Club Rhythm

By J. A Melville

Life for successful real-estate mogul Andre Auclair could be summarised easily: Women. Money. Cocktails.
What couldn't be summarised so easily were the feelings he had upon encountering the raven-haired beauty, Satine.

She was the sexist woman he'd ever seen, and he'd seen a few over the years.
All soulful eyes and luscious lips, she'd just walked into Club Rhythm with a purpose.
It was only meant to be one night. Nothing more, but something more powerful than them had other ideas.

Andre wanted her to stay. Satine fearing for her heart if she did, left him while he slept.

Until fate intervened  a few months later, bringing them together again, under the most unexpected of circumstances.

Will they have the strength to fight the powerful attraction that time hadn't diminished, or will it be too much for them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. A Melville
• Release date: Jul 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215658550

Book preview

Chapter One

Andre

The deep, heavy beat of the music out on Club Rhythm’s floor was enough to drag my eyes from the computer before me to the clock. I’d been staring at the damn thing longer than I intended and time was getting away on me.

The muted sound of voices reached my office door. Female voices. No surprise really given it was cocktail night and generally that attracted more women than men.

They couldn’t get to me where I was though. They would have to try and breach one of the staff doors for that and no one had ever tried that before.

Stretching to ease the stiffness in muscles from having been seated so long, I pushed my chair back and stood. I shouldn’t be here. It really wasn’t necessary. I didn’t have to oversee the running of the club. I had staff to do that.

I was here for one reason and one reason only. It was cocktail night and cocktail night meant women, and women meant sex. It was always the same every cocktail night. Not that I was here each time. I only came to the club when I needed the release.

I needed it tonight. I was wound tighter than a spring after the tension of the last few weeks. Much as I loved the process involved in acquiring prime real estate, it was still intense.

The negotiations had gone on for nearly two weeks. Complicated of course by the fact I was not the only one trying to acquire it. I was determined to win though, but not at any cost. I wasn’t that stupid.

I didn’t like to lose, but I was in the real estate business to make money. Lots of it, and I was damn good at it. I’d wanted the three acres of land for the land value alone. There was nothing on it of value. It was all in the location.

The decaying warehouses that littered it were worthless to me. They’d been standing vacant for the last six years. The businesses that had once occupied them, long gone. Still, I knew from when I’d been researching the area that there had once been a hydraulics business there and even a decade ago, a prominent confectionary company.

Since they’d been empty, time and their proximity to the water had taken their toll. The iron was turning to rust. The old glass skylights set into a lot of the buildings were now broken, blanketing vacant floors like a hazardous snow.

All of that was of little consequence to me though. I’d secured it. I’d outbid any competition I’d had, and the land was mine. I intended building luxury apartments on the vast site; the views would guarantee not only top dollar but high demand.

High end luxury living was how I’d made my money. It wasn’t just a multi-million dollar business. It had made me billions. I’d made a name for myself over the years and people knew what sort of luxury living I could provide, so more often than not, the apartments sold off the plans. Having Auclair & Associates name on them was an endorsement in itself.

Of course, the majority of Docklands had been bought by investors years ago and there were many high rise apartment blocks there, but I didn’t have just any old high rise apartments built. I didn’t go with the generic apartment blocks. I had visionary architects that designed not only apartments that were things of beauty. They stood out in the crowd.

They were the jewel in my crown. They sold because there was a market out there for them. Rich people who didn’t want to be part of the repetitive towering glass and concrete buildings. Those apartment blocks that looked like every other one.

That’s why I liked to constantly advertise for bids from new architects. Keep it fresh. Keep it new. It gave architects that might not be the biggest names out there a chance to prove their worth. Many were younger and had innovative designs, but were often lost in the shadows of the bigger companies.

It was like that in all aspects of life. Too often the little guy with the good ideas got lost because the bigger guys had the loudest voices.

Again, the sound of excited feminine voices drew my gaze to the door. It was time to get out there since it sounded like the club was filling up and see if anyone caught my eye. Someone special. Someone beautiful. Someone who didn’t think she could get me by throwing herself at me.

Moving towards the door, I paused at the mirror just to the side of it, and checked my appearance. As always, I was dressed in one of my signature Armani suits, this one a shade of charcoal grey so dark it looked black at first glance.

