13. Will
THIRTEEN
WILL
When you think about it, it’s kind of funny that there’s a strict dress code at these types of things, considering most people there will end up butt naked by the end of the night.
But dressing up has always been part of the fun.
It sets a tone. Allows you to slip into another frame of mind, like a performance. Builds the anticipation.
Ari drags me around New York City to every boutique and tailor he knows until we find the perfect outfits. We spend most of the afternoon drinking champagne while being measured and pinned and smoothed over by people who cost more per hour than I used to make in a week.
I can’t deny it’s fun. And Ari gets a thrill out of reciting lines from Pretty Woman and calling me Edward.
It’s the most fun we’ve had in a long time.
We choose suits that are meant to match without being identical. Black with black satin detailing that catches the light, and off-white satin shirts. We both decide to forego bow ties in favor of leaving a few buttons open. It is a sex party, after all.
My suit is structured. Double-breasted, and broad shouldered with clean lines.
Ari’s is… not.
When he steps out of his room, my brain stutters. My mouth goes dry.
The shirt Ari chose is halter-cut, the front modest enough to pass for formal with the jacket on.
But without it, his arms and back are completely bare—smooth skin exposed from the nape of his neck to the small of his back.
It’s draped over his body like it was made for him, meant to draw the eye to every perfect inch of him.
I can think again when he puts the jacket on, although he still looks good enough to make me want to weep. The suit jacket fits him perfectly, slim-cut and tailored to his narrow waist and long lines.
I don’t even realize I’ve been frozen, open-mouthed and in awe, until he turns, catches me staring, and lifts an eyebrow.
“What?” he asks, reaching for the satin eye mask that was delivered with the ornate keys that are our tickets to enter the venue.
“I—” I swallow hard. “Nothing.”
It’s a terrible lie, but he lets it go.
My eyes track his every movement as he ties the mask, his fingers deft and practiced, nails painted a shiny black that matches the detailing on our suits. When he looks at himself in the mirror, there’s a confidence there that I know isn’t always so easy for him. Or it wasn’t. It looks good on him.
God, he’s beautiful.
The drive over is quiet. It’s not tense exactly, but careful. Like we’re both aware that we’re playing with fire. That tonight is something fragile, something we could easily mishandle if we slip into old patterns.
And by we, I mean me.
The limo pulls up to the curb outside the venue. I step out first and instinctively offer my elbow to Ari as he exits the vehicle.
He hesitates for a moment before accepting it, wrapping his arm around mine. The contact is light, polite even. It still sends a jolt straight through me.
“Are you going to behave?” he asks under his breath as the doors open and the sound of music spills out into the night.
I huff a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m going to try.”
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
“I just mean—” I glance at him, and then immediately regret it. “You look… distracting.”
He smirks. “That sounds like a you-problem.”
“You’re telling me,” I mutter to myself.
We step inside together, masks on, keys tucked into the front pocket of our lapels.
The space is stunning. It’s filled with dark wood, low lighting—a simple but luxurious décor that is welcoming and enticing.
The opening cocktail hour is social and exploratory.
People circle each other, assessing, admiring.
Always respectful, of course, but the undercurrent of arousal already fills the air.
Every eye in the room is on Ari. Not in a gawking way, but in a way that recognizes they’re in the presence of something ethereal. They’re in just as much awe of him as I am.
Even I feel their eyes on him like a physical pressure, like I’m standing too close to a flame but can’t bear to move away.
Breathe, Will. Remember why we’re here. To be normal.
It takes every bit of willpower I have to release my hold on him and step back. The separation creates a painful void I can feel in my soul.
Especially when someone steps around Ari, their hand briefly brushing the small of his back. He hasn’t even taken his jacket off yet, but that brief but lingering touch has me breaking out in a cold sweat.
We’re guided through the venue in a small group and shown the various rooms and dim-lit intimate spaces.
Our guide, a sultry voiced woman in a fitted black satin dress and matching mask, drifts through practiced explanations of the rules and the flow of the night.
I can barely focus on her, my attention keeps drifting back to Ari.
How close people stand to him, how easily they flirt, how naturally he seems to draw people in like moths to a flame without even realizing it.
