3. Enzo #2
“From this moment, you will be known as Brian,” she says once she has the signed document. “You do not reveal your identity to anyone inside this building under any circumstances. Do you understand?”
“Why?”
“Do you understand?” Her tone doesn’t alter but I sense the brittle edge peeking through.
“Brian,” I repeat the name.
“Now, give me your left hand.”
I extend my arm, and she clamps a metal band around my wrist. It’s cold. When I run my finger around it, there’s no clasp to unfasten it. “What’s this for?”
“You’ll find out if you break the rule.”
“What’s the rule?”
“Mask first, Mr. Sabatelli.” She hands me a black leather mask with holes cut out around the eyes, nose, and mouth. “You are to wear this at all times.”
“That’s two rules. Wear the mask and tell no one my real name.”
“You’re paying attention.” Her eyebrows slide upwards.
I place the mask over my face, and someone appears behind me to fasten it around the back of my head.
Before I can turn around to see who it is, the woman says, “When the door opens, you will enter a corridor.”
Her voice is muffled through the mask, so I focus on her over-painted lips through the eyeholes. It’s tight. I can already feel my skin growing damp beneath the leather.
“Each door in the corridor has a name. If the light above the door is green, you may enter. If it is red, the room is occupied. Choose a door and enter.”
“That’s it?”
“You will be free to experience your wildest fantasies, Mr. Sabatelli. But only if you abide by the rule: you must not touch.”
The flashlight goes out.
She vanishes into the darkness as a door opens in front of me just enough for me to see the soft red glow around the edge.
My feet sink into thick carpet, adding a bounce to my step as I enter the corridor and the foyer door closes behind me.
My wildest fantasies.
Who the fuck walks around with a list of fantasies in their head like some kind of erotic bucket list? Their reality must suck if they take that shit seriously. Either that, or they’re the kind of perverts who shouldn’t be allowed to talk to anyone unsupervised.
My expectations are practically zero by the time I reach the first room on my right. The gold sign on the door reads: VENUS.
I keep going.
On my left, I pass APHRODITE AND CIRCE. On my right, HEDONE and CALYPSO.
I think I’m starting to get it. Each goddess must represent a certain type of fantasy, although I’ve no idea which.
Mythology isn’t my strong point, and I’m starting to feel as if I’ve laid out a whole load of dollars and a pair of Ralph Lauren shoes to watch a goddess playing with herself.
Then I reach a door with the name NYX on the front.
I hesitate. Does Nyx have something to do with night? If I had my cell phone, I could ask Google, but without it, I’m trusting my instincts to see me right.
Green light above the door.
I don’t second-guess it.
Feeling vulnerable in my socks and with the leather mask secured around my head, I enter total darkness and the automatic lock buzzes behind me. It’s disorienting. I take a couple of steps across the same bouncy carpet as in the corridor, arms extended to feel my way around and touching nothing.
“Hello?” My voice sounds different, no doubt due to the mask muffling the sound.
“Sit.” The soft voice is somewhere behind me.
I spin around and almost lose my balance, my knee colliding with a solid chair. The darkness is deafening, dense, and I find the back of the seat and lower myself into it.
But not before I catch the faint scent of perfume.
I breathe in as deeply as I can with the restricting leather and hold onto the faintly musky aroma, trying to determine the wearer’s location in the room.
“Hello, Brian.”
She’s close, but the voice is distorted, I’m certain of it. The club is taking no chances with the clients discovering the goddesses’ identities.
“Nyx?” I tilt my head, listening for the sound of movement nearby and hearing nothing. “Are you a recording?”
“No, I’m real, Brian.”
Yeah, the name doesn’t sit right with me, but I’ll play along for now. “So, when does the show begin?”
“The show?”
I feel the whisper on the back of my neck and turn in my seat. My hand instinctively swipes the air surrounding me, remembering too late the no-touch rule.
“Nu-huh, Brian. No touching.”
She’s further away now. Is she teasing me or did I get too close?
“What happens if I touch you?”
There’s the briefest pause, then, “You don’t want to know.”
“Has anyone touched you before?”
“So many questions.” She doesn’t answer though.
“I like to know what I’m getting into. It’s a tough habit to break.”
