Chapter Two
Xander
"WHAT THE FUCK?" Blake barks the second we step foot into the club, heavy doors slamming behind us with a loud thump.
I know it's not about me. For some reason, he's been on edge since I picked him up. "What? You said he knows you. Besides— Woohoooah."
My train of thought escapes me momentarily as I tear my gaze off Blake and zero-in on—holy fuck, what is this place?
When Blake had mentioned he's going to an actual sex club, I demanded to tag along out of sheer curiosity. Turns out, my wildest imagination has nothing on reality. My temperature spikes ten degrees a second as I spin around, my eyes eating up the scene around me.
Every sofa, every corner, every piece of the fucking floor is filled with half-naked people going at it, unabashed, bodies sliding and grinding to the rhythm of the music. It's almost as if the crowd is faceless, consisting of skin, and limbs, and body parts not accustomed to seeing sunlight.
"Yeah. This place will do that to you," Blake's chuckling words barely register, and it's not until his fingers dig into my shoulder and he physically moves me that I manage to finally blink. "Come on. Don't make a scene."
Make a scene? I doubt anyone would notice me, even if I dropped to the floor and had a seizure.
I shake my head and do my best to focus on the back of Blake's head as he drags me toward the wooden bar stretching along the entire wall at the opposite end of the room.
A few bodies brush against me as we walk, no doubt on accident, and I pick up the pace, heart beating faster in my chest. Again, it's not like anyone would notice if I popped a random boner, but still. Why is the fucking bar so far away?
We reach it after what feels like three full feature-length pornos later and I claw at the wooden edge to keep myself grounded, my eyes darting to the naked mass around me involuntarily.
"Welcome." A voice reaches me and I force myself to focus on the figure across the bar. Sawyer.
"Hey, man," I half-whisper, even though there's no need, my words getting drowned out by music and lewd slapping noises. "How do you get any work done around here?"
Sawyer leans over the bar and answers in the same half-whisper, "I'm not gonna lie. It was hard to zone out the shenanigans at first." He winks. "What can I get you?"
Yeah, right. Like I'm gonna leave half my paycheck at the bar. "Actually, I'm good. I've been trying to cut back on—"
"It's on the house."
I perk up. "Oh. Well, in that case, some red wine would be great."
"Coming right up."
Sawyer strolls to the other side of the bar and selects a bottle from a shelf, and only now do I realize he hasn't spoken a single word to Blake.
My head snaps to Blake and I'm about to ask, but he's too busy shooting daggers at the back of Sawyer's skull to notice.
What the fuck is going on?
Deciding it's physically unsafe to ask that particular question, I opt for a distraction instead. "What's behind all those doors?" I point my chin toward several closed doors scattered along the walls.
Blake turns his head to face me, but his eyes remain fixed on Sawyer, and it takes him a few seconds to notice me and blink me into existence. Once he does, he schools his features. "That's where they keep naked people—tied up and hanging from the ceiling."
And now I regret asking. What kind of place is this, exactly?
My expression must reflect my distress, because Blake adds, "Relax. It's pretty much more of the same, only… more intense."
"More than this?"
But before Blake can answer, Sawyer returns. "There you go," he says as he puts a large wineglass in front of me.
I murmur a "Thanks," while I evaluate the situation. Blake and Sawyer are sizing each other up, the tension between them making my skin tingle. Whatever's going on, I'll be damned if I get in the middle—it's time to scram.
I turn to Sawyer. "Would it be cool if I," I lower my voice, "took a look around?"
Sawyer winks. "Have at it." And before either of them has a chance to make me a witness of what I'm sure is going to be a murder, I bolt.
I stroll deeper into the club, trying my best not to stare, but it's nearly damn impossible—if I thought the squabble between my friends was intense, I don't even know how to describe the scenes unfolding before my eyes one after another.
As I walk across a spacious room filled with people, my eyes roam around the scene. Everyone's engaged in some type of sexual activity, and it's just…a lot.
I stride toward one of the doors and thrust it open, entering a narrow hallway.
The walls are lined with doors again, some gaping wide, others shut tightly.
I peer through the open ones to find more of the same—people going at each other like there's no tomorrow.
Like their entire existence depends on this very moment, on making sure that they give whomever they're with the time of their life.
I keep walking, but the tightness of the corridor is suffocating, so I shove open the nearest door and plunge inside.
And now it's a whole different ball game.
There's a giant square sofa in the middle of the room, and people are gathered around it, watching, touching themselves and others, eyes and hands hungry, starving for the main course. And the main course is the scene taking place on top of the sofa.
There is a woman sandwiched between two men, all naked, their skins glistening in the lights, sliding, rubbing. Intrigued, I step closer. This feels fucking illegal.
I elbow my way to the front row regardless and take in the scene. There's moaning everywhere. The smells of sweat, perfume, and alcohol fill my nostrils and a flush creeps up my cheeks.
The woman lies down and the men are kneeling, one behind her head, one between her legs.
The one behind dips down, his balls ending up in her mouth, while the other one rubs his cock against her belly.
I wonder how those threesomes work exactly—there must be some 'no crossing swords' rule, but still, the men are so close they could look into each other's eyes if they chose to.
It seems dangerous. I'm getting hotter, a little uncomfortable in my pants.
I gulp my wine down in one go to take the edge off.
And then my questions are answered—there are absolutely no rules in place as the guy between the girl’s legs leans forward and grabs the other one's cock and starts stroking.
I yelp and jump in place, my heart racing.
I turn to look at the other spectators, expecting to find the same level of shock on their faces, but everyone seems to be enjoying it.
I glance at the scene again, the guys now kissing, stroking each other, the girl now underneath them, making use of her tongue.
