Something to Someone (Someone, Somewhere #2)

Epilogue

MR. PHANTOM

Addison

“This one might be my favorite.” The comment came from a man who had stopped beside me. Far enough away that he wasn’t in my personal space, but close enough that I could feel him there.

My throat went dry at the sound of his voice. It was low and husky, and I immediately wanted to hear it again.

I was well and truly out of my comfort zone. The sultry, sexy club around me was not my usual scene, but my boss, Caroline, couldn’t make it to the opening and asked me if I wanted to go instead. She knew I had been down recently and thought it would cheer me up. Except it wasn’t until I walked through the door and pushed back the velvet green curtain that I realized it wasn’t just a club, it was the new sex club, Abditory.

Caroline knew everyone in the city, so I wasn’t surprised she’d scored an invite. I, however, wasn’t likely the person they expected. Although it seemed fine that she transferred the invite.

The first floor was a bar and lounge—velvet green sofas, leather barstools and dark wood finishes—but the upper two floors were playrooms, as the hostess had called them, and an open p lay area. Those were supposed to open for use in almost two hours, and I wasn’t planning on participating.

Until then, I was sipping my drink and walking the perimeter of the panel-lined room, observing the art hung on the wall in the dim light and trying like hell to forget everything that had happened before I walked through that curtain.

Like that my boyfriend, Owen, who said he would come with me, had ditched me for who knows what. I tried to forget that it wasn’t the first time. I tried to forget the “we need to talk” text I’d sent him while getting in the car to come here. I tried to forget the woman I was half an hour before. I wanted to be someone different for the night. Someone who didn’t have to deal with that real life mess.

And the man who appeared next to me looked like he might make it easier to forget.

“All of the women grinding on a…uh…large penis, I wonder why it’s your favorite,” I muttered sarcastically and looked over at him.

He was wearing a white mask that obscured half his face and a well-cut tuxedo. Not that I knew whether it fit well or not, but it looked damn good on him.

He was dressed as the Phantom from The Phantom of the Opera. He fit in with everyone else well. Caroline had transferred the ticket to me so last minute, that I didn’t have time to pick through the measly leftover costumes the few stores still had on Halloween. So, I’d thrown something together from things already in my closet—a short blue dress, a black belt, matching Mary Jane heels, and white knee-high socks. I’d even put my blonde hair in pigtails.

Voilà, I was freaking Bubbles from the Power Puff Girls .

And I didn’t fit in at all.

Still, Mr. Phantom had decided to initiate a conversation with me. The one half of his face I could see bore a sharp jawline covered in stubble, and his dark hair was messily tousled in that purposeful way some men pulled off effortlessly .

And beneath his tuxedo, I could tell he was built.

No matter the costume, I knew he was gorgeous. And fuck me, his laugh matched his voice—deep and soulful.

“You’re right, it is a little on the nose, although that wasn’t necessarily the reason,” he said with a smile. “Which one is your favorite?”

He motioned with his tumbler to the rest of the art I’d just viewed. I glanced around at each and carefully considered his question.

“This one,” I said, pointing to the one just to his left. It was of a woman and a man lying together. One of the woman’s legs tossed over the man’s, it was like we were a part of their intimate moment looking down their bodies at where they touched. “It feels…intimate, natural.”

He hummed, and I followed as he walked the few steps to the painting I’d mentioned.

“I like how they’ve painted her especially,” I continued, not sure if the next part was too personal a thought to share with a stranger, but for some reason, I felt compelled to share it anyway. “They didn’t try to hide what we’ve been conditioned to believe are her imperfections.”

I motioned to the curve of her stomach and the stretch marks on her inner thigh. One breast was subtly larger than the other, and her skin tone wasn’t completely even.

“But even with all those so-called imperfections, she’s still desired.”

A silence passed between us, and I took a long sip of my nearly empty drink, trying to fill the void. In the span of a second, I questioned everything I’d said, and if I’d shared too much.

Concerned that I’d put my foot in my mouth, I quickly said, “Or maybe it says something more about me that I picked out all those imperfections.” My laugh was hollow, but I was relieved when he shook his head and turned his half-smile on me .

His eyes were the color of the light emitted from sconces hanging around us—a warm amber.

“Then maybe it says something about me, too,” he admitted. “Because I noted those perceived imperfections. Although, to me, they’re anything but imperfect. They are often my favorite thing about a woman’s body.”

