JENNIE
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That no good, lying, Son of Satan, piece of shit!
I throw myself onto my bed, resting my head on my pillow. The sun is just coming up, and I'm exhausted. Defeated, crabby, completely sated, but mostly, exhausted. I'm surprised Jisoo isn't home, but also thankful I don't have to explain where I was all night. Showing up at dawn wearing a dress that costs more than my monthly tuition and lipstick that screams I've been up to no good doesn't really coincide with the "I've been at the library studying all night" excuse.
It took everything in me not to murder the spawn of Satan in her own office. One month? She was insane. To even think I would put up with all her messed-up club craziness for a whole flippin' month? Super loco. Insane in the membrane. Wackadoodle! Plus, I didn't have a month. I needed that contract now. More like, hours ago!
My phone has a ton of missed text messages. The mean girls club asking where I am, giving me deadlines before they destroy my best friend's dreams. I feared coming home empty-handed, but I wasn't going to agree to spend another second under the claws of that sadist jackass.
I toss onto my side, beating my pillow to fluff it and curl into the fetal position. My vagina is still super sensitive, and embarrassment sets in thick. What in God's name was I thinking? Had I gone temporarily insane to go along with all that? Okay, I'll admit, I was intrigued. Who wouldn't be? I've always heard about those types of places, but never truly believed them to be real. Because who willingly does that shit? Apparently, a whole underground society of sickos. So…maybe it wasn't totally sick. Those people truly looked like they were enjoying themselves. And if I were honest, I wasn't completely put off watching either.
I groan, throwing my fleece blanket over my head. What's wrong with me? Even further, what's wrong with her? We had a deal, and she completely screwed me. Ugh. If I wanted to get technical, I got screwed twice—once by a vibrating chair, the other by that jerk-off who totally lied to me. She said one night. I stuck to my end, and she jerked me over.
I don't feel at all bad or embarrassed by the fit I threw in her office. If you ask me, she deserved the kick to the nuts, and she's lucky I missed when trying to stab her with her own damn pen. Unfortunately, I found myself quickly bent over her desk with her, what I'm going to guess was a very large gun in her pocket, grinding into my butt cheeks. I didn't mean to lose focus. Once she let me up, I had planned on stabbing her eyes out for cheating me. But that asshole got me to allow her hand up my dress and fuck me with her fingers until I was agreeing to her new contract!
I flop onto my back, whipping the blanket off me. My skin is on fire, and I can't stop remembering the way her thick fingers knew exactly how to get me to break. Because she's a sex master, dummy.
Ughhh.
It's like, for the first time in my entire existence, someone else was making decisions for me. That being my vagina. I could barely catch my breath. I felt like I could just float away, I was so free. With each orgasm she gave me, it was as if she possessed my vagina who now had control of all future decisions. It agreed to the month, then decided it was okay to let her pull my dress up and suck on my privates until I was crying, yes crying, in ecstasy! Who the hell cries after an orgasm?
I take my pillow and try to suffocate myself with it. If the embarrassment hasn't killed me yet, hopefully this pillow will. If that doesn't work, I'm going to try using it on Satan's spawn. As long as she doesn't live long enough to tell anyone what happened tonight…
What am I going to do? I can't go back there. That girl has some major issues. More than Jay-Z and his ninety-nine problems. My phone buzzes for the billionth time. I debate on checking it, but I know who it is. Those vultures won't leave me alone.
Using all my muscles, I push the pillow harder over my face and hold it down. It seems to work in the movies. A solid ten seconds pass, but I'm still alive. The vibration of that damn phone is distracting my attempt to kick it. I give up, tossing my pillow. I dig into my purse and grab for my phone, but there are no waiting text messages. I unlock my phone just in time to hear the vibrations again. But it's not my phone that's vibrating. I look back in my purse. Something lights up at the bottom. Reaching down, I wrap my hand around a phone.
"What the…?"
