Page 45 of The Princess and the P.I.

r/DMVPlayParties

StNik: Oh, that’s the best one in the city! @clover: You want a hack? Find the blue card referee.

The foyer of Club Dominie was hushed. There were no lines, no velvet ropes. Just a marble fountain with a cherub spouting blue water into a dark pool. Dark mahogany paneling lined the walls, absorbing both sound and light, while plush purple carpets muffled Fiona’s footsteps.

She’d decided against the dress and instead wore a trench coat over the daring black lingerie LeDeya had snuck into her shopping pile.

Fiona was going to look the part tonight.

Esi had embarrassed Fiona by warning Maurice that she was a virgin.

Maurice immediately offered to shut down the whole operation, playing into this whole virgin-equals-scared-equals-incapable-equals-weak, etc…

. It was everything everyone in her family already thought about her.

She didn’t want Maurice to be infected with her family’s low expectations of her.

Fiona pushed at the velvet rope, and Maurice turned around and held his hand out like he was physically patting down Fiona’s anticipation.

She felt powerful tonight. She had done damned good detective work to get here. And she would leave with all the information she needed from Sara.

She still pulled at her coat. She had to admit she was nervous to take it off.

The tiny black bits of string and lace underneath it left little to the imagination.

The delicate lace of the bra was sheer, save for a rose pattern covering her nipples.

The demi bra cups were mere suggestions under the weight of her bosom.

One sneeze would pop her out of this getup.

On top of the thong panty was a high-waisted belt that latched on to thigh-high sheer black stockings.

She was buffed, shined, and plucked to perfection.

Tonight, Fiona was a detective undercover.

She and Maurice separated briefly and answered some questions and completed a surprisingly thorough medical examination.

They administered whatever the hell contraceptive film is and gagged her with a tongue depressor.

She was surprised by the cleanliness of the place.

After she gave the man at the front their fake names, she’d wanted to smell the musk of sin, but the air smelled like the candle section at the grocery store.

When they left the examination rooms, the concierge handed Fiona a mask of black feathers and a kind of white Phantom of the Opera mask to Maurice.

A woman slipped by them, naked and as sleek as a porpoise.

Maurice was either unaffected by this or was more mature than her because she followed the woman’s naked body with her eyes all the way to the final door.

She was in a brave new world. The place was meticulously maintained, with staff moving silently. The sapphire and amethyst ambient lighting cast everyone in a forgiving glow, softening edges and deepening shadow.

The last door was wrought iron and creaky.

Between the bars were the double swirls of the Sankofa symbol.

She had seen this seemingly innocuous symbol everywhere, and she wondered if African Americans even noticed these tiny messages from their ancestors.

Sankofa reminded them to reach back and remember what they’d lost. At some point, she had forgotten her own dreams—fine with subsuming them under her family’s wishes. Tonight, she would reach back.

“How do I look?” Maurice had changed as well, opting for a full tuxedo with an undone bow tie. He, too, still had his coat on, though it was open.

“Finally dressing within your social class?” Fiona teased.

He rolled his eyes. “Southeast DC forever, Fi. If you ever see me in one of these again, I’ve died.”

“My sister said you were a wolf. I kind of see it now—”

“If I’m a wolf, what are you? What’s up with the kitty-cat ears? To match the dress?”

Fiona wasn’t wearing the black dress she’d planned, but she didn’t correct him, nor did she take off her trench. “Just something I’m trying,” she said.

“So, I made a list—” he started.

“If you hand me another itinerary, you’re going to lose your hand.

I’m running point on this tonight. Don’t look at me like that!

” she said, talking over his extremely loud facial expressions.

Once again, she could kill her sister for blurting out that she was a virgin.

As cool as Maurice tried to be, she could sense his protectiveness, even wariness. “I’m ready, Maurice.”

Maurice balled up the Post-it note. “You’re out of your mind if you think you are running anything but your mouth, Fiona. Not tonight. You’re going to hang in the corner and look for Sara. This place is way out of your—”

Her look cut him off. “That’s not how this works. I can’t just hide in the corner. We pass these folks our test results, and then we get sorted into a room. Did you read my brief?”

“Do I need a brief for a sex club?”

“Yes, because it is actually quite difficult to move around as newcomers here.”

“Fiona, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. This is already going to the limit to get access.”

