by Stasia Black
And really, it’s not that bad, not in an uptown crowd like this. I watch others lose themselves in the way I wish I could. Sweat-slicked bodies grind against one another. Just to the left of me, a dark-haired man holds a woman to him, her back to his chest, his one hand slung around to caress her bare stomach while he grinds into her from behind. She’s totally into it. This is not an unwelcome position to her like it would be for me. Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, mouth open, arm lifted and hand buried in his hair as she slithers back and forth against him.
My mouth dries just watching them. They’re all but fucking, right here on the dance floor. I turn away from them but everywhere I look, couples dance in similar positions. Knees nudged between thighs. Hands on asses. Bodies hunting for friction. And below it all, the music—a sensual, rasping vocal over a deep bass that rings through every speaker and up through the floor.
My panties get slicker with each passing moment. I glance behind me. I can’t see Lydia or Red. My head swings back around and before I even realize what I’m doing, my gaze searches out men who aren’t coupled up yet. The ones who don’t look like douche bags or overly aggressive assholes.
Immediately, I see a couple potentials.
That slim blond guy who’s laughing while he dances with some friends. All his friends are paired up, but he’s alone. Then, a little bit further out toward the fringes of the crowd is a dark-haired guy who’s a really bad dancer. He keeps bopping his shoulders slightly after the beat. He looks awkward as hell, but in the occasional flashes of light from below, I think I can make out that he’s good looking. I’d have to get closer to really tell.
I glance back and forth between him and the blond guy. Hmm, blond guy seems good-natured and he’s with friends so that means he’s not too creepy. But dark-haired guy seems nervous and awkward, and that’s always endearing as hell. I could be his equivalent of a knight in shining armor. Or, you know, chick in a tight mini-dress who’ll give him a hot fuck in the dark corner of a club. Po-tate-o Po-tah-to.
I start to head toward the dark-haired guy when my step falters.
Wait. What the fuck am I doing? Tonight’s not supposed to be about this. At all. Remember last night? How quick that went from zero to super fucked up?
I stand in suspended animation, wracked with indecision. Tonight is supposed to be low key. Fun. Just hanging with friends. No stress. Just spending time with Lydia and Bonnie. Maybe I get a little plastered. Laugh my ass off. Share a cab on the way home.
My chest vibrates. What the—?
Oh. Right. My phone.
I pull it out of my bra and see a text from Lydia.
LYDIA:Hitting things off with Shayna. You mind heading home solo?
Wow, that was fast. Lydia’s usually pretty cautious about who she lets into her life. At the same time, just the other day she was telling me how sex-starved she was, so maybe she just really needs that itch scratched tonight.
ME TO LYDIA:No probs. Have a blast and be safe, gorgeous.
LYDIA:You too xx
I smile and shake my head at the phone, then drop it back in my bra. Even before I’ve really decided what to do next, my eyes start searching out Mr. Adorably Awkward.
But dammit—I frown and crane my neck—he’s not there anymore. I mean, not that I was definitely going to go try something with him. That’s not what I was about. Really. It wasn’t. But now that Lydia’s got a hook up and Bonnie is with Jamaal, well…
I stretch my neck, trying to peer over people’s heads to see if I can find him again. I work my way through the crowd, halfway dancing to the music so I don’t look super weird. But when I get to the spot that I’m sure Adorable was standing in, there’s no dark hair. No cute awkward body bopping slightly offbeat.
I deflate a little.
It wasn’t like I was married to the idea or anything.
I dance for a few minutes, halfheartedly.
My mind keeps spinning thoughts. It’s just, maybe getting with guys is my way of letting off some steam. And there’s nothing really wrong with it. It’s a Friday night. I’m single. I have a stressful life. People hook up all the time. Even Lydia. So what?
And okay, so maybe Lydia doesn’t like, get off on doing it in public, but people have all kinds of, you know, things they like with sex. So what if that’s my thing?
