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Delia was immediately reminded that she wasn’t as alone as she thought. Hell, she had been so caught off guard that the other couple was already gone. All that remained in the room was a medium-sized group in masks and cheap fetish gear laughing it up like it was the old times. Maybe it is for them. It made Delia miss her old crew, wherever the hell they were now.

“You look quite comfortable where you are.” Delia only half paid attention to the way her newest companion displayed herself as if she had been waiting for someone to come by and pay attention to her. “Besides, you look like trouble. You should wait for someone who can deal with your level of energy.”

“You make yourself sound so old.” A cute girlish pout tickled the other woman’s mouth. “You can’t be more than twenty-five.”

Don’t fall for it. One of the oldest tricks in the book? Delia wasn’t having it. “And you can’t be more than twenty-one.” That was the youngest age admitted into the club, and for good reason. Even if sex wasn’t happening on every table in this establishment, Delia appreciated a place she could go to and have mature conversations with her friends.

“Good eye,” the woman said. “What’s your name?”

Should Delia offer a moniker? For all she knew, the name “Delia Benoist” meant something to this horny she-devil on the prowl. Could still be a sugar mama hunter. Or a sugar daddy hunter. Girls like this often didn’t care, as long as their rent was paid and the car note wasn’t overdue. Well, she wouldn’t find that in Delia, who didn’t pay for shit until things were serious. Even then, she was careful. If she learned one important thing from her wealthy family, it wasn’t to show how much money she had until Delia was 100% sure this was going somewhere. Right now, the only place this interaction might go was a private room.

“Delia.”

“Interesting. I pegged you more as a traditional name type.” Legs drew back up on the couch. They were left askew, though, and Delia could see everything offered if she took the opportunity. She’s definitely not shy. “Eleanor. Victoria. Maybe one of those rare Mildreds who somehow owns that grandma name.” A devious grin crossed that interesting face. “How about Helena? You could be a Helena.”

“Not Helen?”

“No, not Helen. There are enough of those in the world. Not nearly as many Helenas.”

“This is true. You must know one, though.”

“Oh, I do.” A heavy sigh pushed her curls off her chest. “That’s my name.”

So, she has a name. Helena suited her. Delia didn’t know quite how, but she often found that most people matched their names. Like Tiffani. With an I instead of a Y. A somewhat dated name for a woman who was born well past the ‘80s. Yet that slight change to the last letter spoke to her unconventional personality. Like I’m one of the only Delias I know with no H in her name. Apparently, it had gone to this devil on a black leather couch.

“Do you want to play, Delia?”

Damn, wasn’t she forward? Either Helena didn’t quite yet know what role she played in the club, or she was incredibly comfortable with her lot in the bedroom. Power bottom? Hm, perhaps not. Helena seemed the type to crawl on top and take what she wanted when it suited her. Definitely a brat. At least the bratty types had personalities. Delia lost interest without it.

“Perhaps. I hadn’t planned on it, but you’re captivating. But you know that, don’t you?”

“I’m comfortable in my skin if that’s what you mean.” Helena sat up again, her legs wide open as she leaned her elbow against her knee and allowed her hair to cascade around her limbs. Speaking of the ‘80s… Helena probably would have been big back in the day. All that volume, all those curls with hardly the scent of product in the air? At least it worked for her in the club. Tops loved a fistful of hair to pull when things got going.

Did Delia want to “get going,” though? That sounded like effort. Maybe she should have had that third martini after all.

“Are you attached, Helena?”

The young woman was only slightly taken aback by that question. “Nobody is lurking around here watching me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Does it matter, if all we do is hook up?”

“Maybe it matters to me. I’m not into cheaters. There are plenty in here who don’t care, though.” Delia sniffed, checking her watch. “Too much drama in my experience.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”

“Well, that’s good. Because I’d have to tell them that you’re in a sex club hitting on a woman nine years older than you.”

“You’re thirty? No way.”

“Yes, way.”

“You’ve got great skin.”

“How can you tell? It’s dark as hell in here.” Besides, did this kid even know what a thirty-year-old looked like? Of course, Delia had great skin! She exfoliated, wore sunscreen, and was a pro with her concealer! Helena would be the last to know about the giant zit forming beneath her bangs, the biggest harbinger of her menstrual cycle kicking into high gear. Ugh, the flood is coming. Too bad Helena hadn’t caught Delia while she was ovulating a week ago. They would already be two knuckles deep into each other.

“You seem like a woman who takes good care of herself.”