NINETEEN
Pressing my back against the cool door of the toilet cubicle, I drew my knees up to my chest as I tried to steady my erratic breathing.
The air around me felt too thick, heavy with the remnants of him.
Even the bass from the club outside was distant, as if I were underwater, dissolving slowly into whatever had just happened.
My fingers trembled as they brushed over my lips, still tender from the sweep of his tongue.
He didn’t kiss me. He never did. Even after he’d cleaned my body with careful hands and bated breath.
And yet I ached for his lips, not his hands, not his tongue. Just that one simple thing. Even with the truth slick between my thighs, I still wanted more. Like the greedy woman I was.
A bitter laugh broke free, muffled by my hand as it tried to catch it. I wasn’t sure if I was laughing, crying or coming apart entirely. My heart felt too full, too loud, too chaotic. As if letting go for even a second would shatter me.
Closing my eyes, I could still feel the shape of his presence. The lick – so unexpected, so obscene – and yet… reverent. The sound of his breath, low and ragged, as if mine was the only air he had ever been able to breathe. The way he held himself back even as he gave me everything.
And then he cleaned me. In silence. Each swipe of damp cloth was like a balm.
Was this what it meant to be wanted?
He was everything I craved and everything I feared. And I hated how much I needed him, as though he were the only thing keeping me from shattering entirely.
Because I was broken. Fractured along the lines no one could see; held together by panic and pretence. And he didn’t know it. He couldn’t have known. The worst parts of me hoped he wouldn’t even bother to find out.
It was easier to keep my eyes covered. Safer. He wouldn’t want me if he saw all the cracks – if he saw the weight I carried, the shadows that clung to me.
I tipped my head back until it knocked gently against the cubicle door, biting my lip hard enough to taste copper. The pain moored me, kept me from spiralling.
He didn’t have to come. He didn’t owe me anything. And yet he was here. He did things to me that made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered, Like I was worth something.
But how long could this illusion last? How long before he saw through it and walked like the rest?
The thought gutted me.
I wrapped my arms around my chest, clutching tightly to keep the parts from falling off me.
It wasn’t just his touch or his words that had unravelled me, it was the way he always took me as though he needed to disappear inside me.
For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe it. I let myself feel wanted.
But now, in the stark silence of my own mind, the doubts crept in like a tide of inevitability. What if I was just a simple escape for him? Another conquest?
The thought was almost laughable. Ghost, whoever he was, didn’t strike me as a man who needed to prove himself. He was too raw, too unfiltered for that. And yet, the possibility remained, gnawing at my fragile hope.
I pushed myself upright, smoothing the wrinkled fabric as my hair slipped loose beneath the twisted scarf – tangled, like the rest of me.
My legs were unsteady in the small toilet stall, and my reflection in the large mirror above the sink looked as wrecked as I felt.
But I wouldn’t let it show. Not tonight. Not ever.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to stand taller, to wear the mask I’d perfected over years of practice. The world didn’t need to see my broken pieces. I wasn’t sure I could handle it if anyone tried to pick them up.
And Ghost… he was the one thing that felt real in a world of illusions. But even he had his boundaries. Even he couldn’t fix what was beyond repair. And there was a possibility that he probably wouldn’t want to.
With the scarf around my neck, contacts and mask shamefully concealed in my purse, I reached for the door.
And froze as my eyes skimmed the mirror.
The hem of my dress betrayed me with a glaring mark, unmistakable for what it was – Ghost’s release. Indignation scorched up my neck, setting my cheeks alight.
There was no bloody way I could walk out like this! The stain wasn’t subtle – it was glaring, a messy truth I couldn’t hide. And it was too obvious.
I scrubbed frantically under the cold water. The white smear vanished – but the silk turned traitorous. Now it was a fucking soaked patch, clinging tight, louder than any stain.
I stared at my reflection, my fingers gripping the edge of the sink as my stomach churned.
I couldn’t face Cain like this.
Just as the panic began to bubble again, the door creaked open behind me.
A woman stepped inside, her heels hammering the tiles.
She was tall, beautiful, her deep red dress clinging to her curves in a way that screamed confidence.
Her glossy hair fell in perfect waves, and the sharp angles of her features gave her an air of superiority.
I turned to her, sizing her up for fit. She was close to my build – taller, but close enough.