I pull out a black iPhone and stare at it, confused. Could someone have dropped their phone in my purse by mistake? I scan the usual apps—the stock apps, Skype, phone tracker, the basic phone, email, and text. It's then I notice the little red number one by the green text bubble. Whoever's phone it is has a text message.
I open the app and read the message.
Lisa: This phone is to stay with you at all times. When I need you, I'll text. Don't ever keep me waiting.
My eyes go wide as saucers. The urge to murder skyrockets. And my vagina nods, whispering, '10-4, buddy.'
That…that…I begin firing off a reply when the phone vibrates in my hands, another message popping up.
Lisa: Get some rest. You're gonna need it.
"Get some rest, you're gonna need it," I mock. Can someone be any cockier? Geez. I decide not to reply. It would just be fueling the fire. And right now, I need to figure out what I'm really going to do about the shitstorm I've gotten myself in to. I look at the clock and decide sleep isn't going to happen since I have class in two hours. I toss the phone back in my purse and grab my stuff to shower, but not before changing a certain someone's contact info in my brand-new bat phone.
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I'm walking through the busy quad resembling a serial killer. My black hoodie is over my head, covering most of my face. It's hot outside for September, and I'm probably making myself stand out more than blend in, but I just need to make it across campus to my Psych class without being noticed. Jisoo still wasn't home by the time I left, so I sent her a text making sure she's okay. Her response made me cringe, telling me she had a sleepover at the sorority house with Irene and Rosé.
My anxiety spikes as I pass a group of giggling girls all decked out in Greek letters huddled on the steps of the Union building. I lower my head and veer right, taking a detour to class. What are those girls' real intentions with Jisoo anyway? Are they even interested in her as a person? Or is this just a game to mess with me and get what they want? In the end, they could also screw me and not offer her a spot in their cult. God, I feel like I'm getting screwed from all angles.
"Are you trying to become the campus freak?"
I jump to the side, almost tripping over my untied shoelace. I look up to see Rosé not more than two feet away from me.
Dammit.
"Uh, what'd you say? Sorry, I don't speak bitch." She flinches, and I smile inwardly.
"Are you always so foul?" she responds.
Ugh, kinda. "What can I do for you, Rosé? Clearly you're not here to invite me to tea and crumpets at the Queen's palace."
She walks closer. "Clearly." She rolls her eyes at me. "Not why I'm here. Curious, more like it." She sticks out her hand, passing me a tiny card. I'm hesitant to take it. It's probably laced with poison or something. "Oh, just take it. It's technically addressed to you anyway. Not that we all haven't already read it."
Read what exactly? "What is it?" I reach out and grab the card.
"Of course, we kept the flowers. Being pink and all, it fit best in our house rather than your dungeon dorm room." I give her my best 'get fucked' look. "Let's just say I didn't think you had it in you."
What in the world is she talking about? I open the card and read the handwritten message.
Welcome to Exquisite, Ms. Jane. Your membership and future dedication to my club is more than appreciated.
-L Manoban
"What the fuck?" I turn the letter over and back. I read the message again, making sure I'm seeing this right. Why in God's name did she send me flowers? When did she have time to? And why the fuck did she send them to the house of horrors?
Or whores.
Either way.
I shake my head, looking back at Rosé.
She crosses her arms over her chest. "So, I guess congratulations are in order. You weren't lying about getting into those clubs, even though I'm still dying to know how." She eyes me with contempt.
"Yeah well, you know, someone out there has a fetish for campus freaks." I toss the card at her, which she barely attempts to catch. "So, great, I fulfilled your silly dare. I look forward to my friend's initiation into your cult of cunts for the next four years." I don't bother to hear her response. I give her my back and start walking up the steps of Haller Hall.
"Not so fast, Plain Jane. We're not done. Change of plans."
Jesus, what is it with everyone? I stop and face her.
"I want in."
"In what? Aren't you like the Queen Bee of the Pink Palace?"
"No, you dimwit. The club. I want in the club. And you're gonna make it happen."
I stare at her in shock. I had to have heard her wrong. "Yeah, I'm sorry, what?"
"You heard me. I want in. I want to become a member. Make it happen, or I blackball your bestie. Your choice."
