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Is that a bad thing?
I don’t ask, because I can tell by the look on Phantom’s face that yes, he considers that a bad thing.
“You’re here under my protection,” Phantom says, “but I can’t guarantee that protection unless everyone else here knows you’re mine.”
“Excuse me? Yours?”
“Only for the evening, and only while we’re here.”
“Ms.”—Claude looks down at the paper—“Thomas, if you have any reservations at all—”
I hold up my hand. “No, I’m absolutely fine. Just… You know. First-time jitters.”
Claude seems to buy my lie.
The fact of the matter is, I want to talk to people here.
I want information.
“Everything’s in order,” Claude says. “You may take your guest in.”
We meander through the entryway, into—
Another world.
I have to keep my jaw from dropping to the ground.
At first glance, this could be any dance club, right up to the disco ball above. Dark red decor, dim lighting. Soft jazz plays, and a large bar sits at the far end of the room.
People dance. People sit at the bar. People talk huddled in corners.
Except some of them are naked. Completely naked. Others are dressed normally, like Phantom and I are—if you can call Phantom’s mask and cape normal.
And others are dressed still differently. In leather or lingerie.
One person is even dressed in rope.
“What do you think?” Phantom asks.
“I think…I want to know more.”
“This is a place, Angel, where your wildest fantasies can come true. But first, I need to know what those are.”
“What are your fantasies?”
“I disclosed one the other night. How I’d love to see you on your knees, bound, your mouth held open.”
I squirm, my pussy aching.
“Does that sound good to you?”
I squirm again. “It sounds…intriguing.”
“Tell me something, Angel. Have you ever been tied up?”
I shake my head.
“Would you like to be?”
Would I? “I’ve honestly never given it any thought.”
I look around. Per the contract, I can’t take any pictures, so I want to memorize this place.
“Think about it,” he says.
“I will.”
“What would you like to do? We can get a drink at the bar. We could dance. I could show you the other areas of the club.”
“What other areas?”
“The public exhibition rooms. And then there are private rooms for partners who don’t want to play out in the open.”
“Do you play out in the open?”
“I have in the past, but I don’t prefer it. Sometimes, though, with a new partner, she prefers to be out in the open for her own safety.”
“But you’ve guaranteed my safety. So have Alfred and Claude.”
“Absolutely. Look around you. There’s security everywhere.”
“Cameras?” I ask.
“No. Cameras aren’t allowed here. But there are security guards posted everywhere.”
I cast my gaze around the room. Sure enough, burly security men stand at nearly every entrance.
Every corner.
“What would you like to do?” I ask.
“What I would like to do has no bearing, because you’re not ready for that.”
“What if I am?” I say boldly.
“Then you’re lying to yourself. You don’t know me yet, Angel. But I’d like to change that.”
“How am I expected to know you when you won’t tell me your name?”
“Because this is fantasy, Angel. Pure fantasy. I would like nothing more than to make your fantasies come true.”
His deep and raspy voice makes my skin heat.
I don’t even know what my fantasies are.
To be swept off my feet? To be fucked into oblivion?
Sure, that works. But isn’t that every woman’s fantasy?
What do I want?
What does Francesca Maria Thomas want?
“So you want to know my fantasies.” I smile.
“More than I want my next breath,” Phantom says.
“I want to see your face,” I say. “I want to look into your eyes when I kiss you.”
“The mask doesn’t keep you from looking into my eyes, Angel.”
He’s right about that. His eyes are beautiful, and maybe the mask makes them even more so, because they stand out so darkly against the white. His long lashes, his deep brown irises. In the dim light, his pupils are large and black, his irises a thin rim around them.
“I don’t show my face here,” he says. “I have my reasons for that. Reasons I may tell you sometime. But not yet, Angel. We don’t know each other that well.”
“That’s my point. Shouldn’t we know each other before we… You know.”
“We’re engaging in the physical,” he says. “I know all I need to know about you to do that.”
“You don’t know me, though. For all you know, I could go running and screaming out of here. I could tell everyone what goes on here.”
“But you won’t.”
“How are you so sure?”
“Call it intuition. Call it clairvoyance if you want to. Most people are trustworthy, and you’re not one of the ones who isn’t.”
He’s right, of course.
But I am going to write an article. I just won’t write about the name of this place. Or him. Or Claude. Or anyone else I might see here.
Already I hear my lead in my mind…
