Page 588 of Hell Hath No Fury

I decided to keep it simple and wear a dress similar to the one I wore to the munch. Clingy, black, easy to move in, and attractive. Unsure of what, exactly, I’m going to get into, I figure something easy to take on…and off…is best.

My skin heats as I abscond from the car, my purse shouldered. Cool air winds around my limbs and reminds me of how exposed I am. I shiver as I cross the street to the one and only door. Finding it unlocked, I enter with bated breath.

The foyer doesn’t scream sex-club to me. If anything it reminds me of several other restaurants and businesses in Nassau, includingBella Bella. Subtly Italian, all dark wood and black and gold accents. Looking around, I note a door to my right partway open. A quick glance inside shows flickering screens and an attentive guard manning a desk covered with papers.

There’s another door to the left, one that leads into another shadowed room with more dark wood. Heart racing, hands damp, I delve into the shadows.

A hostess stand is to my immediate right and a smiling woman in a bustier, that leaves little to the imagination, is situated behind it. “Welcome to The Sanctum,” she says, smiling.

“Hello,” I manage. “I was invited to the guest night. I hope I’m in the right place.”

Her smile widens. “You’ve found it. If you’ll please provide your phone—don’t worry, you’ll get it back at the end of the night. We don’t allow any cameras or video equipment to protect the privacy and identities of our patrons.”

Wow, really? My surprise must show on my face because she adds, “Most of our members don’t like to advertise their membership—for good reason. You’re going to run into people from the community and this isn’t the kind of club you’d like to advertise to your family members.” Her eyes twinkle, “Keep your mouth shut and all.”

“I understand,” I say as I hand my phone over. She logs it and clicks at her computer.

“Guests are allowed on the first floor. If you’d like to go higher, you’ll need to be escorted by a member. Most of the general rules are common sense and you’ll see them posted or you may ask a DM—dungeon master—if you have any questions. Just be respectful.”

Nodding, I lift my hand when she gestures for it. She takes my pointer finger and presses it against an identifier pad, then keys into the computer again.

“If you do decide to become a member, you’ll go through our two owners, Mr. Mak and Ms. Fremanis. If you went to the munch, you’ve met Tally—Ms. Fremanis.” Done with the business on the computer, the hostess smiles again. “Would you like a booth or a spot at the bar?”

“Bar, please. Thank you.”

She gestures toward the inside of the club, and I take the first step inside.

Music pulses and colorful strobe lights flicker on my right over a dance floor full of writhing limbs and sweat-slicked skin. To the right of the generous dance floor is a full bar with a smattering of tables situated in front.

I beeline for the bar and order a white wine, gulping it like water when the bartender sets it in front of me. Too much more of this twisted anxiety and desire, and I’m going to turn into a raging alcoholic.

With my wine glass held in front of my chest like a shield, I turn on my mahogany bar stool to survey the rest of The Sanctum. I’m seated on the end corner of the bar, closest to the dance floor. Heat pours off the mass of bodies in waves, and I lift the thick curtain of hair off my neck and let it drape around my shoulder.

On the other side of the dance floor, I can see the tops of a pair of frosted glass doors. Shadows of bodies flit across the surface and V.I.P. is affixed to the front in gold lettering. Opposite the V.I.P. section is a wall of booths. It takes a moment for me to realize the walls between the booths are removable, allowing for larger parties. There’s one such party going on at the farthest booth, and features a group of members in various states of undress.

Everywhere I look, I find carnal scenes, making my heart beat fast in my throat. I wipe my palms on the material of my dress and order another white wine. The second glass helps steady my nerves and by the end, I’ve joined the bodies on the dance floor, enjoying the heavy bass and frenetic pace. Hands and bodies brush against me, so quickly that I can’t make out who they belong to.

God, yes. This is exactly what I need. Time to blow off steam. A little fun to forget everything else I’m running away from. A moment of reprieve before I figure out what the hell I’m going to do next.

A pair of strong arms wrap around my waist and large hands coast down my ribs to settle on the flair of my hips. They grip me with reassuring firmness, an anchor in the sea of bodies surrounding us.

I peer through lids, heavily weighted with lust and excitement, to find a couple kissing passionately in front of us. Heat spears through me, violent and true. When the man drawshis hands down and under the fluttery edge of my dress, I gulp deep breaths, but can’t seem to find my equilibrium.

“Don’t think,” he whispers, his voice gruff in my ear. His breath tickles, entices, and I shiver against his hard length. “Just feel.”

And I do. I feel everything. From the fast racing pulse of the music, echoed by the thud of my heartbeat, to the searing flush of heat coating my skin, burning me from the inside out, to the raw tease of his whiskers on the curve of my neck. Behind me, his chest is firm and broad. Powerful. Strong. The kind of man who can overtake, overpower, and overwhelm you. I’m instantly, shamelessly wet.

His hands delve higher, teasing the tender flesh of my inner thigh with the tips of his fingers, the edge of his nails. If he goes any higher he’ll no doubt find the evidence of my arousal. I refocus on the scene in front of me, trying to gain some handle on the wild spinning room and I notice the couple in front of us is no longer kissing. They’re watching, eyes glued to the hand underneath my skirt.

I freeze against the stranger behind me, unsure if I should run to the exit…or let him continue. Based on my body’s response, I’d let him do a whole number of things. Anything he wants.

And I want it. Isn’t that why I came here? To explore this side of me? The side frantic couplings in the dorms and endless nights of missionary never seemed to satisfy.

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can move to a more private booth,” he says against my throat, his fingers still teasing my thigh. His voice is low, so low I have to strain to hear him over the pounding music. It’s secrets and sin, a dark silk colored with temptation.

The first thing that comes to mind as I worry through my indecision is Mikhail. Which is all sorts of crazy. But his kind voice and troubled conversation was endearing. He’s exactly thesort of man I should be going after. A kind man who has his shit together. A good man.

Just when I open my mouth to protest and pull away, the stranger behind me lifts his fingers to the strip of cloth framing my pussy and the words die a pitiful death in my throat. Surrendering, I twine my arms up and around his neck, pulling his warmth closer to my back. The woman in front of me smiles encouragingly, as both she and her partner watch the stranger’s hands play underneath my dress.