Page 7 of Sweet Surrender

Jules was right. Considering the thought of him set my teeth on edge, it would be best if I worked out a little tension tonight. Whether that meant getting my drink on while dancing or hooking up with a hot stranger was anybody’s guess.

One thing was for sure. By the time I reached the lobby of our building, I was determined to meet Jules at the club. There were only so many one-time-only offers a girl got in her life. I couldn’t afford to pass it up.

4

NOAH

Anticipation.

It practically crackled, almost shimmering around me.

I knew it was a risk being here, but the fact it was a masquerade ball lessened that. I wouldn’t be recognized, and there was no avoiding the excitement in the air. Then again, that might have been the effect of a couple of drinks plus the elaborate lighting throughout the club.

I was hardly a stranger to this kind of establishment, but Dante had pulled out all the stops for this opening event. He wanted to stand out from the pack and provide an exclusive experience, something high-class, without the sketchy reputation such clubs could easily earn themselves.

Before leaving the lobby, all guests were required to surrender their devices—no chance of anyone taking pictures. I could appreciate the rule, even if I was already a little twitchy, patting the pockets of my black slacks in an unconscious effort to locate the phone. Being here made me uneasy, but the fact no one could identify me and have proof was another reason why I had convinced myself I couldn’t get caught there.

If I was distracted enough to think about that, it meant I wasn’t invested in the activity going on around me—not a good sign. I was too busy waiting for word to spread of the bullshit rumors with my name attached to them, waiting for the texts and phone calls.

Sienna knew why I was calling before I had a chance to explain, telling me it was only a matter of time before everyone in my life found out before a single word was published.

Rather than looking at this evening as an opportunity to escape that, my attention was locked in a box elsewhere in the club. In other words, it was pretty pathetic.

A curvy blonde nudged me accidentally on purpose as she leaned in to call her order out to the bartender. “Sorry,” she offered, her glossy lips curving into an inviting smile. She wore a mask that covered most of her face, and her green eyes stood out bright against the black lace ringing them. “Big night, huh? Have you ever been to one of Mr. West’s clubs before?”

Looking over the top of her head, I caught sight of the man in question standing near the doorway leading from the lobby. He wore a mask the way his guests did, but unlike the rest of us, he wore a tuxedo and made a point of warmly greeting everyone who entered. His hospitality was legendary, but at heart, he was a businessman. He knew what his clientele needed and went out of his way to provide for them.

“Once or twice, out on the West Coast,” I told the anonymous woman beside me. “But this is twice the size of Club Vanilla, at least at first glance.” Fuck, I was standing in a kink club with an interested, half-naked blonde next to me, and I sounded like I was moments away from discussing square footage.

She didn’t seem to mind, swaying closer, her tongue darting over her lips. “What are you into?” Cutting straight to the chase, it came as no surprise.

I’d been there for an hour and had already witnessed more than a few couples grinding openly on the dance floor. A handful of guests had slipped into the rooms ringing the floor’s perimeter, where various scenes were playing out for everyone to observe.

At midnight, a show would take place in the center of the dance floor. From what I’d overheard, it would involve elaborate rope bondage. That wasn’t really my preference, but I always enjoyed watching a woman being restrained and forced to receive pleasure.

“A lot of things,” I replied, and some of the light faded from her eyes. She didn’t do it for me—plain and simple—though I did enjoy the sight of her mostly exposed ass as she walked away, approaching another potential partner.

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with her. There was nothing wrong with any of the beautiful bodies around me, all of them at least partially naked. The blonde would easily find an eager partner who wanted what she was offering. I would’ve bet my net worth that virtually every flavor of kink and preference was on display.

For instance, a tall, latex-clad woman in knee-high spiked boots led a man on all fours, his head covered completely by a black leather mask to which his leash was attached. For all I knew, he could have been a client of mine or maybe an associate.

Servers wearing revealing French lingerie moved about carrying trays loaded with champagne to celebrate the club opening. I decided to stick to whiskey, shaking my head to decline an offer. Unlike many of the people around me, I wasn’t exactly in costume, sticking to a black button-down to match my slacks and a black leather mask that concealed the upper half of my face. Some people got off on dressing up, male and female, forgetting who they were in favor of being who they secretly longed to be.

Normally, I wouldn’t want to be anyone but who I was. Why would I need to pretend? I had everything and was hardly what anyone would call repressed.

Tonight was a different story. There was a storm building in me, swirling dangerously close to the shore. I needed to escape, but I had yet to find anyone or anything enticing enough to get me out of my own head.

I stalked around the space like a restless lion, my attention brushing over one scene after another. Both the dance floor and the seating areas were open for public play, and things were heating up now that alcohol had been flowing.

A pair of blondes kissed passionately on a long, leather bench while the men they were with stroked their legs and cocks. I glanced through the door to one of the side rooms and found a big guy who could’ve passed for one of the bouncers bent over a chair, having his bare ass flogged by a tall, imposing brunette who used a flogger like it was an extension of her arm. What a shame I wasn’t into having my ass flogged since I appreciated the professionalism, and she was clearly devoted to her craft.

Some people craved a little humiliation, even in front of a crowd. I preferred control and couldn’t imagine handing it over to even a trusted partner, especially not with a dozen curious bystanders getting off on the action.

I moved on, increasingly uncomfortable. Not even the sights and sounds of foreplay were enough to take my mind off my troubles. I might have been better off going out and scoring pussy at one of the usual bars I frequented with my friends. I had never failed once I set my sights on a new plaything.

I was on the fence about whether I wanted to stay or go when a bubblegum pink wig caught my eye. A few women wore wigs to further the disguise, and hers was an attention-getter for sure. She was medium height, taller thanks to a pair of heels that had to be at least four inches and roughly as thick as pencils. She handled them with ease, maneuvering her way through the crowd without missing a step.

Once the throng of bodies parted, I noticed the tiny girl walking with her. She wore a jet black wig, so long it brushed her ass, but the pink bob held my interest. There was no reason why, exactly. Between the wig and the mask, there wasn’t much I could discern about the woman’s identity. Yet her glistening, ruby lips were the first to draw my hungry stare all evening.

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