RAFE
The car draws up outside Delirium, and Henry and Julian stare at the blonde woman who just got out of the cab ahead of us and walked up the steps to the front entrance.
I say walked, but really it was some kind of mesmerising sexual stride, like Marilyn Monroe tottering down the train platform in Some Like it Hot, but without the suitcase and steam jets knocking her off her stride.
“Ten out of fucking ten,” Julian mutters as we all slip our masks into place and one of the doormen opens our car door. Julian unfolds himself, and Henry and I follow, stepping out into the cool night air.
Julian still has his gaze locked on the blonde as she passes through the huge double-door entrance.
I can’t blame him; I’ve half an eye on her myself.
The way she moves and the sensual roll of her hips, encased in a pink sequin dress that barely hangs lower than her arse, are hard to look away from.
I tap my index finger on the underside of his open jaw. “Stop drooling.”
He turns to me, eyes wide. “Did you not see her?”
“I saw.”
Henry bids the bouncers a good evening, and while they greet the three of us respectfully as we take the steps and pass through the doors, they aren’t really concentrating. Their gazes trail after the blonde like she’s got their eyeballs attached to her dress by invisible threads.
We all watch as she checks a large cherry-pink leather handbag in at the cloakroom. Rising on tiptoes, she leans across the desk, which makes her dress slide up further and exposes the lower curve of her buttocks.
Christ.
She has hourglass curves and a perfectly round ass, objectively speaking. Her legs are toned as if she spends a lot of her free time in the gym. Or perhaps she’s a runner. Long blonde hair that’s styled in huge golden curls swings down her back.
Mask nights bring out the kinkiest women.
I find myself wondering if she wears something more sedate at home, or if this is her normal attire.
The three of us cross the lobby faster than we should, and we’re standing right behind her as she presses the call button for the elevator with a pink-painted fingernail.
Glancing over her shoulder, she takes us in, her chin tilting.
It’s a slight movement, but brazenly sexual, infused with the suggestion that she thinks she could take all three of us at once. An intangible current runs through me.
Julian nudges me with his elbow. I ignore him.
The elevator doors open, and Henry spreads an arm, inviting her to enter the elevator before us, which she does.
I step in afterwards and turn back to my friends. Julian has a wide grin on his face as he steps forwards to follow me, but Henry holds him back with a hand fisted on his jacket sleeve.
“You go ahead,” Henry says to me. “We have to check something down here.”
Julian blinks, features drooping as he glances at Henry’s hand on his sleeve. “But everything I want to check is already in the lift.”
Beside me, the blonde lets out a tinkle of laughter, and Julian composes himself just in time to wink at her.
She smiles, lurching across me to press the button that closes the doors.
“Me too,” she purrs in an accent that’s unmistakably from the Southern States of America.
It’s an unexpected sound in London, and one I haven’t heard for a while.
My relatives in the States are based in New York, so that’s normally where I go when I visit.
As the doors close, I catch a final glimpse of Henry’s face, a brilliant smile breaking over it, and Julian, whose over-excited leer at the blonde is disintegrating into a parody of outrage.
Julian rarely gets turned down by any woman, given his dark hair and sharp jaw, paired with blue eyes that shoot laser beams of sexual innuendo twenty-four seven.
Seeing his response to her outright rejection is hilarious, and if this woman weren’t a total stranger, I’d smack her a high-five and laugh about it.
But as it is, I stand very still, as if I haven’t registered her at all, the echo of her soft me too resounding in my ears.
The left side of my body prickles with awareness, and in my peripheral vision, she’s a blur of blonde and pink.
The elevator is full of her scent, a perfume that somehow conjures images of dark nights and secret rendezvous; romantic and sensual all at once.
The elevator whirrs as we head up to the first floor.
I give her a sideways glance, but her face is down turned, her eyes distant, as if the act she was putting on, the mask, has slipped. The shift in energy fills the space.
Clearly what she’s presenting—her playful flirtation—isn’t all there is, and it intrigues me even more.
It’s only a flash, a split-second view, and then it’s gone.
“Want to see if we can fit in a quickie before we get there?” she says.
Her flirtatious expression is back in place, and warm, honey brown eyes peek through her pink satin mask.
She smiles like she hasn’t a care in the world, and her full, pink-painted lips pull away from perfectly straight white teeth.
It’s a glorious smile that turns my body molten and renders me speechless.
The silence crackles with static, and as I drag my gaze over her body, energy shifts between us like I’m rubbing a balloon over her hair, teasing every loose strand of her being towards me.
I take in the smooth curve of her shoulders, the column of her neck, the dip between her collarbones.
