Page 15 of Endless Obsession
I swallow hard, suddenly imagining myself splayed over one of them. I don’t know if the hitch in my breath, the sudden spike in my pulse, is out of fear or want.
“You okay?” Jaz asks, leaning in and I nod, my mouth dry.
“I need a drink.” I start to walk towards the bar, Jaz staying right next to me, just as she promised. The bartender comes over immediately—it’s not all that busy yet; it’s still relatively early for a Friday night. He’s a handsome man with dark hair—or at least, handsome so far as I can tell. A white theatre mask covers one half of his face, Phantom of the Opera style, leaving the other half bare. One blue eye twinkles at me cheerfully, and the half of his mouth that I can see curves upwards in a smile.
“What can I get you ladies?” he asks, his voice deep and rich, and a shiver runs down my spine.
“I—gin and tonic. Two limes.” I fall back on my usual bar order when I want something other than wine, needing something familiar in this place. Something I can count on, that I’ll be sure to like. And I definitely need something stronger than wine right now.
“A Gold Rush for me,” Jaz says, sliding onto the barstool to my right.
“What’s that?” I look at her curiously, as she leans forward, her elbows on the marble bar top.
“Whiskey, honey, and lemon syrup.” She brushes a lock of hair out of her face. “A little smoky, a little sweet.”
“I should try that,” I say without much conviction—I’ve never tried whiskey before.
Jaz chuckles, taking her drink from the bartender as he brings them over, nudging mine towards me. “That man is looking at you,” she says softly as she raises her glass to her lips. “In the half-mask, with the gloves. He hasn’t stopped watching you since we walked in.”
“How do you know that?” I hiss, taking a large sip of my drink. “He’s wearing a mask.”
“I can still see his eyes. And they’ve been on you since we stepped through that door.”
Almost guiltily, I let my gaze slide over to the man Jaz is talking about. I spot him immediately—it’s impossible not to. Even masked, he has the kind of presence that immediately demands attention. He’s tall, with dark blond hair. I can’t see his eye color from here, but I can see his build, fit and strong underneath the black button-down and suit trousers that he’s wearing. He shifts slightly, and I can see the flex of his muscles in his arms and chest, tugging at the shirt.
And Jaz is right. He’s staring right at me.
“Go talk to him,” Jaz hisses.
“I—” I take another swallow of my drink. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Just try. If he puts you off, I’ll be right here. But he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you.” Her voice drops. “And if you want him to, I bet he will.”
A fearful thrill rushes through me at that. It sounds preposterous—the idea that he could do such a thing like that, here, when I don’t even know his name yet. But he could. He could do it in front of everyone, or in one of those alcoves, or in a private room. He could do it without ever telling me his name, or me telling him mine. If we both wanted it, I could take that kind of pleasure from him, with no strings. No repercussions. Without ever seeing him again.
There is a strange kind of freedom in that. A kind of excitement.
Licking my lips nervously, I slide off my barstool, stepping towards him. There’s an instant shift in his energy as I approach him. A moment ago, he was watching me patiently, observing, but he straightens a little as I approach, perking up like a hunter watching his prey. It sends a shiver down my spine, heat pooling in my stomach as I stop just in front of him, my hand clutching my drink for dear life.
“Hi,” I manage. It sounds woefully inadequate for the situation, but I don’t know what, exactly, is the opener for meeting a stranger in a sex club. There should have been a briefing, I think, swallowing back laughter. A pamphlet, maybe.
“Hello.” His accent is British, crisp and formal, but there’s a roughness to it, a sexiness that makes that shiver tingle down my spine again.
“I’m—” I start to say my name, forgetting the anonymity part of all of this for the habitual politeness that’s intrinsically a part of me, when his finger suddenly touches my lips.
I forgot about the gloves that I noticed, when I first looked over and saw him. The leather is cool against my lips, and something about the strangeness of it sends that heat fluttering through me, warming me from the inside out. His finger drags down, the leather-covered tip pressing against my lower lip.
“No names. I take my privacy here seriously. This is all anonymous. You will never know my name, and I’ll never know yours.” His full lips curve in a sinful, promising smile. “That’s part of the fun.”
Another shiver washes over me. His hand drops, and I suddenly miss the contact. The feel of the leather against my skin. I bite my lip, my teeth catching where his finger was a moment ago, and I see his eyes drop to my mouth.
“Can I buy you a drink?” His gaze flicks to my wrist, looking for the bracelets. “Undecided. You’re new here?”
“Do you come here often?” My cheeks flush as soon as the words leave my mouth. “Oh god, that was the stupidest line. I meant?—”
“I know what you meant.” His smile broadens, amusement written all over the part of his face that I can see, but it’s not directed at me. He’s not making fun of me. He seems to be genuinely enjoying my company—so far. “A drink?”
I nod. “I—yes. Thank you.”