Given I was at  the club, I’d gone with a black shirt and black tie. The combination with my bronzed skin tone gave me an edgier look. Piercing blue eyes stared back at me. Depending on the lighting they could look silver-grey or green. I smiled at my image, little more than a slight curve of the lips, before raking a hand through my midnight-black hair to comb it back off my face, and although it was perfect, out of habit, I straightened my tie.

I knew I looked good. That wasn’t my ego talking. Women were like bitches on heat around me which was amusing since most of them didn’t stand a chance in hell of getting anywhere near me. I liked to fuck but I was still discerning about what I stuck my dick in.

Cocktail night at the club always brought a smorgasbord of women for me to sample. Most would be dismissed immediately but I always liked to look for that rare gem. That one woman who stood out and drew me to her.

It wasn’t the most accommodating woman who would attract me. The desperate ‘look at me’ women who flaunted themselves with their tits nearly falling out of their clothing were never going to be my choice.

No.

It would be the more mysterious woman who got my attention. One that was beautiful and sexy without having to resort to clothing that left little to the imagination. And one who was capable of some sort of intelligent conversation. I wasn’t crass enough to immediately grasp them by the hair and haul them upstairs, once I knew sex was guaranteed.

It was so much more than that, at least for me. Sex wasn’t just about the coupling of two bodies. It wasn’t just an exchange of bodily fluids. The brain was the biggest organ, so conversation played a part. As did her scent, her look, and her voice. At least for me they were important.

We both knew where it was going eventually. We would end up in bed together, but I had to be attracted to the woman’s mind and personality too.

Plus, if the truth be told, I got off on the process. The dance of seduction. That slow escalation of excitement and anticipation. I knew not all men felt the same way as me. Maybe it was because I was older. Not old, but in my early thirties, so that desire to stick my dick in anything with a pulse had become far more refined over the years. I was more discerning. More particular. More controlled.

That’s where Club Rhythm played its part too. It might be all about sex, but what club isn’t? The décor chosen to excite; the music to stir up emotions, to awaken desire in those who came here. The place screamed sex although anyone caught fucking on the floor would be kicked out.

There were rooms for that. Rooms above that were designed for those who couldn’t wait but, of course, they came at a price. Nothing in life was free - and certainly not at Club Rhythm.

Picking an imaginary piece of lint off my suit, and satisfied with my appearance, I left my office and walked down the short corridor that led to the main floor of the club. As soon as I pushed through the door that marked the area designated for staff only, the steady deep thump of the music hit me full force.

I paused at the doorway, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the muted lighting. It was deliberately done to produce that feeling of intimacy. Club Rhythm was designed to be the ultimate cock tease.

The walls were a deep, dark red like the finest Shiraz with thick black drapes hanging to give an illusion of privacy, although there were no windows in the club. The floors were mahogany. That was done for practical reasons; wood is far more forgiving than carpet when it comes to spilled drinks.

The only more brightly lit areas on the floor were the bars. The bartenders couldn’t work in the dark preparing drinks and certainly not on cocktail night.

Making my way across the floor, weaving in and out of groups of women who had already congregated in their packs, I headed for my usual seat at the furthest end of the main bar.

I called it my observation deck. It was in a more dimly lit area of the bar and, being close to the wall, it allowed me relative peace and quiet to peruse the women entering the club.

Cocktail night tended to attract more women than men. I think some deemed cocktails unmanly, but I begged to differ. Enough men had discovered that this particular night each week was open season for anyone looking to get lucky.

Although I had a strict rule on that too. Mutual attraction and attention was acceptable, if both parties were happy. If anyone harassed another patron and ignored their repeated requests to leave them alone however, then the one doing the harassing would be escorted out of the club.

Just because Club Rhythm screamed sex and seduction, didn’t mean I allowed any form of sexual harassment to take place without consequences.

My eyes drifted over to Titan who stood near the doorway checking ID’s as people entered the club. The man was massive. Arms and legs like tree trunks. No one in their right mind would take him on. He was an excellent bouncer and security guard. I was lucky to have him.

