Chapter 11 #2
Someone calls, “Tippi!” A tall person with short turquoise hair and a constellation of piercings grins, arms open. They’re wearing fishnets, denim shorts and a mesh top over a black binder. “You made it.”
“Did you think I’d miss my favourite place?” she laughs, hugging them tightly. Then she pulls back and gestures between us. “Jacob, this is Jay. Jay, this is the handsome Brit I’ve been texting you about.”
My ears heat. “Hello,” I offer, hoping my handshake isn’t gauche.
To my intense relief, Jay takes it firmly.
“We’ve heard good things.” They wink, but it’s affectionate rather than predatory.
“New folks get extra check-ins, so if anybody gets handsy, you find me or staff, yeah? Your peace of mind matters more than our reputation.” Their gaze flicks between me and Tippi, reading something in the air.
“You two have fun. And don’t forget to hydrate.
That’s not just a kink thing, that’s a health thing. ”
As they melt back into the crowd, Tippi smiles. “I love this place,” she says. “Everyone’s so… human.” Her fingers slide into mine, squeezing happily. “Oh, yay! Look who’s here.”
I follow her gaze. A woman is leaning against the bar, laughing with the bartender.
Dark hair falls in glossy waves down her back, almost to her waist. Her dress is simple black, but it fits her like it was tailored for her body alone.
When she turns, her mouth curves, and I feel, stupidly, like I’ve seen that smile on a screen somewhere.
“Tippi,” the woman says, delighted, as they approach. “I should’ve known you’d be here on a Thursday.”
“Marissa.” The name comes out like a purr. They kiss each other on the cheek, then linger a moment too long, noses brushing. There’s history there, obvious and unashamed.
My stomach flips. Here. We. Go. I can see it so easily: Tippi pressed against this woman, laughing, hands roaming, bodies slotting together with practiced ease.
“And who’s this?” Marissa asks, turning to me. Her eyes are dark and assessing, like she’s tasting the air around me.
“This is Jacob,” Tippi says. “He’s…” She hesitates, then smiles in a way that makes my heart pound faster. “He’s important to me.”
Marissa’s eyebrow quirks upwards. “Nice to meet you, Jacob.” Her tone is appreciative as she offers her hand. Her skin is warm, her grip confident. “You a member, or a guest of the chaos tornado here?” Tornado. What a perfect word to describe Tippi.
“Guest,” I tell her. It feels like an understatement.
“First time?”
“Yes.” With how much I’m squirming and hesitating, I’m not sure how she even needed to ask.
She smiles, softer now. “Congratulations on picking a good chaperone. She’s one of the reasons I joined.”
Tippi flicks her hair. “I am excellent orientation material.”
“You’re something,” Marissa agrees, eyes dancing.
Jealousy flares, then flickers out. It’s not that Tippi has a past; I knew that. It’s that the past is standing here, gorgeous and familiar, and I’m… new. New and unpractised. My brain supplies unhelpful comparisons like an auto-complete function gone rogue.
Then Tippi’s hand tightens around mine. “Hey,” she says quietly. Her thumb rubs over his knuckles, a mirror of my own stim. “Check-in. How are you doing?”
I search for the truth instead of the expected answer. “I’m… unsure,” I admit. “Somewhat jealous. But also… very aroused. And curious. It’s… a lot of data to take on board all at once.”
Marissa laughs softly. “I like him,” she tells Tippi. “Honest men are hot.”
“Back off, bish” Tippi shoots back, but she’s smiling. Then she looks at me again, all playful edges gone. “Your feelings matter more than anything we might do tonight. If you want this to stay between us, it stays between us. I mean that.”
I look at our hands, at the blue band on my wrist and the pink on hers. At the way she’s positioned her body fractionally closer to me than to Marissa, like I’m one she’s orbiting.
The jealousy shifts. Not away entirely, but into something smaller and quieter, drowned out by the rush of wanting. Wanting her, wanting to see her lit up, wanting to know what it feels like to be part of this bright, effervescent world she inhabits so easily.
“I don’t want to leave,” I say honestly. “I don’t want to stop you being you. I just might need… reminders. That I’m not incidental.”
Tippi’s eyes soften. She rises onto her toes and kisses me, slow and sure, right there at the bar, one hand on my jaw.
It’s not a quick peck; it’s a statement.
When she pulls back, her voice is steady.
“You are the opposite of incidental,” she says.
“You’re the headline, Jacob. Everything else? Footnotes.”
Something unknots in my chest. “OK,” I murmur. “Then… let’s see what happens.”
Marissa’s smile turns positively wicked. “Well,” she says. “If we’re seeing what happens… There’s a man over there who’s been trying very hard not to stare at you two.”
I follows her gaze. A tall man in a fitted shirt and slacks is lounging against a pillar, drink in hand. He’s handsome in a sort of model-adjacent way, but his gaze is careful, controlled. When our eyes meet, he lifts his free hand in a small, polite wave rather than a leer.
“I know him,” Tippi says. “Elliot. He’s more into watching than playing.”
“That sounds ominous,” I observe, though my pulse jumps with curious, tentative interest.
“Only if you don’t like voyeurs,” she counters. “We don’t have to involve him at all. But he’s very respectful. And very appreciative.”
Elliot approaches only when Tippi crooks her fingers in invitation. Up close, he smells faintly of aftershave, something woody and botanical.
“Evening,” he says. “Don’t want to intrude. Just wanted to say you three are exceptionally aesthetically pleasing together.”
“Thank you,” Tippi says, amused. “This is Jacob, and Marissa. Jacob’s new. We’re going slow tonight.”
Elliot’s gaze flicks to me and stays there. I don’t sense anything predatory about him. He’s just… open. “Congratulations on your first visit,” he says. “Would it be all right if I watched you? From a distance. No touching, no commentary, no weirdness. Just enjoying the view.”
The idea sends a jolt through my body, half alarm, half electric thrill. Someone watching me. Watching us. Knowing what’s happening without being part of it. “I… don’t know,” I say, feeling drawn both to no and to yes.
“Then it’s a no for now,” Tippi says immediately, turning to Elliot. “Sorry, handsome. Maybe another time.”
My heart stutters at the ease of it. There’s no pressure from any quarter.
No disappointment from Elliot for me to ruminate on.
He simply nods and gives me a small, peaceable smile.
“Of course. Thank you for considering it at all. If you change your mind, have Tippi wave me over. If you don’t, I’ll be downstairs pretending to understand modern art.
” And with that, he fades back into the crowd. No harm done.
“You OK?” Tippi asks softly.
“Yeah.” My mind is buzzing with the simplicity of it all. “I just… need a moment.”
“Do you want to sit? Or go upstairs? Or leave?”
I stop and listen inward. The sound, the colour, the promise of upstairs. The knowledge that I can, at any point, call a full stop.
“I want to see the third floor,” I say. “Then I’ll decide.”