by Hannah Ford
“I saw you with drugs.”
“You saw me with drugs?” I shook my head. “That’s impossible.”
His eyes darkened, and I saw something burn deep within the depths of his irises. He didn’t like me contradicting him.
“Open your purse,” he commanded.
I started to tell him that was absurd and ridiculous, but something about the look on his smug face made me want to prove him wrong. So I opened my purse and showed him what was inside.
A couple of dollars.
My license and debit card.
A tube of red lipstick.
A newly purchased subway card.
And my tiny pink shell case.
He reached in and pulled the shell case out of my purse, cracked it open and glanced at the tiny pills.
Then he flipped the case over and poured the pills onto the ground, grinding them into a fine powder under the heel of his expensive leather dress shoe.
He handed the case back to me and then began to walk back into the bar.
My mouth dropped.
Had he really just dumped my Ativan all over the floor then ruined them with his stupid expensive shoe? Indignation bloomed in my chest, pushing out any of the anxiety I’d been feeling a moment ago.
I followed the arrogant jerk back to his booth, the red leather one that was situated in the corner of the club. He sat down and calmly took a sip of his drink, seltzer water with a fresh slice of lemon floating in it.
“Hey!” I said. “Hey, those pills were mine, you know. You can’t just go around destroying people’s things. It’s against the law.”
“So call the police.”
“What?”
“If you’re so concerned about laws and who’s breaking them, then call the police.” He took another sip of his drink, then glanced at his watch, an expensive black and silver Rolex. A thoughtful look passed over his face, almost like he was trying to decide how much of his precious time he was willing to devote to this conversation.
“No, I don’t…” I took a deep breath. Something about him was flustering me. Probably because he was so god damn good looking. “That’s not the point.”
“What isn’t?”
“The point isn’t that I want to call the police. The point is that you can’t just go around wrecking people’s things.”
“Trust me, sweetheart, I did you a favor.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Then what should I call you?”
“What?”
He sighed in exasperation, like he couldn’t believe he had to deal with the likes of me. “What. Is. Your. Name?”
“Oh.” I was thrown, not expecting that. “Um, it’s Adriana.”
“Adriana,” he said, looking me in the eye for the first time since he’d sat down. I liked the way he said my name, slow, like he was turning over every syllable, trying to figure out what they all meant. Something flashed in the depths of his irises, something intoxicating and unfamiliar, skepticism mixed with trepidation mixed with surprise mixed with desire.
“What’s your name?” I demanded, wanting him to know that he wasn’t the only one who could ask questions and needing something to distract myself from the rush of attraction that was pounding through my body.
“Callum.”
“Callum?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head. “That’s a made up name.”
“I’m hurt that you don’t trust me,” he said sarcastically, like he actually couldn’t give a shit. He reached for his drink and took another long sip, the sleeve of his shirt slipping up to reveal a tan, muscular forearm.
“Trust needs to be earned,” I informed him.
He laughed, like he couldn’t believe how naïve I was. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a leather wallet with some expensive-looking designer logo stamped on the front and slid out a crisp white business card.
He held it out to me, and I took it, my face burning as our fingers brushed. I’d always been prone to blushing, and with my fair complexion, it was almost impossible to hide. I hoped he wouldn’t notice, but his eyes were on my face, watching me carefully.
CALLUM WILDER was printed on the card in a simple black font. So what, I thought. So he had a card with the name Callum Wilder on it. He probably printed them up and brought them here so that he could seem suave and cool. And what was with the all caps? Talk about being self-important.
Callum Wilder.
It was just the kind of name a man would make up in an effort to get women to sleep with him.
Of course, that didn’t explain the fact that he was wearing very expensive clothes. Even someone like me, whose idea of high fashion was Banana Republic, could tell the suit had had on was expensive.
My eyes ran down the card to the next line.
CEO and Founder, Wilder Holdings, LLC
Wilder Holdings.
I knew that company.
Everyone knew that company. They were famous for swooping in and taking over smaller, failing companies, infusing them with cash and turning them around before selling them off for a profit.
