THE EXPOSÉ

By Roxy Sloane

For Nina Grinstead and Jen McCoy of The Literary Gossip. I’ll take our secrets to the grave.

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Copyright © 2015 Roxy Sloane

Cover Design: British Empire Design

Cover Photography: Perrywinkle Design

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

CHAPTER ONE

ZOE

What do you wear to an interview at a sex club?

I rifle through my crappy wardrobe and groan in despair. I’ve been living in jeans all through college; I’m out in the ‘real world’ now, but without any cash to buy a new wardrobe, I’m stuck with a laundry basket of sweatshirts and a couple of glittery Forever 21 tops that are shedding sparkles over everything they touch. I’m all out of luck.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look like a fresh-faced kid who just got out of school—not the kind of classy, sexy woman Dax Ryan would hire. But I need this job, it could be the break I’ve been working for.

Time for plan B.

“Hey, Tasha?” I call to my roommate. I don’t have to call far. In our shoebox of an apartment, her tiny bedroom is right across the narrow hall.

Her door swings open. “What’s up?”

Tasha is leaning over her dresser, applying eyeliner with the kind of concentration I’ve only ever used for finals and new episodes of The Bachelor. She’s squeezed into a skin-tight mini-dress, with her long brunette hair styled into a perfect sleek cascade that only forty minutes with a hairdryer can achieve.

I would know. I’m the one who helps her get it just right when she can’t reach the back.

“Can I borrow something to wear?” I beg. “Pretty please? I’ve got my interview at the club,” I explain, “And I don’t have anything that’s right for it.”

Tasha’s eyes drift over me. “You can say that again.” She tuts at the sight of my ratty old sweatpants and stretched out T-shirt. Even at home, she always looks like she just stepped out of a Victoria’s Secret ad, in tiny shorty shorts and silky tanks. But under all her mascara and lipgloss, Tasha is really a sweetheart, which is why she takes pity on me tonight.

“Try this.” She says, pulling down a tiny tube of black fabric and tossing it across the hall. “You’re taller than me, but a little extra leg never hurt anyone, especially when it comes to tips.”

I struggle into the dress. It’s a glorified band-aid, with half the back missing and black straps wound all across the bodice.

“Don’t forget the girls!” Tasha says, throwing me a strapless padded bra that could double as a flotation device. But it does the trick: when I yank everything into place and check out my reflection, I could almost pass for someone with curves. The dress is cut low on my chest, and high on my legs, and with the straps and some boots, it’s sexy, kind of a bondage look.

Perfect for where I’m going tonight.

“Thanks girl,” I tell Tasha gratefully. “And I promise, I’ll have the rent by the end of the week.”

“No worries,” she says sunnily. Her brand new iPhone buzzes on the dresser, and she lights up. “Ooh, here’s my ride. Have fun!”

Tasha picks up her Coach purse, slides her feet into a pair of epic designer heels, and grabs a leather jacket that probably cost more than all my possessions combined. “Remember, you’ve got to wiggle in that thing,” she tells me on her way out the door. “Walk like you’re trying to keep a watermelon clenched between your thighs.”

She winks and swans out.

I head to my window. Down on the sidewalk, five flights below our Brooklyn walk-up, an anonymous black town car is waiting for her.

I let the old bedsheet I’m using as a curtain fall closed. I don’t ask where my roommate gets her money, but I’m pretty sure auditioning for Broadway shows isn’t paying for those new shoes. She’s got a different date every night of the week, but she always meets them at some fancy hotel downtown, and never brings anyone home.

You do the math.

Still, I can’t judge. At least she’s able to pay rent on our rodent-infested shoebox. I’m the one a month behind and still no closer to getting a job.

I flop back on the bed with a sigh—landing right on a loose spring.

“Oww,” I curse, rolling over. “Dammit!”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I graduated college with a portfolio full of student newspaper clips and dreams of being the next big thing in journalism. My boyfriend, Troy, was a year ahead of me. He’d already moved to NYC and got a great gig at a news blog; he said as soon as I came out, we’d get a place together and he’d help hook me up with a job.

But I guess his plans changed. Because when I arrived on his doorstep with my beat-up old Civic packed full of my worldly possessions, he had a change of heart.

And that change was a six-foot model-slash-DJ named Anya.

“I didn’t think we were serious,” he said, shrugging off every long-distance promise he’d ever made. “It was just talk, you know?”

I sold the Honda, found a roommate and a waitressing gig, and turned all my rejection and anger into pure determination. I’d show him exactly what I’m made of. I applied for every job going and papered the city with my resume, certain my big break was just around the corner. But here I am, two months later, I can’t even get an interview for an unpaid internship, let alone a real job.

‘We’re not hiring.’

‘Your application has been added to our list.’

‘We’re seeking candidates with more experience.’

It’s a catch-22: I can’t get experience if nobody’s willing to hire me, and nobody’s hiring me because I don’t have experience! I spent four years on my college newspaper, working my way up to editor. I freelanced for blogs, even had a couple of stories published in the local paper, but here in New York City, all that work means nothing.

I’m back at square one.

Today was my last hope—and my best shot. The New York Daily called me in for an interview: my first time actually getting in the door. I was so excited when I walked through the newsroom and felt the buzz of all the ringing phones and people typing at their computers. But my high lasted about as long as it took for the news editor, Charlie Granger, to glance at my portfolio and toss it on his desk.

“I’m sorry, we’re cutting back staff right now, not hiring more.”

I blinked at him, my hopes crashing to the ground. “But, why did you even call me in if there’s no job available?”

He gave me a sympathetic smile. “Look, I like your clips. You’ve got some good stories here. Good instincts. But I can’t use instincts. What I need is stories. Bring me something good, something juicy, and maybe I can swing something.”

Which is why I’m trussing myself up in this ridiculous outfit, layering on the mascara and squeezing my feet into Tasha’s knee-high stiletto boots. Because I need the story of a lifetime to get my career off the ground, and right now, getting this hostess position is the best chance I’ve got. My instincts say there are some serious stories to be discovered at The Underground, and my instincts are never wrong.

I grab my purse and go downstairs, wincing at the boots digging into my toes. But my budget doesn’t stretch to a cab, so the subway it is for me tonight. I head for the station, my stomach jittering with nerves.

What kind of interview is this going to be? Will I have to do regular hostess things like showing customers to a table and checking for reservations, or does the position come with other demands? I mean, it’s not a regular club. The Underground is a super-secretive sex club, catering to the most exclusive clientele.

It was Tasha who turned me on to the place. She heard about a sex club uptown, private members only. The place where New York’s elite go to indulge their dirty secrets. Where politicians, celebrities, and Wall Street hide away under the cover of darkness and let their inhibitions go.

She laughed it off like it was an urban legend, but I did some digging, and quickly found out it’s the real deal. Ruled over by Dax Ryan, the club is totally secretive, completely exclusive—and my ticket to the biggest scoop in town.

