Page 10 of Craving Danger

I love the ferns situated between the tables. It gives the couples some privacy.

A bar counter lines the one wall, and servers move between the tables and couches.

The atmosphere feels professional, and it helps ease my apprehensiveness a little.

“Please take a seat,” the woman assigned to welcome me says.

Turning my attention to her, I sit down on a black leather couch and place my handbag on my lap.

My eyes lock on her brown ones, and not knowing what to say, I wait for her to talk first.

“Welcome toParadiso.”

I can’t tell if she’s smiling.

“Thank you.”

“We want to assure you that your privacy comes first. Whatever you choose to do will remain between you and your partner or partners.”

Partners. Hell has a better chance of freezing over.

“You’ve requested to have a conversation with a man. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t give any requirements for age, personality, or looks.”

“None of that matters.” Feeling uncomfortable, I grip my handbag tighter. “I just want a man I can talk to.”

“Whatever you want.” She gestures for a server to come closer. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yeah, sure. A martini would be nice.”

She places the order before looking at me again. “I want to assure you that this is a safe space where you can explore and live out your fantasies. There are cameras everywhere, and we have a zero-tolerance policy should a member break the rules the other party has put in place.”

I nod and glance at the other people, wondering which man I’ll be talking to.

“Do you have any questions?” she asks.

“Not at the moment.”

“I’ll leave you then to enjoy your evening. Should your request change during the course of the evening, just notify any of the staff members, and they’ll assist you.”

Nodding, I watch as she gets up and leaves, and feeling more anxious, I start to nibble on my bottom lip.

I glance at the other members again and find everything…normal.

I expected a raunchy vibe. People getting it on wherever there’s an empty space, but this place is pretty decent.

The server brings me a martini, and I murmur, “Thank you.”

Needing all the liquid courage I can get, I take a couple of sips, and just as I pop the olive into my mouth, a man approaches me.

Shit. Here we go.

He seems to be in his forties, his salt and pepper hair graying at his temples.

When he reaches me, I stand up and say, “Hi, I’m Samantha.”

---