Chapter 41
Keira
From the moment we step out of the chauffeured Rolls-Royce Beckett and Rhys hired for us girls, it’s an experience that tantalizes all the senses.
Linked arm in arm, Arianne, Phoebe, and I traverse the long pathway towards the club that’s been transformed into a Vegas-worthy show.
We’re in awe. Fire performers light up the night with their spectacular flames.
A badass female knife juggler takes my breath away with her harrowing prowess.
Respect to her.
Acrobats dazzle with their awe-inspiring stunts.
The beautiful white tiger is both frightening and alluring.
Thank God the animal is kept in a cage, and its trainer gives off a strong ringleader vibe.
There’s also a series of mystical characters greeting us as we trail along the red carpet towards the entrance.
Little did we know the magical setting outside the club was just the beginning.
“Holy hell,” I say.
“Wow. I mean, wow,” Arianne says.
“Ladies, we’ve arrived,” Phoebe says.
We’re rooted in place when we enter the main room at the club. Our gaze bounces to every corner. We’re surrounded by LA’s crème de la crème. Everything about our surroundings screams influence and prestige. I even recognize a few heavy hitters.
What a way to kick off the weekend.
“Beckett told me the room would be decorated to match the theme, but I didn’t expect this,” Arianne says.
“Rhys said the same thing,” I say. “This is spectacular.”
Arianne points. “Look at those.”
I marvel at the eye-catching and exquisite chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
“It’s like a movie—or video music—set,” Phoebe says.
She nailed it on the head.
Rhys didn’t downplay it when he said the owner of Dark Compulsion made it his mission to dazzle members––and guests––by creating an enchanted setting.
“Even the music is on point,” I say.
On cue, we lift our hands over our heads and do a sexy dance move before dissolving in laughter.
Tonight’s theme is slumber party. We had this oldies theme-appropriate song playing on repeat as we danced, sang, and shook our thing while getting ready at Phoebe’s place.
Dark Compulsion’s slumber party has nothing to do with what we used to have when we were kids or teenagers.
We’re talking about at a decadent get-together amongst beautiful people where men wear silk pyjamas and women wear sexy as fuck sleepwear.
Arianne, Phoebe, and I are dressed for the occasion.
Our silk chemises and robes offer enough of a peek to entice, without giving away too much.
Scouring the room, it’s clear some women decided to be a lot bolder in their approach.
Others are putting it all out there, strutting around in see-through lace chemises or mesh ones.
They went as far as nixing the robe. Talk about dare to bare.
We opted for something a lot less risqué.
I selected a bright-pink silk-satin combo with embroidered white flowers. It’s a bit of a splurge, but when the sales clerk told me it was hand-sewn by skilled artisans in Belgium, I couldn’t resist.
Arianne is channeling the femme fatale in her with a red and black combo.
Phoebe’s emerald-green combo looks striking on her.
My friends went the distance with faux-feather high-heel mules. I had to keep it to flat ones, which makes me feel short. At least I look good.
The shopping trip to French Appliqué is one we’re unlikely to forget anytime soon.
To avoid mayhem due to my presence, I arranged for us to shop before the boutique opened on a Saturday morning.
The selfies of the three of us were pretty hilarious.
If I control what’s published on the internet, I have the upper hand.
“The vibe is so sexy,” I say, soaking it all in.
“So, so sexy,” Phoebe says.
“Good God, people are making out.” Arianne tilts her head and moves her eyes to the left.
Phoebe and I pick up on her cue.
I flinch.
A man with silver streaks running across his temples is hanging from a woman’s enormous boobs, sucking at them with avarice as if they were alone in the privacy of their bedroom. I can’t tell what the woman is enjoying most, the attention from others or what her partner is doing to her.
My eyes move to a couple—
Dear God.
“Those two over there need to get a room.” I fan myself, hoping to cool down my burning cheeks.
“Where?” Phoebe’s head turns left then right.
“The seating area behind the couple going at it.”
My friends turn around and flip right back to face me.
“I can’t believe my eyes,” Phoebe says.
“Same.” I nod. “I didn’t even know that was a thing.”
“Neither did I,” Phoebe says. “I’m so begging Oscar to try that out tonight.”
Hmmm… she’s onto something.
Arianne leans into our circle and says, “They’re exhibitionists. Same goes for the other couple.”
“I guess that makes us voyeurs,” Phoebe says.
I’m not sure what to make of her statement. I knew what I was walking into tonight. I didn’t expect to be turned on by watching strangers going at it in public. And to think, the night is still young.
“Cotton Candy.” A tall man approaches us. Two large men follow close behind him.
It takes me a beat to register.
Oh, yeah, he’s talking to me.
How does he know my club name?
I smile, but I don’t recognize the incredibly attractive man.