If I can get a job here, I’ll be able to snoop around and discover everything that’s going down. If I can get proof of a few big names who use this place, and just what kind of scandals they’re hiding, that should be more than enough to get me a job at the paper, and my first big byline as well.

I can see it now: Zoe Warren, junior reporter, the New York Daily News. I’ll be able to write stories that really matter, pulling in an actual paycheck and learning from the best in the business.

“Aight, sugar?”

A voice snaps me back to reality. A couple of guys are checking me out from across the subway car, their eyes leering. Even under my jacket, this dress is giving them plenty to stare at. “Where you goin’?” One asks. “You got a man tonight?”

Thankfully, we reach my stop and I quickly get out, hurrying to the exit.

There’s only one man I care about tonight: the one guarding all the secrets I’m out to expose. He’s the one I need to fool if I’ve got a hope in hell of pulling this off.

Dax Ryan.

CHAPTER TWO

DAX

‘I know what you’re hiding.’

The note is slipped in with the rest of the mail: a single page with printed text.

I sit back at my desk, then grab the envelope I just ripped open. It’s plain and cheap, the kind you get in packs at the post office. Just my name printed on the front, no address or postmark.

It was delivered here to The Underground in person.

“Griffin!” I yell, and a moment later, my head of security appears in my office doorway.

“What’s up, boss?” he yawns. Six foot three of muscly ex-Navy Seal -- nothing goes on inside the walls of this club without him knowing about it.

“Did you see who delivered this?” I ask, holding up the envelope.

“I don’t know, what is it?” Griffin comes closer.

I make sure the note is hidden beneath other papers on my desk so he doesn’t see. I pass the envelope. He turns it over in his hands and shrugs.

“No idea, sorry.”

“It was with the rest of my mail,” I say, trying to hide my irritation.

“That’s Dominique’s thing,” Griffin says, passing it back. “You know she grabs the mail when she opens up every afternoon. Want me to ask?”

I nod. “But don’t make a big deal about it. Pull the security footage from earlier today, the cameras by the front entrance. Take a look, find me whoever dropped it off.”

If Griffin is surprised by my unusual request, he doesn’t show it. He gives me a nod.

“And talk to the rest of your guys,” I add, as he heads back out the door. “Ask if they’ve seen anything suspicious here the past couple of weeks.”

“What kind of suspicious?”

I keep it vague. “Anything out of the ordinary. Members with any issues. People trying to get in who aren’t on our books. I want a full security briefing by the end of the night.”

“You got it, boss.”

Griffin heads out, leaving me alone in my office. I turn in my chair, facing towards the two-way mirror that looks out onto my domain.

The Underground. The most exclusive members-only nightspot in the city. The place where fantasies are brought to life, and people become free to explore and indulge their most explicit desires.

I look out at the main bar, set with luxurious leather banquettes and rich decor. It’s empty now, but come tonight, the place will be packed. Celebrities, politicians, the top business people in New York City -- all free to do whatever they want under the cloak of total anonymity. No names. No press.

They trust me with their reputations, and in exchange, I provide them with a playground. A place where the responsibilities and stress of every day life are left at the front door. Within these walls, there’s only pleasure. Excitement.

Lust.

I’ve built this club up from nothing into New York’s most sought-after venue. Our waiting list is a thousand people long, and our vetting process for prospective members would put the CIA to shame. Every staff member signs non-disclosure agreements and our guestlist is kept under lock and key.

I guard a thousand secrets for my members. The intimate details of what they do here -- and who they do it with. In this world, discretion is gold. Without it, my entire empire would crumble -- and hundreds of people would be ruined in the scandal.

I pick up the note again, thinking hard. Someone’s threatening me. But with what, I don’t yet know. Could it be blackmail on one of my members?

Or a more personal threat?

My intercom buzzes, breaking through my thoughts.

“The girls are here, to interview for the hostess positions.”

It’s Dominique, my manager.

“Put them in the lounge,” I tell her. “I’ll be right there.”

I get up, taking my suit jacket from the back of my chair and shrugging it on. I hate to have to invite newcomers to work at the club, especially with a note like that on the table, but I have no choice. Three girls have left me in the last few weeks, and with the club’s popularity at an all-time high, I need replacements to work the floor. We’ll be packed to capacity by midnight tonight, and my guests demand five-star service to match their five-star membership fees.

I step out into the hallway, reaching to lock my door behind me. That’s when I see a strange girl peering into one of the rooms down the hall.

“Excuse me,” I call.

She whirls around, looking guilty as hell.

“Can I help you?” My voice is anything but helpful as I stride towards her. I’ve never seen her here before, I would remember her for sure. She’s wearing a tiny bandage dress cut low in the front and high on her legs to show off the swell of her ripe breasts and long, tanned thighs.

“I, uh...” The girl mumbles. She stare at me with blue eyes under choppy blonde bangs, but I can see her brain is thinking fast. Any other time, I’d find her hot. Sexy and tough in those kinky boots of hers, but right now, all I see is an interloper in my damn club.

“Well?” I demand. “What are you doing back here? How did you get in?”

She swallows, pulling herself together. “I’m here for the interview.” She flashes me a smile. “I’m sorry, I went to freshen up, and then I guess I got turned around. This place is like a maze! It’s hard to keep track.”

I pause. She’s giving me a confident beam, no sign of the guilt I saw on her face when I caught her. Did I just imagine it? That note has me on edge, and I don’t like it.

“The lounge is this way,” I tell her gruffly. “I’ll escort you.”

“Thanks, that’s so nice of you.” She hitches her purse up her arm and heads in the direction I point. “It wouldn’t be a good start if I got lost before I even got the job!”

“Luckily, a sense of direction isn’t on the required skills list,” I tells her dryly, following behind. What is required is for my hostesses to be beautiful, courteous, and discreet.

She has one out of three, at least.

I admire the view of her shapely ass and leather boots until we arrive in the side lounge room, where several other girls are waiting. “Someone should tell the guy to turn on a few lights,” she says, looking around. “Everything’s so dim and dark.”

“People like the dark corners,” I say, looming over her. “All the better to hide dark deeds.”

She looks startled, then covers it with a laugh. “You’re right. I forgot, I’m not interviewing at a normal club here.” She looks around the room, then leans in. “Can you do me a favor and point out the boss? I want to know who I’m supposed to impress.”

I arch an eyebrow. “It’s a little late for that,” I tell her, and enjoy the look of dawning realization on her face.

“Shit,” she curses. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” I repeat. “I’m sure we’ll be introduced later. If you’ll take a seat, it’s time to begin.”

She slinks off to a chair at the back of the room, but I pause, watching her a moment longer.

Whoever sent that note is either in possession of damaging information -- or they want it. Badly enough to send a spy to infiltrate my club? I’m not yet sure. Either way, I’m on my guard. And any girl here tonight could be a risk to me.

Somebody is hiding something. I’m going to make sure I find them out.