Am I missing something here? Is it a full moon? Everyone blackmail Ruby week? I look around, checking for hidden cameras, praying I'm being Punk'd and this isn't for real happening.
Nope.
No cameras.
Just a snotty sorority girl standing in front of me, tapping her ugly ass pink heels. I take the steps down two at a time. I'm in her face so fast, she stumbles backward.
"I fulfilled my stupid dare with you. We're done. And you ever think to try to threaten me into doing something again, I'll fucking ruin—"
"Hey, ladies!" We both turn as Jisoo practically bounces up to us.
Shit.
I take a quick glance at Rosé, who's masked her deviance with a fake smile. She's a loose cannon. I have no idea what she's truly capable of.
Jisoo reaches me and gives me a tight hug. "Hey! Missed you yesterday. How was the library?"
Rosé snickers, catching Jisoo's attention. "Hey, Rosé." She smiles nervously around her soon-to-be-master. They hug, and Jisoo steps back, offering me her attention. "So, what are you two chatting about?" She looks from side to side, waiting for one of us to answer.
I open my mouth to tell her Rosé was just confiding in me about her rapid rash and herpes outbreak on her ass, but Rosé beats me to the punch.
"Oh, Ruby was just offering to help me with some of our Psych homework. Weren't you, Ruby?"
Homework, my ass. "Actually, more like black—"
"History," she cuts me off. "You know, like how some of us will be if we don't follow instructions?"
She smiles at me, and I narrow my eyes. I don't think I've ever thought about murder so much in a twenty-four-hour period. Or ever. Not ever. I take a few seconds to weigh my options. I won't let someone like Rosé Who-Cares-What-Her-Last-Name-Is control me. If I don't stand up to her now, she'll just come back wanting more. I turn to Jisoo, ready to confess, tell her what her precious sorority sister is up to, but when I look at her, she's beaming back at Rosé.
Crap.
Craaaap.
I've had more mature moments in my life than right now, where I start to stomp my feet on the ground and cuss. "Goddammit. Shit. Fuck. Dammit. Dammmmit!"
"Ruby, what's wrong? Everything okay?" Jisoo brings her attention to me, her comforting hand resting on my shoulder. Actually no, everything's not okay. Your sister is a blackmailing whore. Not only has she gotten me suckered into a month-long contract with the son of Satan, now she wants to join me in hell!
"Oh, yeah, sorry. I just remembered I left my notebook in our room. Anywho! I gotta get to class. I'll leave you two to discuss and debate how many colors of pink exist in the world." I smile at my friend and give my back to the enemy. I start walking up the steps when Rosé calls for me.
"So, I'll hear from you soon, okay, Ruby!"
I don't bother turning around to respond. I raise my hand and offer a dainty wave in return. I may also have stalled, leaving up my middle finger a bit longer than necessary.
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"…and in retrospect, the mind tells us with repetition comes conviction…" Ms. Phillips, my psychology professor, ends, turning and writing a brain chart on the board. I'm sitting in the way back of the large auditorium. The video screen allows me to see well enough to take the proper notes. Even though I should still be sitting in front, my lack of sleep made being in the back a better call since I've head-bobbed twice already, giving myself whiplash every time I accidentally fall asleep.
I should know better. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are my busiest class load. I wanted to fill my days to the rim in hopes to graduate early. Make the most out of college. Now, I'm regretting being a student altogether. My eyes feel like hundred-pound weights are holding them down. Stay open. Stay open. Stay—
"Ms. Jane?"
My head is up, eyes open. "Because the negative behavior coincides with the reaction. The dog just wants the treat." What? Everyone is staring at me. "Um sorry, can you repeat the question?"
"Ms. Jane, I wasn't asking a question. This man has a package for you."
My eyes dart to the man standing next to her by the door. He's carrying a box with a red bow. This cannot be happening to me right now. I pray my seat eats me whole. "Are you…uh, sure it's for me?" A girl can only hope.
"Unless we have more than one Ruby Jane, come on down."
