Page 2 of Mr. Sandman
It had taken three weeks and two days for my request to be confirmed.
For a date—for tonightto be chosen.
I skimmed over my attire, contemplating for a moment if I should undress but then decided against it. I didn’twant to make any decisions tonight… that was the whole point. I wanted to be dominated. Destroyed.Desired.
I needed something brutal and erotic and beautiful.For one night.If the Mirage was a carnal concierge, then I was the kinky Cinderella who wanted one night of fantasy.
I ran my fingers through my hair and opened the door to the suite. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. No, that’s a lie. I was expecting something akin to Christian Grey’s red room: dark lighting. Dark covers. Toys of torture tucked along the walls and in drawers.
This wasn’t anything like that.
It wasn’t bright, but it was well-lit. The decor wasn’t dark and shadowed, as though what happened here needed to be hidden; it was rich and gilded and ornate, like the suite was taken straight from a modern-day Versailles. Marbled surfaces and golden fixtures. The impression was that what happened here was meant to be exalted… treasured.
The soft sounds of classical music registered in my ears, just enough to keep the silence at bay. I snagged my lower lip between my teeth and let my inspection travel over the details in the room. Like the light switches, they all had dimmers.
I thought about it, but I didn’t adjust those either.No decisions.
I walked toward the four-poster bed directly in front of me, framed like a giant cage with no walls. My pulse thrummed in my chest. I was afraid to step into this cage, not because I wouldn’t eventually be let out… but because I didn’t think I’d want to be. The warm coil in my stomach tightened when I saw the gold button positioned on the nightstand.
Air pulled deep into my lungs, and I forced myself to remain calm.
If anyone at my firm learned about the want that twisted and knotted deep in my stomach… I shuddered to think about it. Jack, Donald… all the other partners at my firm… I’d never hear the end of their misogynistic mocking.
I continued to stroll through the room, my fingers grazing over the embroidered pillows and velvet fabrics. I knew I was stalling, but my heart was starting to race, and I wasn’t used to that sensation.
Not when I walked into a courtroom. Not when I defended celebrities. Not when I made decisions affecting the future of the entire firm. It never raced, because I had my emotions locked in a choke collar. I’d learned early on that the more you cared, the more people took advantage, and the more it hurts. That to succeed, I couldn’t be soft or vulnerable or wanting.
But here I could.I would.
When I reached the full-length mirror in front of the bed, I shivered, imagining what it would soon reflect.
Me.
Them.
I came here—went through all of this—in search of the same heaven pictured in that painting in the hallway. The same obliterating ecstasy without judgment or obligations. Without worry. Without weakness.
I came here for that same dream. For three strangers to share me.
For so long, I’d thought it was me. That I was justtoo muchfor any man. Too powerful. Too authoritative. Too imposing. I’d resigned myself to believe that success hadn’t just come at the expense of a relationship, but of sex, too. One man couldn’t control me… because I didn’t want to be controlled by one man because… fuck the patriarchy.
But then, I’d made the mistake of letting Jack and Don pick the location of our quarterly partner’s meeting, and they’d chosen the Mirage. Of course, we’d held the meeting in the PG13-rated lounge on the main floor, but not before they’d regaled me of their memberships to the exclusive sex club upstairs.
About halfway through the meeting, a woman walked in and sat at the bar. A few minutes later, two other men joined her, and then they all headed for the elevator upstairs to the club. Private rooms. All sorts of fantasies.
We left that night, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that woman and her two men.
Maybe I was too much for one man. Maybe I couldn’t be controlled by one man. But two? Three? Four? Like everything else in my life, I overthought the possibility and all its scenarios until I settled on three. Two wasn’t enough; four seemed like overkill. I needed three.If it was good enough for Goldilocks, it was good enough for me.
I returned to the nightstand and traced the rim of the gold button.
When I was ready to call him… Mr. Sandman.
That was what they called him. The one behind it all. The one who would make my fantasy come true.Mr. Sandman.
Almost like a switch, all my thoughts and wonderings flipped off, and my finger pressed down like there was some other kind of gravity weighing it onto the button.
Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.
