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My cheeks are red, my fingers not wanting to work when the clerk hands me the white band. Emmett pulls it from my fingers and snaps it around my wrist, squeezing my trembling fingers when he finishes.
“We have private rooms if you’re interested,” the guy behind the counter explains.
“No thank you,” Emmett quickly declares.
“It’s a great night for new people,” the clerk says, not looking the least bit put out at the refusal. He looks in my direction. “Two drink max, but nothing but water, soda, or juice for you.”
I nod, wanting to tell him I wouldn’t drink even if they let me. I’ve tasted alcohol before, and I think it’s gross.
“Nervous?” Oracle asks, leaning in close as we push through the heavy door on the far side of the room.
“A little,” I confess, squeezing Emmett’s hand when he takes mine.
“Have fun,” Stormy says and like they have a plan in mind, the other three guys split off.
My nervousness settles some with them disappearing into the room, the dim lighting swallowing them up.
“Something to drink?”
I nod. “A water would be great,” I tell Emmett, letting him guide me to the bar.
People who walk past us nod, but they don’t stop to speak with us. A few guys give me a once-over, but they grin in Emmett’s direction like they’re complimenting me to him, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
A handsome-looking guy with DYLAN on his name tag greets us as we step closer to the bar.
“A water and a Coke, please,” Emmett says.
“First timers?” Dylan asks as he pulls a cold bottle of water out of a bin and places it on the counter before grabbing a glass for Emmett’s Coke.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask.
“Not really. I work every night and remember faces.” He slides the Coke across the counter, nodding in appreciation as Emmett stuffs a twenty into the tip jar. “There are monitors all over.”
I turn, following the point of Dylan’s finger.
“The guys in the bright yellow shirts,” he explains. “If you have any issues or feel uncomfortable, just flag one of those guys down. They’re here to help and make sure you’re having a good time.”
“Thanks, man,” Emmett says to him before turning to me. “Want to find a seat?”
“Is that what we do, just sit down and watch?”
“People watching is fun,” he says, his hand sliding back into mine possessively.
He guides us across the room, picking a dark corner. As we approach, he notices that the area is occupied. As if I’ve caught someone doing something I shouldn’t witness, I jerk my eyes away, quickening my pace when he heads in a different direction.
He leads us to the other corner, and I’m relieved when we see that it’s empty.
“She was sucking—”
“I saw what they were doing, Dev. We don’t have to discuss it.”
I snap my jaw closed, thinking he’s in a foul mood but then I see him adjust himself in his slacks before sitting down. He’s turned on, and if I let myself think about it, I think I am too.
The air is thick in the club, as if the warmth of everyone breathing and being aroused is settling on my skin as I sit beside him on the small sofa. It’s lush and I don’t bother resisting rubbing my hands over it, melting into the texture.
“I don’t know if tonight was such a good idea,” he mutters, snapping his eyes to mine.
I look to my right where his eyes were and gasp. I knew we’d see things tonight. I did a little research on sex clubs when Oracle mentioned it. The research pulled up varying results depending on the location, but the consensus was the same. People would be having sex and would be engaging in various sexual acts all over the place. There would be same-sex interactions, oral sex, and even group sex going on. I thought reading about it would prepare me for it, but as I watch the man on the stage lower his mouth to his partner’s private area, the zing of awareness I felt seeing this sort of thing on the computer is nothing like what I’m feeling now.
Emmett clears his throat. “Is that something you like?”
I swallow, trying to ensure I can speak without squeaking. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Never been tied up?”
I figure I can handle a mature conversation about likes and dislikes.
“Never had umm—” I point to the couple on stage, watching with my mouth hanging open as she wiggles in her restraints, her body convulsing with an apparent orgasm. “That.”
“An orgasm?” He sounds the way he did that day that he asked me what Seb’s last name was.
“That either,” I tell him, turning my head to look at him because the man is now standing and unzipping his jeans.
“No one has ever eaten—”
I press my fingertips to his lips. “No. I don’t have a lot of experience, but I’m hoping that doesn’t turn you off.”