Kill me now.
Students start laughing and whistling, and howling fills the packed auditorium as I stand and forcefully make my way the billion steps down to the ground level. It's when I get up front and am being handed the box, I recognize the man. It's one of Satan's Henchmen. That son of a—
"If you're done receiving presents, can we get back to class, Ms. Jane?"
Right. "Yes, sorry." I give up staring down the handler and turn to make my way back to my chair, but not before I notice Rosé's beady eyes. How did I not know she was in my Psych class? Because there are almost three hundred people in this class? True. Settling back in my seat, I drop the box on the floor, showing no immediate interest in opening it, and pretend my Psych notes take precedence over whatever's in the damn box.
But let's be honest, we all know what it is. The same thing that was in the box the other night. An overpriced outfit so Satan's spawn can dress me up like her little doll. When I came home, I wanted to tear the dress off me and burn it. But I also knew it was very expensive by the label and decided to hang it nicely in my closet with plans to resell it for extra school money.
I tap my pencil on the desk, trying to focus on the lecture and act interested in whatever it is Ms. Phillips is talking about. I'm also fighting hard not to look to my left at a set of eyes staring me down. She's not going to let this go. Maybe I should give her the box and phone. Tell her exactly what's in store for her and wish her the best. That would certainly get Lisa out of my hair, along with the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pains in My Asses off my back.
The sound of buzzing from my purse alerts me I have a text. Of course, it's coming from my stalker bat phone. I wait till Ms. Phillips turns to the board and bend down to scoop the phone up and read the new message.
Son of Satan: Be here at nine sharp.
I huff loudly, breaking the concentration of the guy next to me. "Sorry," I apologize, then fire off a reply.
Me: Who the hell do you think you are sending your henchmen to my school?!
Son of Satan: I expect you to dress appropriately.
Me: You have some nerve, you know that? I don't take orders from anyone!
Son of Satan: The red lipstick is also a requirement.
The nerve!
Me: Fat chance. Have fun waiting…
Son of Satan: See you soon, Ms. Jane.
Who the hell does this girl think she—
"Is there a problem, Ms. Jane?"
I whip my head up, noticing Ms. Phillips, along with half the class, staring at me. Shit! "Uh, no, sorry."
I drop the phone back in my purse, jam my pen in my hand, and give my complete focus to the overhead screen. I do my best to listen and take in Ms. Phillips' words about Ivan and his dog, but I have a battle going on in my head. While I try to learn about the Russian Scientist and his pet training, my mind wants to dissect those messages and murder the person who sent them, all while wondering what kind of clothing she sent me this time. I assume it's clothing. The elegant box with the Bloomingdales logo on it basically gives it away. I'm not a dress-up kind of girl. My wardrobe is basic, and I like it that way. I would rather spend my money on a band t-shirt than a fancy anything.
But that dress the other night…after fighting with myself over refusing to give in and put it on, it felt…I felt beautiful in it. The material slid down my back, fitting perfectly as if it were made just for me. I hated myself for even thinking it since it all sounded super fairytale-ish, which my situation was far from.
In reality, I was being blackmailed by one blackmailer to please my other blackmailer. Lisa Manoban was a no-good jerk who apparently needed to force women to be with her. Which shocks me since she's an attractive gp woman. Maybe attractive isn't the right word. Her presence takes my breath away. She stole it the first time I saw her, then again in her office, even though that may have been caused by scaring me half to death. But last night, the way she looked at me, the way her breath hit my skin…the excitement that rushed through my body each time she asked me to explain every carnal visual before me.
A part of me was freaked out by my reaction. How was something so lewd turning me on? It was wrong to be watching a private moment between two people, or three. Standing there, watching all those lascivious things happen, catching myself fighting not to squeeze my thighs together. I was turned on. Ashamed that I couldn't look away. And intrigued. I wanted to know how it felt to have the thin fur whip against my skin. Fear the sudden rush of pain but be rewarded by the sexual release. The woman's face was filled with emotion. Need, pain, lust. Watching her release was…hot, beautiful, disturbing, confusing. This was all new to me. I went from being inexperienced in all things to level bazillion in sexual knowledge. I was in the minors, who barely knew much about third base, but there I was watching someone pitch for the major leagues, taking notes.
