Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Allisa
Club Zoom is a madhouse. I’ve never been to a club before, so I had no idea what to expect. It’s crowded and loud. The pounding bass makes the room rumble.
I don’t fit in. That much was apparent from the moment I entered.
For a while, I wandered the edges of the room, people watching, fascinated by the variety of women here tonight. But then, I took a seat at the end of the bar and ordered a drink.
A Shirley Temple. I don’t drink. I’ve actually never liked the taste of any alcohol I’ve tried, so I stopped trying. Besides, I like to have my wits about me at all times. Especially in this crazy room.
The bartender didn’t even flinch when I placed my order. My hope is that no one will realize what a weenie I am. After all, the drink looks like it could contain vodka or gin or rum.
I’m not sure why it matters since no one in this club is dressed like me. I don’t know why I thought they might be. There are a few women wearing short babydoll dresses, but theirs are black, and they’re wearing spike heels with them. They have fancy hair, makeup, and nails.
I have on mascara and bubblegum lip gloss. My hair is in a high ponytail. My nails are blunt and painted pale pink.
I’m the only woman I see in flat sandals. Plus, I’m short. Five two. The women in this room tower over me in their heels.
This was a crazy idea. I don’t feel one ounce of confidence. Even hiding at the end of the bar isn’t helping me relax. I’m a Little in a sea of adults. Even though I’m the same age as most of these women, I don’t feel like it inside. I’m an imposter. Not a real adult.
Something is wrong with me. What the hell am I going to do?
At the end of this night, I’ll have to return to my stupid life.
I’ll either have to keep my job and suck up my distaste for both marketing and Bradley, or I’ll have to quit and eventually return home to my parents’ house with my tail between my legs.
They’ll be disappointed, but at least they’ll surely help me shake my stupid stalker.
Bradley is outside this club right now. I’m surprised I managed to arrive and get inside before he caught up with me. The man is obviously tracking my phone. I don’t know how he does it. I’m not savvy enough to find the app he must have downloaded so I can delete it.
I’ve wondered if he was tracking me, somehow, for weeks because he frequently shows up every single place I am. But tonight, there is no doubt.
I took a rideshare to get here, and luckily, I came early enough that there wasn’t a line outside yet, so I got right in. Bradley texted me five minutes later. Since then, I’ve received almost ten messages from him. I’ve answered none.
His urgency has increased to the point that I’m nervous about stepping outside. That’s why I’m still sitting here. I should go home. I should return to my fucked-up life and face my reality. But I can’t. So I’m sipping my second Shirley Temple.
I need to pee, but I won’t risk leaving my stool. For one thing, I don’t want to lose my seat. For another thing, I’m so damn short that it was a challenge getting up here. I’m sure it was far from graceful. Getting down will be even worse.
My heart is racing as I look around the room.
It’s growing more crowded the later it gets.
Many of the women in here are drunk. They keep spilling drinks on each other and the floor.
The bartender sometimes comes out to mop a new spill so it won’t be slippery, but his work is futile.
It just happens again. I can’t imagine how sticky it is. Gross.
No one is paying any attention to me, which is nice. The women are mostly in packs. I don’t think anyone besides me dared come into this club alone. Who would do that?
I’ve also learned that the primary color people wear to clubs is black. Some have on silver or gold accents. A few have other bold colors. No one is wearing pastel pink.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket. I glance at it to make sure it’s not Kate or Mary. They have checked in several times, too. They seem relieved every time I answer. I’m sure as the night wears on, the chances of me being selected wane.
Three Eleadian men have made appearances.
They really are as tall and broad as the rumors suggest. What’s odd isn’t just their height.
All of them are over seven feet tall. I’ve seen the occasional tall man in my life.
The difference is these men are proportionately larger all over.
It’s like they’re giants and the rest of us are tiny.
Every time one of them steps onto the dance floor, my breath hitches. Partly from wondering if each new arrival might select me, and partly because they are so incredibly daunting.
I’ve stopped wondering if I’ll be chosen. Of course not. I must look ridiculous to these sophisticated men in suits. I’m childlike. In this dress, it’s obvious I don’t even have voluptuous boobs.
A door opens across the room, and another Eleadian man enters. He has blond hair and tanned skin. His hair isn’t as blond as mine, but it’s lighter than any other man’s I’ve seen so far. And none of them have been as pale-skinned as me.
I take another sip of my drink before deciding to fish out the cherry. It’s my favorite part. I’m not leaving it in the bottom of the glass. I’m in the middle of trying to stab it with my straw when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Stopping my endeavor, I slowly lift my head. I don’t turn to look in either direction, though. I’m afraid to. The air in the room has shifted. Something has changed.
I sit taller, spine rigid. My toes are on the rung of the stool, and I press down to ground myself.
