I am in pleasure overdrive, not orgasming again but somehow maintaining the high. He grips to me as he finishes with heavy pants and groans like a caveman. I’m instantly sorry it’s Logan with his cock in my ass. I’m instantly sorry the entire night has happened. We have to work together. At least we can walk away now and pretend we don't know each other. It’s just a sin that we can’t ever be anything else.
He pulls himself and the dildo from me, letting me up from the position of my aching side on the cold concrete floor.
I stand awkwardly, feeling my orgasm drip onto my inner thighs. I don't look back at him. I turn and walk as fast as I can into the crowd. The sobering effect of the entire experience has claimed my high and taken away the purity of the pleasure.
I see why Jenny never came back. She couldn't look herself in the eyes and come back here. I know I will never be back.
“Where are you going?” I hear him yelling at me from the crowd but I manage to get to the doors and flag a cab. I am gone, like Cinderella, before he can catch me. Only I don't leave a glass slipper to help him find me.
I don't want to be found.
Chapter Seven
As I arrive at work, raw emotion is eating its way through me. My phone has rung a hundred times in the past two days but I haven’t felt much like answering.
I mostly spent the time soaking my nether regions in hopes of them recovering sometime this year. Sitting is painful in several ways. One is definitely the reminder that I let a man in a mask fuck me senseless for an hour. I’m flushed and walking with a slight cramp as I get on the elevator. Brandon has been bombarding me with text messages. I know he’ll be waiting for me the moment I step off.
And as predicted he is there. “Where have you been? Did you fall off the earth?” He hands me my latte as I step off the elevator. “It’s cool, you don't have to ask about my weekend and drinks with Hugh. It’s fine. He was a gentleman anyway so I have no details for the water cooler.” He points a finger at me while narrowing his gaze. “You got ugly fucked. You didn't even smirk at my joke about us and the water cooler.”
I scowl. “What? Jesus, wait until I at least drink my coffee.” I shake my head. “Actually, don't wait. I don't want to know what ugly fucked is.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “You know, remorseful sex. You had some. I can see the guilt, even under your erase paste.”
I lift my middle finger—the least classy thing I’ve done since having a penis in my bum. “I had a bad night and I don’t want to talk about it.”
He follows me down the hallway. “Someone is in the conference room, waiting for you.”
“What?” I stop, turning abruptly and spilling coffee on my crisp white blouse.
Brandon winces. “I just picked a bunch of shirts up from the cleaners, you're fine.”
“Who’s in the conference room?” I’m sure I’m white as a ghost. His skeptical stare makes me uncomfortable.
“Mr. Bennett. He says he desperately needs to talk to you and I tried fielding the calls but he is not having it.”
I swallow hard. The safety of my office and the glass walls of the conference room make it okay to see him. At least he can’t try to undress me or drug me here. I nod, regardless of the fact my brain is screaming no. I know there is no way out of it.
“Why do you look like that?”
I shake my head. “Just worried. I don't want to uhhmm . . . screw this up. Important clients and all.” My voice is distant and when I change in my office I don't even close the door—just strip down and drag on a new shirt. I pull my scraggly hair up into a bun and tuck in my new blouse. “Did he say why he wants the meeting?” My ass hurts thinking about it.
“He called this morning asking for a meeting and that’s all I know.” He shrugs his narrow shoulders, and walks with me to my office. When we get to the large glass door of the boardroom I hold a hand up. “I’ll go alone.”
“Do you want me to get some snacks and things? Coffee and tea at least?”
I shake my head. “I just need some Advil and water please.” I slouch, entering the large glass room and leaning against the door when I close it.
Logan turns, smiling instantly. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He gets up, walking to me. He leans in, kissing either side of my face slowly. I notice a distinct difference in him. The kiss is similar but the softness and vulnerability in him is different. He’s not forceful and bossy. He’s delicate. “I really wanted to talk to you. I know I screwed up asking you out and knowing where you live, but I like you.”
I cock an eyebrow but he laughs, holding a hand up. “Let me finish.” He escorts me to a chair, pulling it out for me. “When my wife died a couple years ago, I never imagined I would meet anyone who instantly made me feel comfortable. You do that. Your sarcasm and wit put me at ease. I grew up in a busy family and we always were hard on each other. You give me that same feeling. At the same time I see how vulnerable you are after this whole divorce. I know this pain.” He smiles softly, no longer the smooth talker. Now it seems as if the man at the bar, the candid and sort of sweet one, is here to stay. He doesn't seem like the masked ass-avenger at all.
I cringe, realizing when he said he and his wife were separated before. He meant by death. I never would have guessed that.
He sighs, continuing. “I came on too strong, thinking you liked schmoozer guys. That's not me. I like being upfront and honest. I don't write songs. I don't wear cords. I can’t grow a decent beard to save my life. My chest hair is even a little patchy, not cool and urban chic at all.”
I chuckle, feeling my guard coming down.