When we entered the final room, my eyes almost fell out of their sockets. The number of objects hanging before me. My walls immediately went up. Watching was one thing. Participating? I decided in that moment it was not something I wanted to do. I was going to tell her the deal was off. No way was I going to get whipped and tied up. I had respect for myself. But my words failed me when I found myself bent over the bed, fulfilling my curiosity. The touch of the whip felt even better then what I imagined. The rush every time it flicked against my clit. I could feel the rush of wetness between my legs proving how aroused I was. Embarrassed by my response to it all, but I was becoming too far gone to care. I couldn't even explain how turned on I was. It was intense. New to me. I wanted it to stop. I wanted it never to end. But then she did stop. I wanted to cry. Take my hand to myself and rub roughly until whatever she had built inside me freed.
I left her office close to dawn having had two of the best orgasms of my life. Strangely none of them due to us actually having sex. I wasn't terribly disappointed. I mean, from what I felt, I'm not sure I would enjoy her and her large gun up my stuff anyway. I'm a small person, not made for large objects. But then again, I wondered why she never even attempted. Not once did she force me, or coerce me to do anything to her. I left wobbly and light on my feet, whereas she, she looked so on edge she was going to go slay a whole colony.
Should I have offered? Being the polite thing to do? Okay, dumb question, no. She was blackmailing me! I owed her nothing. Even if it was kind of rude to receive and not give. And it's not like I was asking for any of this. So there. She gets nothing.
I shake my head, trying to fight off all these thoughts. Dog. Focus on the dog. Classic conditioning. Blah, blah, blah. I don't know why I even bother trying to dissect what happened. It's not happening again. If she thinks I'm going to obey her and show up in whatever's in that box, she's nuts.
..
Don't open that box.
Open it. I bet it's pretty.
Who cares! It's from a deranged control freak who needs to lure women in by fancy things and bribery.
I still bet it's pretty.
I bet it is too.
Sitting Indian style in the middle of my dorm room, I try to convince myself I can still open the box and see what's inside without putting it on and showing up at Exquisite. She'll never know I did. I can just peek, then send it back. With a sigh of defeat, I pull at the lace and unwrap the bow, pretending the excitement swirling in my stomach is due to turkey fritter night in the cafeteria.
The second the top is off, I gasp. My hands fight between covering my mouth in shock or touching the vibrant green silk.
"This is so ugly. Put the top back on, Ruby." I will once I just have a little touch. My fingers brush over the silky material. I pick up the dress and rub it between my fingertips. Before I can stop it, the dress is out of the box and I'm up, holding it up against my body.
Standing in front of our full-length mirror, I stare back at myself. The dress is absolutely stunning. And, of course, completely open in the back. I twirl it around a few times, knowing I can't keep it, but imagine myself in it, feeling just as beautiful as the dress itself.
"You cannot keep her. Put her down and go eat your heart out in turkey fritters. You love turkey fritters. Love them. The mashed potatoes with gravy. Best part of Wednesday. Focus on Wednesday."
I can do this. Focus on Wednesday.
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..
There's always next wednesday.
It's my only thought before I pay the driver and step out of the cab, the night breeze hitting my bare legs. The moon is lit to full capacity, leaving the night sky bright. I walk down the alleyway to the secluded door, but I don't get a chance to knock. It opens just as I raise my arm.
"You're late." The spawn's deep voice tickles my eardrums. She stands there, looking dominant in her tailored black suit and in complete control. Holding the door open, she steps to the side to allow me entry. How did she know I was here? I look at my watch just as the minute hand strikes nine o'clock.
"Wait, I'm actually on—"
"Inside, Ms. Jane."
What's this girl's problem? "The bossiness is not needed, pal," I snap, walking past her into the busy nightclub. I look around, amazed at how crowded it is. Apparently, Wednesday is not only popular for turkey fritters but choking and spanking too.
