Page 18 of Dirty Little Secrets
Kristina:The one between his legs.
Nori:I wouldn’t know.
Kristina:Chicken.
Nori:He’s my boss.
Kristina:Aaaand.
And he’s currently standing behind me.
The tiny hairs on my neck stand up. The exotic note of Calabrian bergamot hits my senses. My stomach drops. I stuff my phone into my purse and close my eyes refusing to look up.
He clears his throat. Leaving me know choice, I look up slowly. He’s towering over my desk, arms crossed.
My gaze catches on the X at his throat before I manage, “I’m sorry, Mr. Drazen.”
He doesn’t smile. “Get to work, Ms. Summers. I don’t pay you to gossip.”
He turns and walks back into his office.
I groan and sink lower in my chair. So much for first impressions. But all I can think about is that he called me by my last name and not my first. And how badly I want to hear it again.
11
XAIDEN
Bash opens the door to the Bentley, letting me out in front of a remote office building tucked into a quiet corner of Tribeca. Most people pass by without a second glance, seeing only the generic signage and the illusion of corporate monotony. What they don’t see is what lies beneath. To most passersby, it’s just another glass tower blending into the skyline masked by similarity, indistinguishable from the buildings beside it.
I walk through the black marble lobby. Old man Hubert sits behind the white and chrome front desk in a plain black security uniform. He gives me a nod as he always does.
I step into the elevator. Lean close to the glass, place my thumb on the reader, it scans my thumbprint, then my retina. The glass doors slide shut, sealing me inside a world I built.
The elevator descends. When it stops, a holographic diamond wrapped in chains shimmers across the doors before they slide open.
“Welcome to Obsidian, X. Have a great time,” a woman’s voice purrs from the speakers.
Three bouncers stand at attention, waiting. They scan me again. No pat-downs. No checks for weapons. They already know who I am. The precautions are for everyone else.
I pass through the final soundproof door and into the heart of Obsidian. Bass thrums beneath my feet. Music pulses low and slow, like the throb of a heartbeat. The sound of sex and shadowed fantasies rises the deeper I go. This sex club isn’t for the faint of heart. It is for the ones with power. A place where families, jobs, and life are left at the door. The is the escape everyone wishes for.
The main lounge opens up in a blur of black marble and gold accents. Neon lights dance overhead, shifting with the rhythm. Screens flicker with voyeuristic scenes from private rooms. Men and women tangled together in curated sin, their desires dripping from every moan.
There’s no judgment here. No pretense. Only indulgence.
I made this place for people like me, people who need more but are afraid to voice it out loud in the real world.
Room 11 is waiting. I scan the barcode from my phone. The door unlocks and I step inside, knowing the feed is live, not caring who watches from outside. I could activate the app and let the scene stream to the elite members who paid for the privilege from wherever they are. But I don’t because I never do unless my identity is hidden.
The woman waiting for me wears red. Not just any red. The same blood-red shade Nori wore. A placeholder for the woman I can’t get out of my head. For a second, I question the woman begging to be fucked. The curve of her body similar to hers. The size of her breasts are a bit larger but it’s not her. She isn’t here. She couldn’t be. This place is catered to the elite. There is no way she would be able to get in without payment of that magnitude. And yet, the resemblance hits me like a sucker punch as myeyes roam over her dark hair, petite frame, curves that beg to be marked.
The woman is masked, and I prefer it that way. I don’t want to see her face. I want to pretend.
“I’ve been waiting for you, X,” she purrs.
I remain still, controlled. “I see.”
“Don’t you want to know my name?”