“Maurice, I don’t like being handled,” she said, mimicking his warning to her two months ago.

She had a feeling that if he had managed this lead, he would be taking it a lot more seriously than he was now.

Everything would be done with the utmost care.

But he didn’t believe Sara was here or as important to the case as she did.

Fiona took a deep breath and shrugged off her heavy coat.

“I’m going to find a referee. Find me in an hour.”

Maurice did a double, then a triple take. He ripped off his mask, and raked his hands over his face.

“Fiona…that’s…No. That’s not the dress we agreed on.” His huge eyes had gone wide. Sweat beaded up over his brows. He looked like he had just eaten an atomic hot wing. Yep, Esi’s words had infected him. Now he would treat her like she was made of crystal.

She turned around for the grand finale. Her bare ass with a fat bow on top. Bending over slightly, she looked over her shoulder.

“ We didn’t agree on any dress.” She didn’t get one strut in before he pulled her to him roughly. Her bare hip bounced off the cool satin of his ridiculous cummerbund.

She tilted her chin up, eyes sparkling. “My, what big teeth you have,” she said, savoring the flush creeping up his neck. There was something delicious about watching Maurice Bennett, Mr.Itinerary, totally unspooled.

And not in control.

Not tonight.

He was blinking like a man trying to do long division after a night at the bar.

“Fiona, how am I supposed to protect you from…” His eyes raked over her, landing irrationally on her kitty-ears headband. He looked so disoriented. “What was our safe word again?”

“Princess,” she reminded him, pulling her arm loose. “So be delicate.” She rubbed her arm. He had a dark, wild look in his eye that Fiona didn’t like. It wasn’t the look she was trying to get. “And you don’t have to protect me from anything.”

He took his bow tie and wrapped it around her neck. The soft silk slid between her breasts.

“Wear this.” He looked around, pulling up the waist of his trousers. “People will think you came with a man.”

“Are you peeing on my leg, Maurice?” She slipped the tie off. “Don’t be silly. I’ve read the rules; consent is number one.”

People were adorned in various forms of attire, some nothing at all, others in modern minimalism that left little to the imagination. Leather, lace, denim, and diamonds.

They greeted everyone with subtle nods. She saw Maurice race off to the bar and put two fingers up. The bartender slid a glass down the long bar, and Maurice took the shot before it reached him. He looked shaken up.

The bar was beautifully lined with crystal decanters, filled with liquids of multiple colors. Another thing that surprised her was how quiet it was. The clinking of glasses and whispered conversations were the only things Fiona heard. Everything felt so tentative.

When Maurice found her again, his face had lost its lazy arrogance, but at least he was wearing his mask again.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to drink on the job. You’ve already had two,” Fiona said.

“Fiona.” His pleading voice as he stared at her mouth made her squeeze her thighs together. “Look. I’m not handling you. Is this what all of this is about?”

“All of what?”

“Fi…”

Fiona shrugged. “Not everything is about you, Maurice. I just wanted a change.” She didn’t say the rest, that after Esi’s little PSA about her virginity, she’d felt small and out of step with the world.

Like everyone else had been handed a secret manual after doing this deeply human thing—like they saw life with new eyes, and she was still squinting in the dark.

She wanted to feel powerful. Wanted to feel capable. And if nothing else, she knew she was excellent at giving Maurice a full-blown panic attack.

Fiona’s eyes widened at a swish of brown hair.

It’s her.

“Sara,” Fiona whispered. Maurice whipped around and tapped Sara’s shoulder, and the whole crowd stopped. A hush fell over everyone like the collective inhale before an explosion. Glasses stilled mid-air. Someone gasped. Another dropped their drink.

Sara just turned, a slow, dangerous smile blooming beneath her peacock mask shimmering under the lights.

She raised a single, gloved finger. Shook it once, playfully.

Then pressed it—delicately, wickedly—against Maurice’s mouth.

A man walked up to him and handed him a red card.

“She’s the Grand Madame,” the man said.

Oh…he is the sex referee the Redditors told me about.

“No one can talk to her without black room status. This is your first censure. After three, you’ll be asked to leave.”

“Maurice,” Fiona whispered. “You’re drawing way too much attention. You didn’t read anything. You’re not prepared. Your eyes are permanently bugged out of your head. Let me lead.”