Zack appeared in front of me, a ready smile on his face. He was my head bartender. Fucking brilliant at his job too. I surrounded myself with only the best. I’d actually stolen Zack from another club. Money talked. A bigger salary and a much better club were too much for him to turn down and he’d been here three years now.

What can I get you boss? He asked. I didn’t expect him to call me ‘boss’ but he refused to call me by my name.

Surprise me, I told him, and he shot me another grin before going to mix me something.

That was my standard response each cocktail night. Anyone who came here on a Friday would be fresh out of luck if they tried to order anything other than a cocktail - and I wasn’t an exception. It was cocktails from opening until closing at 4am. Lucky for me my masculinity wasn’t threatened by brightly coloured liquids.

A classic martini glass was placed before me on a black napkin. The cloudy appearance and three olives immediately told me it was a Dirty Martini.

Raising the glass to my lips I took a sip before turning on the stool I was on and surveying the growing crowd. Cocktail night was popular. That’s why it was a regular weekly thing. It raked in good money, and I had the added bonus of searching for a tempting morsel; a woman that I would spend an hour or two verbally seducing before taking upstairs for a few hours of enjoyment, and then sending home.  

My eyes began sweeping over the numerous groups of women dressed mostly the same. Short dresses and plunging necklines that took the excitement out of shopping for my next fuck. I had no problem with revealing clothing but not when it made the woman look trashy and, sadly, most of them I saw had that desperate look about them that was a huge turn off for me.

I was about to turn back for another sip of my cocktail when I saw two women enter the club. One was quite animated, hands  constantly on the move as she spoke to her companion. Their behaviour telling me this was their first time in Club Rhythm.

It wasn’t the excitable blonde that drew my eye, it was the raven-haired beauty alongside of her. She was the one who immediately had every inch of my body on high alert.

She was too far away and the lighting too dim to get a close look at her, but her demeanour alone was enough to have me rising from the stool, straightening my tie, and making my way across the floor so I could get a closer look at her.

SATINE

I’ve heard so much about this place, Satine. My friend Poppy’s voice was full of excitement and her expression animated as her eyes darted around the decadent looking décor of Club Rhythm.

They call it the club of sex, but that doesn’t mean you can actually have sex here. She leaned in closer. I’ve heard there are rooms upstairs though, for anyone willing to pay, if they can’t wait.

Her face lit up again. Plus, cocktail night. Who doesn’t love a cocktail or five? And, if we’re lucky, we’ll find someone here willing to help you with that pesky little condition you have.

I dragged my focus away from the club’s interior to my friend’s face. I’m not sure me still being a virgin can be called a condition. It’s not like I came down with something after all. I just haven’t found anyone I’m willing to go all the way with. I rolled my eyes. Plus, I don’t want to be anyone’s burden. You make it sound like separating me from my virginity will be handed to the man here who draws the short straw.

You know I don’t mean it like that. Poppy’s expression was rueful. I’m sorry if you thought that. You know you’ve wanted a hole punched in your V-card for a while now. I don’t know why some men find it a stumbling block. You’d think they’d like the challenge. Hell, even the men who suck at sex are losing a golden opportunity to take advantage of your lack of experience.

Wow, your glowing endorsement for sex makes me want to have it all the more. You know, so I can make up for all those mind blowing moments of passion I’ve been missing out on, I teased.

Poppy laughed. I wouldn’t expect any passion the first time Satine. Think of it more like the man providing a service. A chimney sweep sort of. He’s going to remove those barriers and clear the way for you to eventually find a real man who will get you off. Although, to be honest, you have to kiss a lot of toads before you find the prince.

Like you and Chase? I bumped my elbow into her.

Poppy’s facial expression softened and the smile on her lips was a little goofy. She went like that when she thought of her boyfriend of three years.

I remembered the days when she had a string of short relationships that often ended with her in tears, or with a black eye. She’d fallen victim to some terrible men in the past, but Chase had been the one who was vastly different. He loved her and treated her like a queen. I would be so lucky to get someone half the man he was.

Poppy’s voice drew my attention back to her. Any man who sees you in that dress is going to be bricked up. Her green eyes did a quick sweep of my body before returning to my face.

I don’t know why I let you talk me into wearing this. I placed a hand over the neckline which had pushed my boobs up so high I had cleavage I’d never have dreamed I was capable of having.

