Chapter 14 #2
Taking slow, deliberate steps, I walk through the sparse crowd. His head follows my every move, and I pause when I’m in his line of sight and about a dozen paces from where he’s dancing.
I can see him better now, and the silver chain necklace he’s wearing flashes in the light, drawing my attention to the edges of his tattoo peeking out from the open neckline of his shirt.
The lights around us suddenly go out, then the room starts glowing purple as the black lights come on.
I move toward him, closing the distance between us in steady steps as the black lights go from dim to bright, then back to dim in a long wave.
The lights flick off when I’m only a few paces from him and the girl he’s dancing with, and I take a few quick steps to the left in the short time between the black lights going off and the other lights coming on.
Damon looks around, his head on a swivel as he searches for me, and I duck behind a small group of dancers, using them as cover to stay out of sight.
This is fucked up. I’m supposed to be watching him, not engaging him and doing whatever this is. But I can’t bring myself to care that I’m breaking my own rules as more of that strange satisfaction moves through me.
I’ve always known I’m into some fucked-up shit, and that some of the things I fantasized about would probably get me institutionalized if I told anyone about them.
I’ve also always been a thrill seeker, and doing things I shouldn’t, things that are forbidden or taboo, has always gotten me off.
I know they shouldn’t, but they do, and I’ve spent the last ten years keeping that side of myself suppressed and only letting it out when I’m alone with my thoughts and my hand.
Most of my partners have been pretty open-minded when it comes to experimenting, but their limits were still on the tame side of kinky.
Things like handcuffs, toys, and spanking are fun to add to the mix to spice things up a bit, but they’re not extreme by any stretch of the imagination.
Especially not my imagination, and they don’t even scratch the surface of what I think about when I’m alone.
Those thoughts are dark and depraved and full of things that aren’t supposed to get me hot.
The idea of hunting someone has always appealed to me, but I’m not into tracking.
It’s more the act of cornering someone that gets me hot, and thoughts of chasing and catching them after I toy with them have always gotten me off.
And scaring someone into submission isn’t nearly as unappealing as it should be.
In fact, it’s not unappealing at all.
Neither is the idea of overwhelming someone until the only thing they can do is plead with me to stop or beg me to give them what they need. And the idea of hearing both at the same time is way more interesting than it should be.
I might have always had these thoughts and urges, but one of the main reasons I’ve been able to repress them so far is because no one has ever triggered the desire to act on them.
Until Damon.
And his being a guy doesn’t make me want him any less. In fact, it actually makes me want him more because he’s the only person who’s ever gotten under my skin like this.
But I don’t just want to own him, I want to fucking destroy him. Break him down until I’m the only thing that exists in his reality, then build him back up just so I can watch him fall apart as he fully surrenders.
The song ends, and there’s a clunky transition as the music switches to an EDM song I don’t recognize. I watch as Damon gently untangles himself from Becca and makes the universal sign for getting a drink when she leans in to say something to him.
They part ways, and I follow Damon as he heads to the bar, keeping a dozen or so paces behind him as Becca disappears into the crowd.
My body is tight with anticipation and desire as he leans against the wooden bar top, his back arching enticingly as the material of his shirt pulls tight around his wide shoulders.
I move into the shadows as a pretty blonde bartender steps in front of him. She’s all flirty smiles as she takes his order, and I have to push down my irritation when she practically waves her breasts in his face while she makes his drink.
Damon starts to move away from the bar, but he’s sidelined when a guy in black pants and a white fishnet shirt, identical to the ones the bartenders are wearing, approaches him.
Unlike a lot of the parties that offer illicit favors to their guests, Baxter House doesn’t leave their stash out for people to help themselves.
They have servers who walk around taking orders for things, then they retrieve the goods from the guys in charge of handing them out and bring them to whoever requested them.
It’s a way to stop people from overindulging or pinching things to take home with them. And it helps them keep better tabs on their stash when they only have a handful of people keeping inventory and doling them out.
