shuhaige
Chapter 21
I somehow get the courage to type, I’m going to Naughty and Nice in the city tonight. Maybe you’re free to meet me there? I’ll be wearing a red ribbon around my neck tied in a bow. I’ll also be in a green, silky dress. Come and unwrap me.
My fingers hover over the send button for what feels like an eternity. Have I lost my mind? Yes, I think that is fair to say. I never thought I would be going to a sex club party with Sloane before. And as much as I’d like to say it’s due to my best friend’s urging and that this was all her idea, I actually am excited. She didn’t really have to force this on me.
I press send. It’s done. No turning back now. I stare at my message to WinterWatcher, now a part of reality forever.
I pace around the room, my palms sweating, my mind a whirlwind of vivid expectations and terrible anxieties.
Was that too bold? Yes, it was. I don’t even know this person.
I don’t even know this person! Now I just told him where I’d be tonight.
I’m not a naive girl. I’ve lived in New York all my life. I know better than this and yet . . .
I look at the clock and know I no longer have time to overthink if he’ll come or not, and if he does, if he’s a serial killer or a Boy Scout. I need to go if I’m going to catch the ferry in time to meet Sloane. I glance again at my phone. No response yet. Should I feel relieved? Disappointed? It’s hard to decide. As I gather my purse and keys, one last look at that agonizingly silent device makes me wince.
I tug my emerald dress into place and check the red ribbon around my neck one last time in the mirror before stepping outside And freezing my ass off. I quickly decide to travel to the club by vehicle over boat.
By the time I reach Naughty and Nice, I’ve managed to calm my nerves, taking slow, deep breaths as I step out of the cab and join Sloane who’s waiting for me out front. Classic Sloane style, she’s decked out in fishnet stockings and a red leather corset, her fiery red hair cascading down her back.
“Holy shit, Chloe! Look at you!” She looks me up and down. “Damn, girl.”
I blush under her compliment and stand straighter with more confidence, revealing the emerald dress that clings to my figure. For the first time ever, I don’t feel as if Sloane has out dressed me. I don’t feel like the mousy hermit lurking in her shadow.From NôvelDrama.Org.
The pulsating beat of the music from inside the club seeps out onto the street, mingling with the lively chatter and laughter of the partygoers milling about. Sloane loops her arm through mine, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are you ready for this?” she asks, her voice barely audible over the noise. “Let’s go inside and see what kind of trouble we can get into.”
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. I am ready; or at least, I want to be. I want to let go of all my fears and doubts, to embrace this wild, uninhibited side of myself that has been hiding for so long. I can’t hide behind a phone forever.
As we make our way through the crowded club, Sloane confidently leads me to the bar, where she orders us each a drink. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something else: desire. The room is dimly lit, with flashes of neon light illuminating the faces of everyone. At least the faces I can see. Many people are wearing masks, some holiday in theme, others made of leather or lace. Simply being around so many masks unlocks a deep-rooted fantasy inside of me. I love the fact that the room is a blend of secrets and open passion.
As I take a sip of my drink, the music and energy of the club sizzle into my core. Why have I hidden from this for so long? Inside of me there’s a sense of freedom that I’ve never experienced before. My dress hugs every curve to my body, making me feel sexy and powerful. I sway to the beat of the music, losing myself in the moment. This feels right. So right.
Sloane grins at me, her eyes filled with mischief. “Let’s go dance,” she shouts over the music, grabbing my hand and pulling me onto the dance floor.
We dance as the rhythm and the bass vibrates through my body, and I can’t resist scanning the crowd for my mystery man. Not that I know what he’d look like. But maybe he’s watching me. Maybe he’s one of the masked men in this room. Maybe he’s spotting my red ribbon right now and getting ready to approach.
Just as I let myself indulge in the tantalizing fantasy, a strong hand grips my waist from behind. I gasp, spinning around to find myself face to face with a man wearing a black velvet mask adorned with silver filigree. His dark eyes pierce through the slits of the mask, sending a thrill down my spine. The mask only covers the top of his face, leaving his lips revealed. He’s also wearing a black hood, long black sleeves, and seems to vanish behind the mask so I can’t make out any of his features.
“Dance with me,” he commands, his voice deep and husky. With the music as loud as it is, I can barely make out his voice.
I nod, unable to find my words as he pulls me close, our bodies moving in sync with the pulsating beat. His touch is electric, igniting a fire within me that I can’t quench.
Is it him? Or is this just another clubgoer?
As we dance, his hand traces the line of my ribcage, brushing against the red ribbon around my neck. My breath hitches as he tugs gently, pulling me even closer. The scent of sandalwood and musk intoxicates me, and there is something familiar about the smell. Something so strong it makes me want more.
My heart races as I look into his eyes, trying to discern who he is beneath the mask.
Do I really want to know?
No. Yes. Maybe. Although the idea of being with a complete stranger sends jolts of electricity straight between my legs.
He whispers something in my ear, but the words are lost in the thundering beat. All I can focus on is the heat of his breath against my skin and the way his hands never stop moving.
His lips trace a path down my neck, leaving a trail of shivers. I gasp as his teeth graze my collarbone, the hint of pain only heightening my arousal. I arch my back, silently begging for more.
Who could this man be? Is he the guy on my phone? Maybe he’s just a banker, a doctor, a police officer, a firefighter . . . Jack. A fireman like Jack.
The mystery man spins me around, pressing my back against his chest. His strong arms encircle me, holding me tight as we continue to move to the beat. The tempo of the music speeds up, mirroring the racing of my heart. I lean my head back against his shoulder, closing my eyes and giving in to the sensations that flood through me. His lips find the sensitive spot below my ear, and I let out a soft moan. The thought of Jack fades away, replaced by the overwhelming desire for this stranger.
