Chapter 3 Roman
ROMAN
Ifeel sick to my stomach.
It’s a familiar feeling these days, this mixture of guilt and desperate desire. It’s the same every time I step foot in Club Wyld. Hell, the feeling isn’t contained to these walls. I feel like this every time I so much as think about Noelle Kline.
Which means I feel like this pretty much all the time.
I should not be walking through the steel door right now.
I know that. It’s bad enough that I watched her dance tonight.
She knew I was watching, too. Her attention locked on me while she moved around that platform, her body lithe and luscious as she danced, something sultry and wanting flashing at me from the blue depth of her eyes.
Damn, she’d been so beautiful up there. She’s always beautiful.
Noelle is a tiny little thing, but she’s got the kind of ass and tits that make me insane, nice and thick, just perfect for my big hands to grope and grab.
She keeps her blond hair long and wavy, and I can never decide if I like it better flowing around her shoulders or up so I can see the pale skin of her neck.
And her eyes—fuck, I sometimes lose the ability to speak when I look at those stunning wide blue eyes.
Tonight had been something else, though. I almost swallowed my tongue when I saw her walk out with that fucking bow wrapped around her middle. I wanted nothing more than to rip it off her, to unwrap my sweet girl like the gift that she is.
But not a gift for me, I remind myself. Never for me.
It’s killing me, this obsession. I want Noelle so badly I can’t think straight, can’t sleep most nights. She’s fully under my skin and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Which is why I’m currently making my way down a side hallway in the back area of Club Wyld, heading for the private booths.
Don’t do this, I tell myself, but I know there’s no stopping me, not now. I’m going to sit in that booth and I’m going to watch my sweet little Noelle do all the nasty things I demand. She’ll do them, too, no matter how depraved the request. She’s a good girl. A very good girl.
And I know this, because it isn’t the first time I’ve given into this particular temptation.
In the year since she started working here, I’ve watched that woman fulfill almost every one of my wildest fantasies.
I’ve seen her ass get red from a masked Dom’s paddle.
Seen her tied up by one of the club’s shibari experts, the intricate, decorative ropes and knots displaying her body to perfection.
I’ve seen her handcuffed. Squirming under nipple clamps.
Tortured by another sub using a vibrator, as directed by the Dom in charge of the scene. I’ve seen every inch of her naked.
I’ve seen how breathtaking she is when she comes.
But I’ve never seen her have sex. Apparently, that’s not something she’s comfortable participating in at the club.
And thank God for that. Even though there’s a very sick and twisted part of me that gets hard at the mere thought of watching Noelle get fucked, I know that I couldn’t handle it.
I’m pretty sure I’d kill any asshole who tried to get his dick within a foot of her perfect, curvy little body.
God, I’m so fucked.
I enter the private booth I reserved earlier in the evening—no, this hadn’t been a spur of the moment decision. I’ve been planning on watching my girl up close and personal since I walked in here. Have I mentioned I’m a filthy pervert?
The viewing area is small, about the size of a walk-in closet, just enough room for a leather arm chair and a side table.
The furniture faces a floor to ceiling glass panel.
There are no lights on my side of the panel, just as I requested.
I want to sit here, alone in the dark, and watch my perfect angel on the other side of that glass.
I take my seat and pick up the tablet the club host left for me. This is how I’ll make my requests of the performer. Of course, she’s not obligated to do anything I ask. Submissives always have the chance to say no at Club Wyld.
But she won’t refuse. I know she won’t. We have, after all, done this before, in this very same room. Noelle might be relatively new to this lifestyle, but she’s a submissive through and through. A Dom tells her to do something during a scene and she does it.
This room is the only place I get to be that Dom. I’ll enjoy watching her through this glass wall, but that’s as close as we’ll ever get.
I’m not the guy who gets the girl.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy the fuck out of the next half hour.
I read through the options on the tablet and make a few selections, then sit back and wait.
The image of Noelle dancing takes over my mind.
She’s always so sexy when she dances. And it’s not just her mouth-watering body that gets to me.