It’s fuckin’ hot. Lots of people think so. And sure, maybe last night got out of hand. But I can keep that from happening again. I’m the one in control. Nothing bad would’ve really happened with the knife. A girl has to protect herself. It was all fine.
I shake my head and focus on the music. The moment. Enough with the internal debate. I look hot tonight. The music is hot. I’m at a hip as hell club. I want what I want and there are plenty of guys here tonight who are up for the same thing. I scan the crowd again. I’m further away from the other guy I scoped out, the blond one, but I think I can just barely make out his group from here. I start heading in that direction.
When I get closer, I happily note that the guy I first spotted is still dancing alone. I note that his hair is slightly reddish as I get closer. It’s a night for redheads, apparently.
A slight dusting of freckles dot his nose and cheeks. Sweet. His eyes are closed as he dances. He has much better rhythm than Mr. Awkward. He’s not trying any crazy dance moves but has a decent back and forth shuffle/shoulder roll thing going on. I move into the space in front of him and start to dance.
I don’t put my hand on him or anything. I’m not a hypocrite. I won’t touch or invade his space until I’m invited.
He keeps his eyes closed though, and I can’t help the smile breaking out on my face. He’s totally lost in his own world as he dances, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow that produces little curls at the front of his hairline and the base of his scalp.
When he finally opens his eyes, he jerks back in surprise when he sees me there. I laugh and then cover my mouth with one of my hands.
“Sorry!” I shout over the noise. “You just looked really into the music.”
He quickly recovers and flashes me a bright, white-toothed smile. Damn, good orthodontia gets me every time.
He holds out a hand. The angle he does it makes me think of a handshake, but I give my hand over anyway. His nice smile gets even wider and we start to dance. After a few moments, he uses the hand he’s holding to spin me, then roll me back into his chest. It’s like a salsa dance move or something, but I gotta say, crazy impressive. He just positioned me, applied force, and there I went, twirling and spinning.
Oh yeah, Blond Dancer is definitely the best choice for the evening. I’m all smiles as we keep it up for several more songs. It’s rare that I actually want to stay on the dance floor with a guy for longer than a single number.
I’m usually all about getting down to brass tacks. Well, for the whole month that I’ve been at this. I have needs. A guy can fill them. Ensue mutually beneficial exchange.
Speaking of, this has been nice and all, but I’m not big on foreplay. I take a quick glance around. VIP or not, the crush of bodies is at a good enough density to be inconspicuous. I lean up and into Blond Dancer’s chest, sling one arm around the back of his neck and push into his body. It’ll look to anyone watching like we’re just dancing intimately.
I lean in. “How we doing, big boy?” No one should notice my hand traveling down his chest to the front of his slacks.
I’m not disappointed. It’s only a semi and I have to follow him when he jerks back in surprise. But he quickly perks up to full mast in my hand. The bold junk-grab rarely fails.
I move my body with his and look up into his eyes, eyebrow arched. Who the hell is this femme fatale inhabiting my body at the moment? I don’t know, and I don’t question it. It feels fucking amazing.
His pupils dilate and his hand on my hip grips harder almost reflexively. Oh yeah, he’s into this. I stroke him a couple times through his slacks so he really gets the gist.
Then I turn on my heel and
start walking through the crowd of dancers toward the stairs. When I look over my shoulder, he’s still just standing there with a kind of dazed expression on his face. I give a slight huff and crook my finger so he gets that he’s supposed to follow me.
A slow, lazy kind of smile comes over his face and then he’s quickly at my side, a hand possessively on my hip. I brush it off but grab the front of his shirt so he knows it’s not a rejection.
I lead him down the stairs. The VIP floor might be a little more upscale and all that, but I’m looking to get lost in a much larger crowd. The darkest of the dark little forgotten corners. The constant light show is briefly blinding once I get to the bottom of the stairs, but I can already see an area that’ll be perfect. The neon lasers project from the central DJ platform down and outward toward the middle of the club. There’s an area off to the back right that barely gets any light at all.
