Bang (A Club Deep Story)(8)

I really thought I could do a week, too. I could power through the ache  between my legs reminding me of how he pleasured me relentlessly. I  could survive Sandra waggling her eyebrows at me and subtly prying for  details about the party. I dodge phone calls from my mother and sister  because after what happened I'm unwilling to talk about Keith Overton  and what they view as my lack of relationship possibilities. And every  time they call I'm reminded of Hudson and everything that happened. It  was amazing. But it wasn't just the sex. I became someone else. Someone  powerful and beautiful and confident, and I loved it. And along with  wanting Hudson to share more of his fantasies with me, I wanted that  freedom again. It's perfect this way. He never has to know the real me  that spends her time in front of a computer darkening shadows on images.  That kind of person wouldn't captivate someone as fascinating as him.  So I'll keep being that woman he met at the party-confident and together  and mysterious. And that will be enough. But not for another week.

The phone calls from my family pile up until it feels like I can't go an  hour without hearing their ringtone. On what I think might be the  hundredth call I roll my eyes and pick up a call from Catherine. She  doesn't even give me the chance to speak.

"You're a real bitch, you know that?"

"I'm sorry?"

She scoffs, "You haven't been answering my calls."

"Yes, Catherine, that's because I have a job and I don't have time to answer a call every hour from you."

"Whatever. You're probably just saying that to make me think you were busy. I'm calling to find out where you were last night?"

I frown. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about dinner," she practically shrieks, "With Keith. Mom  and I set it up, we left you at least five messages. You could have had  the decency to show up." Her words are seething with rage, and now I am  too.

"I told you I had no interest in going out with him, Catherine. What the  hell were you thinking setting me up on a date like that?"

She sighs, a sound of long-suffering I've heard way too many times over  the years. "Mom and I set it up because it's embarrassing. Everyone your  age is settled down now, and instead of putting down roots and making a  family, you're off gallivanting in the city. Do you want to be an old  maid?"

Every time I think that Catherine can't shock me, she does, and I wish  her words didn't hurt, but tears still prick at the back of my eyes.  "Well, I'm very sorry that I'm an embarrassment to you, but I'm still  not going out with Keith. End of story."

"Fine," she sneers. "Don't come crawling to me when you're forty and  single and unhappy. You're not special, Christine. Stop acting like it."

The line clicks dead, and for a few minutes, all I can do is stand  there. I hate how much her words resonate. I do fear that I'll be alone,  that no one will like me. But at the very least I know that Keith isn't  the answer. Deep in my chest a dull pain throbs, and I push it aside.  At least for the night, I can be someone amazing and sexy.

Which is why, only two days into my week, dressed in a skimpy outfit, I  get in my car and drive to the club. The whole way I tell myself to turn  around, but I know that I've already made my decision. My body sings  with anticipation as I pull into the parking lot. I can't really believe  that I'm doing this. Not that I'm doing it, but that I'm doing it. Me,  Christine, the boring girl.         

     



 

Tonight's outfit isn't quite as daring as the party, but then again,  that was a special occasion. I had some strappy red lingerie from an old  relationship, and I paired it with a pair of pants I own that are so  tight that they're practically painted on. I take a second to paint on a  lipstick that matches the lingerie top, and take a breath. Don't turn  back. You're not you. You're ‘club Christine.' Brazen, confident, and  unashamed.

I push out of the car on that thought and head toward the door. It's the  same bouncer. I smile at him as I hand him my ID. "I'm here for Hudson  Carlisle."

"I remember you from the other night. I'm John." He holds out a hand.

I shake it. "Christine."

"I'm guessing he told you to tell me that you're here for him."

"Yeah, he did," I say. "Sorry."

He shakes his head. "Not a problem at all. It's just good to know so I  can make a note. I don't have to check your ID every time if I know you  and know you're going to be here for Mr. Carlisle." Turning his head  away, he mutters into his headset. Then, "Mr. Carlisle will meet you on  the second floor balcony."

"Thank you, John."

I check my coat and purse and head downstairs to go back up. I don't  think there's a way to get to the second floor directly from the  entrance, which I guess makes sense. You don't want people popping into  the themed rooms directly from outside. Hudson didn't say where on the  balcony to wait for him, so I pick a spot at random, in front of a room  that's made up like a desert with a tent of many silks and the scent of  incense pouring out the door.

I lean against the railing, taking in everything that's happening.  There's a good view of the club from up here, and I like watching the  dancers in the cages and the dancers on the floor. There's a good  interaction between the dancers and the rest of the club. They feed off  each other's energy. I glance toward the stage that captivated me the  first time I came here, but it's empty. I remember what was happening  and that raw desire and arousal floods my system. It seems I stumbled on  a fantasy. Even though that seems like a lot for me. I liked it when I  knew people were watching through the curtain last time, but that was  through a curtain and not in front of the whole club. With the club's  owner, no less.

Arms snake around my waist, and I feel the familiar dance of Hudson's  fingers on the skin of my stomach. "It's good to see you," he says.

"I told myself that I wasn't going to come," I say. "I said that I was  going to wait at least a week so I could sort out all of this in my  head."

His lips are against my ear and I feel his smile. "Then why are you here?"

I turn to face him, letting him pin me against the railing. He's already  hard, and that doesn't do anything to cool me down. I laugh. "I see you  kept your promise to stay hard."

"I was. Almost the whole time. I couldn't get you out of my head."

"And I couldn't stay away."

"I can't say I mind that," he says, leaning down to kiss me.

Another thing I told myself was that it wasn't as good as I thought. I  was high on adrenaline and the thrill of going to a party like that one.

Yeah, no. It's just as good as I thought. Maybe better.

Hudson pulls back and looks at me with a smile. "Do you want a drink?"

"No," I say. "Not really."

His eyes darken, and my stomach drops like I'm on a rollercoaster. I like that look-lust and anticipation. "What do you want?"

I clear my throat, my mind filling with that image of that woman on the X. "I found a fantasy."

"Oh really." He raises an eyebrow. "I'm dying to hear what it is."

"When I came into the club the other night, there was a couple there." I point to the empty stage.

He nods. "The St. Andrew's cross."

"I didn't know that's what it was called. She was tied to it. Facing it.  Being fucked, and she looked so … " I can't finish the sentence. Not  because I don't know the answer, but because every word I think of to  describe the way that woman looked feels inadequate. "Maybe it's because  it was one of the first things I saw, but I don't remember something  turning me on like that just by looking."         

     



 

A slow smirk plays across his lips. "I think that can be arranged."

He takes a step away and pull him back. "But I don't want that yet. I  don't want that in front of the entire club. So I want something like  that. I want you to show me how that might feel."

"Then I'm glad that I had us meet up here."

Taking my hand, he pulls me around the balcony. We pass room after room,  and I don't know their order, so I don't know where we're going until  he stops in front of a room that looks like it's carved from rock. There  are chains and wooden tables and a chandelier with what looks like real  candles. This is a dungeon.

A thrill goes through me, and I'm wet. My body definitely wants this.  The room is empty, and Hudson leads me inside to a little side room  where there are cubbies and water bottles and … accessories. Toys that  look like they have varying degrees of danger are hung along the walls  in glass cases, everything from whips to paddles and other things that I  don't have names for. He follows my gaze and squeezes my hand. "Those  aren't what we're here for," he says. "You need special permission to  use them, and I don't have the key. Anyway, I don't think that's what  you're looking for."