Chapter 12 #2
Aldrich shook his head, his support for Krishna not extending to the dance floor; he was never a clubber, more at home dancing at get-togethers than in this scene.
Still, he had to admit Krishna had pulled off something amazing—Ibiza, the heart of Europe’s club culture, where the wealthy and reckless indulged in designer drops and thumping Euro music by celebrity DJs.
The VIP section, however, offered a different vibe: plush leather seating around glowing tables, Caribbean and Spanish beats blending with bass, warm amber lights casting a golden glow, the air rich with aged rum and tropical flowers, exuding sophisticated indulgence.
Krishna created a mature club catering to 30s, 40s, and 50s, featuring a blend of traditional Soca, Euro-Soca he was eager to return to the hotel and bend Sorinah over the nearest surface.
Sinking into her sweet pussy earlier had eased his longing for her, but he wanted to drive her to the brink repeatedly before letting her come—retaliation for her blatant flirtatious banter with Krishna earlier, the way she gifted him a seductive smile, and the sultry way she ran her hand through her cropped locks.
Sorinah had even gone so far as to call Krishna “his beautiful, chiselled, Indian friend,” her tone laced with teasing provocation that still lingered in his mind, fuelling his desire to make her squirm.
“Did we really come to a club to sit in the VIP section all night?” She pouted, her lips begging to be kissed, and he fought the urge to pull her bottom lip into his mouth.
This was a side of Sorinah he hadn’t seen before. The club seemed to awaken a playful energy in her, one that contrasted with the sharp, claw-ready Kitten he was more familiar with. Yet this softer, flirtatious version of her intrigued him in a way he hadn’t expected.
They’d been in the VIP section for nearly an hour, and he was itching to leave for the hotel.
Sorinah had spent some of that time dancing to the music, her movements teasing as she swayed in front of him in the private lounge.
It almost felt like she was dancing solely for him, her energy both enticing and mischievous, as if daring him to join in or take her away.
“I don’t dance at clubs,” Aldrich informed her.
“You brought me here so we could enjoy bottle service and not dance. That is ridiculous! It’s not like you can’t dance—you move better than most people on the floor. Come on, show them how it’s done.”
“Fine, one song.”
Aldrich suddenly felt compelled to give her whatever she wanted.
He could attribute it to the bottle service, but he’d only had two drinks.
It was her—not the flattery, though that was pleasant.
It was the way she looked at him, open and adoring, as if she didn’t realise how transparent her gaze was.
If Sorinah caught on to how vulnerable she appeared, she’d demand they leave for the hotel immediately rather than insist on dancing.
She leaped to her feet when he joined her, flinging her arms around him. “Five or so songs,” she declared, wiggling provocatively and grinding against him. His body responded immediately.
He wasn’t sure how she kept him on the dance floor for so long, but she was pushing him to his limits. What was it about this woman that made him willing to cross every boundary?
She moved seductively to the throbbing beats of the music.
Aldrich pulled her closer, aware she was playing a dangerous game.
It was only fair he issued a warning. He leaned in close to her ear, licking the shell of it, his grip tightening on her hips.
“Stop playing with me. I will fuck you right here on this dance floor,” he growled.
His hand slipped beneath the short hem of her dress, his fingers tracing the firm curves of her body, igniting a spark that danced between them.
Her laugh vibrated through her body, a sound both playful and teasing. She pulled back, their gazes locking, and he saw the unmistakable challenge in her eyes. “And how do you know that’s not exactly what I want?”
Fuck! Did she mean it? Was she daring him to take this further, to put on a show in the shadow of the pulsing music? he thought, his mind racing with the implications. Was he actually considering it?
What kind of spell was she casting? he wondered, caught between desire and caution.
Thankfully, before Aldrich could surrender to a wilder urge, the music shifted, slowing into something softer.
“Hey, this song sounds familiar.” Sorinah cocked her head, nibbling her bottom lip in a way that made him forget his own name for a moment.
As the first line of the song began, she laughed. “Oh, it’s Red Red Wine, but so different.”
“Yes, it’s a Soca remix,” he explained, relieved by the change in tempo yet still entranced by her energy.
“I really like it.”
She was so into the song, swaying to its rhythm, that she seemed to forget, or perhaps deliberately abandon, the sweet torture she’d been inflicting on him throughout the night.
For now, the mood had shifted, but the undercurrent of their playful tension remained, simmering just beneath the surface.
The song switched to the Soca remix of Real Love by Mary J. Blige, and Sorinah, the torture artist, turned the screws back on. He was in excruciating discomfort, his body painfully rigid.
“It’s time for us to go now,” Aldrich insisted, determined to end the torment.
Sorinah had to use the facilities before they left the club. He waited by the entrance to the washroom for her. As he racked his brain for ways to repay his Kitten, a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in ages pulled him from his thoughts.
“Hello, I’m surprised to run into you here,” the voice said.
The hard-on he’d been enduring for hours deflated instantly.
This was the first time Aldrich had encountered his ex-fiancée, Flavia, since their breakup. She looked as flawless as ever—perfectly put together, not a hair out of place.
“I’m here to support Krishna,” he explained.
“I didn’t think anything could pry you away from your desk,” she retorted, her tone laced with a hint of sarcasm.
Aldrich stared at her blankly, refusing to engage in what Trinis called “old talk.” He wasn’t about to indulge in forced niceties.
What the hell was taking Sorinah so long? This conversation was dragging on, and he had no intention of prolonging it.
“I saw you out on the dance floor,” Flavia continued, undeterred.
He stared at her blankly again. She let out that fake laugh of hers and reached her hand towards him. He stepped back, avoiding her touch.
“I didn’t know you had moves like that,” Flavia said, her index finger resting on her bottom lip in a gesture that was both coy and calculated. “You looked terrific out there.”
Aldrich let the silence hang, even as the music thumped in the background. He knew exactly what she was fishing for—Flavia thrived on compliments, and he wasn’t in the mood to feed her ego tonight.
The staff washroom door swung open, the one Krishna had told them they could use. Sorinah’s bright smile lit up the space as she announced, “Alright, I’m ready to go!”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Flavia asked, her smile tight as she tucked her hair behind her ears—a telltale sign of her displeasure.
“No,” Aldrich replied flatly, placing his hand at the small of Sorinah’s back in a possessive yet casual gesture.
“Are you ready to go, Kitten?”
Sorinah caught the tension immediately, her gaze flicking between Aldrich and Flavia. She read the room with the skill of a seasoned diplomat and said, “Um, bye,” before making a swift exit.
Later, as they settled into the back of the car heading to the hotel, Sorinah quipped, “Is running into your ex about to derail whatever plans you had for me?”
Aldrich smiled, appreciating her sharp wit. He had no intention of letting past drama spoil a night that promised plenty of foreplay. “Not at all, Sweets,” he reassured her.