I’m not really bothering with the polite dance-my-way-through-the-crowd thing this time. I make a beeline in the direction of the dark corner. I’m in heels, but Blond Dancer is the one struggling to keep up. Sheesh, I’d think he’d be more motivated by the promise of a hot piece of ass. If he doesn’t think a little hustle is worth it, I’m sure there are plenty of other candidates out there who would.
My brief irritation fades when we get to the corner of the club and I realize the space isn’t just a tiny alcove, but a whole room. In fact, there are little rooms all over the place between the dimly-lit columns back here.
I look around and grin. Damn, this place is my new favorite spot. They know what a club is really for.
I grab Blond Dancer’s forearm and drag him to an unoccupied couch in one of the small side rooms. In seconds, I’ve got him down and I’m straddling him, rubbing back and forth. The thin pieces of fabric of my thong and his slacks provide excellent friction for me. I want to throw back my head and revel in my arousal—
But no, there are still too many unknowns about the situation.
Instead, I ride him and look down in satisfaction at the man beneath me. Completely at my mercy. They shoot pornos from this angle but it’s always the dude holding the camera. I get the appeal now, though. Being on top and mastering another person.
Dancer Boy reaches around and tries to get a hand on my ass but I swat him away before he makes contact. My eyes adjusted to the dark a while ago and I can see his startled expression. I don’t bother hiding my glare, but at the same time I dip down and kiss him hard. I don’t care if he feels like these are mixed signals. They really aren’t.
I’m in control here. Why is this difficult for them to understand? His hands can only go where I put them.
The kissing is nice—he’s even good at it. His tongue stays pretty much put. He’s not trying to shove it down my throat. He lets me guide the kiss. Good. He’s learning. I feel like he deserves a reward.
Again, my hands snake down the front of his chest. Past his abs. He’s not overly built, but his stomach doesn’t have a paunch either. I can definitely work with this. I grab his cock and give it a good stroke through his pants.
He’s rock hard and bigger than before. I give him a wicked grin. Oh yeah. He definitely knows where this is going and he’s on board. I also like the non-verbal thing we’ve got going on. Compliant and non-talkative. He’s turning into my perfect gentleman.
I kiss him deep again while stroking him. It’s dark in the room and the couple making out in the corner up against the wall is too busy to bother noticing us.
I’ve got a condom in my bra—never leave home without ‘em is my new motto. A girl’s gotta be prepared. Now I just need to figure out how to smoothly grab it and get his pants down far enough so that I can—
“That’s enough.”
The deep voice doesn’t shout, but it’s so loud in my ear and completely unexpected that I fall off of Dancer Guy’s lap.
Strong hands catch me. Hands on me. Some big fuck of a stranger has his hands on me.
“Let go of me! Get the fuck off of me!” I yank out of his grasp and stumble backward.
My hand immediately goes for the knife at my thigh garter belt but fuck, I’m not packing because tonight was just supposed to be a girls’ night.
And here I am in a dark corner where no one will hear me scream over the music with this giant towering over me. I look frantically to the couch for Dancer Guy but the fucking bastard took off as soon as we were interrupted. Gentleman my ass.
My gaze shoots back to the giant and I shift my weight to the balls of my feet, hands forming into fists. Run. Don’t fight. Lydia’s instructions from self-defense class ring through my head, but the fucker’s blocking the exit of the little room.
My blood pounds in my ears and I open my mouth to shout FIRE at the top of my lungs but the giant holds up his hands and takes a step back. In an extra bright flash of the laser lights, the side of his face is lit up.
Holy shit.
It’s my ex. Jackson Vale. I drop my hands and straighten up.
“Wha—” I start to ask.
“I’ll be the one asking the questions here,” he cuts me off, speaking loud enough so that I can hear him in spite of the noise. He’s obviously realized I finally recognized him because he steps close again. I can make out his features now that he’s not just a hulking shadow freaking me the fuck out.