He reaches up, gently tracing the edge of my jaw with his thumb. “Is it time for me to unwrap you?” His voice is extremely deep . . . too deep as if he’s doing it to disguise his voice. But I don’t care.
He came! It’s him!
The realization hits me like a tidal wave, and I smile as I turn around to face him. “You came,” I breathe, my voice barely audible over the music. “I wondered if you would.”
His fingers deftly untie the red ribbon, letting it fall to the floor as his eyes never leave mine.
I see Sloane in the distance dancing with a man of her own, and our eyes lock in silent communication. This is where our night together ends and where we part to explore the next stage of the night. She gives me a wicked smile, and I know exactly what’s she’s telling me to do.
Should she be concerned I’m dancing with a masked man? Should I be?
He takes my hand and leads me through the writhing mass of dancers, guiding me toward a secluded corner of the club. The shadows envelop us as he pushes me gently against the wall, his body pressing into mine. His lips find mine in a passionate kiss, and I surrender to the intensity of the moment.
Our tongues dance together in perfect harmony, just as our bodies had on the dance floor. His hands explore my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I moan into his mouth as his fingers trace the edge of my dress, teasing the sensitive skin beneath.
Maybe I should ask for him to remove the mask, but I don’t want to. I like the feel of the velvet against my face as we kiss.
My fingers tangle in the fabric of his cloak as I pull him closer, desperate for more. The taste of him, the feel of him, it’s all consuming.
His hands slide up my thighs, lifting my dress just enough to give him access to the bare skin beneath. I gasp as his fingers brush against the lace of my panties, and he growls low in his throat.
In response to my gasp, he deepens our kiss, leaving me breathless and wanting. The teasing touch of his fingers sends waves of pleasure through me, and I rock my hips against his hand, silently begging for more.
He obliges, slipping his fingers beneath the lace and finding my wetness. I moan into his mouth as he begins to stroke me, his expert touch sending pure eroticism crashing over me. I cling to him, my nails digging into his shoulders as I look around at the hundreds of clubgoers who don’t seem to notice. It’s not like we are the only ones in sexual acts in the room, but I’ve never been so exposed before. I’ve never done anything in the open. But just like the fantasy I described to him in our chat . . . I craved this.
The world around us fades away, and all that exists is the booming music and the feel of his body pressed against mine.
Breaking the kiss, he mouths, “Come.”
He takes my hand and leads me through the writhing mass of dancers, toward a door at the back of the club. My heart pounds, and my breath seems trapped in my chest as we make our way up a narrow staircase and into a dimly lit hallway. He stops in front of a door, his hand reaching for the knob.
I consider running before he pushes the door open, revealing a dimly lit room with plush red curtains draped over the walls. The scent of incense fills the air, and the distant and muffled sound of music from the club below filters in through the walls.
He guides me inside, closing the door behind us, and locks it. Even though we are alone in the room, we aren’t really alone. There are two huge floor to ceiling windows revealing people in a room on the other side. The viewers watch with rapt attention, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the room. They are close enough to see us, but far enough away that their features are indistinct.
A rush of heat forms between my legs as I return my attention to my masked man, uncertain if I can actually go through with this.
He steps closer, his fingers brushing a stray hair from my face. “You said this was your fantasy.” His voice is low and husky, and I now know he’s trying to conceal its natural sound, which only adds to the sexy mystery of this entire experience.
I hesitate for a moment, my eyes darting toward the windows and the shadowy figures beyond.
“I did,” I say. “But I never thought it would actually happen.”
He takes my hand and leads me toward the center of the room, stopping in front of a large, ornate bed. The red velvet curtains surrounding the bed create a sense of intimacy, despite the voyeurs beyond the windows.
People are watching. Oh, god, people are watching!
He softly runs his fingers along my jawline, tilting my face up toward his so our eyes connect. I swallow hard, my body wanting to collapse to a pile of goo on the floor.
I nod, giving him my silent consent.
With a wicked smile, he slowly undresses me, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps on my exposed skin. The cool air of the room contrasts with the heat of our breaths.
He whispers in my ear as my dress pools at my feet, “Remember, they’re watching.” His words only serve to heighten my arousal.
I try not to look at the windows in fear that I’ll chicken out and run out of the room with a failed fantasy to haunt me forever. Instead, I stand before him, clad only in my lace panties and heels.
He takes a step back to admire me. A low growl escapes his lips as he takes in my nearly naked form. The hunger in his eyes, and the knowledge that strangers are also watching my every move, sets my body ablaze.
His fingers hook into the lace of my panties, slowly pulling them down my legs. I step out of them, feeling extremely exposed in the best possible way. His lips find mine again, his kiss dominating and possessive.
For the first time since entering the room, I steal a peek at the windows. Several pairs of eyes are fixed on us, observing our every move with unabashed curiosity. The heat between my legs intensifies as I realize how many people are truly watching, and I press myself closer to him, eager to put on a show.
I reach up and unfasten his shirt, revealing the muscular chest beneath. And tattoos . . . holy shit . . . so many tattoos. My fantasy truly coming to life.
He groans as my fingers trace the intricate patterns inked onto his skin. I try to push his shirt off his shoulders, but he stops me and shakes his head. He wants to keep the cloak on, the mystery, and I’m fine with that. More than fine.
With a smirk, I undo his belt buckle and slide the leather through the loops. His pants have to go, however.
I glance back at the window and give a smirk to the viewers. Yeah, that’s right. He’s mine for the night.