruin my sister’s wedding. She doesn’t deserve that. My misery, my jealousy, all of that is not her fault, and it shouldn’t be her concern either. Especially not tonight.

  “Not having a good night, huh?”

  He takes a strong pull on his cigarette and puts some distance between us, filling the air with heavy smoke while he surveys me through narrowed eyes. There’s a demand in his gaze, an order to react, a challenge. But he also looks like a predator trying to lure in his prey.

  It’s so fucking sexy that it fuels my vertigo even more than the liquid poison.

  “It’s my sister’s wedding,” I say, circumnavigating any accusation that could come with the truth.

  “That’s not answering my question,” he points out, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

  My insecurity emerges with a helpless chuckle.

  “I’m the maid of honor and I’m out here on the balcony, drinking a bottle of champagne all by myself,” I blurt out. “What does that tell you?”

  His dark gaze locks me into place, creating the urge to take another swig from the bottle, but I don’t give in to it this time.

  “Well, you’re not by yourself anymore,�
�� he says. “But yeah, I’m guessing you’re enjoying this shindig as much as I am.”

  I eye him from the side, unsure where he’s going with this. Why is he even here if he hates it so much?

  Who is he?

  “I hate weddings,” he states. “Always have.”

  Thick smoke fills the dimly lit air between us as he takes another puff, paying no attention to whether he’s bothering me with it or not.

  “Why?” I hear myself ask.

  “It’s ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head. “And so redundant. Who needs it nowadays?”

  He looks at me, arching his eyebrows as he waits for a response that I’m unable to give.

  “I mean, I guess it kind of made sense hundreds of years ago,” he adds. “You know, when it was a way to secure a kingdom’s future, and to tie empires and countries together to become friends. But we don’t need this bullshit anymore. We have trade for that now.”

  I listen to his odd rant, still riddled with questions I don’t dare ask.

  “There are other reasons to get married,” I say in a weak voice.

  He scoffs. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, declaring your love for each other? Sharing your happiness with family and friends? Committing to each other?” I shrug. My words lack conviction. Even I don’t believe what I’m saying.

  “Whatever.” He takes another pull from his cigarette. “It’s all nonsense if you ask me. It condemns people to unhappiness.”

  I look up at him, taking a deep breath before I admit, “I almost got married myself.”