Chapter Twenty
I remained in the parked BMW on a side street, a few minutes’ walk from the mysterious club, trying to convince myself I was up to carrying out my plan.
I had donned a masquerade mask—intricately crafted from black lace, adorned with delicate silver filigree patterns that glittered. I hoped to move about unnoticed, my identity concealed.
Having never dressed up so seductively before, it was kind of fun to step out of my comfort zone. With winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick, I was going for sultry. My burlesque outfit was sensually snug, the bodice designed with a low cut to emphasize my boobs. It had elegant hooks at the front. The mini skirt showed off my long legs and fishnet tights. My black, sky-high stilettos made me appear taller.
The reality of what I was about to do hit me suddenly.
I’d never been so reckless.
The Burberry coat was my way of keeping my outfit hidden, so I didn’t have an embarrassing moment in case I’d misread the dress code.
Julia had asked for a Pulitzer Prize-winning story—a tale so unflinching, it would demand the world’s attention. I wanted to find this story for her, not just for my journalistic reputation, but to escape from my haunted thoughts.
Every day my mind drifted back to Hugo, and this could be the cure.
If I came through and was brave enough to do what had to be done, my career would be made. I’d no longer be mocked at family Sunday dinners, having to face their patronizing tones when they asked what I was doing with my life. They’d have to take my career seriously.
Bravery came at a cost; one I wasn’t sure I could stomach. Because the story I might uncover—the one that now burned in my chest—wasn’t just any story.
It was personal—it could potentially involve my brother. I would see to it that he was never mentioned to those who have tried to take him down.
I had to come back here, back to this secret location with no address on Google maps.
But as I sat in the car, stirring up courage to go inside, I couldn’t shake the thought of how Henry would react—especially after he had been so adamant about me staying out of harm’s way. Big brothers were always trying to stop your fun.
Admittedly, stealing a bottle of booze from Cameron’s cabinet was a low move. But, as my professor at Brown always insisted, “Take a prop. Blend in .” Preferably an object pertaining to the place you were trying to access.
I opened the car door and got out, walking the long distance with my heart racing every step of the way. Then, I began climbing the steps of the tall building, carrying the bottle of Bombay Sapphire.
As I approached the front door, the imposing lion knocker loomed before me, and my heart pounded loudly in my ears, my palms growing clammy. I gripped the limited-edition bottle of Bombay Sapphire tightly, my legs shaking with every step.
I raised my hand to knock, and the door flew open.
An annoyed looking concierge stared down at me. “Yes?”
“Traffic,” I said. “You know how it goes.”
“Are you a member?”
“G ordered this?” I held up the blue bottle.
The towering bulky guy eyed it suspiciously.
“If I drop this, we’re both fucked.” I showed off the Bombay Sapphire’s golden label that any concierge should recognize. “It’s worth thousands.”
His brows raised with curiosity. Then he reached for it.
I pulled it back against my chest. “Mr. G requested I personally present it to him.”
“Who invited you?”
“You’re out of the good stuff.”
“I need a name.”
“No names,” I said firmly. “You know that.”
A rush of adrenaline raced through me at the risk I was taking, and the thought I might pull it off. Seeing what Jewel Hadley got up to would give me the advantage. Discovering more about her would be a game changer. Getting answers about what might have happened to Dean Hersey would be even better.
“I’ll join the others,” I said.
“Coat,” he insisted.
Feeling vulnerable, and a little chilly, I slid out of the Burberry trench coat and handed it over. He disappeared behind a desk, into the coat room, I guessed, and then reappeared.
“I’ll escort you.” He gestured for me to follow as he walked away.
Hurrying after him, I recalled Cameron’s reaction to me returning to Pulse360. If he found out I’d infiltrated this sex club, he’d probably never let me leave the house again.
I needed to get my own place.
The size of the club was surprisingly misleading. Inside it was sprawling, and we seemed to walk for a long time down winding corridors. My intrigue increased with each door we passed, more questions arising about what this place could be and who visited here and why.
We stopped halfway down a corridor.
My heart skipped as he opened a door for me.
I entered and paused to get my bearings as the door closed behind me.
Doing my best to hide my nervousness, I felt a sense of relief that my face was hidden behind the intricately designed mask.
Inside, it reminded me of a gentlemen’s club, with leather chairs, dark wood furniture, and hardbacked books stacked neatly on high shelves that reached the ceiling. It gave off an old boys’ club vibe. Around fifty men in black tuxedos stood or sat around the perimeter, their attention fixed on the center of the room.
I moved left, angling for a better view.
Then I saw her, a brunette standing in the middle of the group. She was completely naked and holding a black apple. She took small bites out of it, eating it slowly, the juices trickling down her lower lip and her chin and onto her breasts. The room remained silent, with everyone fascinated by the scene.
Stunned, my body reacted to her sensuality. I had walked in on something forbidden. Something erotic and daring and mind-blowing in every way.
What did they call this place?
This club was a mystery that continued to unravel before me.
I found the drinks table and set the bottle down. Hands trembling, I opened it and filled several glass tumblers. Using a pair of silver prongs, I added some ice and then placed the tumblers onto a tray.
I didn’t pick it up, though—just in case I had to bolt.
Glancing toward the center of the room again, I watched the young woman devouring the black apple.
One of the masked guests looked at me. “Have you seen that before?”
I shook my head, not wanting to engage in conversation.
“That’s a rare apple,” he said.
When I didn’t answer, he merely turned back to continue watching her.
I made a mental note to research this, having no idea what the symbolism was, stirred by their seeming obsession with an act that appeared ordinary—but clearly was not.