My mouth went dry, and I found it impossible to swallow. Silently, I wished I had more of my drink left or that it was socially acceptable for me to eat the ice left in the glass.

Although he wasn’t talking about my body, it reacted as if he had. And my reaction was only exacerbated by his long perusal of my body. His amber-colored eyes tracked down then back up, landing confidently on my face once again.

“They are everything that makes her… her.”

I was going to combust or erupt into flames. Either way, I had a feeling I would enjoy it if it involved Mr. Phantom.

“Would you like another drink, Bubbles?”

“Yeah, that would be—” I stopped and looked up at him, my confusion written all over my face.

“Bubbles?” I asked as we walked toward the bar.

He nodded. “That’s who you’re dressed as, right?”

We both set our empty glasses on the bar and ordered another round before I turned back to Mr. Phantom. “Yes, but I guess I’m just surprised you recognized it.”

“Why?” he asked with a tilt to his lips like he already knew my answer.

“Doesn’t seem like your type of TV show.”

He smiled, and I damned that freaking mask. I wanted to see it unobstructed and unbound. I wanted to know if he had a dimple on the right side that matched the left.

“I guess it wasn’t really,” he admitted as the bartender handed us our new drinks. “It came out when I was a teenager, so I wasn’t going to be caught dead watching a TV show about three kindergarten girls with superpowers.”

Math was not my forte, and I couldn’t remember the exact year t he show had premiered, but based on my limited knowledge and even with my crappy math skills, I could guess that?—

“I can see you doing the math in your head,” Mr. Phantom said. And I shook my head, taking a long sip of my drink. It tasted even better the second time.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, and he immediately shook his head.

“Don’t be. I’ll save you the trouble—I’m almost forty.”

Another sip, and I realized I didn’t give a shit how old he was. Whether I was supposed to or not, I liked Mr. Phantom. And he could be the key to turning my terrible night around. “Well, I was born five years too late to see the premiere of Powerful Girls .”

He seemed unsurprised by my admission which made sense with my outfit and pigtails and overall youthful look. But especially with the damn pigtails.

“So, how did you score an invite?” I asked as we walked to a small empty couch tucked in the corner where we’d first met. He let me sit first and took a seat directly next to me. The outside of his thigh brushed mine as he sat, and I couldn’t ignore the shiver that whipped through me.

He chuckled at my question which I’d forgotten I’d asked. “Or is it top secret?” I asked.

“Not top secret. My best friend owns the place, and I’ve helped him a little along the way.”

He told me about Abditory and how his friend, Nathan, randomly decided one day that the city needed an exclusive, invite-only sex club where anyone could be themselves and explore their desires in a safe, inclusive way. That then brought us to the topic of how I was invited, and I told him about Grant Events without specifying the name, keeping a few details for myself. He seemed genuinely interested in event coordination and what went in to planning.

I shared some of my favorite memories from the past several months of working with Caroline, and we talked about his work as an attorney. By the time, they made the announcement that the up per two floors were opening, I hadn’t realized so much time had passed.

Somehow, in the midst of our conversation, we’d migrated closer to one another. My legs tilted toward him, his knee was pressed against mine and his fingers brushed the top of my leg.

He still hadn’t taken the mask off, but I could at least clearly see his eyes which were fixed on me. His smile slowly faded, and I could feel the shift. He glanced from my face down to where his fingers touched my leg, and I felt like the one touch was going to burn me alive.

With two drinks and almost two hours of easy conversation, my confidence was at an all-time high and somehow the world had shrunk to just us two sitting on that velvet couch wanting something just within reach.

Our world was too tiny for anyone else. Especially Owen who was a far-off memory. A twinge of guilt hit me once when I realized how much I was enjoying Mr. Phantom, but I quickly dismissed it. My soon-to-be ex didn’t deserve a second thought.

“How does someone go about getting one of those rooms upstairs?” I asked, pushing away any shame or possible embarrassment. It was just a question. A question I normally would never have asked, but behind that green curtain, I was determined to be someone else. At least for tonight.

Mr. Phantom straightened, and I worried I’d misjudged every subtle signal until he reached inside his tuxedo jacket and retrieved a small gold key from its inside pocket.

