Page 49 of Sucker Love (Sugar Pill Duet #1)

NOEL

The vibe at Strapped couldn’t be more different from Anathema.

For starters, the people here are naked.

And we’re overdressed by comparison, Luca and I, but he looks good as hell even without the accouterments of a stereotypical dom.

He’s wearing a tight black sleeveless shirt that puts both his biceps and the full complement of his tattoos on display, and equally tight leather pants that I didn’t even know he owned.

They leave the rest of his ample assets to so very little imagination.

He might not look like a Tom of Finland character—I wouldn’t want him to, anyway—but what he does look is hot as fucking hell, and there is no mistaking he is a dominant motherfucker indeed.

The way he towers over me as we pass the check in and walk through the corridor, a possessive hand about my waist as we follow the staff member acting as our tour guide, how he sort of prowls.

It’s all body language and brief glances and I fucking love it, the heightening of this game between us, the anticipation that lies at the end of the hallway.

Which is where we find the naked people. Men and women alike.

Where Anathema’s all reds, Strapped is purples and blues.

The light show dominates the large and almost sleazy industrial space, flashing in time with the EDM in patterns that would make any remotely photosensitive person convulse.

It’s almost too much for even me, but after a moment I sort of get used to it, the slideshow effect it has on everyone’s bodies and their movement.

And as the song fades into the next the light pattern changes to something less seizure inducing, at least for now.

There are people in various states of undress, either dancing or socializing or milling about, sort of like Anathema—but there’s no one making them cover anything up, hastily shoving bandanas into waistbands.

Boobs and ass galore, spilling out of corsets and assless chaps, bobbling beneath sheer mesh. Or simply nothing at all.

Suddenly I am very nervous.

Beyond the dance floor and the bar—it’s BYOB, our tour guide’s explaining, but they have a bartender on hand to mix whatever we’ve brought (which is unfortunately nothing)—there are several rooms lined up with no doors or even curtains, little more than large niches carved into the far wall; they’re completely open to this main room.

They’re all seemingly equipped with various furniture and tools of the trade: X-frames atop platforms, sex furniture of various types, with implements lining racks bolted to the walls.

Things I’ve only ever seen in either porn or online sex shops, not once in real life.

And there are, indeed, people fucking in these rooms without any sort of abandon or shyness, while others openly watch.

I know that’s sort of the whole point, but it’s different seeing it in real time and I have no idea how to feel about it.

I am not repulsed but I’m not aroused either.

I’m caught somewhere in between, which sounds like it should feel like nothing at all but it doesn’t.

It’s a feeling I don’t have a name for but it’s not the sexy, heady eagerness I felt moments before.

It’s not erotic in the way I thought it would be.

Not in the way I’d built it up in my head when I suggested to Luca that we come.

Somehow I forgot that part of that would be looking , seeing other people fucking, and that maybe I didn’t want him seeing other people fuck.

Which is fucking stupid and irrational, I know it is.

There is something about all the sex that makes it not sexy at all. Like too much of a good thing. Commodified.

Or maybe it’s how dingy the space is, beneath all the flashing lights; how none of it really seems to be clean.

How the bartender is arguing with two girls who seem to be near tears.

Or how the crowd skews older, and not in an ugly way but in an intimidating way, everyone sort of hardened.

Men jerking themselves off in a disinterested way, like they’re obligated to. Women giving them a wide berth.

I console myself that we don’t have to do anything.

We can—well, we can’t get a drink but we could just dance for a while and then go home.

Treat it like any normal night out at a club.

Ignore the fact that there are dicks flopping and breasts bouncing all over the place.

It’s not even all the nudity that bothers me.

I don’t feel any particular sort of way seeing so many bare bodies in one place.

If I was here alone, I don’t think I’d care about anything I was seeing right at this moment.

But I’m not here alone. I’m with my boyfriend, who was all too eager to attend.

Our guide leads us to a relatively quiet corner, raising his voice to be heard above the music.

“Private playrooms and lockers are through there,” he says, pointing to a couple doors to our right.

“Locks are ten bucks if you didn’t bring your own.