The men seem to temporarily forget all about her.
I shouldn't be here. Shouldn't watch. I'm shocked by how seamlessly it all plays out, how the men work together in such harmony.
The truth is, every now and again, I wonder how it would be like with a guy. Just to try it out, of course. But I never let myself dwell on those thoughts. I have my job, my football practice, and my semi-finals looming just around the corner. A sexuality crisis isn't on my bingo card this year.
I need to get the hell out of here—the sooner, the better.
It just seems wrong ogling strangers in such an intimate situation.
At least that's what I try to tell myself, because the truth is, it's the stir in my pants than makes it dangerous.
I take one last look, my cock jerking. Enough. I turn around and pace out.
It takes me several tries to find my way back to the main room through the maze of corridors. I put my empty wineglass on someone's table and bolt to the exit, the air suddenly too stuffy to breathe.
Once I'm outside, I lean forward, propping my palms on my knees and take a few gulps of fresh air, the dust in my mind slowly settling. I'm safe now.
I straighten up, and my eyes land on a somewhat familiar figure. The bouncer's sitting on a high stool, arms crossed, dark shades propped on top of his head. The line has vanished, and he's alone now, scanning the narrow alleyway.
His head then snaps to the side and our eyes lock. Perfect. Maybe if I talk to him for a bit, I can get the debauchery out of my head.
I raise my hand. "Citizen boo!" Well, shit. It was funny the first time, not so much in the current context. But I don't even know his name. What was I supposed to say, Hey bouncer? That'd be rude.
Boo arches his brow, and I walk over. Even though my heart is still beating faster than it should, I go for a lighthearted tone. "Are you aware of what's happening inside?" I mock shock, although the mockery is somewhat fake.
"You didn't figure it out from the name?" he smirks and points his chin toward a giant neon sign that reads Skin on Skin in cursive.
I roll my eyes. "I knew what it was, but—" I look around and lower my voice. "People are… You know. Fucking." I say, as if he, in fact, doesn't know. "They should rebrand to Skin be Rubbin' on Skin."
The bouncer lets out a deep chuckle, his voice matching his physique—massive. "It sure isn't for everybody."
I straighten up and scrunch my forehead. What, does he think I can't handle a little smooching'? "I didn't say it bothered me." It totally did.
He raises an eyebrow and sizes me up and down, his lips curled into a half-smirk, his stubble-covered jaw appearing even sharper, if that's possible. He should be an actor or something. "Oh yeah? I must have underestimated you, then."
His biceps bulge as he shifts, catching my attention. I must be staring for just a bit too long, because he catches me off-guard as he says, "See something you like?”
Oops.
I roll my shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant. "Just curious how you got such a prestigious job guarding a hallway."
He laughs, a deep rumble that does something strange to my insides. "What can I say? I'm overqualified. So tell me, Mr. FBI, did you get the intel you needed?"
He smirks at me, his massive arms crossed over his chest. The neon sign reflects off his shades, and that smirk makes my pulse pick up.
Mr. FBI. I roll my eyes, hoping the darkness hides my blush. "My work here is done. You can all rest easy tonight."
Boo chuckles, the sound reverberating in his broad chest. I find myself smiling in return. "I don't know. You might have to come back for further questioning."
"Is that so? I didn't realize bouncers had so much authority."
"We don't, but for you, I might make an exception." He grins, and I feel an odd swooping sensation in my stomach. Is he just being friendly? I glance at his lips for a second, wondering.
I look away, the neon sign suddenly fascinating. "Do you ever go inside when you're not working?"
He shrugs. "Sometimes. Depends on my mood."
"And what kind of mood would that be?" The words tumble out before I can stop them.
Boo arches a brow. "The kind where I want to have a good time, same as anyone else."
"By good time, you mean…?" I trail off, realizing I'm being nosy. And is he being vague on purpose?
His smile seems almost teasing. "However people choose to unwind is their business."
Right. Of course. I rub the back of my neck, feeling like an idiot. "Sorry. I was just curious since, you know, you work here…" I gesture lamely at the club.
Boo chuckles. "No need to apologize. Curiosity isn't a crime." His eyes seem to glint. "Though in some cases, it can lead to some…interesting discoveries."
Okay. Am I crazy, or is he coming on to me?
No. Absolutely not. Maybe I've had too much to drink. That must be it.
"Must be an interesting way to relax after a long day," I say, trying to sound casual. My face grows warm, wondering if he goes to places like this often. Wondering why I care.
"It can be." Boo takes a step closer, leaning against the wall beside me. His massive frame looms over me, and I get a whiff of his cologne, something woodsy and masculine. My pulse picks up as he invades my space. "You seem like you might be the adventurous type yourself, Mr. FBI."
I almost choke on air. I've never done anything adventurous in my life.
But the way Boo is looking at me, with a mix of curiosity and something else I can't quite name…
it makes me want to be. But then, a mental image of what I'd witnessed on that damn black sofa flashes in my mind and I lose my footing.
"I don't know about that. I'm pretty boring, really. "
Boo chuckles. "Somehow I doubt that."
A flush creeps down my neck. The way he's smiling at me, leaning into my space…this feels like flirting. My eyes flick down to his lips again before I can stop myself. I take a hasty step back, my pulse racing. What the hell is wrong with me?
Boo's brow furrows. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No, no," I say hastily. Think of an excuse. "I just…have to use the restroom."
Smooth, Xander. Real smooth.
Boo nods, though he seems slightly disappointed. "Alright. Don't get lost in there." He winks.
My face grows impossibly hotter. I give him a little wave and dart into the club, not looking back.