Lisa doesn't bother to respond. I hear the door shut behind me and immediately feel her presence. She's extremely close, and when her warm hand hits my lower back, I jump. She's next to me, the pressure of her hand escorting us up to the bar of the main room.
"Kade, a bourbon neat, and a club soda for the lady."
I step up to the bar, getting Kade's attention. "Actually, I'll take one of those as well—"
"She'll have the club soda."
Kade stalls for a second, but nods at Lisa and walks away to fulfill her request.
"I don't want a club soda."
"And I don't serve underage people in my club."
"Oh, but you can fuck them?"
She turns, giving me her full attention. "I haven't fucked you, Ms. Jane."
My cheeks blast a deep shade of red in embarrassment. I open my mouth to say something rude, not sure what that's going to be, but I'm interrupted when Kade returns, placing the two drinks on the bar. Lisa retrieves them, handing me the club soda. I want to refuse it, but the way she's staring at me, I'm suddenly parched. I accept the drink, thankful for the distraction as I take a large sip. Her hand is back to touching me in my barest area, silently instructing me to follow her. I do as I'm told, because I suck, and she leads us to a secluded corner of the dance floor.
"What are we doing? You don't look like the dancing type."
"Who says we're dancing?"
"Well…why are we here?" I ask.
"We're watching."
My eyes widen a smidge. What exactly are we watching? I turn toward the crowded scene, and my attention locks on a couple dancing a few feet away from us. But not just dancing. Like dancing. Using the term bump and grind would be an understatement. They're definitely doing that but in slow motion. Their bodies aren't in tune with music, as if they're creating the movements to beats only they can hear. The man has the woman's back to him. Their bodies align perfectly, her butt rubbing away at his junk. They seem to be in their own world, not worrying about who will see.
The man's hand reaches in front, inching up her short skirt, and I inhale a short breath as his hand disappears beneath her red lace panties. Staring feels wrong, but I can't seem to pull my eyes away. There is no hiding the man's fingers as they work in and out of her sex. He starts slow but picks up the pace to the rhythm of the music, his thrusts getting rougher and stronger. Her eyes fall closed. She's lost. Her mouth parts. His arm lifts and wraps around her neck, allowing his mouth to capture hers. They kiss, their tongues dueling, while he continues to pump into her in the wide open on the dance floor.
"What do you see?"
I jolt, forgetting Lisa behind me. Her warm breath, once again, does things to my body. A shiver of bumps explodes over my skin. I don't turn around. I'm embarrassed for her to see how flushed my cheeks are. I'm unsure how to even answer the question. I see so many things. A couple dancing. Lost in a moment. Lust. Sex. Passion. Nothing registers but the feeling they're sharing as they touch each other.
Lisa's chest presses against my back, her crisp shirt brushes against the open base of my dress, sending another round of goose bumps pebbling over my skin. The couple continues to dance, and I can't seem to pull my eyes away from his hand working her. I imagine those hands on me. The feeling of being seduced out in the open. My breathing becomes labored with each pump.
"Do you think she's enjoying herself?" Lisa's deep voice rings in my ear. My mouth parts, feeling dry. I lick my lips, needing moisture, completely forgetting the drink in my hand. I want to answer, but any words that want to come out are lodged in my throat. I'm so lost in the scene before me, I barely jump when her hand reaches from behind, caressing my thigh. Her fingers trail up past the slit of my dress until she reaches the end of the opening. I fight to keep my own eyes open. I want her hands exactly where the man's are. As if Lisa can read my mind, she pushes away the dress and slides her fingers under the silk of my panties. I become lost. Obsessed with the couple in front of me. Aching for what Lisa is doing. Her warm finger enters me with ease. I'm soaking wet. Aroused. She works her finger in and out while I watch the man do the same. My legs begin to shake as I lose focus on the world around me. My head drops against her chest, wanting to rub myself harder against her working hand. Each thrust, each rush of endorphins she creates.