Nyx takes her time. “Did you come here to see a show?”
“No. The… invitation gave nothing away. Just a name. JADED.”
“Yet you felt compelled to come here tonight. Why?”
“Long story.” I still have no idea where this is going, and my patience is non-existent after Bianca’s arrival at my apartment.
“I have all night.”
“Yeah, but I don’t.” I’m being an asshole. It isn’t even about money; it’s about being disappointed when the results don’t match the promise. “The woman at the door mentioned living out fantasies after she got me to sign an NDA.”
I sense Nyx stiffening even though I have no idea how big the room is or if we’re even alone. Is that it? Is Nyx paid to talk until I touch her and then watch me get hauled out of here while she waits for the next sucker?
I stand up. “Who else is here?”
“Sit down, Brian. We’re alone in here, I promise.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll have to forgive me for not believing you when I still have no fucking clue what to expect.”
“Do you have someplace else to be?” Her voice is maddeningly steady.
“What? No. Why do you ask?”
“You said you don’t have all night. It’s a lot of money to hand over if you’re on a tight schedule.” She’s coming closer again.
“No, I don’t have someplace else to be.” I never cared much about rules even as a kid. If I can touch her, make sure she’s real, I’ll risk the punishment. “Why do I need to wear a mask, Nyx? Can you see me? Is that it?”
“No, I can’t see you.” Her perfume wafts in front of my face and I lean forward trying to taste it. “How does the mask make you feel?”
Okay, so we’re still talking. “Hot.”
No response. I sense that she has moved away again until I give her something she can work with.
“Claustrophobic. Gimp masks are not my thing.”
“Can you feel the blood pumping around your veins?”
I hesitate, focusing on the gushing in my ears, and my heart thudding inside my chest. “Yes.”
“Embrace it, Brian. Lean into the mask instead of counting the moments until you can take it off.”
Something brushes the back of my neck, and this time it doesn’t feel like her breath. I jolt in my seat as if burnt. “So, you’re allowed to touch me, but I’m not allowed to touch you?”
“I didn’t touch you.” She’s in front of me now.
“I felt it.” I raise my hand and touch the back of my neck where I can still feel the tingle. More than that, I can feel it in my loins, in the bulge expanding inside my pants.
“You only imagined me touching you. I’m right here in front of you, Brian.”
“Where?” My voice cracks. “Why can’t I see you?”
“Because I’m the night. I’m the fantasy inside your head when you close your eyes and go to sleep. Would it be as much fun if the lights came on and you could see me?”
“I like seeing my fantasies when they happen.” My erection throbs, exposing the lie.
“Describe me, Brian. What do you see right now?”
“I don’t—”
“No copout. You’re paying for the privilege, so humor me.” She isn’t laughing at me, but she does sound as if she’s having fun, and I find myself smiling behind the mask.
“You’re wearing black leather.”
“Too gimmicky.”
“Okay…” I focus on a spot in the darkness, neon lights flashing in front of my eyes, and think about it. Really think about it. “You’re not naked. But you’re not fully clothed either.” Silence. “You’re wearing sexy underwear.”
“Color?”
Not black, that would be too obvious. She doesn’t sound as if she’s wearing red either. “White.”
“Interesting. Do you want me to be naked?”
Do I? The thought of Nyx naked, in control of the darkness while I’m fully clothed and not allowed to touch, makes my cock twitch. “Yes.”
The pause drags on. I listen beyond the blood coursing around my body, and I think I hear the faintest rustle of clothing. I swallow hard. Fuck!
“Okay,” she whispers, “you haven’t finished describing me.”
“Are you naked?”
“Yes.”
“Are you close enough for me to touch?”
She hesitates, then, “Yes.”
I inhale her perfume. She’s close, so close I swear I can feel the warmth of her skin. “You’re blonde. I chose Nyx because I thought of the night, but now I think you’re blonde.”
“Go on.”
“Your eyes are green, like a cat.” I lick my dry lips. “No, not green, they’re hazel with flecks of amber.”
“That’s very specific.”
“You’re strong. A runner.” I close my eyes. “And when you come, you have the biggest smile on your face.”
I swallow again, harder this time.
The woman I just described is Demi.