“You’d need a key.” He held it out to me in his large palm like an offering. When I went to reach for it, his next words stopped me. “I just need to know one thing before we go up there, because fuck, Bubbles, I really want to go up there with you.”

The tips of my fingers traced his, circling where he held the key and brushing over his wrist. I enjoyed the way his eyes shuddered, and he had to swallow before answering.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked .

My heart collided with the inside of my chest, and my name got stuck at the back of my throat. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but it was a detail I didn’t think he needed. Another piece of information I wanted to keep to myself.

“This is just for tonight, right?” I asked, resuming the pattern I was drawing over his palm.

He licked his lips and considered my question for a moment, his eyes narrowing like he couldn’t decide what to say next. “It can be whatever you want, Bubbles,” he finally said.

“Then what good is my name going to do you?”

I was staring down at the key when his dark chuckle hit my ears. Immediately, I perked up and looked up at him. He leaned forward and dropped his hand back to my thigh, only higher. He pushed his fingers up until they were just beneath the hem of my short skirt, and I could feel the heat of them between my thighs.

A moan caught in my throat, but I swore he heard my muffled whimper as he dropped his mouth to my ear.

“If I don’t know your real name, what am I supposed to cry out when my cock is buried deep inside your perfectly tight, wet cunt in less than ten minutes.”

I swallowed my shock and inadvertently squeezed my thighs together, searching for some sort of relief. But his hand was still there against me, and I ended up pushing it higher up my skirt. He grunted and sat back just enough to look down my body, getting the perfect view of my cleavage.

The way the words rolled off his tongue in his low, gruff whisper, and the confidence in each of them was enough for me to want to mount him right then and there. I had never been so thoroughly turned on and confused.

My pulse maintained an impressive, intense pace while I tried to compose myself enough to reply and continue our banter. I wanted to be someone new, but I couldn’t completely do away with my old self. “I’m sure you can come up with an alternative,” I said, but my voice was breathy. “I like Bubbles. It’s cute. ”

He smiled and opened his mouth to speak when his attention bounced to someone who had approached from behind the couch. So invested in him, I hadn’t even noticed.

“Hey, Beckett. I knew I’d see you here, man. How are you?”

Mr. Phantom’s name was Beckett. Good to know.

Beckett clenched his jaw and licked his lips. I noted his annoyance at the interruption, but if the other man did, he didn’t let on.

“Fine, Jared. How are you?” They had a quick, casual conversation, and the man didn’t seem interested in introducing himself to me which was fine. It was a quick chat, just the pleasantries really, but the entire time, Beckett didn’t move his hand from my thigh. Normally, I would have stopped such an outward display of affection or attraction. Maybe it was the fact that we were in a sex club, or maybe it was the fact that Beckett had already made me feel ten times more than any man had before, but I liked that he was claiming me. Like he wanted this man to know his intentions with me and wasn’t put off by them in the least. He even ran his fingers back and forth against my skin as he spoke.

I felt as desired as that woman in the painting.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” the man said with a nod and finally left.

Beckett’s attention was back on me in full force. “Well, now you know my name.”

I knew when the man said it, he was bound to point out how inequitable it was that I now knew his name. But I was prepared and had decided exactly how I was going to argue my point.

“Then I won’t use it when you, what did you say? When your”—I cleared my throat—“ cock is buried deep inside my tight, wet…cunt ?”

He stared at my mouth with his jaw slightly slack, like he was shocked to hear such language from my lips. Honestly, if he knew me any better, he would have reason to look so shocked. I don’t think I’d said the words “cock” or “cunt” before in my life .

But I didn’t mind it. I was committed to being this version of Addison tonight. The atmosphere and Beckett’s confidence were making it so much easier.

“Fuck, that sounded so good coming out of your sweet, pouty mouth. You can call me anything you want as long as you keep talking like that,” he murmured. “What would you like to call me then? Do you have something in mind?”

I readjusted on the couch so I was facing him fully. The outcome of which was his hand slipping even closer to my…cunt, which was aching for his touch. Drawing on my newfound confidence, I reached forward and touched his hair I’d been fantasizing about slipping my fingers through all night. I toyed with a piece that flipped out near his neck and licked my lips.

I did have something in mind, but I wasn’t sure how he would react if I offered it as a possibility. I looked back at him and tried to suppress the quiver in my voice when I asked, “What about Daddy ?”