Clean up after yourselves and leave the spaces as you found them.

There are hampers for dirty sheets and towels in each room. ”

Luca’s nodding. I’m still gazing around, dumbstruck.

The man gestures to the great Wall of Fuck on the far side. “Those are the exhibition rooms, obviously,” he goes on. “You’re welcome to either play or just watch. But if someone tells you no or back off, then you leave them the fuck alone. You’ll get bounced the second there’s a complaint.”

“Not a problem,” Luca says.

“If anyone’s pushy with you, let the bartender know.” He glances between us. “Enjoy your night.”

We’re left alone at last—well, as alone as one can be in a loud, flashy sex club full of horny people. Luca turns to me. “Well?” he says, smiling. “What should we look at first?”

My mouth is so, so dry and I wish we did bring something to drink, but I missed that whole fucking BYOB thing on the website in all my goddamn eagerness.

I wonder if someone will share but I’m finding myself too anxious to engage any of these people, which even I recognize is completely unlike me.

Although plenty of them are looking our way, or at least Luca’s.

Girls and guys alike. If we don’t move soon one of them’s going to approach and I do not want to fucking share.

Even though I know Luca will tell them no I don’t even want to hear them ask.

I might kill them if they do. Or throw up.

I swallow hard. My mouth tastes like bile. “You pick.”

He lifts his head to consider the Wall of Fuck and I don’t like that much, either.

Can feel the jealous rage boiling up in me and I have to crush it down because this was my fucking idea in the first place and he’s just looking , it’s like porn , it doesn’t mean anything.

And I told him to pick, anyway. “There’s someone getting tied up over there,” he says. “Let’s check it out.”

So we mosey on over to the little room where, indeed, a naked man has been cuffed facing the padded cross, and he’s ball-gagged to boot.

A gorgeous, statuesque Black woman with a shaved head, who looks like she’s been poured into her latex catsuit, is caressing his bare ass with a crop as he whimpers.

We aren’t the only ones watching; this display is drawing a crowd, particularly of older men who are jockeying for the best vantage point with their pants open and dicks out.

I press closer to Luca to stay out of their way.

We observe this for a bit, this man being flagellated—or Luca does, at least. I am watching him watch them , trying to glean something from his intense gaze.

Is it arousal? Is he turned on by the display, of this woman spanking this man senseless, or to either of them?

I know the men on the other side of me are; they’ve got their hands wrapped right around themselves.

They’re loud and shameless and obnoxious about it.

I would almost feel better if there were other women here doing the same, as if a female presence would give them some grace or at least latitude, but I’m pretty sure these creeps have scared them all off.

Nothing like a single man to kill the damn mood, let alone a pack of them.

But what about Luca? If I weren’t here, would he be doing the same?

Stop. You have to fucking stop. You wanted to come here. You asked.

Holy shit, I have got to get a fucking grip.

The panting victim on the cross is spent and the domme lets him down, giving him a surprisingly chaste peck on the cheek for his trouble.

There’s a dopey grin on his face as he stumbles off the platform.

“Who’s next?” she purrs, and now the erect wonders to my right are really jostling to be picked, practically throwing themselves at her, but she’s holding them all at crop’s length, wielding it like a sword.

They back off a little. Her eyes settle on Luca and she smiles, her painted mouth full and sensuous.

“How about you, handsome? You seem like you could use some breaking in.”

My stomach seizes and for an insane moment I feel like he’s gonna agree just for the goddamn novelty of it, but he gives her a half smile and a shake of his head.

“I’m more of a giver,” he tells her as he squeezes my waist, much to the relief of the rest of her hungry audience.

“But thanks anyway. I enjoyed the show. ”

She shrugs, good-natured. “Suit yourself, honey.”

I tug on Luca’s shirt and lean up, touching my lips to his ear. “I want you to do that to me,” I say in a rush, before I lose my nerve. “I want you to whip me.”

He raises his eyebrows at me. “What, here?”

“Yes.”

“Where people can see you?”

“Yes.”

He licks his lips. “I thought we were just going to check things out tonight. Not participate.”