Chapter 12 #2
Sitting back, he holds out a drink for me. “Vodka, right?”
I take the glass, roll down the window, and dump it. Dropping the glass into my cup holder, I raise the window again.
“Oh, come on,” he teases. “You never needed persuasion.”
But slipping me a roofie so he can get me into a compromising position in that room might be the kind of persuasion he needs.
I’m not fucking drinking anything, unless it’s from a bottle I see opened in front of me.
We coast up into the hills, the incline pressing me back into the seat. Silence fills the car, and my body hums, feeling him close.
It’s just the adrenaline.
The impending potential danger of the night to come.
But I can’t keep my eyes off him.
Drifting up his legs to his waist and then his chest, I don’t care if he sees me looking. I’ll look at whatever the hell I want.
His suit hugs his body in all the right places, and I go no further than his neck, but I know when he knows, because his chest hitches for a beat.
He’s so controlled now. Different than he used to be.
The car dips over a manhole, our knees brushing, and my groin fills with blood.
“Can I touch men?” I ask, finally lifting my eyes.
His voice is just a murmur. “Yes.”
Good. I hear about these clubs in Miami, but most accommodate straight people or woman on woman.
“You know I’m not coming in here just to up the ante, right?” I say, more as a rhetorical question.
I’m not interested in daring him to catch me past midnight. That’s not what this is.
He blinks his understanding. “I know you wouldn’t put yourself in my company willingly.”
“On the contrary,” I reply. “I want to know what it must feel like to be you.”
I half smile, watching the trees and homes go by out the window, periodically meeting his eyes. “You’re as close to a Roman emperor as I’ll ever get.”
His eyebrows reach for his hairline, and I know he doesn’t believe it. He’s not that rich and powerful, of course, but…
“The first time I read about an ancient orgy,” I explain, “I got so hard.” I lick my lips, remembering the picture I had formed in my head.
“All the things to feel. All the things to watch. Masked dancers wrapped in see-through fabric. Wives worshipping each other. Cocks so hard they’re fucking swords and wet with oil, being stroked long and slow. ”
I lock on him, sitting across from me and remembering the fantasy of seeing what I really wanted to see.
“Bending him over a bed,” I go on, “and burying myself inside of him so fast and hard, because he’s driving me crazy and all we can do is hold on.”
When I lower my eyes, I see his nice black pants are beautifully tight and tented.
I smirk as we pull up to the country club, Callum’s body rigid and his fingertips pressed into his thighs.
The driver exits the vehicle and comes around, opening our door.
I sit there, waiting for my host, but he looks like he wants to say something.
Callum sits up, barely breathing, and I’m ready for it.
But he simply tells me, “There’s no smoking in there.”
And then he exits the car.
I rumble with a laugh. Fuck, I forgot cigarettes. One might’ve been in order tonight.
I follow him out of the car and through the unmarked brown door of the field house in the back of the property, a single light shining overhead.
When I close the door after me, we’re immediately consumed in near darkness, the scent of cement and wet earth taking me back to the last time we were here.
We both left bloody, but I left standing.
Lifting the lid on a panel, Callum presses his thumb to a screen. The scanner moves up and down, flashes green, and the door opens, a beautiful young woman in a tight black dress smiling at us.
“Mr. Ames.” She holds the door wide, welcoming us in. “May I take anything for you?”
He unloads his cell phone, and I hesitate, until he glances over his shoulder at me.
Pulling out my cell, I drop it on the tray with his. I watch her put them in a bag and slip it into a wooden cubby labeled Ames.
Another woman approaches us, carrying a tray. A selection of condoms adorn the silver plate, a variety of textures and colors. No lube?
“An offering?” the first girl asks Callum, gesturing to me.
He nods, and I straighten as she moves to me.
“You may only do what you want and leave when you’re ready. You may—”
“I’ll make sure he follows the rules,” Callum cuts off her little spiel.
Aw, but I wanted the full experience.
He approaches the door ahead, and I gaze around the room, noticing there’s still a table with four chairs and a wall of compartments as well as a cooler with refreshments. I guess people need to hydrate as they leave.