The dress Poppy had chosen for me to buy for this evening was a deep purple. In the dull light it, no doubt looked black.

It was satin and strapless with a boned corset top and a smooth, snug skirt. I'd never be able to eat in this thing, it wasn’t bloat-friendly.

I had to admit it was a stunning dress. With it I wore strappy silver heels and carried a matching clutch.

My jewellery was nothing more than a silver and crystal choker, and a dainty silver bracelet.

Poppy had wanted me to do something with my hair given it was long, thick, and straight. I’d refused. The most I allowed her to do was curl it, so it hung in soft waves to my waist.

So, what now? I asked, as my eyes moved around the dimly lit club.

There were lights all around the walls. Tall, wall mounted ones shaped like cylinders that projected a glow onto the ceiling while dozens of tiny recessed lights shone down like mini spotlights, providing enough light to make it easy enough to move around but maintain an intimate feel.

The bars were a head trip. LED lighting ran around the walls behind them, illuminating the dozens of bottles there while more LED lighting followed the edge of the bar itself, giving it a sleek, super modern feel.

It wasn’t enough light for the bartenders to work like that of course, so industrial style pendant lights hung over each bar. I could see that the club screamed elegant and tasteful. Only high-end fixtures had been used. Whoever owned the place must have poured a gazillion dollars into it.

Even the dancefloor had an amazing lighting system, the edge of it lit with a thin line of LED lights mounted flush within the floor. Overhead a strobe light threw a rainbow of colours out that drew the eye but didn’t blind those dancing, or even distract from the overall feel of the club.

Poppy hooked her arm through mine. Now we go and get some cocktails into you. That’ll loosen you up so you can flirt a little.

I’m not much of a flirter.

I know. That’s why we fill you up on cocktails first.

If I get drunk I’ll only end up throwing up on whoever dares to volunteer for the job, I pointed out.

We’ll control your alcohol consumption. Poppy had an answer for everything. Now come on. Let’s get a drink and see if there’s anyone here who looks like they might be ready to pop your cherry, she said, a little too loudly, before starting to drag me towards one of the bars.

Ladies. Welcome to Club Rhythm. The voice right next to us startled me at first, but then my whole body was peppered with goosebumps.

It was the most sinfully sexy voice I think I’d ever heard, the accent alone enough for me to want to throw my clothes off and let him have his way with me.

I shivered. What was I doing? What was I thinking? No man had ever had this sort of effect on me just from his voice alone. Perhaps I’d better have a look at him, although I was almost too scared to. What if the face didn’t match that voice?

Poppy certainly wasn’t having a problem looking at him. Her eyes were nearly out on stalks and if her mouth was any wider we’d be able to see her tonsils. 

She somehow managed to get herself together before I’d so much as turned my head to see what this man looked like. Her mouth opened and the words that shot out made me want to curl up and die from embarrassment.

Holy fuck. You’ll do. You can pop my friend’s cherry.

There was that horribly awkward silence following her words. Not that it was complete silence of course. We were standing inside a nightclub after all.

Finally, that deep, sexy, accented voice spoke. If I’m to deflower a lady, perhaps she should show me her face first. The view from the back is delightful and definitely beautiful, but I personally like to watch a woman’s face when I’m fucking her. I want to see that exact moment when she lets herself go for me. There is nothing more stunning than watching her come apart. To see that blush of colour bloom over her chest and know that I did it, that I am responsible for her pleasure.

The minute he fell silent my head whipped around and I got my first look at the man with the sinful, panty-dropping voice. Immediately part of me wished I’d kept my back to him because I don’t think anything could have prepared me for the man I saw standing there. 

Chapter Two

Andre

The words I’d overheard the blonde woman say to her raven-haired friend had certainly taken me by surprise, but one of the most important things when negotiating real estate for business reasons was never let your expression reveal what was going on inside. This might not be a real estate deal but maintaining a poker face was crucial all the same.

So, they were here to find someone suitable to deflower this beauty? Her friend was right, I could certainly ‘pop her cherry.’  My lip curled. Such a crass description for deflowering a woman. It implied it was all about dispensing with that barrier as quickly as possible and not about doing it in such a way that the woman concerned didn’t have a terrible time of it.

