inside, I needed to lose the desperation. I looked down at the triple-X box and then peeked around to make sure I wasn’t being observed. “Well, here we go,” I muttered, and pulled open the lid.
Ten minutes later, I forced myself to let go of the thing. It fell onto my lap, and I had to wrap it in a piece of tissue to get it back in its box without touching it with my bare hands. The slightest stroke was enough to make me come again. My heart racing and my cheeks burning, I tucked the box under my seat and got out of my car. Gracie let out a muffled bark but quieted as I walked down the delivery lane toward the club entrance around the corner. I concentrated not on Ben, but on what I could get if I made it through the doors—more magic, more pleasure. My limbs were loose, and the beat from the pounding music was already vibrating inside me. I reminded myself that no one knew me here. No name, no shame. Smiling faintly, I slid into the line amid a group of twentysomethings wearing vinyl and chain belts. They smelled like shampoo and upscale perfume, telling me this was a thrill for them, not a lifestyle. To tell the truth, they didn’t look so different from me. It made me even more suspicious as to why the jerk had wanted me to stay away.
Instead of checking IDs, the bouncer—a guy with long brown hair and a nose ring—was touching each person who entered the club, on the arm, the neck, the cheek; any exposed skin seemed to do. He sported a relaxed smile, though his eyes were sharp and assessing. He went through a couple of people and seemed to approve them. A blond woman sitting next to him stamped the back of people’s hands and sent them inside. Then he got to a muscular guy with a military haircut, wearing a leather vest and pants. When the bouncer touched him, I could tell there was going to be a problem. “Not sure this is the place for you,” the bouncer said, glancing at the stamp woman.
Buzz Cut stepped away from them. “Are you kidding? Come on. My money’s as good as anyone else’s.”
The woman hopped off her stool to intercept him. She was clad in a vinyl catsuit that hugged her lithe body, and she had big, solemn blue eyes. Next to Buzz Cut, she was tiny, but she approached him without any apparent fear. As he tried to sidestep her, she took him by the hand. “You don’t want to be here anyway,” she said softly.
“Fuck this,” said Buzz Cut. “I don’t want to be here anyway.” He turned and stomped away, and the woman calmly moved back to her stool.
I watched him go, eerily reminded of my brief conversation with Detective Logan this afternoon when I’d removed Ben’s anchor pendant from the evidence bag.
I just needed to hold it for a second, I’d said.
You needed to hold it for a second, she’d echoed.
What the hell was going on?
No time to figure it out now—I was up, and I knew I had to play it cool. Focusing on the lingering ache between my legs, I smiled at the bouncer when he reached for me. His fingers slid down my shoulder, and the touch was enough to strum the already-taut strings of my desire. He grinned. “Someone’s already warmed up. Go ahead. Have fun tonight.”
“I plan to,” I said, holding my hand out for the blonde to stamp. Our eyes met, and she tilted her head, giving me a curious look. My stomach tightened, but then I heard the bouncer reject another hopeful behind me, and she had to slide off her stool and have another weirdly hypnotic exchange.
I pushed through a revolving door and got my first glimpse inside of the Phan Club. It didn’t look so different from the clubs I’d been to in college. A bar occupied one side of the room, but drinks weren’t the only thing for sale. Instead of chipped mugs and spoons, there were rows of glowing sticks and necklaces laid out on the counter. On the packed dance floor, people writhed to the pounding music. Some were wearing the necklaces, others simply clutching them with their hands. A few people were
Ten minutes later, I forced myself to let go of the thing. It fell onto my lap, and I had to wrap it in a piece of tissue to get it back in its box without touching it with my bare hands. The slightest stroke was enough to make me come again. My heart racing and my cheeks burning, I tucked the box under my seat and got out of my car. Gracie let out a muffled bark but quieted as I walked down the delivery lane toward the club entrance around the corner. I concentrated not on Ben, but on what I could get if I made it through the doors—more magic, more pleasure. My limbs were loose, and the beat from the pounding music was already vibrating inside me. I reminded myself that no one knew me here. No name, no shame. Smiling faintly, I slid into the line amid a group of twentysomethings wearing vinyl and chain belts. They smelled like shampoo and upscale perfume, telling me this was a thrill for them, not a lifestyle. To tell the truth, they didn’t look so different from me. It made me even more suspicious as to why the jerk had wanted me to stay away.
Instead of checking IDs, the bouncer—a guy with long brown hair and a nose ring—was touching each person who entered the club, on the arm, the neck, the cheek; any exposed skin seemed to do. He sported a relaxed smile, though his eyes were sharp and assessing. He went through a couple of people and seemed to approve them. A blond woman sitting next to him stamped the back of people’s hands and sent them inside. Then he got to a muscular guy with a military haircut, wearing a leather vest and pants. When the bouncer touched him, I could tell there was going to be a problem. “Not sure this is the place for you,” the bouncer said, glancing at the stamp woman.
Buzz Cut stepped away from them. “Are you kidding? Come on. My money’s as good as anyone else’s.”
The woman hopped off her stool to intercept him. She was clad in a vinyl catsuit that hugged her lithe body, and she had big, solemn blue eyes. Next to Buzz Cut, she was tiny, but she approached him without any apparent fear. As he tried to sidestep her, she took him by the hand. “You don’t want to be here anyway,” she said softly.
“Fuck this,” said Buzz Cut. “I don’t want to be here anyway.” He turned and stomped away, and the woman calmly moved back to her stool.
I watched him go, eerily reminded of my brief conversation with Detective Logan this afternoon when I’d removed Ben’s anchor pendant from the evidence bag.
I just needed to hold it for a second, I’d said.
You needed to hold it for a second, she’d echoed.
What the hell was going on?
No time to figure it out now—I was up, and I knew I had to play it cool. Focusing on the lingering ache between my legs, I smiled at the bouncer when he reached for me. His fingers slid down my shoulder, and the touch was enough to strum the already-taut strings of my desire. He grinned. “Someone’s already warmed up. Go ahead. Have fun tonight.”
“I plan to,” I said, holding my hand out for the blonde to stamp. Our eyes met, and she tilted her head, giving me a curious look. My stomach tightened, but then I heard the bouncer reject another hopeful behind me, and she had to slide off her stool and have another weirdly hypnotic exchange.
I pushed through a revolving door and got my first glimpse inside of the Phan Club. It didn’t look so different from the clubs I’d been to in college. A bar occupied one side of the room, but drinks weren’t the only thing for sale. Instead of chipped mugs and spoons, there were rows of glowing sticks and necklaces laid out on the counter. On the packed dance floor, people writhed to the pounding music. Some were wearing the necklaces, others simply clutching them with their hands. A few people were
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