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Relief pounds through my veins, and as Casey hangs up the phone, her gaze sweeps to me again. She stands behind her desk with a fake smile and lifts her hand. I recognize the stamper for the gold moth pinched between her fingers. “Your wrist please.”
I step into the side of the reception desk and immediately offer my wrist. She presses the gold stamp to my skin, and I can’t help but watch as she pulls it away, leaving the perfect imprint of the moth against my wrist. A small smile pulls at my lips. The last time I wore this stamp, Austin and Izaac were staring at me in horror. It’s insane to think how much has gone down since then.
Casey puts the stamper away before moving out from around her desk. “Right this way,” she says, waving toward the main entrance to the club.
“Oh . . . umm. Don’t I need to sign paperwork and get a wristband?”
“That won’t be required today,” she tells me, her smile faker than the Rolex Austin wears. Maybe I was so caught up with everything last week that I didn’t take the time to notice how insincere she seemed. “When you enter the club, please head down to the VIP bar and make yourself comfortable. Perhaps try one of our frozen Daiquiris. We’re trialing a new recipe and in my opinion, they’re absolutely delicious.”
“I uhh . . . yeah. Okay.”
“Wonderful,” she says, striding to the door and reaching for the handle. She pulls it open and waves me inside, but I find myself pausing.
Glancing back at Casey, I cringe, feeling like an idiot. “You don’t happen to know his name, do you?” I ask. “I feel so stupid. I was so caught up in the moment last week that I didn’t even think to ask, and before it even occurred to me, it was already far too late.”
Casey gives me a tight smile. “Unfortunately, I can’t disclose the information of our members. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes, of course,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry, just go in there and have a good time.”
Not wanting to waste another minute, I walk through the door and into the main club, the loud, pulsing music instantly vibrating through my chest. A smile pulls at my lips. How is it that I’ve only been here once before and already it feels like home? There’s just something so right about it.
Up until I found this club, my life was predictable and boring. I lived within the confines of what my family expected of me, but here, wrapped in the glimmering lights and seductive music, anything feels possible. My only limitations are the boundaries I set for myself, and nothing has ever excited me more. Walking this club and taking it in only ramps up the tension that I’m so desperate to release, and despite not having Becs by my side, I’m more comfortable knowing exactly what’s in store for me.
My gaze sweeps through the club, taking in the insane scenes filling every corner. The threesomes. The orgies. The woman taking a cock so deep down her throat it’s practically in her stomach. And instead of stopping and chilling at the bar as everything unfolds around me, I head straight to the stairs leading down to the VIP lounge.
After flashing my gold moth stamp, I head down the stairs, and just like last time, I notice the shift in the music. There’s something so electrifying about it that I feel it deep in my soul. Then just as Casey requested, I make my way over to the bar and take a seat, only I skip over the frozen Daiquiri and order a Cosmopolitan.
With a drink in my hand, I swivel on the barstool and gaze out at the VIP lounge. It’s busy, just as I expected, and I can’t help but glance toward the dark room I was in last week. There’s no sign of my mystery stranger, but the buzz that pulses through my veins tells me that he’s definitely here somewhere. I can feel it.
I barely get to sip my Cosmo before a familiar face moves in beside me. “You were here last week,” the man says, his suit fitting him just right. I can’t help but drag my gaze over him. If I were into older men who looked as though they could turn a board meeting into their bitch, then he’d be the man I’d sneak off with tonight, but just like last week, he’s not going to scratch that particular itch.
“Hi, yes. I was,” I say just to be polite.
“All alone?” he questions as something flashes in his eyes.
Alarm bells sound in my head as metaphorical red flags sprout up all around him. Why does he need to know if I’m alone? Quite frankly, that’s none of his business, and honestly, it sounds like the kind of question that would come from a serial killer textbook. “No actually. Just waiting on a friend.”
“Ahh, I see,” he says before offering his hand. “The name’s Ryatt.”
I give him a tight smile, not daring to take his hand. Last week I put in more effort to appear approachable, and he easily picked up that I wasn’t interested, but tonight, I’m barely even polite, some would even accuse me of being rude or cold, yet he’s still sitting here as though he might have a chance.
“Aspen,” I say, glancing past his shoulder to the opening of the dark room, seeing no sign of my perfect stranger, not that I would have even a clue what to look for. I have no idea what he looks like or even the color of his hair. Just that he’s tall and stacked with muscle. Though if there were a lineup of dicks put out before me, I’m sure I could figure out which was his. There’s no mistaking that girth and length, not to mention the piercing that drove me crazy.
Ryatt tilts his head just a fraction, putting himself right in my line of view, a cocky smile pulling at his lips. “Aspen,” he says as if trying my name out on his lips. “Beautiful name.”
“Thank you.”
I fill the weird silence by taking a sip of my cocktail, and when he reaches for my elbow, the bartender clears his throat from behind me. I whip back to catch his friendly smile. “I’m sorry to disrupt,” he says. “However, your presence has been requested in the dark room.”
A thrill shoots through me, and a heavy throb pulses deep in my core. “Wonderful,” I say, getting to my feet. I give the bartender a slight nod of thanks before turning to Ryatt. “It was a pleasure seeing you again.”
“Of course. Perhaps next time you and I could get to know each other a little better.”
Doubtful.
“That would be nice,” I say. “Now if you would excuse me . . .”