CHAPTER THREE

ZOE

How could I be so dumb?

I cringe lower in my seat, wishing the floor would open and swallow me up. Getting caught snooping around before I even get the job? And by Dax Ryan himself?

I try to pull myself together. I can’t have blown my best chance at the story within my first five minutes of stepping through the door. After all, I was just looking around, that’s not so bad. And maybe he bought my cover story. After all, he doesn’t have any reason to suspect I’m here to infiltrate and expose his whole club. For all he knows, I’m just another dumb girl who can’t read an ‘exit’ sign to save my life.

For the first time in my life, I’m grateful for my big blue eyes that read more ‘Bambi’ than ‘crack undercover reporter.’ If I’m lucky, the flirting and low-cut dress did their job, and Dax remains oblivious to my real goals here.

I sneak a look at him across the room, consulting with a polished-looking brunette. No wonder I mistook him for security when he first approached me in the hallway. Tall and broad shouldered, he looks way too brawny to be the owner of a sophisticated club like this. He’s got sexy two-day stubble on his jaw, and a nose that’s been broken in a couple of places. Even in the designer suit, he looks like he’d be more at home in a boxing ring than a boardroom.

And when he turned that piercing stare on me...

I shiver, remembering the focus and silent threat. This is not a man you cross lightly -- so does that make me stupid or reckless for going ahead with my plan?

Or both.

“Welcome to The Underground.” The woman up front speaks loudly.

The girls around me hush.

“I’m Dominique, the manager here. Before we get started, I’d like to remind you about the non-disclosure agreements you signed when we invited you to interview. Whether or not you are offered a job, the terms still stand. Any breach will be taken seriously, and I assure you, we will prosecute.”

The girl sitting beside me grimaces. “Geez, way to start the night,” she whispers. I smile in agreement, but inside, my stomach ties in a knot.

The paperwork was emailed over after I applied. Five pages of dense legalese that basically states if I even mention The Underground to anyone for any reason, they can sue me for breach of contract. I guess it’s why nobody’s ever tried to reveal their secrets before, and reading through it, I wondered if I was getting in way over my head.

But this could be the story of a lifetime, so I went ahead and signed -- just not with my real name.

“I’m Anna,” the girl whispers. “Hi.”

“Kate,” I whisper back, lying.

“Can you believe all this secrecy bullshit?” she asks, before Dominique steps aside and Dax addresses us all.

“The Underground is a place where members feel at home,” he says, looking out at us. “Away from their jobs, their spouses, their ordinary lives. It’s a slice of fantasy, and every single person working here must be committed to keeping that fantasy alive. Within these walls, our members are special. We treat them like royalty. Whatever they want -- within reason, and the law,” he adds with a sardonic smirk.

There’s a smattering of laughter. The tension is broken.

“As hostesses, it will be your duty to put our members at ease,” he explains. “Offer them drinks, or show them to the dining area. Inform them about our different rooms, and displays. Some might be new to the club, and need reassuring. Others will want you to arrange more advanced entertainment. At all times, you must be polite, warm, and discreet.”

Dax hones in on each of us in turn. “If you have an issue with any of the entertainment we offer here, leave now. If you like to gossip, or want to show off to your friends with details of what you’ve witnessed behind these walls, leave.”

His eyes land on me and I cringe. Is he talking about me? His stare goes right through me, and I have to look away, flushing bright red. Finally, he continues.

“If you are under the mistaken impression that this is some kind of high-class whore-house, and you have plans to solicit our members for sex, leave. You have no place here.”

There’s a long pause. Nobody moves.

Dax gives a nod. “Very well. You’ll each be called in turn for your interview. I look forward to meeting you.”

He exits the room.

I exhale a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

“Wow,” the girl beside me, Anna, whispers. “He’s something else.”

Something else alright. Hot, and dangerous, and sexy as all get-out.

The first girl is called, and we all watch her sashay out after Dominique.

“So what brought you here?” Anna asks chattily, offering me some gum. She’s got shoulder-length light brown hair and red lipstick, wearing a black dress like me.

“I need the job,” I smile vaguely. “Student loans.”

“Tell me about it!” she exclaims. She looks around, then leans in, dropping her voice. “My cousin used to work here, says the tips are insane. Some nights, she’d make a thousand bucks!”

“Wow.” I blink. Maybe there will be some fringe benefits to this gig besides the newspaper job. I wasn’t lying just now: I’m sitting on a ton of debt, and I can’t let Tasha carry our rent forever. “Wait, used to work here?” My reporter instincts perk up. “What happened? Why did she leave?”

Anna just shrugs. “She got into law school. Georgetown. Thanks to this place, she’s got the whole first year paid for already.”

“Oh.” I deflate. No scandal there. “That’s great.”

I glance around the room at my competition. There are only a few jobs open, and at least a dozen girls here. Every single one of them is gorgeous: glamorous glossy hair, amazing figures.

I tug at my borrowed dress and pray I don’t look out of place. I’m already walking a thin line applying with a fake name, but I didn’t have a choice. Anyone googling ‘Zoe Warren’ would find my full list of bylines from the college newspaper: my articles investigating honor code violations, the time I interviewed football players about grade-rigging, my prize-winning expose on the trustees who gave vending machine rights to a junk food company in exchange for a lavish vacation.

Nobody with half a brain could look at the search results and think I was applying for a job here just for the sweet tips. They would never let me in the building, let alone hire me to have free run of the place. I agonized for weeks over what to do, until I realized the answer had been right in front of me all along: my old college roommate, Kate.

We were assigned to room together sophomore year, and hit it off right away. We’re totally opposite personalities: she was studying social work, was in bed by nine every night, and spent her weekends volunteering with homeless people downtown, while I worked late at the newspaper (and even later down at the pub, partying after we sent an issue to print). But we got along great, so we found an off-campus apartment together for final year too. After graduation, she packed up and went to Africa to spend the year building schools and helping immunize kids.

Like I said, she’s a doll.

She’s also out of the country, with patchy cell service and a spotless employment history. I had her Social Security number back from when she needed me to file some last-minute forms for her, so it was easy to fill in her details on the application for The Underground, along with my current address. Anyone calling the references would agree that Kate Kendall is a fine, upstanding citizen who works well with others. The perfect employee for a place like this.

But sitting here in the club right now, I feel another stab of guilt. Stealing her name isn’t just wrong, it’s illegal; if they catch me, I would be getting us both into a whole shitstorm of trouble.

But this is the break of your career, a little voice reminds me. And you’ll explain everything to her afterwards. She’s on the other side of the world. If everything goes according to plan, nobody will ever know.

“Kate?”

I’m still zoned out when Anna tugs my arm. “Kate?” she says louder. I realize that’s the name I’m going by and snap my head around. “They’re calling you,” she nods to the front of the room. “You’re up.”

“Oh, right!” I scramble to my feet.

“Good luck in there,” she beams.

“Thanks.”

