Seven Nights of Sin - Lacey Alexander [70]
He gave a short nod.
“It’s…pretty wild. I’m still trying to adjust.”
“Adjust?”
“I’m used to clubs that have tables—not beds.”
Just then, a low moan echoed from somewhere nearby—one of the other beds, she supposed. She pointed vaguely toward the sound. “Are people really having sex here? Right here? In the club?”
Lechery laced his grin. “That’s kind of the point of the beds.”
She rolled her eyes at him, offering a contrite smile. “I get that part. But…why go out to have sex when you can have it at home or your hotel? Especially since I’m guessing you have to pay for one of these beds.”
Damon reached out to touch her knee, using his thumb to caress. “Some people come here hoping to meet somebody they want to fuck. And people like us, who already know who they want to fuck…we come for the thrill.”
Suddenly, she got it. “It’s…forbidden.”
His eyes sparkled. “Right.”
“Like doing it on the Eiffel Tower,” she went on. “Or in a gondola.”
His hand slid warm up her thigh. “Remember what you said on the gondola last night? You said if you could, you would fuck me right there, and you wouldn’t care if anyone was watching.”
A thin ribbon of embarrassment combined with arousal twined through her. Indeed, she had said that. Hard to believe, but true. Even harder to believe was that she’d meant it. Damon had transformed her into a shameless sex addict, it seemed.
And just a little while ago, she’d been ready for whatever he wanted her to do, wherever he wanted her to do it. And maybe she’d been taken aback by the bluntness of this place, where the sex was so “in your face,” but as Damon’s warm touch slid gently higher, his fingertips flirting just beneath the hem of her dress now, maybe her shock was starting to fade. It faded even more when he kissed her, his tongue flirting gently with hers—a soft, sensual meeting of mouths.
Just then, one of the bustier-clad waitresses appeared at the edge of their bed, bearing two stemmed glasses and an ice bucket with an open bottle of wine inside. “Your Pinot Grigio,” she said when they both looked up.
And it occurred to Brenna that she should feel uncomfortable—but she didn’t.
Because this was normal here—to be lying down, making out, in front of other people.
“Thanks,” Damon said, then raised to pull out his wallet and pass the girl a tip.
When the waitress had gone and Damon began pouring the wine, Brenna said, “I have some questions.”
He paused to flash an amused look. “I can’t wait.”
She smiled, knowing he found her naïveté entertaining. “Okay, how do you pay for the bed? I mean when? I didn’t see you give Cynthia any money.”
“You give your credit card number when you call to make a reservation.”
“Ah.” Made sense, she supposed. Her next question, though, wasn’t quite as pleasant. “And if people have sex on these beds, are they, um…clean?”
“Yes, babe, they’re clean. The velvet cover is removable. Each time a bed is vacated, the whole compartment is sanitized.”
“Good,” she said, then tilted her head. “But how do you know that?”
“Because the brochures say so.”
Brenna felt her eyes go wide. “They have brochures? That talk about cleaning the beds after people fuck on them?”
Damon let out a throaty laugh. “It’s worded a little more delicately than that, but yeah. They’re at the door and probably on the bar. And…”
“What?”
“If you’re wondering about people hearing you, the compartments were designed to keep noise inside. I know you heard that moan a few minutes ago, so yeah, some leaks out, but mostly it’s contained.”
“I suppose that’s delicately described in the brochure, too?”
He gave a concise, playful nod.
And she couldn’t help teasing him as he passed her a glass of wine. “Sounds like you’re an expert on this place.”
“It’s not my first time,” he said with a wink. Then lifted his glass in a toast. “To new experiences.”
She bit her lip, feeling at once shy but adventurous—and adventurous was quickly taking over. She gently clinked her glass against his. “To new experiences.”
Four
They drank their wine and talked a little