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Carter takes my hand, sending tingles spiraling up my arm as he marches to the front, where four very imposing bouncers stand guard in front of a purple rope. Quaid walks to the side of us and Logan walks slightly behind me, his hand pressed to my lower back. The placement is at that spot that I've always called "the lady killer" right above the start of your ass. The move would usually give me shivers, but knowing it’s Logan doing it now, the effect is almost too much. My brain has started to malfunction over the course of the day from being in such close proximity to the three of them.
I guess that could be the brain cancer as well, but I'd prefer to think it’s the hotness factor of the three of them combined.
Carter makes it to the rope, ignoring the cries of outrage from the crowd that has most likely been waiting for hours. My jaw drops when he releases my hand to give a fist bump to the two largest bouncers. They look like they could probably both bench my car back home if they wanted, and Carter appears to be best friends with them.
"Celeste is going to go crazy when she sees you, bro," one of them comments in a decidedly American accent. He casts a look over the four of us, his gaze leveling on me. "You're just asking for trouble, aren't you?" he says with a laugh while shaking his head.
I have lots of questions, number one being who the fuck Celeste is, but a close second is what kind of trouble this guy thinks Carter is going to get into by bringing me to this club.
Again…who the fuck is Celeste?
The bouncer unlatches the purple rope, and Carter once again grabs my hand, dragging me behind him into the darkness ahead of us. We go down a hallway that's been painted black. It has neon graffiti of a million French words that I don't recognize splattered all over it, and a purple spotlight clicks on every couple of seconds, highlighting a different section of the hallway.
I haven't been to a lot of clubs. Hence why the idea of going to a world-famous French one sounded so appealing earlier when I'd thought of it. I'd been able to go a few times in medical school with some classmates, but I'd never felt comfortable totally letting go in front of them. It was too cutthroat at the school for me to really relax or do anything stupid that they could potentially use against me later.
Looking at the three men around me, I'm pretty sure that won't be a problem with them.
The music is loud, even walking in the hallway, and I'm already bouncing to the beat of the deep techno beats. We turn a corner, and there's a vault looking door manned by two more bouncers dress in head to toe black.
They give Carter that "what up" chin nod that all guys seem to be pros at, and then they open the heavy door.
The music is so loud, I have to take a step back. Quaid catches my elbow and gives me a questioning look. I respond with a grin that I'm sure resembles that of a loon, but what can I say…I'm excited.
We walk into the room to see a mass of writhing people spread out over three stories. Women and men dressed in black leather dominatrix gear hang in cages throughout the room, dancing seductively to the pulsing beats. I stare at everything in awe.
Quaid and Carter both look right at home as Carter continues to lead us off to the side of the massive main floor. There are sleek black booths in the shape of a half-circle set up on the sides of the room, but they're all full. A waitress dressed in black leather booty shorts and a red lace bralette top comes up to us and squeals as she hugs Carter.
Jealousy hasn't been a feeling that I've been acquainted with over the last ten years, but right now, I'm thinking it's a good thing I don't have a knife because the bitch would probably be at risk for being shanked if I did.
"Down girl," Quaid whispers in my ear. I send him a haughty, unamused look, which only elicits one of his deep, toe-curling laughs. It does the trick though, because when I look back over, Carter has extricated himself from the waitress's grip and she's now leading us to a miraculously empty booth that I'm pretty sure was completely filled just a second ago.
She gives Carter a kiss on the cheek once we're sitting at the booth and then sashays away, looking ridiculously perfect in her cherry red Louboutins.
"So I take it you come here a lot?" comments Logan as we settle into the cool leather seats. Logan swings his arm around my shoulder while Quaid gets as close as humanly possible on my other side, setting his hand possessively on my knee as he does so. Carter's gaze lingers on where Quaid is caressing the skin on my knee. As soon as he sees me looking, he tears his gaze away deliberately.
I shiver, and it feels a bit conflicted honestly. Quaid’s and Logan's touches are threatening to set me on fire, but there's also a tangible emptiness inside of me without Carter's attention.
Something is seriously wrong with me.
"I have a good friend who owns the place. I try and stop in a few times every time I'm in Paris on assignment," Carter answers, although it takes me a second to remember what the question is, since Quaid has started to inch his hand up my thigh.
The waitress brings over drinks, shooting me a friendly wink that has me feeling slightly less crazy. We spend the next hour drinking and people watching…and there are a lot of people to see.
Deciding that I'm ready to start dancing, I down my drink and two of the shots that the waitress brought us and stand up. "Alright, boys, who’s going to come out there with me?" I ask, letting the liquid courage rush through me.
"I'm in," Quaid says quickly, standing up and grabbing my hand exuberantly. I laugh at his antics while secretly delighting in this feeling of being wanted.
"I'll be there in a while," Logan comments, lifting his glass of bourbon in a salute to both of us.
I don't bother looking at Carter. He'll come when he wants…if he wants.
Quaid dances like a god.
I'm barely aware of the sweaty limbs that are hitting me because Quaid's control of my body is absolute. His hips move against mine seductively, never passing over that line where you're basically just fucking on the dance floor like so many of the people around us.
There's something hotter about Quaid's more subtle movements…like he's just giving me a taste, but the taste is enough for me to know that his bedroom skills would not disappoint.
His hands slide down the sides of my body, tightening on me. His voice is dark and dangerous as he whispers in my ear how much he loves my "fucking body" and how he can't wait to get me in bed.