He must have been a billionaire.
I swallowed.
So not only was he extremely good-looking, he was also rich.
I hated him.
“I believe you,” I said haughtily, handing the card back to him. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”
“I don’t prove myself to anyone.”
“Then why did you feel the need to show me your business card?”
He shrugged, like it was inconsequential.
His disinterest infuriated me.
His eyes flicked back to mine and he ran them down over my body, not even trying to hide the fact that he was checking me out. I felt my nipples harden under the cool air of the club, and I cursed myself for wearing such a sheer t-shirt.
“Anyway,” I said, trying to get back to the task at hand. “You owe me fifty dollars. That’s how much my Ativan prescription cost.”
“Would you like to sit down and discuss this?”
“No, I would not like to sit down and discuss this,” I fumed. “You owe me fifty dollars. There’s nothing to discuss.”
“I am not going to pay for your drugs, Adriana.”
“Those are not drugs,” I said. “Those are prescription pills, the kind of pills that people take because they need them. The kind of drugs people pay good money for. Not that I would expect someone like you to understand that.”
“Someone like me?” He cocked his head, interested. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you probably don’t have to worry about stupid things like, oh, I don’t know, healthcare costs, that you probably enough money not to have to freak out when your premiums go up or worry about whether or not Obamacare is going to be deemed unconstitutional.”
“The Affordable Care Act already stood up to the challenges it faced in the Supreme Court.”
“I know,” I said, frustrated, feeling my hands ball into fists at my side. “That’s not the point.”
“Sit down, Adriana.”
This time, I sat. I wasn’t completely sure why. It was a reflex, automatic, almost like he had a hold on me I could resist for only so long. It was like fighting against a wave that was trying to pull you under in the middle of the ocean. You could try to swim against the current, but eventually your muscles and your breathing gave out, and you couldn’t fight anymore. All you wanted to do was surrender.
Surrender.
The word pulsed through my brain.
“What are you thinking?” Callum asked.
“I’m thinking about how I have no idea what the hell I’m still doing here,” I answered honestly.
The answer seemed to please him.
“Have you been here before?”
“No. I mean, I’ve been to New York before. I live here. Well, I just moved here. But I’ve never been to this club before. I was supposed to meet a guy here.”
&nbs
p; He looked around. “And where is this guy?”
“He, um, had to cancel.” I wasn’t sure why I was telling him all this, but I had to draw the line somewhere. It was one thing to reveal your date wasn’t there, but it was another level of humiliation to have to admit he’d completely blown you off, no text, no phone call, nothing.
Callum raised his eyes at me skeptically. “So you know what goes on in a place like this?”
“Yes, of course,” I lied. What was he talking about, a place like this?
A waitress appeared seemingly out of nowhere and set a fresh drink down in front of Callum. “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Wilder?”
She was practically salivating at the sight of him. She was pretty, too, with auburn hair and huge boobs and a tiny little waist. He must have been a regular here for her to know his name.
But Callum kept his gorgeous blue eyes on me. “No, thank you,” he said to the waitress, his gaze never leaving mine. “But my friend Adriana will have a seltzer with lemon.”
“I don’t like lemon.” We were friends now?
“Lemon is good for you,” he said, nodding to the waitress to go and get my drink.
She scurried off.
Callum stared at me across the table, the sides of his mouth sliding up into a knowing grin. He said nothing to me, and I shifted on the booth nervously.
“Are you… I mean, do you come here a lot?” I asked.
“No.”
“So you’re not a regular here?”
“I’m here because I’m thinking of buying this place.”
“So you can infuse it with cash and fire everyone before hiring new workers who will work for half the money?” I scoffed, hoping to make it clear to him that I knew exactly the kind of company he ran.
“Ahh, you’re familiar with my work, I see.” He seemed pleased and not embarrassed in the slightest.
“If you want to call it work.” The waitress returned with my drink, and I went to take a sip.
Before I could, Callum had slid around the booth so that he was sitting right next to me. He was so fast, so close, that my heart began to beat hard in my chest. The smell of his spicy aftershave filled my nose.