Dominique beckons me, so I follow her, trying to keep my balance in these heels. My pulse is racing as she leads me back down the hallway I explored earlier -- the one Dax caught me snooping around.

“I’ve got my resume right here,” I babble, nervous.

“That won’t be necessary.” Dominique stops outside a door and knocks. “Mr. Ryan has everything he needs.”

She turns to leave. My nerves twist tighter. “You won’t be staying?”

“No. Mr. Ryan makes all the decisions on personnel himself.”

A voice from inside calls, “Enter.”

Dominique gives me a nod. “Go right ahead.”

I catch my breath and push the door open.

Dax is sitting behind a huge polished desk, looking down at a file. He beckons me closer without looking up.

I step inside, and the door swings shut behind me.

We’re alone.

CHAPTER FOUR

DAX

I glance through the next applicant’s file as she takes a seat across from me. Graduated cum laude... waitressed at a high-class restaurant... volunteer work... She’s got glowing references, and when Griffin called to check them out, they all agreed: they’d trust her with their life.

Just the kind of dependable, discreet girl I need working here.

Then I look up, and find myself staring at the girl from the hallway, the one sneaking around with the guilty look on her face and the devious glint in her eyes.

“Kate Kendall?” I ask, wondering if Dominique sent in the wrong girl. But she smiles.

“That’s me!”

I pause, regrouping. Not what I was expecting. The girl in the resume is Mother Theresa, but the one on the other side of my desk strikes me as more sinner than saint. I pride myself on being an excellent judge of character, but perhaps I’m jumping to conclusions here. Until I get this blackmailer taken care of, I’m going to have to keep my paranoia in check.

“You have excellent references,” I note. “Everyone says you’re a pleasure to work with.”

“I try,” Kate says brightly. “Service with a smile, that’s what I always say.”

I reluctantly tick the box next to ‘good attitude.’ Some exclusive clubs like their staff to be snooty and remote, but The Underground has always been a welcoming place. My hostesses are the first thing a member will see when they walk in the doors, and I want the first impression to be a warm, relaxing one.

“It says here you’ve been volunteering with homeless people.” I fix her with a curious stare, but she doesn’t flinch under my gaze. “The Underground seems an odd choice in careers.”

“Not so much.” She doesn’t seem thrown by my question. “There’s not a lot of money in non-profit work. I have an internship right now, but it’s unpaid. A job like this would let me keep up my volunteer work, and get valuable experience in the field.”

Another check mark. Her answer makes perfect sense, but something about her still doesn’t add up to me.

“And you don’t have a problem with what goes on here?” I challenge her. Her file says she’s from a small town in Indiana -- probably a conservative, church-going community. The last thing I need is her blushing away from the sexual fantasies on display in the club.

“A problem with what, exactly?” she replies sweetly. “Bondage? Multiple partners? Exhibitionism? I’m sure I can handle it. After all, I’m going to be serving drinks and taking people’s coats. As you made it clear in your welcome speech, I’m not going to be the one up there on the spanking bench.”

I cough, struck with the sudden image of her there on the platform, her tight skirt yanked up to bare her round ass cheeks, her breasts bouncing with every sharp strike of the paddle as she moans in pleasure.

She would be a wild one, alright. The kind to push back, make you work for her. Demanding exactly what she wants, until finally, pushing you to the edge, she gives in to your command.

Goddamn.

I clear my throat again, pretending to look at her file. “You’re fine with the late hours?” I manage another question, trying to get control again.

She gives me a wry smile. “I pulled all-nighters most of college. My body clock is rewired by now.”

“And you’ve signed the non-disclosure, of course.” I study her again, watching for any reactions. “It’s not a formality. Anyone who breaches the terms will be dealt with.”

“You mean, you’ll sue them?” She looks a little worried.

“The law will be the least of their problems.” I drop the file and lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. I give her a warning look. “This is my club. Everything that happens within these walls is my responsibility, and punishment for any misbehavior falls to me.”

She swallows, recrossing her legs. Her skirt rides up another inch, and I’m momentarily distracted by the flash of tanned, sweet flesh.

“How did you get started here, anyway?”

Her question gets my attention. She’s looking past me, through the two-way mirror, an interested expression on her face. “I mean, it’s not like you grew up wanting to run a sex club,” she adds with a grin. “Did you?”

I allow myself a laugh. Her question is surprising: none of the other applicants have asked about my own history and employment. It shows she has a curious mind.

Curiosity killed the cat.

“This is my third enterprise,” I tell her, ignoring the part of me that says I should be the one still quizzing her. “I started with a bar in Brooklyn, added a winebar in Tribeca. I realized that there was a gap in the market. People go out to have a good time and escape reality, so why not take that a step further? Let them leave all the boundaries of regular life at home, and indulge in a real fantasy. Total freedom, total privacy, and no questions asked.”

“But it’s not just business to you,” she notes. “This place... every detail is perfect. The rooms, the bar. And you oversee it all. This is clearly your vision.”

“Thank you,” I nod, accepting the compliment.

“So what is it that you really love about this place?” she asks, fixing me with an intent stare. “Do you need dark corners for all your dark deeds?”

I pause. She’s using my own words against me -- asking questions that cut right to the heart of why I opened The Underground -- and why its secrecy matters more than anything to me.

Could she be the one who sent me that note?

“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be interviewing you?” I shut her down with a scowl. “You have so many questions, you could be a journalist.”

She flushes. “Of course, I’m sorry. You’re right. What else do you want to know?”

“Nothing. We’re done here.”

Her face falls. And even though I know I’m on dangerous ground, I find myself saying, “You’re hired.”

“Really?” Kate leaps up, excited. “Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.”

“Not so fast,” I stop her. “You’ll have to work a trial shift tonight, so we can see how you handle the job. Go see Dominique,” I tell her. “She’ll show you around and get you started.”

“Thank you,” Kate beams again. “You won’t regret it.”

“I hope not. Do a good job tonight, and you’ll be fine. Let’s see who you really are,” I add.

She seems to flinch, then recovers, quickly hurrying out of the room.

I stay seated, mulling over the past few minutes. She seems like just the kind of employee I need, but I wonder... There’s something about her that’s not quite right. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with the club, but I can’t be sure.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

I’ll be watching her tonight. If she is connected to this threat, then I want to know what she’s playing at -- or who she’s working for.

Either way, Kate Kendell won’t be a mystery for long.

CHAPTER FIVE

ZOE

I can’t believe he hired me.

I leave Dax’s office shaking with relief. Holy shit, for a moment there I thought I was busted for sure. All those questions, and the way he looked at me too. It felt like those piercing blue eyes were stripping me naked, revealing all my guilty secrets.

But I guess Kate’s spotless resume got me through. I send up silent thanks and vow to pay her back somehow, whenever she’s back from Africa.

Now, I just have to make it through this trial probation night so that he takes me on as a permanent hostess, then I’ll have free run of the place. If there’s a story here, I’ll find it -- and then that front page byline and reporter job at the New York Daily will be mine.