I didn’t like that she was outnumbered.
To the right, a door opened.
Two women appeared, one in a green silk gown, pulling the other on a golden chain. The other was wearing a choker and had dressed in nothing but a black thong. She crawled towards the woman eating the apple.
Then with dramatic ease, she stopped before her and rose up on her knees, so she was at waist level.
Fascinated, I couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Both women were seductresses who had cast a spell over the room.
The woman who was kneeling leaned in toward the woman still holding the apple and began eating her pussy.
She lowered the black fruit in her hand down to her side as she became entranced by the pleasure given by the woman at her feet.
I drew in a sharp breath.
This scene was out of a Gothic painting that had come alive, and it made it impossible for me to look away. A woman eating an apple as she, too, was being sexually devoured with an exquisite tenderness.
The young submissive lapped between her thighs, both women moaning, both dripping with arousal, as though unaware they had an audience.
We had invaded their personal space, this intimate act that deserved to be hidden away, and yet they were sharing their pleasure with us.
My body reacted. It was impossible to fight the arousal flooding my body, my nipples taut and breasts aching, and my clit swelling, as though imagining what was happening in the center of the room was happening to me.
I had an intense need to caress myself, even with all these people here, even though they might turn and watch me; the thought of being observed gave me a rush.
Shocked and horrified by these thoughts, these forbidden desires, I quickly made it to an exit, too aroused to think straight.
Only to see the man who’d let me in talking with several guests.
I was only meant to drop the bottle off.
Turning around, I went the other way, towards the back of the club.
I felt a fleeting sense of empowerment that I had somehow infiltrated Jewel Hadley’s club.
Two elegantly dressed masked women glided past, their graceful figures draped in stunning gowns. One wore a luxurious gold silken dress, while the other was adorned in a deep blue gown, its fabric flowing with a quiet elegance. Both acted aloof, their eyes barely glancing my way.
We were heading in the same direction.
I followed them through a doorway into an empty bar. To my right was a cellar.
They had disappeared.
Guessing it was safe to follow, I made my way in the only direction they could have gone, scurrying down a hallway.
I looked through an open door and was startled to see them both in what looked like a small cupboard.
“Heading up?” asked the blonde.
What?
They were suggesting this was an elevator.
Getting into the club had been a miracle. Finding my way back was going to be impossible.
It was now or never.
I stepped into the space, pressing my back against the lacquered wallpaper, every nerve on edge. The woman moved closer, her presence electric, and her hand slipped behind my waist, smooth and deliberate.
She’d touched something behind me. I spun around to see that it was a cleverly hidden button.
Without a word, she stepped back, her eyes unreadable.
The floor shuddered beneath us—we were rising.
We were ascending upward to whatever fate awaited me at the top.
“Ready for some fun?” asked the brunette.
I gave a nod.
“You’re approved?” she asked. “For the sixth?”
“Of course.” Guessing she meant the sixth floor.
“Make sure you’re nice and wet,” she added. “You’ll be worked hard. But it’s worth it.”
“Why?” I said, trying to keep my tone even.
“We get tokens we cash in,” said the blonde, and then she looked puzzled. “First time in the High Chamber?”
I hesitated to answer, and then they lost interest in me.
The brunette had leaned back against the opposite wall, in full view of me, and had lifted her hem high. Her friend slid her hand beneath the brunette’s dress and caressed her. I assumed it was her clit she was rubbing fast, bringing a bright expression of pleasure to the woman’s face.
The brunette pouted and swooned at the sensations and widened her thighs to accommodate the movement. The blonde raised the hem higher with her left hand and continued strumming her friend’s pussy, showing off her Brazilian wax.
I could see what she was doing—a slickness covered her fingers as she vigorously flicked the nub, her labia open like a wild fruit welcoming the bee.
They were both peering down to savor the sensations further.
Her friend seemed to admire her own adroitness, now and again checking in with her friend’s pleasure with an expression of pride, her gift of tenderness intertwined with a raw, untamed touch.
Her willing victim’s head nodded, her expression needy and wanton as her body responded to the swift caresses.
I felt a heady sensation as though it were my body, my clit being rubbed.
This isn’t real.
But it was—no need to pinch myself.
Her friend glided her other hand downward until she had fully inserted her fingers inside her friend’s sex and finger-fucked her, causing her to let out a primal moan. This place was an erotic playground.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, couldn’t show I wasn’t shocked at what was happening in front of me. Couldn’t tear my eyes away from that delicate bud that responded eagerly.
The brunette rose towards orgasm, pounding her ass against the wall behind her, spine arching as she rose higher.
Their effortless connection was intimate, wild, and full of daring fun. As they locked eyes, there was an unspoken understanding between them, a silent knowledge of each other’s desires, revealing the depth of their friendship.
She moaned toward her rising climax.
“You’re so ready, babe,” said her friend, pulling her hand away before the brunette found release.
It made me cup my mouth in shock that she’d not permitted her to orgasm.
The elevator door opened as the brunette collapsed, seemingly comfortable with her unsated need. She gazed down the vast corridor with a sense of desperate longing.
In that moment, I realized she had been carefully prepared, brought to life in all her sensual glory, and now, she would enter the High Chamber, hungry for more, yearning for that which she had yet to receive—desperate, wanton, and consumed by an insatiable desire that seemed to pulse through her.
I had never witnessed such intense sensuality, and yet she hadn’t even climaxed.
A devastating truth overwhelmed me—the realization that I might never be able to feel anything close to this kind of pleasure.