“Do not drink that,” Callum said, removing the drink from my hand and setting it down on the table.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Never drink from a glass you haven’t seen poured,” he said. “Don’t you know the statistics on women getting drugs slipped into their drinks?” He shook his head. “It’s sickening.”
“You made me order that drink!” I said. “And besides, I want it. I’m thirsty.” It wasn’t true. But for some reason, I wanted to show him up, wanted to make him see that I wasn’t going to just do whatever it was that he said. He was so bossy.
I reached over and picked up the drink and brought it to my lips. But he grabbed my wrist, stopping me. He took the glass out of my hand and set it back down on the table.
He slid his own drink across the table so that it was sitting in front of me. “You can have some of mine.”
“But I haven’t seen that one poured either,” I said, proud of myself for not falling for one of his tricks.
“Fair enough.” He picked up the glass and took a long drink, letting drops of water pool on his bottom lip. Then he leaned over and brushed his lips against mine without asking. It wasn’t a kiss exactly – it was too short and soft for that. But it was the promise of one.
Heat roared through my body like a searing furnace. He tasted like lemon and soda water, and something else, something sexy and dangerous. Blood pounded in my ears, and the beat of the music pulsed through my body.
Callum leaned in close to me. “Do you know what goes on in those rooms back there, Adriana?” he whispered, indicating the rear of the building, where an open archway led to a hallway that ran perpendicular to the restaurant.
“Yes,” I lied, my voice cracking.
“What?” he pressed. His hand reached up and pushed my hair off my shoulders, his fingertips brushing lightly against my neck. He was so close to me I could feel the heat radiating off his body and I could still taste the lemon on my lips.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
He gave me an amused smile, then slowly and sensuously reached down and undid the top button of my shirt.
I gasped as his palm slid down over my cleavage, the tip of his finger slipping briefly under the lace cup of my bra.
My first instinct was to pick up the drink that was sitting on the table and throw it in his face. But a second later my outrage melted away, replaced with a delicious warmth that raced through my body and settled between my legs.
I willed myself not to moan.
I turned to look at him, and his eyes searched mine, like he was looking for any sign that I was going to fight against this, that I was going to admonish him for unbuttoning my shirt out here in front of everyone without even asking me.
But I didn’t say a thing.
“Good girl,” he said, nodding in satisfaction.
He took another sip of his water, then got up and threw some bills down on the table.
“Come,” he said.
“What?” I asked, my head spinning from what had just happened.
“We’re going back there.” He tipped his head toward the back hallway.
Do you know what goes on back there? he’d asked me.
What did go on back there? I wondered. Sex? Drugs? Rock n’ roll?
“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go –”
He slid back into the booth, took my cheek in his hand, pulled me close so that I was sure he was going to kiss me, really kiss me this time. But he stopped just short of my lips, but stayed close enough that when he began to talk, I could almost feel his lips brush against mine.
“I told you to never apologize. Now you have disobeyed me.”
“Disobeyed you?” I asked, not able to keep myself from giggling. “That’s absurd, you’re not even – ”
“I will be in room 4D,” he said. “I will wait there for five minutes. If you decide not to join me, I will leave through the back door.” His fingers slid down and undid another button on my shirt, peeling back the fabric slowly, the front hook of my bra now completely exposed.
My panties were soaked, and my mind screamed at me to stop, that this was wrong, that I knew nothing about this man, that the effect he was having on my body wasn’t real.
But it was real.
I was turned on, a thrumming sensation that vibrated through my body.
“Please know,” he said, “that if you do decide to join me, I will be punishing you.”
He stood up and disappeared into the back hallway, leaving me there, panting and breathless.
Holy crap. What the hell had just happened?
***
As soon as he was gone I buttoned my shirt. Then I whipped out my phone and googled the name of the restaurant.
Whipped Midtown Manhattan.
I stared at the screen in horror.
Whipped was a BDSM club.
BDSM. Paddles. Chains. Blindfolds and gags and all kinds of other stuff that both repulsed and fascinated me.
Actually, according to the website, Whipped was ