Twenty-Six
Kat
Closer – Nine Inch Nails
I immediately regret my lack of jacket as I step out of the cab with Harper.
A shiver works its way up my bones. The cold air slices straight through the thin fabric of my outfit, raising goosebumps along my arms and thighs.
I stood in front of the mirror for no less than two hours trying on almost every item of clothing I own before settling on tonight’s outfit.
I don’t look as hot as Harper, but I don’t feel horrendous either—which is definitely a small win tonight.
I’m wearing a black leather corset that cinches my waist, giving me my dream hourglass figure.
Hugging my hips is a black lace miniskirt, which sits just above my stockings.
Leather and lace, my perfect combination.
Harper looks jaw-dropping—literally. Heads have been turning ever since we stepped out of the cab.
She’s wearing a tiny PVC minidress, her shiny new purple-dyed hair tied up in a high ponytail that’s so tight it looks like it’s giving her a minor facelift.
I push down the inferior feeling creeping into focus as we walk, arm in arm, to the front door. My breath fogs faintly in front of me as I step away from the cab, the city buzzing like static around us.
NINE doesn’t look like much from the outside: just a dark brick building tucked between two equally anonymous storefronts. If you didn’t know what it was, you’d probably walk straight past it, but the line of people queuing in the bitter cold to get in tells a different story.
Harper heads straight to the front, earning us a few disgruntled stares, and gives the attendant her name.
“IDs?” he asks with a lazy drawl.
We both reach into our bags and produce what he’s asking for. Harper gives him a subtle eyelash flutter as he scans her ID. We slide the exact entrance fee across the counter.
“Read these and sign at the bottom,” he tells us, producing two sheets of paper titled “Rules and Regulations.” The paper is thicker than normal paper, almost like a contract. Which, I guess, it kind of is.
I take my time and read the paper fully. It’s two pages long, full of various rules and sex club etiquette. The two major rules that stick with me are the two-drink limit and the hard and fast rule of no sex outside of the designated areas.
How am I going to get through tonight without being drunk?
I sign my name on the dotted line at the same time as Harper. The attendant looks at us as if he’s assessing us before sealing a plastic wristband around our wrists and stepping aside.
“I’m so excited!” Harper shrieks, gently jumping up and down as we enter through the huge double doors.
The sound hits me first. Low bass vibrates through the floor beneath my heels, pulsing through my body like a heartbeat. Then the smell. Expensive perfume and a very slight hint of alcohol and sweat.
A large, unlit chandelier hangs imposingly above the entrance, while red LED lights illuminate the large room. There’s a dance floor off to the right where bodies move sensually together. To the side of the dancefloor, the wall is lined with high-back leather couches.
Couples—and some groups with more than two—sit together, laughing and having a good time.
I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe orgies all over the dancefloor or people up on stage taking part in sex acts.
Or possibly just nudity. But I wasn’t expecting this.
I wasn’t expecting it to look and feel like a normal club—if it weren’t for the waiver you sign before entering, it would be easy to mistake this place for a regular bar.
I pull my eyes away from the bodies writhing on the dancefloor and spot the bar off to the left with a few stools in front of it. I spot two empty seats at the far end.
“Come on.” I grab Harper’s arm and pull her towards them.
Harper orders a mojito, and I order a Jack and Coke. If I can have only two drinks, I’d better make them count. Liquid courage is basically a survival instinct tonight. The bartender grabs our wrists and stamps the wristbands, marking us halfway to our drink limit.
“It’s cool, right?” Harper muses as her eyes roam across the room. I know she’s looking for Nathan.
“It is, we should definitely come here more often,” I say, although the fifty-dollar entrance fee means I absolutely cannot come here more often.
Neither of us wants to say it, but I can see in Harper’s eyes that she’s no more comfortable here than I am.
We’re both here to catch our respective situationships in scandal.
It’s weird seeing her uncomfortable. Of all the places we could go, I’d have thought a sex club would be the one place where she would feel comfortable.
I know it’s because of Nathan. She’s not uncomfortable with the venue—she’s uncomfortable with what she might find here.
She grabs my hand, and we gravitate towards the dance floor as Closer by Nine Inch Nails begins to play.
I roll my eyes at the cliché. Our bodies entwine, our hips swaying in sync.
The bass vibrates through the floor and up my legs as we move together.
Harper’s laugh brushes my ear as she spins under my arm before facing me again.
My hands move to her hips and hers to my neck.
Our dancing earns us a few prying eyes, to which Harper throws her middle finger up.
As the song ends, Harper’s eyes seem focused on something behind me.
I don’t need to look to know what—or who—it is.
“Nathan?” I ask, taking her hands in mine.
She looks to the floor, torn about what to do.
“Go,” I tell her, tilting her chin up to look at me.
“No, I’m here to make him jealous, not fall back into his weaselly trap,” she says, but her conviction falls flat.
“I’ll wait for you. Take your time.”
She pauses as if to think it over, but I’ve not really given her a choice. “Wish me luck,” she says, hugging me around the waist.
I watch her move through the crowd. People part for her without even realizing they’re doing it, and within seconds, she disappears into the sea of bodies, leaving me alone. I bring my drink up to my lips but notice it’s empty.
I gravitate toward the bar. The bartender checks my wristband before giving me another drink.
I still haven’t seen Elias, and I don’t know whether I should feel relieved or annoyed.
