A.J. Kinsey knew he was never meant to love until he meets the one woman he'll break all the Cheaters Club rules for...even if it leaves him broken.
written by @MarriedtoArod
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A special update for The Cheaters Club Clublander of the Month: @Lurves2read
Read on for details on how this can be you!
A cab drops me off in front of a large sky rise somewhere on the Upper East Side. I could've walked, but there's something calming about watching the world fly past your window while seated in a moving vehicle. I dip my head back and let my gaze wander up hundreds of windows gleaming in the morning sun like a silver beacon guiding me home. Because for the first time in a long time this swell of contentment feels exactly like that—home.
I walk through the glass double doors and into a pristine lobby. White leather couches, high back chairs, and chaise lounges sprawl over white marble floors beneath vaulted ceilings. It's empty except for a security guard dressed in a black suit. He checks me in and directs me to the last elevator in the corridor like he's expecting me.
"What floor?" I ask.
"It only goes to one floor."
I blow out an irritated breath and wait for my ride—I don't wait long. The doors open, welcoming me into a metal box colored gold with two large backlit letter C's facing me in the same script as the business card in my pocket. I guess I can assume I'm at the right place. Only a man like Holden Drake would leave his signature on everything. Even a dog doesn't mark that much territory.
The elevator stops somewhere near the top and opens up into another lobby. This one is even more stylized than the one on the ground floor, if that's possible. The marbled floors are a swirl of white and caramel adding to the only warmth the cavernous lobby provides. Even though the furniture is modern and in neutral shades, there's something cold and hard about the room. And like everything that Holden owns, The Cheaters Club logo is stamped on the wall behind the reception desk.
A beautiful, young woman stands at the opposite end of the lobby as my new shoes tap across the marble floors. She steps toward me, the seductive sway of her hips beckoning me forward, so I obey. Although she wears a slim black skirt suit, there's nothing demure about it. It's as if the suit was sewn directly onto her body, the fabric clings to every curve and line of her perfect figure. Even the white button-up beneath the jacket is far from professional with its plunging neckline embracing the curve of her breasts.
"Mr. Kinsey, you're expected," she says. "But first Jean Paul will get you settled in your room."
"My room?"
The woman saunters behind the desk, and I can't keep my eyes off her ass as the skirt rides its way up her thighs. I'm sorry to see her lower half disappear without a peek at her full assets.
She picks up a black phone and fumbles with the buttons, mumbled curses tumbling from between her full pink lips. Bent over the phone, I can't pry my eyes off her cleavage on full display. I doubt she even realizes that one false move and there'll be nothing left to the imagination—the thought is deliriously torturous.