"What are you feeling?" Her words feel just as sexual as the way she's touching me. I don't know why I'm not telling her to stop—why I'm allowing her to expose me and touch me in a way that's meant to be private.
"I want more," I say in a trance as the man's hand works her harder, faster. The woman's expression screams pure ecstasy as he finger fucks her violently. Lisa picks up her pace, matching the man's. Yes. God, yes. I become so lost. The woman opens her eyes, catching me staring at her, but she doesn't turn away or make her lover stop. She doesn't give me a look that tells me to look away. She holds me with her stare. I feel like I'm violating her privacy, but also sharing something with her—every emotion, expression. She's close. So close. Fuck. Fuck. What am I doing? Faster. Harder. God, I'm going to come. My eyes locked with hers as she explodes, and I lose my own fight. My throat locks, my mouth opens, wanting to scream, moan, anything, but I'm silent as the orgasm ripples through me.
The glass of club soda slips from my grip, shattering on the dance floor. Reality crashes into me instantly—what I just did, watched. I open my eyes to the smiling woman who continues to dance as if nothing just happened. I whip around, throwing my head into Lisa's chest. "Get me out of here," I whisper into her chest, embarrassed beyond belief, but she already has me cradled under her arm escorting me through a side door before I finish my plea.
I stay hidden under her hold until I hear the unlocking of a door before it opens and shuts. I hesitantly pull away from her comfort and open my eyes to realize I'm in a lavish one-story loft. "Where are we?" I ask, taking in the modern décor.
"My private loft."
I quickly turn to see her walking to a mahogany cellarette. She pulls out two glasses and a decanter, then pours the amber liquid in both glasses, handing me one of them.
"I thought you don't serve minors?" I say, accepting the glass.
"We're no longer in my club," she returns, taking a sip. I follow suit, needing the distraction as well as the welcome burn of the whiskey. I take her in a second longer, before needing to break our eye contact. I turn away, taking in more of her place. She seems to be a fan of dark colors. Everything is dim and lacking vibrancy. Some purple and small resemblance of red poke out in the hanging artwork, but besides that, the room gives off an elegant, but depressing, vibe.
"This explains a lot," I say, walking over to the gray couch. I sit down, taking another sip of my drink.
"About what?" she asks, but she doesn't move.
"Your dark mood all the time. It's because you live in such a depressing place. Ever think about lightening it up in here? Or do you prefer to always be grouchy?"
Her brows lift as she looks around the room. "What exactly is wrong with it? Gray is a color of sophistication."
I snort. "You mean emotionless? Lisa, this place is dull, gloomy. I bet you don't even turn the lights on in here." She stares at me like I'm totally…right! "You don't, do you?"
She brushes her hand through her hair and swallows her entire glass. "I'm barely ever here. And when I am, it's to sleep. No need for lights when you sleep."
I start to laugh.
"What do you find so humorous?" She places her glass down and sits on the arm of the couch. My laugh dies a bit with her so close. She lays her arms on the rest, crossing her one leg over. Take away the moodiness, and she radiates such power. Dominance. I mean, why wouldn't she? She does own a sex club. Her amber eyes stand out, brightening the room. Even her suit is black and nicely fitted. The three times I've been with her she's leaving the front two buttons open to the curiosity of what's underneath. I wonder if it's a ploy to capture more prey. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious at what's behind door number one. "Are you going to eye fuck me or answer my question?"
I gasp at her bluntness. "I was not eye fucking you!" I snap back. I was so eye fucking her.
"Then answer my question."
I slam the rest of my drink, set the empty glass on the table, and lay back, resting against the couch. "Only sleeping is not an excuse to turn on the lights. Maybe if you added some life in here, you wouldn't be so grumpy, or bossy. It just seems…kinda lonely. May I advise getting a plant or something?" I look at her, who in return looks completely thrown off. Confused maybe? So, no plant?
"You think I should get a plant to help my bossiness?"