Part of me hopes he isn’t here, the other part of me wants proof that Harper was right, and the sinking pit in my stomach will feel validated.
The second double Jack and Coke warms my stomach, giving me the liquid courage I need to explore this place.
NINE really is beautiful. It’s dark and seductive on the surface, but there’s an air of security here.
I don’t know if it’s the waiver or the heavy security presence, but it feels like a place dedicated to letting go of reservations and just giving into primal desires in a safe way.
The room is just full of people being themselves with no inhibitions.
There’s something about it that makes my chest ache in the best way.
Maybe I’m not so out of place here after all.
Walking to the area behind the DJ booth, I spot a doorway with a tall, muscled man guarding the entrance. Okay, this seems like the place to be.
“No drinks in the hallway,” he says, pointing at mine.
Before I second guess myself, I tip the glass back and drain it in three long gulps, placing the empty glass on the table beside the door. He steps aside to let me through.
The hallway is long and narrow, with several doors on either side.
The red lighting seems darker in here, casting long shadows across the matching carpet.
The music from the main room is quiet, like the hallway is soundproofed.
Yet the sound of moaning still travels through the air, and lots of it.
A sharp gasp echoes down the hallway along with the crack of what sounds like a whip. Heat crawls slowly up my neck.
I’ve walked into the sex part of NINE.
Anticipation and warmth ignite low in my belly. I know I should go back and wait for Harper, but I’m too fucking nosy—curiosity has always been my worst quality.
Continuing down the hallway, I see doors that lead to various rooms, some with peepholes and some without. I consider looking through one but decide I’m not brave enough. The hallway branches off, and I decide to go left.
After walking past more doors, I stumble upon an alcove in the hallway.
The space opens suddenly after the narrow corridor, almost like a hidden lounge carved into the wall.
To my right is a section of red leather armchairs.
Heat rises in my cheeks as I see people sitting in the chairs in various stages of undress.
Two people kiss, their hands roaming over each other’s bodies while another man stands in front of them, his cock in his hand as he rubs it from base to shaft.
My eyes follow his, and I freeze on the spot.
To my left is a giant Perspex window, offering a view into a beautifully decorated room with a four-poster bed.
On the four-poster bed is a couple. The stunning red-haired woman is on her back, hair splayed all over the comforter as her partner pounds into her.
As he thrusts in and out of her, she contorts her face in ecstasy while holding a vibrator to her clit.
I can’t seem to look away. The room beyond the glass feels like another world entirely. A private stage for something so intimate. I feel like I shouldn’t be watching, but the clear view of writhing bodies tells me that’s exactly what I should be doing.
My breathing grows ragged as wetness pools between my legs, soaking my panties. My nipples harden, and I know that there’s no hiding how turned on I am right now. I press my thighs together to relieve some of the pressure building there.
The man flips the redhead over onto her stomach before sliding back into her; she fists the sheets as she cries out.
It would be so easy to take one of the seats to my right, to spread my legs and alleviate the ache building there.
I’d never thought of myself as a voyeur, but maybe that’s the magic of NINE.
It dips into your subconscious, your deepest wants and needs.
And right now, I need to come.
I take a step towards the viewing area, but warm hands close around my hips, and I let out a gasp.
“Like what you see, little rebel?” comes a velvety voice in my ear.
My pulse jumps. He’s so close his breath fans across my ear.
Elias.
He settles behind me, his front pressing firmly against my back. I can hear my heart race.
“I didn’t think you’d be here,” I lie. I’d hoped he’d be here.
His fingers begin tracing circles on my hips as he peppers kisses along my shoulder, sending jolts of electricity straight to my needy, traitorous pussy. So much for making him squirm.
“And yet, here I am.” His hand starts sliding up my inner thigh, stopping when he touches the fabric of my panties. “So wet for me already, Kat,” he breathes, moving my panties to the side, the cool air making me even more sensitive.
I let out a heady gasp. I can’t take my eyes off the scene in front of me. Watching two strangers fuck while having the hottest man’s fingers against my pussy is igniting an inferno inside me.
His fingers begin circling my clit lightly, and my head falls onto his shoulder before snapping back up as I remember the rules.
“I don’t think we’re allowed to do this in the hallway,” I say, my voice coming out unsteady.
This doesn’t deter him as he applies more pressure, causing me to let out a low, breathy moan.
“I can do what I want, I own this place,” he whispers as he sinks two fingers inside me.
I cry out in both shock and pleasure and grip onto his forearm as my legs threaten to give up.
Two people in the armchairs notice us, and their eyes turn hooded with lust. This only fuels my desire, the coil tightening in my belly.
The extra eyes seem to fuel Elias too, as he pulls my skirt up slightly—not enough so they can see how wet I am, but enough that they can see what Elias’s huge hand is doing to it.
“Do you want to be fucked while people watch, little rebel?”
I’m so close, I don’t want him to stop. My inner walls flutter as the edge of my orgasm approaches.
“Yes… please… Elias,” I whisper back, surprised I’m able to get words out.
His fingers withdraw quickly from me, and my eyes shoot open as I let out a frustrated groan.
“Follow me,” he instructs, taking my hand, the wetness from his fingers fusing our skin as he guides us down the hallway and into a room.
What the fuck am I doing? And why does every part of me want to keep going?