According to her, the underground club is sacred to Miami and has a no-tolerance policy for foul play. I took that as—folks with a bigger name than the average get in and only them, filtering out the wild drunks who can’t handle their alcohol.
But make it for the rich and famous, I suppose.
Club tables, bouncers, and shot girls surround the moody club, and while typically, I’d feel like an outsider in my full cowboy getup, at Venus, I don’t. Glances veer in our direction, but no one interrupts as I lead us through the club. Cove calls out directions while I steer, dodging couples left and right, all in search of the private door at the back of the club.
“Midnight,” Cove tells the bouncer, and he grins before sending me what I take as a nod of approval. “First time for everything, Ms. Davenport. Enjoy your night.”
“He’s here to stay, Chase. Remember his face.” She smiles wide and pride beats me in the goddamn chest. I’m staying. And Lord do I ever appreciate that reassurance I’ll never tire of hearing.
“Noted,” Chase tells her before lifting the velvet rope and letting us by. Blackness surrounds us, more so than inthe crowd of the club. A staircase leads us to a private bar area where couches and high-top tables litter the space. The difference down here can be felt from a mile away. It’s secluded from the dancing throngs of people. Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s Miguel Diaz in the corner booth, Miami’s starting quarterback.
Swanky music plays from the speakers, and the moment we fully enter, I let Cove take over. She grabs me by the hand, saying hello to barbacks and customers as she guides me to a closed door in the corner of the room. How far does this place go?
A heavy gunmetal door stands before us with a keypad to the left for secure entry. Cove enters a handful of numbers, and it beeps, the locking structure giving way for us to enter. “Fancy,” I murmur, unsure of where we’re going, but it’s not like it matters. I’ll go anywhere with her.
“Definitely not in Texas anymore, Toto.” Cove giggles.
It’s not often I’m at a loss for words, but right now, I’m stunned. Desperate to see where this trip to Venus Vault will take us. The stage and pole in front of me, my fast track to a frantic mind and hardened cock. “Baby, baby, baby,” I practically groan. “What do we have here?”
Cove lets go of my hand and steps onto the stage, her casual outfit making her no less criminal in my thoughts. Fantasies. Whatever you want to call it. “Lock the door, Stetson,” she commands, and I make quick work of obeying. I know how much she likes to trade off power.
“Is this my gift? I’ve gotta say, I was looking forward to fucking you in front of my party guests, but you took off too soon.”
Cove pulls a key from her pocket and unlocks another small door to the side of the stage, tossing her purse inside. A stack of paper appears in her hands, my curiosity even more piqued. But I wait for her initiation.
There are so many doors in this place. The stage is black velvet with soft yellow spotlights. One chair sits across from it in what would typically be the audience section. But that pole…
Her hot naked body better be wrapped around it before we leave here.
I command it.
The Midnight theme makes sense. The ambiance and sex music. It’s so fucking erotic. My cock throbs against the seam of my jeans.
Whatever this is…I want it. Now.
“Go sit.” She nods to the chair, and like the lovestruck fool I am, I do it. My eyes trace the stack of papers resting in her grip, the all too familiar words across the front of it.
My Forbes interview. She must have taken one from the room before she left Texas.
“Take off your shirt.” I lift my cowboy hat from my head and place it on the chair. Removing my shirt takes mere seconds, leaving me in nothing but Wrangler jeans and boots. I replace my hat, eyes trained on the way Cove’s body all but falls into itself, watching me strip. She leans against the cold metal pole with her brown eyes filled to the brim with lust. “That’s enough,” she whispers just as I’m about to loosen my belt.
Okay, baby girl. Lead the way.
She draws her bottom lip into her mouth as I take a seat, my legs spread comfortably, leaning back in the chair. It’s her show, I’m just here to watch. Prowl. Pant on my knees for a goddamn slip of a tit and her warm pussy to sink into.
“Do I finally get to fuck you, Cove? Or have I earned myself a show first?”
“I figured we could have a little celebration. And since you’re in Miami, what better place to do that thanVenus? We have the whole room to ourselves, birthday boy.”
I smirk, reveling in need but also really fucking hating how comfortable she is here. “You bring all your boyfriends here?”
“Only the old cowboys.” Cove winks, taking a leisurely step forward and lifting her shirt.
No bra.Jesus fuck, I love Miami. Is this a thing with South Beach women? Braless weekdays? I really hope so.
Cove’s tasteful movements align with the music serenading us both. I’m not up to date on trending songs, but the lyrics are fitting. The sway of her hips and soft falling of her tits with every step she takes. “What song is this?” I mumble, absentmindedly rubbing my fingers against the scruff of my beard while I imagine tracing her nipple rings with my tongue.
“‘Wildflowers & Wine’ by Marcus King. You like?”