“It’s an honor and a pleasure to have you at one of my parties,” the man says. He’s dressed in appropriate-theme-wear, but his shadows are in black suits.
Then it hits me.
Larkin.
“The pleasure is mine,” I say.
He reaches out a hand and I place mine into his palm. “My name is Zeus,” he says, his cognac-colored eyes boring into mine.
Rhys gave me the kinky club etiquette 101 crash course, so I’m well versed on the basics. Calling the owner Larkin or Mr. Gallagher at the club is the kiss of death.
“I asked my staff to announce your arrival. I’m glad to see you’re back on your feet.” He gives me an appreciative onceover.
“So am I.” I smile.
His amber eyes move to Arianne and Phoebe.
Crap. “Where are my manners?” This experience is a little overwhelming. “This is Jazzberry Jam”––I point to Arianne––“and this is Outer Space.” I point to Phoebe.
After signing the disclosure agreement––which all three of us read carefully––we were fitted with purple cuffs and then given a club name for the evening.
When I inquired about the origin of the names, the stunning blonde who was part of the welcoming committee explained guests’ names are a random pick from the Crayola rainbow of colors. Arianne and I lost our mind laughing when Phoebe got her name. How fitting?
“Ladies, thank you for gracing me with your presence tonight,” Larkin says. “Paragon, Dagger, and Mahogany are lucky men.”
Unlike our playful names, Dark Compulsion members get computer generated names. The club names for Rhys and Beckett are so manly, badass, and edgy. Oscar got a sexy Crayola color.
“I congratulated them on their impeccable taste. You ladies are a vision for sore eyes.” Larkin’s gaze moves from mine, to Arianne’s, to Phoebe’s.
“Thank you,” we say, one after the other.
“And may I say, for the record, I never thought the day would come when Paragon and Dagger would change their playboy ways. From notorious bachelors to relationship bliss?” Larkin shakes his head. “I guess anything is possible.”
Since Phoebe kicked out Oscar so we could get ready at their place, Beckett reached out to him and took him under his wing.
Our men spent the evening together––drinks at Beckett’s, followed by dinner at the Quintus Hotel.
Then, they made their way to the hotel’s whiskey bar to pass time until we showed up.
“We’re honored to be here,” Arianne says.
Phoebe places a hand against her chest and says, “This was on my bucket list, Zeus. I can die content.”
“You can’t die just yet, Outer Space, there are so many more naughty parties on the calendar. You’d be missing out on a lot.”
“In that case, I’ll stay alive,” Phoebe says.
Arianne and I laugh.
“Zeus!” A man approaching our circle calls out.
My jaw drops.
That man is a Hollywood A-lister. Same for the famous female star by his side.
Wow.
Privacy at the club must be guarded with as much ferocious zeal as the White House because the power couple didn’t even bother with a mask. Mind you, no one else did, but still, these are celebrities.
“Ladies, it was a pleasure. If you’ll excuse me,” Larkin says.
“Of course,” I say.
“Have a great evening,” Arianne says.
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Phoebe says.
With that, Larkin joins the celebrity couple.
We look at each other and shake our heads.
Freaking amazing.
“Now, I’m really excited,” Arianne says.
“I can’t wait to get this party started.” Phoebe rubs her hands together, a gleeful glint shining bright in her mischievous eyes.
“The party has already started,” I say.
“Oh no, honey.” Phoebe shakes her head. “I’m not talking about this party…” She points to the floor. “I’m talking about the party that’s about to start when I meet my man upstairs in our designated room.”
Along with our club name and cuffs, we were handed an envelope containing a colourful card with a bar code. Once we scan it against one of the iPads near the elevator, it will show our room number and the location of said room.
Classy.
“You’re too eager for your own good,” Arianne says.
“Are you kidding me?” Phoebe says. “I’m about to get down and dirty with my man under the same roof as Hollywood royalty. I love you guys, but I don’t want to hang out here and talk when I could be doing something a lot more interesting with my mouth.”
I’m shocked by her candor.
“Please, Phoebe, tell us how you really feel,” Arianne says.
“Horny as hell.” Phoebe doesn’t miss a beat. She has no filters. “Catch you later, amigas.” She waves and struts off with a confident swing in her step.
Arianne stares at her receding form, stunned.
“I’m sorry. I have no explanation for her,” she says.
“Although that was a lot more information than I needed to know, she does have a good point. I’m dying to see my man,” I say.
“Far from it for me to keep you away from your man for one more second than necessary.” Arianne offers a complicit smile. “I’m going to run up and enjoy mine.”
“Let the party begin.” I borrow Phoebe’s words. “Have a sexy night.”
“Right back at ya.” Arianne winks.
I weave my way through the crowd.
The trepidation of excitement skyrockets every time my eyes land on a couple interlaced in a naughty embrace.