“I asked you out and followed you to the bar and I feel like a dick. You told me no and I’m bad at no. I don't handle the word well at all.” He leans in as he sits across from me. “I want you to know, I like you. I want to date you. So if you want to date me too, I will fire your company and blame your bosses.”
I sit back in the chair. “You would not work with me to date me?”
He nods.
“But I’m the best at what I do; you might lose a lot of money.”
He smiles wide. “And that is why I like you. There was no ego in that statement. You are the best. You are better than the best. Your ability to predict market fluctuations and a company’s demise is uncanny.” He sighs, folding his arms across his chest. “But I want to ask you out for dinner in the worst way.”
I honestly don't know what to say. “What’s your view on multiple partners in bed?”
He cocks an eyebrow? “What?”
I nod, completely baffled but desperate to know if the man in the black mask was him.
“I guess I am against it. I tend to be territorial and competitive. Is this a test or do you enjoy more people in bed than can truly fit?” His tone makes me smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited this is where the conversation has gone. I thought for sure you’d tell me to stick it up my ass.”
I gulp but he doesn't even flinch. There is no way I will ever know if he’s the man in the mask or not, but he certainly doesn’t seem like he is. “I will go out for dinner with you. You don't have to fire me.”
He grins. “The best of both worlds, my favorite outcome. Write your number here for me and I’ll message you.” He slides a business card across the table at me. His hands mesmerize me. “I will pick you up or we can meet. Dinner here at seven tonight?”
I nod. At least my body won’t be in the mood for anything too serious. Maybe a handshake. He’ll think I’m playing hard to get but it’s better than him knowing about the masquerade parties. “I’ll meet you.” I write my number on the back of the business card.
“Why do you look so stricken?”
I clear my throat to buy myself a second. “I was sick over the weekend. Really nauseated.”
He winces. “Something has been going around. My brother was in a terrible way the other day. He’s been just beside himself. Mopey and not feeling well.” He winks. “He’s a bit o
f a pussy though.” He stands abruptly. “I will see you tonight. Take a nap. You’ll feel better.” He kisses the side of my face again, lingering there long enough for me to be certain they are not the same man.
I leave work that afternoon, dialing Bec to answer her ridiculous number of texts.
“Okay, I was just about to call the National Guard,” she snaps her greeting into the phone. “If you ever drop off the face of the earth like that again, so help me God.” She purrs the next sentence. “How were drinks with Logan? I sort of assumed maybe he rocked your world all weekend long.”
I frown, walking down the road to my apartment. “No. It was whatever. I didn't feel good. I stayed in and watched a movie.” I am a terrible liar.
“YOU WENT CLUBBING AGAIN!” she screams. I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
“Yeah, God, shut it.”
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! I need details. What happened?”
I shake my head. “Non—”
“You say non-disclosure form and I will fucking kill you—ya feel me?” Her bit of Brooklyn starts to seep out.
I sigh my answer. “I went and had sex with many people. It was fun. Stop. I can’t talk about it and you know it. That's all I’m giving you.”
“Holy shit, you are the worst friend I have ever had. You went to a fucking sex club, fucked a bunch of people in a booze-soaked orgy, and won’t give me a fucking droplet of info? You’re a whore.”
I nod. “You have no idea.” I hurry to my place, nodding at George as he gets the door for me.
“You have a parcel, Ms. Edwards.”
I freeze, muttering into the phone, “I’ll call you back.” I hang up, turning to face the desk. “You sure?”
He nods. “You’re the only person I know who hates mail.” He lifts a large manila envelope. “Had to sign for this one.”
I take it, feeling the weight of my entire marriage in it. “Thank you, George.”
He sees my face and wraps his arms around me in an awkward embrace I couldn't have ever expected. “He never deserved you.” He pats my head twice and releases me. I turn and walk to the elevator, completely weirded out and yet soothed by the words spoken by someone whose opinion I trust and cherish. No one knows people like doormen. They see everything.
When I get to my apartment I slump into the chair, loosing all the confidence my naughty sexcapades have won me. Acting like a whore hasn’t made me feel better about getting a divorce. All it did was make me feel like I wanted to try again. I see that now. I want love again. I don't want some filthy sex and a series of one-night stands. I want someone to hold me and know me. I’ve spent thirty-five years getting to know me and I want to share that.
I slip the card from my purse, staring at it. Everything is different now and this card is the reason why.
I get it. I get why the lawyer gave it to Jenny and why she gave it to me. It’s a glimpse of what being single can be like. It’s a glimpse of the dating pool and the expectations placed on you sexually, like anal sex. It’s a world that maybe women who have been married have sheltered themselves from, and maybe for good reason.
I tuck the card back into my purse, completely confident I will never use it again. I pull my phone out and delete the number, noticing a new text from Logan.
Meet me at my place instead. We can walk to dinner.
I see he has shared his contact information with me and add it to my phone. When I see the address it makes me smile. We are neighbors. He lives a couple buildings over from me.