By the time we’re invited to get more comfortable, and the jackets come off, my stomach is in knots. I’m trying to play it cool, but I must look worse than I feel, because Ari walks over to me, frowning slightly.
“Are you okay?” he whispers. “You look a little green.”
“I’m fine,” I say, unconvincingly as a wave of panic heats my face.
He studies me, worried. “We should leave if you’re not feeling well. I’ll call the car.”
Guilt slams into me. I promised I’d do better.
“No,” I say, reaching out before I think better of it. I stop myself short of actually touching him. “Don’t. I’m not sick. I just feel a little strange. It’s been a while since we…” I gesture around vaguely. “You know.”
He nods slowly, his eyes meeting mine and shining with understanding. “I know what you mean. It’s different from how it used to be, right?”
We both knew this might not work. That’s why we made the agreement. We’re here and we’re going to give it a try, if it’s too much we can leave. There’s no pressure to engage. No pressure to play.
The problem is I do want to play.
I just don’t want to play like this.
I want to play with him. The man who has been my best friend since we were kids.
My brother.
I need to push through this. I can’t stand the distance between us lately, but I know we can’t go there. There has to be a middle ground.
“Maybe we should just walk around for a bit,” I suggest. “Watch. See if anything sparks.”
Ari hums thoughtfully, then shrugs. “Sure, why not?”
Side by side but not touching, we walk through the various rooms, where scenes have already started. People are stripping themselves or each other, touching, teasing. No one is outright fucking yet, but I’m sure it won’t be long.
I don’t get the same thrill I used to. I’m starting to come to terms with Ari being the attraction that caught my attention in these rooms. Rooms where I could control his pleasure and pretend I was the one giving it to him.
Rooms where I could look into his eyes and pretend the mouth on me was his.
But now that the rules have changed, it’s not the same. It’s pretty awkward, actually. Not unbearable, but not right either.
I can feel Ari’s attention drifting, his energy flattening instead of sharpening the way it would before.
After a while, he leans in close enough for me to hear him over the music and sound of other people's pleasure.
“It’s not the same,” he says quietly. “I guess I’m not much of a voyeur.”
My pulse stutters. That was always my role, but I stay quiet, unwilling to confess this to him here. He seems to hear my thoughts anyway, because he turns, fully facing me.
He meets my eyes through the mask, his eyes rimmed with kohl to enhance the dark effect of the disguise. “I think I liked being the one watched.”
The words hit me in my balls before I can rationalize that he doesn’t mean me specifically. He means that he likes to be the subject. My mouth gets away with me, and I don’t think before I answer.
“So let them watch,” I say, my voice husky, sounding like I’ve swallowed gravel.
Ari’s breath catches, and his pink lips part. His eyes lock on mine, as if seeking clarification. Or permission.
“Show us what we’ll never get to touch,” I whisper.
The atmosphere in the room shifts, becoming heavy. The air between us is thick and electric, humming with all the possibilities I just unleashed. All the torment I’ll lay at my own feet just to get one glimpse of his pleasure.
Can I handle this?
I don’t know. Maybe not.
Probably not.
But I’ll swallow my own tongue and chain myself to the floor if I have to. I’m pretty sure there’s a room for that around here somewhere, actually.
Maybe this is the middle ground I can live with. Or maybe I’ll regret this later. But I don’t take my eyes off Ari as I take several steps back and sink down to a tufted bench against the wall.
Ari swallows, and I track the movement with my eyes before they fall slowly down his body to where his hand slowly massages his bulge through his pants. He takes a couple steps back before he hits a matching bench across from mine.
Taking his eyes off me momentarily, he looks around the room, taking stock of the people around us.
There’s a couple rutting against the wall to his left.
A woman wearing nothing but a choker with her entry key hanging off it is getting her ass eaten on a fur rug in the middle of the room.
And there are several people, mostly men, in various stages of undress, stroking themselves or getting their cocks sucked.
One man, leaning on the wall not three feet from where I’m sitting, is getting sucked off so enthusiastically, the guy on his knees is slurping and gagging loud enough that it almost takes my mind back to the first time I ruined one of these parties for Ari.