“Ms. Kendell?” Dominique is waiting back in the lounge. The other applicants have cleared out, and only me and Anna remain. She smiles when she sees me, and mouths, ‘Congratulations.’

I smile back. She seems nice, and it’ll be good to have a friend here. “Call me Kate,” I tell Dominique. I’ll need to get better about responding to the fake name. I can’t risk any more slip-ups with my cover story.

Dominique nods. She’s in her early thirties, maybe, with dark hair pulled back in a chignon and striking features. “Congratulations on making it through the interview process,” she says to us. “But I’m afraid now the real work begins. Tonight, our doors will open and approximately a hundred members will pay us a visit. Everything about their night here must be memorable -- for all the right reasons. Let me give you the tour.”

She starts to show us around: the main bar area, with rich decor and private booths; the dining room, and exhibition room. I look around with interest. Everything here is designed to feel luxurious and intimate, the kind of place where all kinds of secret things could happen.

“Here is where we stage the shows,” she says, nodding to a raised platform at one end of the room.

“What kind of shows exactly?” I ask, wishing I had my notebook here to keep track.

“It varies. Bondage demonstrations, public spankings. We encourage our members to keep intercourse to the private rooms, but obviously, they can feel free to indulge out on the floor if they see fit.”

Dominique rattles off the list without flinching. She could be reciting a grocery list, not a menu of forbidden, explicit activities.

“God, I hope they don’t have sex out here,” Anna whispers to me. “I don’t know if I’d be able to keep from gawking at them!”

I eye the platform with interest. There’s a bench placed on the stage, and I remember my interview with Dax, when I joked about it not being me up there getting spanked.

A jolt of heat strikes through me. I’m not some inexperienced virgin -- I dated Troy for two years in college, and Lord knows I’ve read plenty of sexy books -- but the image of Dax spanking me makes my nipples tighten and my thighs clench. I push the thought out of my mind. I’m his employee, after all. And I’m about to betray him.

“Kate?”

I turn. Dominique is already heading down the next hallway, with Anna waiting for me.

“Sorry!” I blurt, hurrying after them.

“These are the private rooms,” Dominique announces, as we pass a series of doors marked ‘Opal’, ‘Pearl, ‘Onyx’. She opens the door to one, revealing a sumptuous four-poster bed in the middle of the room, draped with expensive-looking linens.

I take a few steps inside, curious. On one wall, there’s a rack of toys: floggers, paddles, all kinds of things. I go to the rack and run my fingertips lightly over the polished handles. Everything looks hand-carved from the finest materials, nothing cheap or tacky about it.

Anna picks up a flogger and giggles, swatting the leather fronds in the air. Dominique takes it from her with a look.

Okaay.

“Members can use these buzzers to call you if they need anything: more drinks, food,” she explains, “Or an accessory that isn’t here. Sex toys, for example, we keep in a library in the staff-only wing. That way, we can ensure they’re all cleaned hygienically after each session.”

Anna wrinkles her lip at the thought. “Do we have to clean up after them?” she asks, looking around the room.

Oh, God. I hope not.

Dominique smiles. “No, we have staff who tend to the cleaning of the rooms. You girls are hostesses, you’re here to make our members comfortable. No more, no less.”

I pause, remembering what Dax said about hook-ups. “What happens if someone tries to... you know, invite us to join the fun?” I ask, worried. Dax may be clear that we’re not hookers, but I figure plenty of men who come here would like to think otherwise, especially if we’re all dolled up in tight dresses offering to provide “anything” they need. I don’t want to have to spend all night fending off grabby hands and invitations to get tied up.

Unless they’re from the boss.

Dominique gives me a reassuring smile. “I’m afraid it does happen on occasion, usually when a member brings a guest who doesn’t know how things work. In those cases, just politely decline, leave the room, and inform Griffin, or whoever is running security that night. The person will be immediately removed.”

“Just like that?” I ask in disbelief. I’ve seen rich assholes grope waitresses in bars all over the city, and never once get thrown out. Usually, the owners care more about their take for the night than the employees.

But Dominique seems serious. “Just like that,” she repeats. “I can promise you, Mr. Ryan considers the safety of his employees paramount. He runs a ‘one strike’ policy here. If there’s even a single complaint about a guest’s behavior, that person’s membership is revoked.”

Wow. I’m impressed.

“But that is also true of our staff,” Dominique continues, leading us out of the room. “We expect the highest standards of behavior from our hostesses. If anyone complains about your attitude, or you do anything against club policies, you’ll be let go.”

“We better be on our best behavior!” Anna whispers, grinning. I nod, but inside, I’m nervous.

How am I going to pull this off?

Dominique takes us through the rest of the induction, and then sends us to the staff dressing room to get ready with the rest of the girls. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but they’re a friendly group, just like me and Anna: out of college, or paying their way through school, and totally casual about the unusual nature of the club.

“Here, I always carry wet-wipes with me, and a little bottle of sanitizer,” one of them advises me, passing over a tiny packet. “You want to keep your hands clean.”

“Ignore her, she’s a total germ-a-phobe!” another girl laughs.

“You’ll be starting in the main bar, like we all did,” another tells us. She applies red lipstick in the mirror, and hitches her cleavage up. Everyone’s dressed in classy-looking outfits: lacy black dresses and figure-hugging pencil skirts, but there’s a definite bondage edge in all the collars, cuffs, and kinky heels on show. Dominique provided us with a list of acceptable outfits, but luckily, my borrowed dress passed the test.

“The private rooms tip more, but they don’t let newbies back there,” the first girl, Louisa, agrees. “They want to make sure you can handle all the X-rated stuff that happens.”

“Don’t worry,” she adds, seeing Anna’s nervous expression. “You’ll get used to it in no time at all. When I started, I couldn’t believe my eyes, but now I’ll walk in on a DP and barely blink.”

Anna doesn’t look reassured. I give her a smile. “Just remember the tips,” I whisper. “And you won’t be the center of attention. In a place like this, nobody remembers their hostess. They’ll all be focused on their own fun.”

Anna gives me a grateful smile. “It’s crazy, right? How casual everyone is about... you know… the sex.”

I shrug. “I guess. But think of a frat house on a Friday night. At least here, you won’t have some drunk jock pawing at you. You’ll do great.”

“You too.” Anna smiles. “See you later!”

*

Two hours later, and I’m trying my best to be the perfect hostess. Luckily, I’ve been working as a waitress for years to get me through college, and then here in the city, so it’s easy for me to slip back into old habits: greeting members and taking drink orders while I keep my eyes open and absorb the lay of the land.

Even after meeting Dax and the rest of the staff, I still wasn’t sure what to expect from a sex club -- however exclusive and secretive. I pictured seedy older guys leering over young escorts, but as the club fills up, I can see that the members are a wealthy, glamorous crowd with impeccable manners. Everyone looks stylish and sophisticated, but mysterious too. There are single people, and small groups, but I’m surprised to find most of the members are here in couples. They flirt and smile at each other, slipping away to the private suites together -- or parting with a kiss to go enjoy the company of somebody else.

