Page 20 of Twisted Lies 3
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I strode out of my townhouse and down the stairs toward the driver waiting patiently while leaning against a sleek black limo.
He pushed away, tilting his head toward me. “Good evening, Ms. Michaels.” He studied at me from head to toe with an appreciative gleam in his eyes while opening the back door.
“Thank you,” I replied, maneuvering into the limo.
Shutting the door, he scampered around to the driver’s side before sliding in.
“My name is Ace,” he offered before turning the key and revving the engine.
“Hi, Ace,” I returned before staring through the window, watching him drive smoothly into the Manhattan traffic.
After a few minutes of zipping in and out of the snarl of taxicabs and buses, Ace pulled up in front of the McKay Club.
Anxiously, I smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in my dress, waiting for Ace to open my door. Stepping out, I bit my bottom lip while staring at the nondescript warehouse that didn’t have any of the fanfare of other clubs of this caliber. No lines were queued up behind the red velvet rope.
“Have a good time, Ms. Michaels.”
“Thanks, Ace,” I said before strutting up to a man wearing smart business attire and a clear Secret Service earpiece.
“Welcome to the McKay Club, Ms. Michaels.” He greeted me as if he’d been waiting all night to see me. “When you step into the lobby, you’ll find our door host stationed directly in front of the entrance to Noire.” He gestured toward my wrist and then placed a black wristband around it before stepping aside.
“Thank you,” I responded before entering the club.
I surveyed the scene, which was a little different from the last time I’d visited. The lobby was lit with what must have been thousands of candles. My gaze wandered to the man standing guard before an entrance draped with expensive-looking fabric as a guest flashed a black-and-gold wristband.
The door host shook his head. “Sorry. This area is members only.”
Advancing across the space, the door host glanced down at my ink-black wristband and promptly stepped aside with a, “Noire is down the stairs.” He pulled aside the fabric, allowing me entry.
The softly lit corridor with a sloped, mirrored ceiling and dark brick walls was different from anything I’d seen.
My stomach fluttered with anticipation as I thought of what lay ahead. With my sky-high heels tapping down the mirror-lined staircase, it didn’t take me long to reach the Noire lounge. Immediately, I was attracted to the dazzling bar that encircled an illuminated champagne tower, and I decided to head toward it.
Once firmly planted in front of it, I beckoned the bartender. “Moscato and vodka.”
He nodded before scampering away.
Tapping my foot to the music, I glanced around, stopping at the DJ tucked artfully in the corner. The dance floor was crowded with barely dressed bodies gyrating to the hard-hitting beat. Guests on the catwalk and semi-private second-floor mezzanine seating area eyed the partiers below. The multilevel space was like eye candy. Scantily dressed servers flittered around the edges of the dance floor, holding trays of champagne, mints, and condoms. I scanned around to my right, and nestled around the perimeter of the main level were harem-like tented booths draped with luxurious heavy silk fabric.
My breath hitched when I saw a blond woman I recognized from a popular television show leading a half-naked buff man by the hand into one of the tents. Normally, I would have felt like a total pervert watching the couple, but I knew this was the whole point of Noire—to watch and be watched. So like a deer in headlights, I gawked as the curvy blonde motioned him to his knees. Balancing on one leg, she flipped her other leg over his shoulder while he wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, and then he leaned forward, devouring her center like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Holy shit,” I mumbled under my breath.
So engrossed in the sexual antics, I hadn’t even noticed Zuri’s approach until she was standing directly in my path with a champagne flute in her hand. Leggy Zuri had donned a patterned cutout leather dress and teamed it with cerulean shoes.
Letting out a loud breath, I gestured for her to move aside. “Zuri, you’re interrupting the best sex show ever.”
Zuri scooted to my side. “So I see you’re enjoying the sexcapade.”
The couple had closed the tent.
“I was.”
Not that I was into public sex-play myself, but I respected the boldness of others who got off on it.
I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. Peeping over it, I saw the bartender staring at me.