There are monitors showing the outdoor perimeter, and above a sideboard table is a wall with masks. Mostly carnival type, but there are a few horror-themed ones.
“Should I wear one?” I ask Callum. “Some of them might not like facing their daughter’s high school teacher during a conference a month from now.”
“That’s specifically what they’ll love most about it,” he retorts.
I laugh to myself, staring at the back of his head. He’s gotten quicker.
I may actually have fun tonight.
He plucks two condoms from the tray, handing me one over his shoulder. I take it. “Just one?”
What if I need more?
But he simply growls, “Wear it.”
“But I feel so much better bare,” I tease, lowering my voice to a whisper. “You remember.”
I can honestly say he was the only one I ever did that with. He was a virgin, and I’d always been safe, and I don’t know what happened. The second time, I just needed to feel him.
Was it worth all the trouble he’s caused my family?
I still can’t be sure how I’d answer that.
Callum turns his head toward the screens, and I follow, both of us noticing the men approaching the unmarked brown door outside. I narrow my eyes, making out Jerome Watson, one of Macon’s old nemeses. I don’t recognize the other one.
Callum moves. “I’ll give you a head start,” he tells me. “I have to check on Sophia.”
One of the girls reclaims his phone, handing it to him.
I glance at the monitors again, seeing the two men entering the hallway.
“Browse.” Callum holds the phone to his ear. “You are completely safe for another ninety-eight minutes.”
Until midnight.
The door ahead of me opens, and I dart my gaze from the monitors to Callum, seeing him turn to talk on the phone.
I didn’t need a tour anyway. I’d rather go at my own pace.
Purple and blue light fills the room ahead, and I step in, the smooth beats of the deep house music vibrating against my body.
Everything hits me at once. The darkness of the club, the black walls and purple couches…
The high ceiling with a dozen crystal chandeliers.
The small groups of people hiding in alcoves or gathered at intimate tables.
Turning my head, I find the door to the anteroom closed to me.
My chest falls, everything feeling heavier for a second.
Why the hell am I nervous? I’m never nervous.
I just can’t help but wish Iron was here, though. I’ve shared people before, and I’ve been watched but…
I hesitate, finally realizing I’ve never been watched by strangers.
Filling my lungs, I lift my chin and walk into the Wolfe Room. Nothing is uncomfortable after ten minutes, I tell myself. I belong everywhere.
Large seating areas fill the center of the room, an occasional couple sitting close, hands moving under tables and inside dresses.
A few women stand displayed along the right, elevated on platforms but still within reach.
Eye candy dressed only in nipple coverings, glitter, and tails, and as I pass alcoves and tables of other women in miniskirts, corsets, and red-soled heels, I understand there’s a difference between the two.
It’s not only St. Carmen elite in here. The women displayed are brought in for variety, their scantily clad, perfectly proportioned bodies strapped to poles.
Makes sense. There are wives who don’t play, I’m sure. They need more women.
The smooth beats of the music filter through my head, down my body, and I sweep my eyes over some of the most perfect skin I’ve seen in my life.
Trim waists giving way to shapely hips and asses, and I can’t help but want to watch these women move more than I want to know what they feel like. The beauty on display is incredible.
My mouth goes a little dry, and I have to swallow to wet my throat.
I would enjoy going slowly in here, watching for hours.
Drapes are pulled closed on certain alcoves, whatever’s going on in those booths demanding privacy.
Others are wide open, a woman spread-eagled on a table holding some man’s head between her legs as two others watch.
It’s a feast for the eyes. No overwhelming struggles or fucking to exhaust you before you’ve even started. Slight moans here and there, no screaming. Girls sitting in men’s laps, no grabbing.
Touching, tasting, taking their time…
Nothing I haven’t seen before, but this is on a much larger scale with a gathering of people who know exactly what they’re here for. Saves time, I guess. Seductions can be tedious when you just want to get off.
A circular bar sits toward the back, and I approach. “You have Palma?” I eye the bartender.
He nods and scurries to get it.
I’m not sure if they charge here, but I reach for my wallet as he brings the bottle back and starts to pour the beer into a chilled glass.
“It’s fine,” I tell him, taking the bottle.