Damon and the server speak for a few moments, then the server gives him a quick nod and strides away. Damon watches him for a few beats, then tears his gaze from the guy’s back and gulps down about half of his drink.
I should take this as my sign to go back to what I was doing and follow my original plan, but it’s getting harder to remember why this is a bad idea. And it’s getting even harder to care that it is.
Damon is either distracted by something, or he’s in a hurry to get fucked up because he finishes his drink in the five or so minutes it takes for the server to come back.
When he does, he hands Damon a small pillbox, like the ones that come in those pill caddies people use to keep track of their medications.
Damon takes it from him and looks at it as the server leaves to go talk to someone else.
He seems hesitant, but then he pops the caddy open and lifts it to his lips. I can’t see what he takes, but I assume there’s at least one pill or tablet in it when he drains the last of the liquid in his drink, his head tipped all the way back as he tries to get every drop from it.
The song that’s playing fades out and is replaced by another mashup of two pop songs from the ’90s. It’s not the greatest mix, and one of the tracks is too quiet compared to the other, so it sounds off, but it’s still catchy as hell.
The lights above us dim as the black lights flash up, then there’s a drop as the chorus for one of the songs kicks in, and the black lights flicker and pulse in time with the beat.
The effect is like being in a purple strobe light that momentarily creates a sea of glowing white as it flashes, and my feet once again seem to move of their own volition as I step out from the shadows.
Damon turns to look at me and freezes. I take advantage of the lighting and walk toward him, keeping my steps steady and timed with the strobe effect so it probably looks like I’m appearing closer to him every few flashes of the purple light.
Damon doesn’t move, his body tense and the glass still clutched in his hand.
I stop when I’m right in front of him, close enough that the toes of our shoes brush.
His dark eyes are wide under his mask, and his plush lips are parted as he draws in quick, shallow breaths that make his chest rise and fall in rapid little bursts.
I have no doubt he can see enough of my face to recognize me, but there’s no change in his expression as he stands there, frozen and staring at me.
The corner of my lips tips up in a smirk, and I don’t miss how his eyes fall to my mouth. Or the way his tongue peeks out when he drags it over his bottom lip.
Silently, I tilt my head to the side like I’m studying him.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his throat works.
Heat rushes to my already hard cock, and my balls throb with need as I remember how that mouth felt when it was wrapped around my dick.
Without saying a word, I slowly walk away, keeping my gaze fixed on him as I head to the back corner.
Damon chews on his lip for a few beats like he’s not sure what to do, but I just break eye contact and keep walking like I don’t have a care in the world.
I don’t turn around to look back at him until I reach the far corner, and when I do, Damon takes a tentative step toward me.
Heat and dark anticipation flow through me as he takes a few more steps in my direction but pauses when a girl with dark hair steps in his path.
He looks down at her and says something. I can’t tell if she says anything to him because her back is to me, but I don’t miss how she grabs his arm when he tries to step around her.
Fighting down a wave of irritation, I slip back into the shadows as he gently pries her hand off him, and after a few more seconds of him saying something to her, she flounces away, her body language clearly displeased.
Damon looks back at where I’m standing. He’s too far away to read his expression, but his confusion is clear when he starts to take another step toward me but stops to look around as he presumably searches me out since I’m hidden again.
I watch as he does a few more of those start/stop steps, and my heart beats a little faster when he squares his shoulders and walks toward where he last saw me, his steps sure and all traces of hesitation gone.
I slip a little deeper into the shadows.
The corner I chose is the darkest part of the room, and it’s far enough away from the bar and the throng of dancers that there’s no one around. It’s as private as you can get in a room full of people, and my heart thuds in my chest as Damon searches for me.
My black clothes and the current lack of black lights help me stay hidden, but I don’t want to be hidden. Not anymore.
I wait until he’s facing the wall, then cut the distance between us in four long strides.
He tenses when I’m a step away from him, like he can sense me approaching, but doesn’t try to turn or step away as I walk right into his space and press my body against his strong back.