I wonder what it would be like to be one of them. Coming here and shedding all my inhibitions, getting up to all kinds of sinful, sexy things in the private salons...

Through it all, I make sure to keep one eye on Dax. I figured our brooding owner would stay out of sight behind the scenes, but to my surprise, he’s right in the middle of the action -- and looking way more at home. Greeting members like old friends, buying drinks, smiling and at ease. He holds court at a reserved VIP booth in the center of the room, making everyone feel welcome and at home.

But just like I’m watching him, he’s watching everyone else. Even as he lounges against the bar with a drink of whiskey, I can see his eyes dart around the room. Taking stock of who’s where, doing what, with who else. He calls over his head of security occasionally, leaning in to murmur in a private conversation. Then it’s back to the party -- but not to relax. That calm façade is just an act. His blue eyes don’t miss a beat.

He sees everything.

One woman in her thirties with long blonde hair flags me down as I pass her booth. She’s snuggled up to a handsome man, flirting with him over cocktails.

“Could you please take a bottle of champagne to the man in the Opal suite?” she asks, sliding her membership key across the table. Aside from tips, everything is put on the member accounts: no credit card trail, and no names. “Brut, if you have it. It’s my husband’s favorite.” She winks.

I look back at the man beside her as he slides one hand down beneath the table -- and between her legs.

I cough. “Um, sure. Right away.”

“Thanks, doll.” The woman smiles, leaning back in her booth to enjoy whatever her companion is doing, just out of sight.

I hurry away, feeling my cheeks flush. I’m realizing how wrong I was when I told Anna it was just like party night at the frat house. Sure, back in college there were plenty of drunk people groping each other in plain sight, but here at the club, it feels completely different.

Exclusive. Forbidden.

And sexy as sin.

I fetch the bottle of champagne from the bartender, and set a silver tray with two glasses. Then I add a third, just in case, and take it through to the back hallway where the private suites are -- and Dax’s office.

I glance around as I go. Griffin is stationed discreetly at the end of the hall. He gives me a nod as I pass. I hurry on.

Security is everywhere. Griffin keeps watch back here, but there are other staff too: serious-looking guys in immaculate suits, lingering by the main doors, the bar, everywhere. You wouldn’t know to look, but this place is like Fort Knox on the inside, full of people ready to make any sign of trouble melt away.

To catch someone like me.

I reach the Opal suite and knock timidly on the door. “Sir? I have some champagne. Special delivery.”

A moment later, a voice answers, “Come on in.”

I step inside. There’s a bed here like in the other suite Dominique showed us on the tour, but this one has a metal frame as the headboard. A gorgeous redhead is bound to it.

She’s naked. Writhing. Moaning in desire.

Oh my God.

I avert my eyes, going to set the champagne on a table by the bed. The man is stripped to his waist, holding a riding crop in his hands.

“Would you mind pouring?” he asks politely, turning back to the bed.

“Sure.” I fumble with the cork. I don’t want to interrupt, but he doesn’t seem to mind that I’m here.

He slowly trails the riding crop over the woman’s body, making her pant. “You misbehaved, my sweet. You know that means punishment.”

“Please...” the woman moans, and the arousal in her voice makes me shiver. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Master.”

I glance over. She’s pulling at her restraints, thrusting her body towards him. Her nipples are peaked, her thighs spread wide. She’s so turned on, I can see it in the way she pants for breath, whimpering helplessly.

My face flushes with heat. I can’t believe I’m intruding on such a private moment -- or that neither of them cares they have an audience.

The man taps the crop lightly between her legs, making her moan.

“Shh... darling. You know the rules. You can’t come until I say so.”

I’m shocked to find myself getting turned on, just being in the same room as them. It’s like I’ve walked into the middle of a sexy porno film, but it feels even more dirty because I know that these are real people, real moans of pleasure, not faked for some camera.

What would it be like to be in her place? Bound and begging for release?

Sex with Troy was nothing like this. To tell the truth, it was kind of boring sometimes. He wasn’t much for foreplay, and acted like it was a chore to try and get me in the mood before jackhammering away, assuming his metronome thrusts were more than enough to satisfy both of us.

But this….?

The man looks over and sees me frozen, watching them. I step back, but he just smiles.

“Look, you have an audience,” he croons to the redhead. The woman seems to get even more excited. “Show her how you submit to me, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Master.”

He crawls across the bed towards her. “Now beg,” he orders.

“Please, oh please, Master!”

“What do you want?” he continues.

“Touch me, please,” she mewls. “I need you so much.”

He reaches her prone body, then without even pausing, he yanks her thighs apart and buries his face in her bare pussy. She screams in pleasure.

Holy shit!

I nearly drop the champagne bottle in shock, but somehow, I can’t look away. He devours her, lapping at her clit as she moans. He lifts her hips, spearing his tongue inside her, like he wants to drink every last drop.

I feel dizzy. Fuck, it’s so hot. I can’t believe that he’s doing this right in front of me -- or that I’m getting so turned on watching them.

My nipples stiffen. Heat coils tight between my thighs. God, nobody’s ever eaten me out like that, so forcefully--

Her screams get louder, finally breaking me out of my lustful daze. What am I doing? I’m on the clock, and I can’t afford to get this distracted. Especially not on my first shift.

I finish pouring the champagne with a splash, and then turn and flee the room, escaping back into the hallway just as her screams reach a crescendo.

“Hey, watch it!”

I don’t see where I’m going, and barrel straight into a solid chest.

I stumble, losing my balance, but a pair of strong hands grip me tight, holding me up.

“Not so fast,” the man says, and I look up into those all-knowing blue eyes.

It’s Dax.

CHAPTER SIX

DAX

For the second time today, I catch Kate coming out of one of the private suites looking guilty -- but this time, there’s something different about her. Her pupils are dilated, and she’s panting for air.

“Why were you running so fast?” I ask, keeping a tight hold on her arms. Her body is hot against me, all those luscious curves practically spilling out of her dress.

“I... um...” she stammers. Then the sound of screams echoes from the room she just bolted out of. Screams of complete and total ecstasy.

I laugh. It happens to all our new hires. Hearing about the club activities is one thing, but seeing them in the flesh is always a shock. “Too much for you, Little Miss Indiana?”

“No!” She protests quickly. “I just...”

She trails off, lost for words. I take a closer look: the dazed look in her eyes, the way her chest heaves with every breath. And then my eyes catch as I notice the outline of her nipples, two stiff peaks pressing eagerly through the skimpy fabric of her dress. She flushes, seeing my gaze, and tries to look away, but it’s too late, I’ve seen the truth.

She’s turned on.

Blood rushes straight to my cock.