The idea sparked wildly in my brain – desperation and impulsiveness colliding into something barely rational – or sanitary. But it was my only shot.
‘Excuse me,’ I said in broken Italian, my voice steady despite the chaos brewing inside me.
She glanced at me, her perfectly shaped brows arching with mild annoyance. ‘Yes?’
I hesitated for half a second before diving in. ‘Would you consider swapping dresses with me?’
Her lips parted, her expression shifting from confusion to incredulity. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I’ll pay you,’ I said quickly, stepping closer. ‘Five hundred euros. Right now.’
She blinked, and for a moment, I thought she might laugh at me. Instead, she crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down.
‘What’s that from?’ Her gaze dropped to the patch.
‘Spilt wine,’ I lied without flinching.
She hesitated.
A scoff fell from her mouth then, but I saw the spark of interest in her eyes. ‘Why would I?’
I gestured vaguely at my dress, hoping she wouldn’t press for details. ‘I had an accident. I can’t walk out like this. I’m here with my boss.’
Her gaze dropped to the wet patch, and I saw the moment she pieced it together. ‘Right,’ she said suspiciously.
Heat flared in my cheeks the longer she stared at me, but I held my ground. ‘Five hundred,’ I repeated, pulling my wallet from the bag. I opened it, showing her the crisp notes inside, thankful I’d withdrawn cash for my rent earlier.
Her smirk widened as she held out her hand. ‘Fine, but I bought this second-hand.’
And I just washed semen off this one, a snarky remark rose in the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down immediately.
Great. Five hundred euros for a second-hand dress with someone else’s deodorant on.
I nearly laughed aloud – Ghost on mine, deodorant on hers.
Handing over the money and stepping into one of the stalls, I hurried to change.
Deep crimson wasn’t my choice, not with Cain D’Angelo at my side tonight.
The dress was too short, the hem skimming dangerously high with a threat to reveal the top of my stockings.
The neckline plunged deeper than the black dress, and though I typically had no issue showing off my assets, I was hoping I didn’t appear too vulgar in front of D’Angelo.
The woman must have been one of the paid actresses judging by the choice of garment.
I tugged at the long sleeves to make sure my tattoo wasn’t visible – I didn’t want Ghost recognising it if he was still here.
It was clean, it was dry – that was the mantra, the only thing keeping me from falling apart at this point.
When I emerged, the woman was already zipping herself into my black dress, her expression smug. She glanced at me, her eyes lingering on the way the red fabric clung to my body.
‘Not bad,’ she said with a wink before strutting into a stall.
I took a steadying breath and stepped out of the lavatory, the noise of the club washing over me like a wave.
The corridor stretched ahead in a blur of pulsing light and shadow, and for a moment, it wasn’t the club – it was the basement.
That same tight, breathless feeling returned to my chest. Each step felt too loud, as if my body didn’t quite belong to me.
My thighs still ached, the phantom of the machine’s rhythm echoing in the way I moved.
I half expected to look down and see the stirrups, feel the cool leather of the seat beneath me.
The corridor narrowed, suffocating me, each step a battle to stay present. But the scent of latex, sweat, and something sweet held to my memory.
I rounded the corner and caught my reflection on a shiny decoration hanging off the wall – hair a mess, as if I had been dragged through a nightmare.
I yanked the clasp out and raked my fingers through the wreckage, trying to look less… fucked.
My gaze darted around the lounge room until I spotted Cain, still seated where I had left him.
He looked different now; his shoulders were slightly slumped, his posture less commanding.
The usual elegance in his features seemed duller, and there was a heaviness in his demeanour that made my chest constrict.
I approached him slowly, the sound of my heels barely audible over the music. When I reached the table, his gaze lifted to meet mine, and for a moment, I couldn’t quite place the feeling he gave off – was he exhausted? Or was there something deeper at play?
Suddenly, his eyes sharpened, narrowing slightly as they combed over me, hanging on the new dress. His brow quirked, a mixture of confusion and intrigue flashing across his face before settling into something more measured.
‘That’s… different.’ His voice dropped, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. But his gaze turned away a beat too fast. The smirk couldn’t quite mask the tension in his jaw.
Sliding into the seat across from him, I met his curious stare directly, keeping my tone light.