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My research told me otherwise.
And oh, does my heart flutter at the anticipation.
My phone buzzes again, reminding me I haven’t opened the incoming message. I swipe to remove the evidence from my screen, watching his name slide by and the letters disappearing one by one off the edge: O-T-T-O.
The driver clears her throat, reminding me I’m not alone and I’m wasting her time.
“Sorry! I’m a little distracted.” I add a hefty tip to the rideshare app and secure my wristlet.
“Not a problem, hon. You have a good night.”
“Thank you. You too,” I say, adjusting my short dress as I step into the balmy night.
Telling myself a brief pause is to let my eyes adjust to the darkness, when in actuality I’m calming my nerves, I take a couple of breaths of the warm humid air through my nose. I’m out of my element tonight, but that was my decision. I set this entire plan into motion, and now it’s time to execute follow through. I pull my shoulders back and lift my chin. With the grace of a catwalk model in my five-inch stilettos, I cross the road, bypass the long line, and sashay to the security guard at the front door.
H
e peruses my body as I near, skimming over the high heels and the short hem of the blood red minidress I’m wearing. If I move just right (or wrong) he’d see a flash of my black silk thong. I can feel his gaze sweep over the curve of my hips to follow the dip between my breasts that nearly reaches my navel. He licks his lower lip seductively and gives me a half smirk.
“Are you lost, sweetheart? Or is there something I can help you with?”
“Ally Baker. I’m on the list.” I state with more confidence than I feel.
His grin turns devious as he slides his finger along a tablet in his hand. “Ah, of course, Miss Baker. I have you right here.” He opens the heavy steel door at his back. “Go ahead and Seth will see you in.” He finishes with a wink and a nod, encouraging me to walk inside.
“Miss Baker, right this way.” A large man decked out in all black like a member of a SWAT team, including a thick black vest over his torso, gestures for me to follow. Presumably Seth, although, I don’t ask. I’m finding it hard to swallow through the thickness in my throat.
At thirty-six years old, I—a married woman—am being led into a ritzy club in order to meet my fantasy. And that husband of mine, who so thoughtfully sent a text not ten minutes ago, is somewhere out in the throng of people. Watching.
Did I say I was being led into a club? It feels more like a lion’s den.
My heart rate increases with each tap of my heel. Seth takes us up two flights of stairs, lit only by small, round, white lights embedded in each step. At the top, he holds open another door for me to pass through, and we enter a hallway painted a deep red that matches my dress.
“Right through here, Miss. The VIP lounge.” At the end of the hall, he discreetly types a code into a keypad. He pulls open the door. I’m immediately assaulted by techno music and strobe lights.
“Thank you,” I murmur as I pass.
The open plan space is awash in deep reds and blacks and chrome. The ceiling is open with painted black venting and beams. Directly across from the entrance where I stand on a platform is a long bar with seating for at least twenty, with a single stool open in the middle. Comfortable looking stuffed chairs and couches line the perimeter in nooks with red curtains on each side for privacy. Some open and others completely shut. Between the bar and me is a crowd of people undulating on an open dance floor.
As I make my way unhurriedly down the five steps from the door, I spot a gleaming silver cage in one corner beneath a strobe light. The bright flash hiding the people within. A flush crawls up my neck, to my cheeks, from the heat in here and the anticipation.
I finally reach my destination, that lone stool in the middle of the bar, and delicately seat myself so I’m facing the many rails of booze and ceiling high mirrors along the back. My hemline hikes up my thighs. I don’t bother fixing it. Its proximity to the little triangle of my thong heightens the thrill. Instead, I take my wristlet into my fidgeting fingers and wave it at the bartender. She smiles and flashes me her index finger before going back to making four dirty martinis.
“Are you waiting for someone?” The deep bass of a man’s voice drifts by my ear. Goosebumps prickle my arms at the quiet rasp somehow heard above the din.
I cock my head and turn slightly in my seat. Just enough to show he has my attention, but not enough to put my body on display like I’m begging for it. Attention, that is. I’m not. I’m not here for just anyone. This plan has been in motion for six long weeks, and with one glance, I believe my target has been met.
“Not anymore.” A coy smile has his blazing blue eyes dropping to my mouth.
With no seats available, he steps closer into the gap beside me, delivering a panty melting smile of his own. The scent of sandalwood fills the space between us. He leans his right arm on the bar top and begins a slow perusal of my outfit. I give myself time to do the same, following the sharp pressed lines of his charcoal suit, complete with a jacket covering his white dress shirt. The top three buttons undone at his throat give a tempting glimpse of his tan hidden beneath the clothes he wears. His chest appears smooth, and it takes my mind to the place of steel muscles encased in soft skin I want to touch.
“Sorry about the wait, what can I get you?”
I’m interrupted from openly lusting at this man by the bartender finally joining us. Just in time, too, as my mouth has gone dry and is begging for a drink.
Though, I’m sure it’s not alcohol I want.
I briefly close my eyes, willing myself to have patience, and direct myself at the pretty brunette tending bar.
