It takes me a second to comprehend what I’m seeing. The closest room is occupied by a woman, who has one hand plastered to the glass and the other between her legs, fingers moving with a furious pace as her body heaves. A few couples and individuals sit or stand nearby, watching her with calm interest. Other glass rooms house couples who are fully naked and having sex, or women who dangle by chains while a man or groups of men toy with them using everything from whips to feathers.
I give Enzo a look of incredulity, which is likely hard to read behind my mask.
He chuckles. “Like I said. Even if it’s not your thing, it’s amusing.”
“Amusing is one word for it,” I say faintly as we move deeper into the room.
Unlike the other club, no one here seems to go out of their way to nod to Enzo or speak to him. I see a few people speaking in low voices, but there’s a reverent sort of quiet here, as if the purpose of this place isn’t to socialize and to make friends, but as a public playground where couples or individuals can let their inhibitions go and enjoy themselves in the most carnal of ways.
The reserved side of me is deeply uncomfortable with all of it, but Enzo has a way of making that part of myself the least of my worries. Instead, there’s a dirty and dark buzz running through my body. All I can think is how Enzo knew exactly what he was doing when he brought me here. There’s no mistaking what this place is for. It’s not for casual friends to come and have a few laughs over dinner. It’s a place for sex. A temple to sex and deprivation.
Looking at Enzo by my side, I’m struck by how well he fits in here. In a single look, all my thoughts of BDSM as men and women wearing full-body leather suits with whips and high heels shifts to something else. I’m sure that world exists out there, but not here. This is a different side of it.
“Not what you thought it’d be?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “I was picturing…”
“Yeah,” he says. “I can imagine. This place was made in my own vision. I have to be honest, there’s only one aspect of BDSM that ever drew my interest. All the chains and convoluted machines are fine, but they aren’t what I crave.”
I lick my lips, mouth feeling dry from the way he’s looking at me. “And what’s that?” I ask.
“Submission,” he says simply.
As we claim a table near the center of the room and a waiter wordlessly brings us glasses of water, I can’t help running that idea through my head again and again. I remember how nearly out of control he became with lust that first night in the restaurant when I came to him, and how he wanted me to be the one to follow him into the room. “Our first night together,” I say suddenly. “When you wanted me to follow you into the room. That was some kind of test, wasn’t it?”
“Honestly?” he asks. “I was hoping you’d run and never look back.”
I put my hand on my stomach beneath the table, thinking for a moment before I respond. “I’m glad I didn’t,” I say.
His eyebrows twitch upward slightly. “If you were planning on keeping this date platonic, you may want to be careful saying things like that. Otherwise, you might start planting ideas in my head.”
I purse my lips and raise an eyebrow, shrugging innocently.
His hand clenches on top of the table, eyes boring into me. I think he’s about to order me into one of those glass rooms—an idea that lights up a very dirty, very dark part of my mind with arousal—but he only signals for our waitress to return. I notice her for the first time. She wears a nearly translucent dress and looks like a supermodel, but Enzo doesn’t even look at her as he speaks. “Bring me a whiskey, and leave the bottle.”
She nods, sauntering off in a way that has even me staring after her. When I look back to Enzo, he’s still watching me with interest. “I can only imagine what you must think of me,” he says, leaning back in his chair comfortably.
“I’m still trying to figure that out,” I admit.
It’s hard to stay completely focused on Enzo with everything going on around us. There are a few other couples who are seated at tables near the middle of the large room with drinks and food in front of them. More of the guests are meandering through the room like it’s a theme park dedicated to sex, stopping to enjoy the sights and attractions or even slipping into doorways and behind curtains to take part themselves.
Most distracting of all is the woman with her legs spread in a dimly lit glass window behind Enzo and to the left, where two naked men take turns between her legs, using everything from their mouths, to their cocks, and even the blunt end of a leather whip inserted inside her.
I want to be repelled by it all. I want to look around and think I’m above the influence of a place like this, where sex seems to be treated both irreverently and as if it’s sacred somehow all at once. Instead, I just feel a growing warmth between my legs, and a quickly solidifying certainty that this place has me under its spell, and if Enzo chooses to tug on my leash, even a little, I’ll come stumbling after him, willing and desperate.
“So,” Enzo says, noticing the way my eyes are drawn to the scene behind him. “Does the idea of fucking in public turn you on?”
A blush creeps into my cheeks. Yes. I didn’t know it before we came here, but yes. It does. “No,” I say. “I mean, I couldn’t imagine baring myself in front of strangers like that.”
“Sometimes the most thrilling things we can do are the ones we can’t imagine doing.”
I laugh a little, doubting my denial is convincing anyone, especially Enzo. “I don’t think that would be one of those things.”
“You won’t know, unless you try.”
“How are we supposed to just do things like this?” I ask suddenly, feeling the real world creep through the illusion this club has draped over my head. “You just said tonight that there’s going to be a war over me. Shouldn’t we be planning or something instead of being here, doing whatever we’re doing?”