No woman deserved to be mauled like an animal, especially this exquisite creature. She deserved to be wooed and seduced. To have her body woken up to all the pleasures it was capable of feeling, and only then, once she’d experienced euphoria, should any attempt be made to breach her barrier and claim the gift of her virginity.

Although, if I were honest with myself, the desire to grab that gorgeous mane of dark hair and drag her upstairs was surprisingly powerful. Something that I certainly wasn’t accustomed to feeling so quickly. I generally didn’t get a sense of urgency to fuck. It was more a delicious pull, that increased as the evening progressed, and I got to know the woman more.

My reaction to her was both surprising and unnerving, and I hadn’t even seen her face yet. Although, it took all my control not to grasp her smooth shoulder and spin her. I wanted to see her. To let my eyes feast on the beauty I expected to see when she turned.

I had to do or say something that would shock her, perhaps tease her, or beguile her. So, I chose words that spoke of seduction and promised pleasure while silently begging her to turn and reveal her beauty to me.

It worked. My promises to her and the pleasure she was guaranteed at receiving from me, finally proved too much for her, and she turned. The most intense, incredible soulful eyes meeting mine as finally I got my first real look at her.

She was worth the wait. She was also going to be mine. Now I knew she was here to lose her virginity, no other man in the club would be given that opportunity. A woman as stunningly beautiful as her wasn’t going to be wasted on some opportunistic asshole looking to get laid.

One might argue that my intentions were no different, but I wouldn’t subject this exquisite creature to some frantic fumbling in the back seat of a car (which may well be her fate if she was picked up by one of the men already here).

I could see them watching her. Like wolves circling, they were waiting for me to leave her so they could make their move. No way in hell would I do that. The only man in this room tonight who was breaking that barrier and claiming her virginity was me.

My gaze drifted over her. She was absolute perfection. Her skin smooth and blemish free. Her eyes a shade of brown so dark I felt like I was drowning when I looked into them.

Her hair was a glorious mane of either the darkest brown or black. Under the muted lighting I couldn’t be sure which of the two it was. It hung down her back and my palms itched with a desire to touch it; to fist it and hold her still while I plundered that sweet mouth.

My attention settled on her face, taking in those soulful eyes again. The darker makeup around them gave her a sensual, sultry look.

Magnifique, I murmured, taking her hand, and ignoring the acute awareness I felt when her skin touched mine. What is your name, my beauty?

Long black lashes swept up and the full force of those dark brown eyes landed on me. Satine.

That single word was like a shot of adrenalin to my libido. Her voice flowing over me. Low, sultry, sexy. This woman was sex on legs, and she had no idea. She was everything a man could possibly desire and yet, from what her friend had been saying, those other men who had been offered this rare and precious gem to mark as their own, had rejected her. Perhaps they recognised that she was something special, unique, rare, and were intimated by that.

Well, their loss was certainly my gain. There was no way this beautiful Satine was leaving here with her virginity intact. Even her name was sexy. Satine. The name of a courtesan. A woman who used her beauty and sensuality to beguile men and take advantage of them.

It was also a French name, so I wondered if that meant she too was of French descent, like me. I’d been born in France and moved to Australia when I was ten years old. French was spoken in the home all the time, so I was still fluent in it, and I’d never lost my accent.

Hell, why would I want to? If anything, I enhanced it, because it worked to my advantage. Women threw themselves at me all the time and every single one of them dissolved into puddles of wanton need at my feet when I spoke to them, or used an endearment on them, in my native tongue. It was just another tool in my arsenal. Another way of tempting and teasing, and all part of the art of seduction when it came to preparing a woman to make her mine.

My name’s Poppy, the louder, more colourful friend interjected, effectively breaking my silent connection with her friend.

Shooting her a stiff smile, my gaze immediately returned to Satine. Let me escort you to the bar and you ladies can order some cocktails.

I offered her my arm and after a moment’s hesitation, she slipped hers through mine and allowed me to walk her to the bar I’d first seen her from.

What’s your name? It was the bothersome friend again.

Andre. I dripped as much of my French accent into my name as I could, with my eyes never leaving Satine’s.

So, what would you ladies like? This time I included the friend in my question.