Maybe this is what Julian meant by choosing a woman with my dick.
But if it renders me unable to string a sentence together, I’m not sure what chance I have.
I clear my throat and gather my thoughts. “It’s only one floor up.”
She gives me a sidelong look, which, even with the mask, screams mischief. “True. If you were that fast, I’d be very disappointed.” She hovers her finger over the button. “Shall we take it to the top then?”
Heat rushes through my torso. “That’s not what I meant.”
She taps her forefinger against her lips. “But that’s why your friends didn’t get in, isn’t it? So we could get it on in here?”
I slide a hand into the pocket of my suit pants, attempting to look and sound unaffected. “I can’t claim to know what they were thinking. Probably not much.” I glance at her. “You’re the one who closed the doors.”
A burst of seductive laughter slips from her mouth, and it’s a beautiful sound. She might have the best laugh I’ve ever heard. “Yeah. That was me choosing you, in case you were wondering. I was absolutely thinking about a quickie in here with you.”
To my surprise, my heart thumps awkwardly at the confirmation. “You’re very forward.”
“I’m efficient.”
“But not efficient enough to enjoy sex in an elevator.”
She bites down on her bottom lip, turning those sultry honey coloured eyes on me again. “Not if the ride is only ninety seconds long.”
My cheeks ache from trying not to laugh, but she’s smiling too, so I allow the grin to spread.
“I like the look of you,” she says. “I’ll give you all night if you want it.”
The way her words make my heart race is ridiculous. I just met this woman. I must be twice the size of her, and yet here she is, looking me right in the eye, dressed in her pink sequins and dangerously high heels, telling me what she wants, and making my heart fucking flutter.
I’m inclined to give it to her. What she wants, not my heart. Maybe Henry’s right. Maybe a liaison with a gorgeous woman, like the one standing mere inches away from me, is exactly what I need. Meaningless. Casual.
Random, but hot as fuck.
“I might not like the look of you,” I say, which is an outright lie, but I want to see what she’ll say.
She pops a hip and rests a hand on it. “Why not?”
I get the sense she doesn’t really care what I answer, because she knows the moment the elevator doors open, she’ll have her pick of men. She might even choose Julian.
The idea has my stomach clenching and, as if to galvanise me into action, the elevator halts and the doors open.
I let her exit ahead of me, but she doesn’t go far, turning to face me as I step out into the bar area.
Crystal chandeliers sparkle overhead, and dark velvet curtains drape at wide windows.
Soft piano music plays, and the hum of chatter drifts above it.
Groups of people gather at tables, drinking cocktails and champagne, their evening finery paired with an array of elaborate masks, like they’re at a society party rather than a sex club.
“What don’t you like about the way I look?” the blonde asks, pulling me back to our conversation.
I nod at her mask. “I can’t see your face.”
“Ah.” She performs one slow, exaggerated nod. “So you’re a romantic. Bet you like to make eye contact when you fuck too.”
“Preferable. But not essential.” I gesture to her mask. “Take it off, and I’ll give you my verdict.”
“The only way this bad boy is coming off”—she flicks the side of her mask—“is if you agree to come on my face.”
I laugh, but when she doesn’t join me, I stop. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely. It’s masquerade night.” She fingers the edge of her mask again. “This is my protection. I’m not giving it up for anyone, unless they agree to make themselves wholly vulnerable to me.”
“You think a man coming on your face makes him the vulnerable one?”
“Absolutely.”
I let that one settle for a moment, unable not to smile. Before I met this woman, I would have strongly disagreed with her stance, but now I’m not so sure. “And it doesn’t bother you that you can’t see my face?”
“I can see enough. Good jaw. Full lips. Nice eyes. Thick neck. Large Adam’s apple—I like that, by the way.
Broad shoulders.” She traces my form with her eyes again, lingering halfway down my body.
“Huge hands.” Her gaze flicks back up to meet mine.
“You could probably pick me up with just one of them.”
“Probably.”
Her lip, in all its slicked-pink glory, curls. “You wanna test it?”
“Is this your idea of foreplay?”
She flutters her lashes. “Abso-fucking-lutely. If you can pick me up with one hand, imagine what you can do with two of them.”
This time, I allow myself to laugh loud and full. Fuck it, I’m enjoying this. I haven’t had such easy banter with a woman in far too long.
She stretches out her leg and knocks the toe of her sparkly pink heel against my foot. “Excellent shoes.” She gestures to the rest of my body. “Good suit. Well-cut.” Her eyes narrow. “Do you have a woman at home?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I did.”
“Good answer. So, shall we fuck?”