It’s the way she looks so free. I can always see the moment she gives herself over to the music, the way she loses herself in the beat.
She never looks more herself than she does when she dances.
A light suddenly turns on in the space behind the glass wall, and I sit up straighter. It’s starting.
“Fuck,” I mutter, the second Noelle steps into the spotlight. Her half of the viewing booth isn’t quite so sparse and nondescript as mine. There’s a straight back wooden chair, a plush white rug, and a small wooden cabinet, all arranged exactly as I described when I reserved the booth.
Of course, the booth’s decor isn’t what has my attention.
Noelle is dressed precisely the way I requested—a lace bra and a short black apron.
The lace is sheer under the bright spotlight and I can make out the shadow of her pink nipples underneath.
Her blond hair is down in waves around her shoulders, just as it was the first night I saw her.
Her make-up is the same too—minimal enough to still see the light smattering of freckles on her nose with shiny, bubblegum pink lips.
The effect is the same as it had been that first night—a perfect mixture of painfully sexy and sweetly innocent.
Fuck, I want her. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
Sitting behind this glass is torture when all I want to do is reach into her side of the booth and get my hands on her.
I want to wrap her tiny little body in my big arms and consume her.
I want to taste those bubblegum lips and see what they’d look like stretched around my cock.
I want to tweak her perfect nipples until she squeals with pain and then I want to do it some more.
Jesus. I need to calm down. She literally hasn’t even done anything yet, just stood under the spotlight with her head bowed like the perfect little submissive.
I hit the button for the intercom and bark out my first order. “Begin.”
She would have already read through the selections I made on the tablet, but that’s just a place to start.
I can always make adjustments through the intercom, if I want.
It’s not something I usually do, wanting her to at least have the illusion that it’s anyone else besides me sitting behind this glass.
But tonight, I’m feeling reckless. Maybe it was the torture of watching her dance in that fucking red bow all night. Or maybe it’s the surge of hot jealous rage I’d felt at that idiot bartender for flirting with her.
Either way, I have a feeling I’m not going to be able to be such a silent observer tonight.
On the other side of the glass, Noelle moves to the cabinet and picks up a bottle of bourbon.
I groan when she bends a little to pour it, showing me her perfectly round ass, clad only in a black thong under that short apron.
What I wouldn’t give to turn that ass red with my hand.
Or my paddle. Fuck, she’d look good with welts from my paddle.
Noelle fixes my drink and puts it on a tray before walking up to the glass.
I’m not sure if she’s realized that I’ve recreated the moment we met—hell, she probably doesn’t even remember it, surely not down to the last detail the way I do.
Either way, her breathing has quickened a little, her cheeks tinged with the slightest shade of pink. Is she nervous? Excited?
She stands in front of the glass for a moment, letting me look at her up close, before moving to place my drink in the small pass-through cabinet that allows the users of these rooms to transfer objects.
She bends to set the drink in her side of the cabinet and I groan again—this time it’s her tits practically spilling out of the sheer lace.
I’m obsessed with this woman’s tits. They’re fucking perfect, slightly too big for her small frame, full and plush, with the prettiest pale pink nipples I’ve ever seen. I’ve gotten myself off just imagining what it would feel like to taste those nipples.
Once she’s deposited my drink, she returns to the center of the room, under the spotlight. I take the glass from my side of the pass-through cabinet and sit back in my chair, ready for the show to start.
Music starts, but it’s not the sensuous dark beats she danced to earlier. This is something softer, something sweeter. Something more appropriate for the angel on the other side of the glass.
She removes her apron first, just as I requested.
I bite my tongue to keep from moaning at the sight of her revealed to me.
The thong is tiny, barely covering her mound, and the front panel is as sheer as the bra.
I want to rip it from between her legs, to see her pretty pink pussy up close and personal.
I want to fucking feast on it and make her come.
But watching her do it herself will have to suffice for tonight.
She kicks the apron out of the way and stands there for a moment, letting me admire her. Then she starts to dance.