I take a step closer, still holding her arms tightly. She tries to back away, but it’s a narrow hallway. There’s nowhere to turn.

“It’s okay that you liked it,” I say.

Her jaw sets defiantly. “So what if I did?” she retorts. “That’s not against the rules, is it?”

I smile. “No... it’s not. But it’s not about the rules, is it? It’s about breaking them.”

I’m reminded why I hired her in the first place. The anonymous note; my instinct that there’s more to this girl than she’s letting on.

I need to find out the truth, and maybe this is a way to keep her off-guard.

After all, it’s hard to lie when you’re coming your brains out.

I reach out and touch her cheek. She shudders under my hand, and dammit, I want to fuck her.

Hard.

“What is it, I wonder, that’s made you so hot?” I muse, keeping her trapped against the wall. I trail my hand lower, down the curve of her throat. “Was it bondage?” I ask, gripping her tighter. I’ve never done this with an employee before, but I need information. And though I don’t want to admit it, there’s something about this girl that’s more than a pretty face, an insanely hot body, that feisty attitude. She’s mysterious. Curious. Irresistible.

“Handcuffs, maybe?” I prod.

She shakes her head, her eyes lifting to look at me, a flare of desire in her pupils. I brush myfinger against her soft skin..

“Hmm... a threesome, then?” I try, skimming my fingertips lower, past her collarbone, over the lush swell of one breast. She catches her breath. “Is that what you saw? A woman taking two cocks, begging for more? Would you like that?”

She inhales sharply. “No,” she whispers.

I immediately still my hand. “Tell me what you really want.”

“Nott a threesome,” she says. Something shifts in her gaze, the hesitation vanishes. She arches her back a little, pressing her breast into my palm, and meets my eyes in a needy stare.

“Then tell me,” I murmur, leaning in to whisper in her ear. I gently roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, teasing the stiff bud as she gasps. “BecauseI can give you what you want.”

I pinch harder and she makes a strangled moan.

Her eyes close. Her wet lips part, teasing. Begging to be filled with my tongue. My fingers.

My cock.

“I want…I want…” She can’t get the words out.

“Dammit,” I growl, shocked at how turned on she’s making me. “You look so sexy like that, I could fuck you up against the wall right now.”

Her eyes fly open in shock.

“But I won’t,” I tell her. “Not when my office is right down the hall. Come now.”

I take her hand and pull her into my office, locking the door behind us. She looks like she’s expecting to be punished, but might just enjoy it. Before she can object, I lift her up and set her on the desk.

“Better,” I say.. “Now we’re all alone.”

Damn, she looks hot, splayed there on my desk. Her skirt is hiked up those tan thighs, and her kinky boots could do some serious damage digging into my spine.

If I’m lucky.

But I hold back, remembering why I’m doing this. Not just because those rebellious eyes have been driving me crazy since the moment she walked in the door. No, I need to show her who’s boss here. Who’s in control.

Remind her that whatever she thinks she’s hiding, whatever secrets she’s keeping, I’ll get them out of her in the end.

This is my world she’s in now, and I refuse to let anyone take it away from me.

I prowl closer, until I’m looming over her. My jacket comes off in a practiced shrug and I throw it over a chair, not taking my eyes off her for a second.

“So,” I say, deliberately placing my hands on both her knees. “It’s time for you to tell me exactly what you saw that turned you on so much.”

I hear her breath hitch. I hold her gaze, and move her legs apart, wider, until she’s spread. Open. Ready.

Totally at my mercy.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ZOE

How the hell did this happen?

I sink back on the desk, in a daze. One minute I was fleeing that X-rated show in the private room, and the next, Dax had me pinned up against the wall, whispering all kinds of filthy suggestions in my ear.

And I loved it.

Dax fixes me with a hot, dangerous smile as he rolls up his sleeves. My mouth goes dry all of a sudden, and then his hand slides up the inside of my thigh. “I gave you an order,” he reminds me. “Speak. I am still your boss, remember.”

Oh God. He is -- and that just makes this even more illicit and thrilling. For a moment, all my secret investigations and ulterior motives fade away, and there’s nothing but his intense stare and the feel of his hands, gripping my legs tight, pushing them open.

Commanding me.

“He was... going down on her,” I finally admit, my heart racing. “That’s what I saw.”

. “And you liked it,” he muses, tracing devastating circles on the inside of my knee. “Liked watching, seeing her come.. His mouth on her, his tongue sliding inside, sucking her, licking her...”

“Yes,” I pant.

Fuck, it’s so hot that he’s talking dirty like this. Everything about him is hot: from the way he’s forcing my knees wider, to that slow-burn look in his eyes, like he could devour me whole. And I want him to.

“Do you want it?” he asks dangerously, as if he’s reading my mind. His hands move higher up the inside of my thighs. “Is that what you want me to do with you?”

“Maybe.” I fight to keep my cool. “It depends.”

“On what?” Dax arches an eyebrow.

“If you’re any good.” I smile, trying to wrest some control, pretending that I’m not totally at his mercy. “This other guy seemed to know what he was doing. He set the bar pretty high.”

Dax snorts. “Don’t you worry about me, sweetheart. Just try to keep up.”

And then, like something out of a dirty fantasy, he sinks to his knees in front of the desk.

Oh. My. God.

“Care to settle a personal bet for me, Miss Kendell?” Dax asks, spreading my thighs even wider. He grips my ankles and lifts, setting my heels up on the edge of the desk. My lace panties are totally exposed, and I feel my pulse rocket even higher.

Now he’s kneeling right between my legs, eye-level with my crotch.

I feel a rush of anticipation. My pussy clenches. A distant part of my brain gives thanks that I wore sexy underwear tonight, fighting against the part that says this is a bad idea -- but any voice of reason is quickly overwhelmed by the heat of the charged moment. And besides, the closer I get to Dax, the closer I get to my story.

“What bet?” I manage to reply. My voice is faint. Fuck, this is unreal.

“That you’re wet right now.” Dax’s voice is a low growl. He meets my eyes, and another shot of heat throbs between my legs. “I could tell from the moment you came out of that room. You’re dripping.”

I feel myself clench again. Yes. God, I’m wet. And I only get wetter as Dax uses one finger to pull aside the strip of lace from my aching slit, the straining elastic increasing the pressure on my clit.

He dips a fingertip inside me and lifts it to his lips. “Mmm.” He smells his finger before licking it clean.

I can’t take this. Fuck, I’ve never been with a man like this before. He’s so bold, so totally, devastatingly hot. And he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“So tell me, Miss Kendell,” Dax continues, sliding his hand back between my legs. He finds the tender nub of my clit, and slowly strokes it, teasing me as he brings me pleasure.. “Why did you apply for this job? Really.”

I struggle to keep it together. “I told you,” I reply in a strangled voice. “Student loans.”

I try to sit up, but Dax eases two fingers inside me.

Oh. Fuck.

I collapse back against the desk. His fingers are thick, thrusting. The friction is incredible as he pumps them deeper inside.