Surprise me. That sexy tone flowed over me again and I wondered how quickly I could get her out of here and up to one of the rooms.

I smiled. That’s what I tell Zack.

Zack?

The head bartender here. I raised a hand and beckoned him over. Zack, I want you to give these ladies whatever they want, on the house, I told him. This beautiful lady wants you to surprise her, and you? I turned to her friend Poppy.

Oh, surprise me too please. We’re not big cocktail drinkers normally.

Sure thing. Zacks’ wide smile encompassed both ladies and I felt a flash of irritation when his eyes lingered a fraction too long on Satine. Something akin to jealousy surged through me when she smiled back at him.

After he walked off to get their drinks, Satine’s eyes rose to mine. You don’t think that’s a bit forward of you to suggest putting our drinks on the house? A hint of censure in her voice made me fight not to smile. She was judging me, clearly. For someone who didn’t let emotion clutter my decisions normally in life, I found her tone and judgement adorable.

Ma chérie, I own the club. I can do whatever I want to do, and right now, I am offering you two ladies drinks on me.

Before either of them could comment, Zack reappeared with two of our more feminine looking cocktails. Placing them down in front of them he explained why he’d chosen those particular cocktails for each lady.

A lemon drop martini for you, lovely lady. He made a production out of placing the drink in front of Poppy, making her giggle.

It’s vodka, triple sec, sugar, and freshly squeezed lemon juice, he told her before turning to Satine.

For you, I have an espresso martini. With your beautiful dark hair and stunning looks, I thought a sexy lady deserved a sexy cocktail.

Thank you, Zack, I said, my tone dismissive. I just wanted him gone so I could watch Satine’s reaction to the cocktail before her.

You’re not drinking? The blonde asked.

Non. I replied. I had a dirty martini just before you ladies arrived. I’m not sure it would portray a suitable image for the club’s owner to be drunk in front of patrons, do you?

She laughed and I tried not to wince at the loudness of it. I don’t think one or two cocktails are going to have you under the table, she said before her eyes narrowed on me. Unless you wish to stay sober because you’re going to take on the job of punching Satine’s V-card?

My smile when I turned to her was tight. I was tired of this woman now. I wanted her to leave and let me spend time alone with her friend. She was entirely too fixated on Satine’s virginity. Determined to help find someone to deflower her with seemingly little regard for her welfare. Willing it seemed to throw her to the first man prepared to take on the job. Clearly not considering the fact that Satine could fall victim to someone who could hurt her and abuse her.

This term you use is not one I’m familiar with. I tried to keep my tone neutral. If you’re asking if I wish to be the one to take her virginity, then I don’t know that the decision is entirely up to me, do you? My tone was challenging.

I wanted to ask her whether she would take care of her friend? Would she wait for her if the act took place on the back seat of someone’s car? Would she go with her if a man wanted to take her to his home? Or would she leave Satine to the mercy of whoever volunteered to deflower her?

Fighting my rising irritation towards Poppy I continued. I think the one question you’re failing to ask here is not who will take Satine’s virginity, but who she would choose to take it? This is not something to be entered into lightly. Of course, I would be honoured if she chose me, but neither of us has the right to make decisions without Satine having the final say. It’s her body and her virginity after all.

How noble of you Andre. She sneered. Most men don’t give a shit about how the woman feels. They just want sex and to get off. Nothing else matters.

So, making sure she chooses someone who can make her first time memorable, means nothing to you? I argued.

She snorted. Such an unbecoming sound but not surprising from her. The reason most women remember their first time is because it’s usually crap. It’s painful and therefore something that most of us just want to get over and done with, and put behind us.

I frowned. I’m sorry for those members of my sex that have clearly disappointed you. A woman’s first time should be memorable for all the right reasons.

SATINE

Listening to the exchange between Poppy and this gorgeous man, I could feel desire unfurling within me. I just sat there, sipping the delicious cocktail I’d been handed and trying not to shiver each time he opened his mouth and spoke.

If the man used too many endearments on me, I’d be a puddle of need before I finished my first drink.

I was going to choose him to, how did he put it, ‘deflower me’? I might be a virgin, but my lack of sexual experience didn’t mean I was incapable