My stupid stomach flips. I take in his firm jaw and the rough stubble on his face that looks like far more than his usual five o’clock shadow. His strong eyebrows and the flat, arrow shape of his nose. This is the man that I briefly saw myself having a future with.
Damn it, a big part of me just wants to reach out a hand to touch him. Too big a part. How long has it been since I’ve seen him? Months. I work in his company, knowing he’s in the same building as me, but I’ve been so careful to make sure I’m never in a place where our paths might cross. So careful. I couldn’t bear it. So far, he’s respected that. He hasn’t sought me out. I swallow hard.
Until now.
Or did he just happen to see me… My eyes flick to the couch and I feel a full body flush.
“What the hell are you doing, Callie?” Jackson steps so close I can smell his aftershave. The familiar scent of woodsy pine brings a rush of memories. The stubble of Jackson’s cheek rasping on my neck as he kissed his way to my ear. Breathing him in while I clutched him close as he thrust into me, over and over again. Him mastering me…
“So?” His voice is hard. The dimple I was always so fascinated with is absent from his cheek. My befuddled memory-laden mind catches up to the present.
Jackson interrupted me mid-conquest and now, what? He’s firing questions at me like he thinks he has a right to be up in my business? Why the hell is he here anyway? Because there’s no fucking way that this is just a coincidence. I remember the way he just ‘happened’ to come upon me while I was having lunch one time. I eventually got him to admit that he’d had one of his assistants watching the office where I worked to see when and where I went for my lunch hour.
“Are you stalking me?” I make my voice just as loud as his. I don’t care who the fuck overhears us. When he doesn’t say anything, my head about pops off, I’m so pissed.
“You are, aren’t you?” I just stare at him, open-mouthed for a moment. But I find my voice quick enough. “You fucking stalker!”
I shove him in the center of his chest. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to move this mountain of a man, but after Lydia’s classes, I make sure to use all my momentum and aim for the top of his shoulder. I manage to knock him off balance just enough so I can pass by him. I head toward the center of the club and then the exit, my only aim to get out of there as fast as possible. The fucking gall of this guy. I can’t fucking believe him.
“Calliope, stop.” His voice is a command. I scoff and give him the one-fingered-salute over my shoulder. He’s got another thing coming if he thinks that tone of voice is going to get him anywhere with me.
At least he doesn’t make the mistak
e of grabbing my arm. That would bring me to the brink even if I wasn’t fucking pissed about the stalking.
“Callie, you need to talk to me.” He catches up with me, not missing a step even though I’m doing the fastest angry stomp I can manage in these heels.
“I’m not talking to a fucking stalker,” I say.
Then I realize what a stupid comment that is. I just spoke to him to tell him I’m not talking to him. Genius. I let out a breath through my teeth. Why the hell is this club so huge? I’m still only halfway to the exit. Seriously, this has got to be like a fire hazard. There should definitely be more exits. If I could have one pop up, say, ten stomp-steps ago, that would be great.
“Technically I’m your host,” Jackson says.
“What?” I pause mid-stomp, but only because what he said is just nonsensical. God, Callie. Do not engage the stalker. I shake my head and start forward again. Ignore him.
“Where do you think Jamaal got those VIP passes?”
What? Seriously. What the fuck? I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I stop to look at him, hands on my hips. “What are you even talking about?” I lift a hand to my temple. “You know Jamaal?”
“He works in marketing and we got to talking after the last niche market strategy session meeting.” Jackson smiles and the dimple appears. That goddamn dimple. Just the sight of it shoots a little fire straight to my lady bits.
Oh hell. As in, that’s where I’m going if I continue this conversation.
I turn and start walking again. Thank God, I’m almost to the exit. I’ll get the hell out of here, call an Uber, and label this night what it is—a disaster.
“And you just happened to chat up my best work friend’s boyfriend? And get him a bunch of VIP passes to a club where you also just happen to show up? What, did you hint that he should get his girlfriend to invite a bunch of her friends from work?” Oh my God, I wouldn’t even put it past him. “Did you get buddy buddy enough with Jamaal to mention me by name?”