“I don’t buy it.” Dax lowers his head and bites the inside of my thigh. I shiver at the delicious burst of pain. He curls his fingers up inside me, stroking slowly, oh God, just right.

“Tell the truth.”

His breath is hot against my pussy. He leans closer, and licks my clit, savoring it..

I moan.

“There’s more to you than that spotless resume and that hot ass (something),” he murmurs, licking me again. I grasp the edges of the desk, and hold on for dear life, falling deeper into the dirty bliss of his voice, and tongue, and the relentless slow pump of his fingers inside my cunt.

“Come clean,” he urges, swirling his tongue over my clit again. I buck against him, God, I’m so fucking close. “I promise, I won’t punish you for your lies. Not unless you want me to,” he adds. He pulls back and waits for my reply, his mouth poised over (his breath doing something to?) my wide open pussy. Our eyes lock.

For a moment, I think about telling him everything. The internship, my attempt to get a job by exposing his club’s dirty little secrets.

My real name.

But that’s impossible. A man like Dax wouldn’t just let me off the hook, I’m already in way over my head.

The only option is diving even deeper.

“Curiosity,” I tell him. “I heard about the club. I wanted to see everything. All the secret, forbidden things people like to do. I wanted to see it all.”

Dax’s eyes turn dark with lust. “Dirty girl,” he growls, gripping my thighs tighter. “Don’t you know what curiosity did to the little pussycat?”

I shake my head.

“Made it come like it’s never fucking come before.”

Dax curls his fingers up inside me, pumping fast and deep. Then his mouth is on me, consuming me, lapping at me in a relentless rhythm.

I moan, the pleasure ripping through me. But Dax doesn’t break, he only licks harder, shoving my knees up against my chest and closing his lips around my swollen clit. I hang onto his neck, his hair, totally lost in the exquisite devastation as he works me harder..

Then I feel it. A nudge, lower, there.

I yelp in surprise, and feel Dax moan against me. Then the nudge turns into a dirty probe, his little finger wiggling at my asshole, stretching me open. The foreign sensation makes me buck upwards, but that only presses me against his mouth, and that hard lap of his tongue, driving me crazy, sparking every last nerve in my body.

He flexes his fingers inside my cunt as he sinks that wicked finger in, all the way to his knuckle. I gasp. I’m strung out on the edge, overwhelmed with sensation. Friction, heat, everything contracting into one tense knot of pressure. And then he flicks his tongue against my aching clit again and again and I explode, my body convulsing in a hot rush of pleasure.

It’s so intense. I’m still wearing all my clothes, and yet I feel completely vulnerable to him.. When I finally come back to reality, Dax is standing over me, rolling his shirtsleeves back down.

“Is your curiosity sated yet?” he asks, looking amused.

I realize suddenly what a precarious position I’m in: spread-eagled on my new boss’s desk.

I scramble to straighten my panties and tug my skirt down. “For now,” I answer breathlessly. “But I’m sure I have a lot more to learn.”

“Any questions, just let me know.” Dax crosses behind the desk and settles in his chair. He gives me a knowing smile. “Employee satisfaction is important to me.”

Does that mean I’m still an employee? I stare at him, still dazed from my epic orgasm. As if reading my mind, Dax nods.

“See you for your shift tomorrow, Kate.”

He’s dismissing me -- but I’m relieved. I bolt for the door, and quickly close it behind me, but I’ve barely taken three steps when my legs give way.

I sink back against the wall.

That was incredible.

And incredibly stupid, a voice reminds me. I almost told him everything. And then I came. Fuck, did I come.

I try to get my breath back. Dax may be my boss, but I need to do whatever it takes to get this story. Even if that means playing this game with him. And sure he’s arrogant, but he’s got the skills to back it up. I’ve never had anyone work my body so expertly. I almost begged for it. I could have if he hadn’t given it to me.

Through his door, I hear the phone ringing. I lean closer, close enough to hear Dax’s voice as he answers the call.

“Yes?” His answer is gruff, and I wonder if he’s frustrated and turned on right now. I saw the hard-on straining through his pants, but I didn’t even touch him.

“Good,” his voice says. “I need seventy thousand transferred from the numbered account. No, I don’t want a paper trail. Cash. Make this disappear.”

My journalist instincts fire up. Numbered accounts? Cash transfers?

Dax’s voice gets louder, like he’s pacing in the next room. “There’s no room for mistakes on this, I’m warning you. This could bring down everything. Nobody can know.”

There’s another sound. I reel back, then turn and hurry away from his door. Something big is going on, and I’m more determined than ever now to be the one to reveal his secrets.

One way or another, I’m going to get this story. I just have to make sure I don’t lose all control for Dax first.

TO BE CONTINUED…

What happens next? Zoe and Dax’s story continues in THE EXPOSÉ 2

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BOOKS BY ROXY SLOANE – AVAILABLE NOW!

The Seduction Series

All women look the same on their knees with their lips wrapped around my cock.

You like to think you're different, special somehow. But trust me, I'll have you wet and begging for it before you can think of all those bullshit, good girl reasons why not.

I'm your darkest secret. Your dirtiest fantasy.

Who am I?

The Seducer.

And I've never lost a case.

Until her. Keely Fawes. My mysterious new target.

Someone wants to destroy her -- and I'm their weapon of choice.

Her secrets could be my undoing. Her innocence will ruin me.

But I don't care.

I'm going to show her how fucking good it feels to be bad. She'll come screaming my name if it's the last thing I do.

Discover the red-hot series from the USA Today bestselling author of THE INVITATION!

THE SEDUCTION 1

THE SEDUCTION 2

THE SEDUCTION 3

THE SEDUCTION 4

The Invitation Series

Welcome to your wildest fantasy...

The invitation arrives out of nowhere. No name. No address. Just one simple challenge.

'Play with me.'

The games are intoxicating, each one more thrilling than the last. And pleasure is the ultimate prize.

He knows my secrets. He sees my darkest desires. He can drive me to ecstasy -- and I don't even know his name.

This is your invitation. Now it's your turn to decide.

Are you ready?

Discover the red-hot new series from the USA Today bestselling author of THE SEDUCTION!

*17+ This book contains spanking, hot sex, and mind-blowing orgasms*

THE INVITATION 1

THE INVITATION 2

THE INVITATION 3

The Submission Series

Most women don't know the pleasure of total surrender.

You've fantasized about it. Maybe you've even tried. Asked for his hands to grip you a little tighter. If he could tie you up. Hold you down. But he always stops too soon.

He doesn't mean it when he makes you beg for him, doesn't push you to the limits of your pleasure and demand everything you have to give--and more.

You wonder, what would it be like with a man who truly commanded you? How sweet would the release be, giving yourself up completely?

No limits.

No boundaries.

His control.

Full series available now!

1. Sweet Submission

2. Wild Submission

3. Total Submission

4. Perfect Submission