The bartender looks at me and then lifts his gaze above me, over my head. He glances back at me and then up again before he smirks.
Shit.
My heart races. Goosebumps rise on my skin. Is one of the Eleadians behind me?
I don’t care if I’m chosen. I don’t care what happens to me. I’ve come here with the hope that I’ll be selected and whisked away from my stupid life.
Maybe I’m out of my head for wishing such a thing.
After all, I don’t have a single clue what sort of existence I’d be trading my current one for.
These Eleadians could be plucking human women off this planet so they can experiment on us or breed us or even eat us.
No one knows what happens after a woman disappears.
I feel the heat behind me a second before warm palms land on my bare shoulders.
My breath hitches. A strange calm settles over me.
The enormous palms slide down my arms until they reach my hands.
My gaze is fixed on the size of this man’s fingers as he gently takes the glass and straw out of my hands. He sets both items out of my reach before clasping both of my hands in one of his and holding them hostage against the bar.
I stare at our connection, fixated, mostly on the fact that his skin is very dark. It appears even darker in contrast to my own nearly white skin.
The man crowds me from behind, his abs against my back, his chest firm against my head.
He points toward the dish of cherries on the other side of the bar. “Roger, could you put a few of those in a dish for me?” His voice is deep and smooth. It seems to reach into me and claim me.
The bartender nods and quickly scoops out four cherries. He sets them on a small plate and slides it in front of us.
I stare at the cherries. Stunned and confused, I’m unable to do anything else. It seems like my heart is going to beat out of my chest.
The man leans over me, picks up one of the cherries with his free hand, and brings it to my lips.
I’m going to faint. I’m not sure what to do. How will I chew?
He rubs my lips with the treat. “Open, Baby girl.”
My entire body shudders at his choice of words. His voice is filled with promise. It’s dripping with sex, and I immediately grip my knees together to squeeze around the sudden pulsing between my legs.
I’ve never had this sensation before. My breasts feel heavy, and my nipples are hard against my bra. I’m panting as I finally find the brain cells to open my mouth and accept the cherry.
The pad of his pointer strokes my lip as he releases the sweet orb. “Good girl.”
Holy fuck. I’m going to self-combust. What’s happening here?
“Be careful, Baby girl. Chew it well.” His lips are closer to my ear. His voice is low and sensual.
It’s a wonder I don’t choke on the cherry as I chew and then swallow.
The dark man’s fingers stroke my cheek. “You are more than I ever imagined,” he says softly.
My head is spinning. Is this really happening? Maybe I fell asleep, slid off the chair, and hit my head on the floor. It’s possible I’m actually in a coma.
The man reaches for another cherry. He brings it to my lips and drags it along the seam, but when I open my mouth to take it from him, he pulls it away. “Be patient, Little one. Let Papi decide when you may have the treat.”
I whimper. My entire body is trembling. I’ve never been this turned on in my life. Granted, I didn’t even know what it meant to be horny until I started reading age-play books, but nothing I’ve read has made me as aroused as this man feeding me cherries.
He’s so dominant. I can feel his power wafting off him. It’s making butterflies take flight in my stomach. I’m marginally aware of the dull roar surrounding me, but I pay no attention to anything or anyone. All my focus is on this man. Is his name Papi?
He brings the cherry to my lips again and strokes the bottom one, causing me to pant. My lips part, but I don’t try to snag it. I wait for him to offer the sweetness to me.
I’m so aroused that my panties are dampening. The more I squeeze my thighs together, the wetter they feel.
The dark man bends so his lips are on my ear. The position causes his warmth to disappear from my back, making me quiver and almost whine at the loss.
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Little one?”
I lick my lips as I nod, getting another taste of the cherry flavor in the process.
“Yes, Papi,” he prods. “Show me what a polite Baby girl you are.”
I shudder. My voice is caught in my throat. I want to obey him with every fiber of my being. I’m drawn to do so. But I’m so caught up in how erotic this is that I can’t seem to find my voice.
Papi pulls the cherry away from my lips a few inches, teasing me. “I want to hear your voice, Little one. Tell Papi what a good girl you are, and I’ll let you have the cherry.”
I quiver with a need I don’t even understand. All I know is that I want to please him more than I want that cherry. “I’m a good girl, Papi,” I whisper.
He kisses my neck and pops the cherry in my mouth. “Precious. What a pretty voice you have.”
My taste buds seem heightened. The cherry is even more flavorful than usual.
“Can I get a water, Roger?” he asks over my head.
Roger slides a glass toward us.
When I try to tug my hands free of his grip, he squeezes them tighter. The act makes me squirm. I’m so damn turned on. Off the Richter scale.
The dark man lifts the glass and angles the straw to my lips. “Drink, Baby girl.”
I wrap my lips around the straw and suck. For him. Because he ordered me to do so.