“Is that what you would prefer?” he asks. There’s a knowing tone in his voice. “I’m sorry, but I know you’re drawn to this. I know you’re as hungry for it as I am. If you’re hoping for me to give you some sort of excuse note and say we need to leave to plan for my father, you’ll be disappointed. You think soldiers at war didn’t play cards in their spare time? That they didn’t find women to keep them warm at night when they could?”
“Is that all I am?” I ask, eyebrows drawing together. “A distraction?”
“No,” he says, leaning forward. “You’re the one who meant enough to me that I’d start a war over you.”
I look down, hating how flattered I am by that. I should be horrified, and I am, it’s only that right now in this moment, I can’t see past the fact that a man like Enzo cares about me enough to shake his own world to the foundations to keep me safe.
“Oh,” I say quietly. “Right.”
The waitress takes our orders a few minutes later while Enzo and I ease into something close to a comfortable, romantic dinner. Of course, the fact that there are literally naked people having sex in glass boxes around the edges of the room does prevent it from being too ordinary. By the time I’ve made it half-way through my dinner, I don’t notice it much anymore, beyond feeling the ever-present sense that sexual energy is so thick in the air I can hardly look at Enzo without imagining the things I’m becoming more and more desperate to let him do to me.
“Come,” he says once we’ve finished our meals. He stands, extending a hand and helping me up. I feel unusually light and less inhibited, almost as if I was drinking, even though I haven't touched anything alcoholic since the pregnancy. Either way, feeling less inhibited is dangerous, given the circumstances.
He leads me through a door at the edge of the room between two of the glass boxes, both of which are unoccupied. Once we’re through the doorway, he leads me straight into one of the glass boxes, which is about as big as an average bathroom, or maybe a somewhat spacious closet. My heart is already thumping, because I have a feeling he didn’t bring me in here to tal
k.
He leans against the back wall and gestures for me to move toward the area closer to the glass. All the while, he says nothing. His features are almost unreadable, except for the obvious heat in his eyes as he watches me standing there.
“I told you before what I desire most,” he says. His voice is deep and heavy, reaching inside me and stroking all the right chords to push me even further into the fire of his grasp. “Submission. Complete and unquestioning. But it’s not just any submission I want. I want yours, Neela. I want you to let go, to give me the reins. Sign your body over to me while we’re in this room. Give me the keys and I’ll take you to heights you never thought you’d reach.”
I swallow hard, thinking long and hard before I speak. What would the harm be in trying it? I’ve come this far, after all. My life is already turned upside down. I’m already pregnant with his baby, and I’ve left behind so much of the shy, scared girl I once was like I’ve shed parts of an old, uncomfortable skin.
So why not? Why not give in?
The weight of eyes gathering on the other side of the glass is heavy against my back. I don’t even need to turn my head to see the people gathering, instinctively sensing my reluctance and wanting to see if I give in.
I want to ask him why it has to be in front of people, but I’d only be asking a question I knew the answer to. It’s because the submission wouldn’t mean much if I was getting what I wanted on my terms. It’s not submission to let a man feed you chocolate in bed, after all.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and nod my head. “You can have me,” I say quietly. “All of me. For now,” I add. I’m not sure why I add it at first, because in this moment I can’t imagine ever wanting to be anything but his. Except I know the protective part of me that’s watching over my unborn baby can’t forget what is ultimately at stake here. If Enzo can’t separate himself from this world, then there’s no permanent future for us. Only these fleeting, wonderful moments. I’ll have to clutch at them and try to hold on to as much as I can, and that will have to be enough.
He makes a low, almost inaudible sound of satisfaction in his throat. He raises a hand to his chin, eyes burning even more fiercely than before. “Touch yourself for me, then. And tell me exactly what you’re imagining while you do. I want to know every detail.”
I gulp down my reservations, ignoring the shock of his request and letting my hands start moving from the tops of my shoulders and down across my breasts, which are only covered by the thin dress. My nipples harden instantly at my touch. “I’m thinking,” I say softly. “Of your hands.” I let my palms dig into me hard like his might, fingertips pressing into my body as my touch sinks lower, past my slightly swollen belly and to the hinge of my hips where I splay my fingers out. “I’m thinking of you standing behind me. Your hard body and the way… The way I can feel your erection against my back, how it’s so big against me.” I chew the corner of my lip, moving my hands down my thighs until I find the bottom of my dress and can pull it up enough to expose my panties—a pink thong with a little white ribbon at the hem.
I try not to think of all the eyes on me at first, the unseen watchers who are getting a show along with Enzo, but then I realize he wants me to enjoy this. He brought me here, made me do it this way instead of in private for a reason. So I think about how the men and women watching must be getting aroused from me, and I’m struck by a surge of energy at feeling sexy enough to be the object of attention from so many men.
“Don’t go quiet on me,” he warns.
“I’m thinking,” I say quickly. “Of how they must be jealous.” My fingers glide over my panties, the material creating friction where I crave it so desperately, sending shards of ecstasy through me and making me want to double over, to close my mouth tight and finger fuck myself until I cum. I don’t know if I’ve ever been anywhere near this desperate for orgasm, but something tells me Enzo isn’t going to let me find it by myself. He’s going to stop me before I can cum on my own, because he’ll be too eager for a first-hand taste of it. “The people watching,” I continue. “They must wish I was theirs.” My words come sharply, rushed and halted as my breathing is forced into a ragged pattern by what my fingers are doing.
