to figure out what the fuck I was going to do with this woman.
Drew
I was all about making bad choices when it came to men this week. First, I was making out with my hot but crazy waiter in an alley, and now I was following Mr. Broody McBroodface into some kind of sex dungeon on top of the nightclub. Was it really a dungeon if it was on top of the club? It was more like an attic. I was following him to his sex attic, and I didn’t even think twice about it.
It was like I was under a spell. A spell that made me feel incredible. All my senses were going insane. The music downstairs felt like it was flowing through my veins, the bass thumping in time with my heart. I could see everything with scary precise clarity. Even though I didn’t put my contacts in, I could read the engraving on the necklace a pretty brunette was wearing from across the club. It said daddy in cursive. Yes, girl.
But most of all, when this Diego dude touched me, intense waves of pleasure cascaded down my body. When his thumb grazed my nipple a few short moments ago, it was an exciting mixture of being right on the brink of too much to bear but also never wanting it to stop. I had never experienced anything like the sensation of Diego’s touch, and I would follow him to a dungeon, or attic, or Antarctica if that’s what he wanted. This shit was weird, but I loved it. I was high on life.
He led me inside a large loft that was dark but impeccable. The wood floors were stained a deep ebony, and the black curtains were drawn tight, even though there was no sunlight to block out. On one side of the room, there was a black leather couch with deep gray pillows, and a black coffee table completed the ensemble. There were gold accents in the artwork and the dimly lit sconces on the walls.
My eyes were drawn to the massive bed on the opposite side of the room, but that’s not where Diego led me. Instead, he guided me to the glass table adjacent to the kitchen and gestured for me to sit down.
“Would you like some rosé?”
“That’s the name I used to dance under,” I blurted out and started giggling like an idiot. Oh God, I was fucking this up and fast. My pussy was not getting licked later. He mercifully ignored my teenaged boy sense of humor.
“How about some chocolate-covered strawberries? Maybe a little whipped cream?” he asked suggestively. Now that he mentioned food, I was feeling a little hungry. Actually, I was feeling a lot hungry, and not just for some dick.
“Only if we can take them to the bed.”
“Sounds messy,” he replied.
“The whole reason I came up here was to get messy,” I quipped while batting my eyes. I once dated a man that liked to spray me with whipped cream and lick me from head to toe. I’d probably still be dating him if he didn’t insist on religiously sucking on my toes.
“Naughty girl. I was hoping we could talk first.” Holy cats. I didn’t want to talk. What’s a girl got to do to get laid around here? “What do you do for fun, Drew?”
“You mean aside from trying to fuck random sexy men at clubs?” Hint dropped. Now pick it up, Diego.
“And dumbass waiters in alleyways,” he added while shrugging out of his suit jacket. Wait, what? How did he know about that? My smile dropped as I took a fresh look at Diego. Something felt off about this. The whims of the nightclub had started to fade. I eyed the door, but Diego seemed five steps ahead of me. “I have guards posted outside. You won’t be leaving, Drew. I’d like to make this as painless as possible for you.”
Oh fuck. “What’s going on?” I asked while taking a step backward.
“Have you been feeling off lately? Tired? Senses on overdrive? Food not tasting right? Blocks of time you can’t quite remember?”
How in the fuck did this dude know about my crazy hangover?
I took another step back as Diego sat down on a wingback accent chair and casually crossed his legs. He looked smug, intimidating, and bored all at once. “I’d like to leave,” I said.
“I wish I could let you.”
“I’ll scream,” I threatened.
“Please don’t. No one in this club would defy me to save you.”