Page 2 of Room Seven

Pain so unreal I can’t even catch my breath takes over my muscles and locks my chest down tight. So much for the

Breathe, you damn woman. Breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale

There’s only one way to ease the burn of razors cutting into my soul. Slowly, as not to catch the attention of those around me, I use the dim lighting to slip a hand beneath the hem of my dress. If it were Mirsha’s hand on me, he wouldn’t be gentle. I wouldn’t want him to be. Luther’s touch would burn hot and Viper would have me dripping all over all three with the slightest of touches. It would be freeing, agonizing pleasure.

My eyes fall closed. Slick juices coat the tips of my fingers and I drag my nails over my slick, sensitive folds. Watching the woman in front of me take her lovers into her mouth, first one, then the other, is arousing beyond measure. Currents of sensuality wash over me. Low-tempo music reverberates through the makeshift ballroom and feeds into my desires. Briefly holding her gaze, I drive a finger into my slit and smear more slickness over my clit.

My mouth silently falls open, and I stroke the tortured flesh using my thumb. Slow at first, but it doesn’t take much to send me falling over the edge of a fast ending. I bite down on the corner of my lip to keep from crying out.

Breathing heavily, I ease my hand from between my legs. Perspiration dots my body and the warm glow from my release washes over me.

But it’s still not enough. The pain will be back.

The release dulls the pain that goes beyond the need to simply climax. The ache I have inside me penetrates to the very marrow of my bones.

God, I’m such a fucking mess. Being here is a mistake. I need to leave and just let them go.

But you can’t, cries an insufferable fucking voice in my head and my heart shamelessly agrees. I have to know once and for all if I am the only one feeling this overwhelming consumption.

Bronze sconces and heavy century-old crystal chandeliers dim and a spotlight focuses on a raised stage. It sits at the far end of the room where a sensual show has started for the people who love to express themselves in public.

The woman in the leather bodice and her lovers reach their peak and drift off to another part of the large room. It’s then I realize they are part of the show.

And that is when it happens. My roaming gaze locks eyes with a set of gunmetal gray eyes that turn stone cold the second recognition hits.

They see me.

A cool blast of air carries hints of their cologne–a heady mixture of masculinity and virility. Of sin and pleasure and I tumble backward into a memory. Two years ago. A stolen kiss. Luther and Mirsha danced with me a little too long the night of my eighteenth birthday. But Viper isn’t so subtle. I’d gone for a walk in the gardens and he had followed. Our stolen moment nearly had me losing my virginity in the winding paths of my father’s maze. I don’t know what made us come to our senses, but our stolen moment has fueled my dreams for two years.

I twist my fingers around the cool, fleeting feeling of hope. I track the shadows of my three mafia men as they finish their drinks and push to the far end of the ballroom. Each of them slips into the lush gardens beyond arching French doors without a backward glance.

Fear and a rush of excitement winds through me. This is it. One second I am breaking out into a cold sweat and in the next I’m burning up with need.

It’s too late to worry about whether I should do this. I’m here and I have a room key that came with a hefty one-night price tag. Besides, if not tonight, when?

I sneak between the busy couples. If they can have what they want, so can I.

I push the long strands of my hair from my face and take the first step toward either a terrible decision or possibly the best kind of mistake I can commit.

Only the morning will tell.

If you want something, reach out and take it. No one will just give it to you.

Words my older brothers cut their teeth on and spoken by our father. But I took them in as my own. After all, I am a Constantine as well.

Sweet, sensual hints of Jasmine welcome me when I step through the same doors they just left. To my right are pristine gardens, sensual sculptures and endless amounts of moonlight. I pause for a moment. The ache in me turns vicious when I head to the right.

Okay then.

I do one-eighty and move deeper into the darkness, following a brick path. Moist leaves from an afternoon shower brush against the bare skin of my arms and legs. I opted for a soft cashmere dress that hugs my curves and dips just enough to reveal the golden chain with the heavy crown tucked between my breasts. Last year’s birthday gift from Mirsha.

I round a small bend in the path and come to a sudden stop.

I inhale sharply. For a second, I think I have stumbled into Greek gods making out in the gardens of Club Sin. But no. It’s just the power of silver light and the talented hand of a sculptor.

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