“But who do you belong to?” he asks in his deep voice.
“I’m yours,” I gasp. My body spasms a little and I move my fingers inside my panties where my slick wetness helps them to glide against myself. “I’m remembering how your mouth felt—oh God—and I’m, ah, I’m…” I close my eyes, putting a hand to the glass beside me to steady myself. I’m about to tell him that I can’t keep this up much longer if he doesn’t want me to have an orgasm without him, but he’s already moving toward me.
He pulls my hand from my panties, gripping me by the wrist and lifting my fingers to his mouth, where he sucks the wetness from my fingers without breaking eye contact.
The breath seeps from my lungs in a single, hot exhalation.
I expect him to turn me around and bend me over, or to hike me up onto his hips, but instead he pins me against the back wall so my ass is pressed to the glass and he moves his hand—in no hurry—from my shoulder, across my breast, lingering on my hardened nipple until I’ve gasped out his name a few times. He makes sure I’m looking straight into his eyes when he mirrors the path my own hand took while he watched, gliding down until his fingers are rubbing me through my already-soaked panties.
He was definitely paying attention to my little show.
“I can’t seem to remember what came next,” he says tauntingly.
If he thinks I’m going to be too proud to ask for it—to beg for it at this point, he’s mistaken. I don’t even hesitate before I grab his wrist and push his hand inside my panties, breathing with relief to feel the rough pads of his fingertips against my slick folds.
I’ve all but forgotten the crowd watching on the other side of the glass now. It’s impossible to think of anything except the places where his body meets mine, those burning points of contact like lightning rods for my focus.
He takes a fistful of my hair, tilting my head back forcefully so that he can more easily reach my mouth with his. Our tongues move in a slow dance that flows to the same rhythm of his fingers working their way inside my tight opening.
He must have more than one finger inside me, because I feel stretched for him in such a wonderful way, like I could barely take any more. He curls his fingers against me, putting pressure with each thrust of his hand against my g-spot. I dig my fingertips into his back, holding onto him for support with my arms as his fingers turn my legs to useless, boneless jelly.
“I want you to watch them as they watch you,” he says, turning me and pressing me to the glass. He leaves my dress covering my breasts and doesn’t pull my panties down any more than he has to to keep his hand buried in them. I still wear the mask on my face as well, which lets me actually enjoy seeing their eyes on me. There must be a dozen couples, maybe more. Some of the women stroke their men between the legs, some men are groping at their women, and one woman near the back of the gathered group is giving her man a blowjob while he watches.
“I’d never let them watch if they could see your face,” Enzo says from behind me. “I’d be too fucking jealous. But if you’re anonymous, I can let you ride the thrill.”
I want to tell him I don’t need any thrill to enjoy being with him like this. Whether we're sexually compatible was never really a question for me. So long as I breathe, I'm going to crave his touch and his body with all my heart. The only question is what happens after this, or whether I'll be able to find a way to make our worlds work together.
I don’t want to think about that now. I don’t want to spoil the moment, so I focus instead on what he wants. I give him my submission and I let myself enjoy what he wants me to enjoy. I don’t even remember hearing Enzo unbuckle his belt before I realize his hand left me and he’s pulling my thong down just enough from the back to press his hard cock against my entrance.
He teases me
with it, rocking his hips until his length gathers enough of my arousal to slide against me, warm and absolutely delicious. I press my thighs together, wanting to create a warm pocket for him to fuck until he’s ready to enter me.
He groans his approval, pace increasing.
I notice the watchers beyond the glass seem to be getting more aroused now, and another woman has her head in a man's lap, bobbing up and down, while a third couple is moving toward a secluded corner of the room, presumably to work out their pent-up desire.
“Tell me how bad you want it, Neela,” he says. “Beg me for it.”
“Please,” I say. “Please fuck me.”
He makes a deep sound in his throat and tightens his grip on my hips before guiding himself inside me. I breathe out in pure bliss to feel the fullness of him deep inside me, my wetness and warmth enveloping him. I put a hand back to grip his hip as he starts to pound into me with increasing pace. He moves his hand between my legs, rubbing me there even as he fucks me, overwhelming me in the most wonderful way imaginable.
I have one hand pressed hard to the glass and the other against his hips. My breath has made a patch of fog on the glass in front of me, but I can see the eager eyes of the people outside watching us.
He moves into me with a gradually increasing pace that is almost hypnotic. Every thrust comes just a fraction of a second faster than the last, giving me a building sense of inevitability, of a mounting explosion that I can’t avoid nor want to avoid. Soon, I’m gasping out shamelessly, moans ripping themselves free of me without abandon. The sound of his hips against my ass are loud and rhythmic, like the baseline to a song, and I become transfixed by them, listening to the ever-increasing pace and feeling the eruption of white-hot pleasure from between my legs, where his throbbing length fills me to the brim and his talented fingers take advantage of every last inch of my pussy.
Hate at First Sight Page 45