"Yeah, or maybe some colorful mugs for your coffee maker. Those are always a nice touch." What the fuck am I talking about? My palms are sweaty and I'm suddenly nervous. I'm fidgeting with my hands, wishing I kept the glass just for them to have something to hold on to. Dare I bring my mind back to the scene downstairs. The desire. The essence of lust in the air. I could almost feel the warm exhale of the woman's breath on my skin while we both lost ourselves under the hands of our lovers. How could I not be reminded of the way Lisa passion-filled questions washed over my skin, her hands molded to my thigh or her fingers touching me so intimately. In that moment, she made me feel she had my entire body memorized as if we'd been lovers for a lifetime.
No doubt my cheeks are flushed at the memory. I can't hide where my mind went, nor can she. Her hands are to her side, formed into tight fists.
"Okay, so let's put the cards on the table. What do you want from me?" I ask, breaking the sexual tension. Not that I really know anything about sexual tension. I'm also not sure why she needs me when she can have a real woman. Someone who could probably rock her world and a resume a mile long of experience.
"I want to break you."
My stomach drops to the floor, and a wave of nausea comes over me. Wow, okay then. Let's not hold back.
"Like…break me, break me?" The waver in my voice isn't difficult to miss as I demonstrate cracking an invisible object in half. Breaking someone can have lots of meanings. And I sadly didn't get the impression she was a killer.
I start to wiggle in my seat, unsure if this is where I'm going to die.
"Relax."
"Yeah, kinda hard to do that right now."
"I'm not going to hurt you. At least…not in the way you're thinking."
Still not sold. "You may have to try a little harder at convincing me." I look around, trying to find all exit routes.
"I won't harm you in any way you don't want. I'm not here to threaten your wellbeing. When I touch you, it will be with your consent."
"On the dance floor?" I say. I wasn't sure I gave her consent to do what she did.
"Did you want me to touch you?"
Yes. "No."
"Why did your body tell me otherwise?"
Dammit! What is this? "You can't answer a question with a question."
"So, you're denying you melted around my finger?"
Jesus. "I'm not even sure what you're talking about anymore, it was so long ago." It's been probably like seven minutes. I look around. Where's that whiskey? An unfamiliar sound echoes throughout the loft. Someone just laughed. I look around, trying to locate the third person in the room. No way could it have been… My eyes land on Lisa. Wait, is she?
"You know how to laugh?"
She sits forward, and I try to sit farther back, but can't since the back of the couch is in my way. "Yes, Ruby, I know how to laugh. It doesn't happen often, but you've managed to bring it out in me. Now…" She stands, startling me. Oh dammit. This is where I die. I shouldn't have mentioned the mugs!
She doesn't have time to grab for me as her phone rings, distracting her. This gives me the chance to stand and put some space between us. Her smile disappears, her eyes back to dark at my retreat, but she puts her phone to her ear. "Yes… When? I'll take care of it." She ends her call without a goodbye.
"Our night's come to an end. I'll put you in a cab." She makes another quick call, asking Fredrick to have a cab waiting, and places her phone back in the inside pocket of her suit coat.
"What? Why? I was kidding, I don't really think you're going to murder me or anything."
"Excuse me?"
Okay, maybe I shouldn't have said that. But I'm confused. I thought I was hers all night, but I've been here less than an hour. "Is it something I did?" I ask.
Another small chuckle. "No, Ruby. I have to handle a club matter." She walks to the door, and I follow.
"What kind? Anything I can help with?" Seriously, Ruby? What are you going to help with in a sex club? Help spank the customers?
Lisa stops in front of me and lifts her hand. With a slow caress of her thumb, she slides it along my lower lip. "No, but your willingness to offer pleases me," she says, and a small shiver runs down my spine. She opens the door and allows me to exit first, which is good because she won't see the heat in my eyes, along with a bit of disappointment. We head back down the long hallway that leads to the private elevator. We're silent as we walk through the club and outside. The cab, just as requested, is waiting. Lisa opens the door, and I climb in. She leans down. "Have a good night, Ms. Jane."
"Yeah, you too, Spawn," I reply, and with a small smirk, she shuts the door.
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