Something about the innocence of the text and the prospect of dinner makes me excited, and not in the way I was about the dress box. This is a way that feels more natural to me.
I finish getting dressed and head out the door, feeling liberated by the fact I am picking him up. When I get down the street I realize he actually lives in one of the old row houses. I love their architecture and dated style. I don't make it up to the door to knock before it opens for me. I step back as a handsome man identical to Logan, but clearly not him, steps from the entrance. He grins. “Why hello, gorgeous.”
I roll my eyes but my stomach is aching. I know exactly who he is. He waggles his eyebrows at me. “You must be Hannah. Damn, Logan didn't mention you were fucking stunning.”
I step to the side on the front stairs to give him room to get by me.
“I’m Charlie, his brother. His much more handsome brother.” He winks like I might fall for that.
My mouth is sour and my heart is beating like a drum so I don't have a witty retort and thankfully I don't need one. Logan comes down the large hallway with a grin. “Get away from my date, Charles or I’ll be forced to telephone mother and tell her where you’re off to tonight.”
He glances back at his brother. “You know the rules.” He looks back at me. “It’s just one night—you should come with me and forget about him. I will rock your world.”
I lift a hand. “I’m good.” I try to mask my voice but it comes out hoarse. Logan comes to my aid, taking my hand in his and pulling me down the stairs. He glances back at his brother. “Don't stumble in here at three in the morning either. Go home for once.”
We turn and walk down the road. My heart races like a rabbit’s and my throat is tight but the moment we are passed the street we both live on, it ends. The feeling inside of me is gone. It’s replaced with a type of relief I almost want to cry from. I had been convincing myself he wasn't the guy and he isn’t. Yes, a worse-case scenario is it’s his brother, but I can live with that over it being Logan.
I turn and smile wide. “What’s this restaurant like?”
He shrugs. “I’ve had the reservation for six months. First time eating here.”
I scowl. “You made a reservation six months ago for dinner here? Was there a list?”
He shakes his head. “No. I just knew I had to clear my head before I asked you out. I’m ready now.”
I pause on the street, staring at him. “You knew who I was six months ago?”
“Of course. You think I climb into bed with just anyone?” He gives me the wry grin. “I mean in business. I knew who you were and I wanted so badly to be with you. But at the time I was still grieving my loss and couldn't do it. I didn't want anything more than just a night. So I set a deadline—six months and made the reservation to hold myself to it. I knew I would do whatever I had to, to get you to go to dinner.”
My heart beats a mile a minute again, but for all the right reasons. “You must have known about Evan then too?”
He nods.
I lean in, pressing my lips against his. I have a terrible feeling he’s been to the club too, but it doesn't matter to me. I don't care. I just want him and dinner and candid talks over wine. I want a relationship and to be held, not pushed down on a dirty floor in a seedy bar.
His hands encompass my waist, holding me tight to him. The kiss is loaded with potential and promise but it’s left there. Like we both need to see where this road will take us. The good part is that at least we are willing to try again, even with the battered hearts we share.
I owe that to the club.
Epilogue
“I want to give you something. It was given to me a year ago and I really think you could use it.”
Brandon gives me a look. “If it’s some coke, I have my own friends, but thanks. So I gained a little weight, that's no reason to recommend going meth head.”
“Oh my God.” I roll my eyes. His bitterness toward love and life since things didn't work out with Hugh has been annoying beyond belief. I pull the small card from my purse. “It helped me move on and get past some of my insecurities about myself and helped me with some issues I was having, even if it was a bit unorthodox. To say the least.” I reach across the desk and hand it to him.
He looks confused, turning the card over as he scratches his head, looking sideways at me. “What the hell is this? I was hoping for a vacation but you hand me a card that has a weird number on it?” He looks flabbergasted.
“Are you kidding me?” he asks, looking more than shocked.
I nod, not sure if I regret my decision or not.
“I have heard of these and have always wanted one. Where did you get it?” he whispers, looking to the door.
“I got it from a friend of a friend. Have you seen the movie Fight Club? Same rules apply with this. You can’t talk about it or mention it at all. You text that number with your name and someone will contact you. When you’re done with it, you pass it on to a person who needs it.” I grab his hand. “I am giving it to you because I think you might actually be lost and this helped me find myself. We can’t ever talk about it again.”
“I know what this is. You take this crazy drug when you get there and you see who you want. Everything is an illusion from the drugs and whatever else they have going. I have one friend who swears she fucked Brad Pitt there. Apparently, your mind plays tricks on you.” He touches his heart with his other hand. “Oh my God, Han, I love you.” He wipes a fake tear from his sarcastic face and walks out of my office. “Oh, I almost forgot, Mr. Bennett is here to see you. I told him the boardroom was busy so he is coming down here to your office.”
I grin, smoothing my skirt and feel myself light up when he walks into the office.
“Mr. Bennett, how are you?”
The Club Page 6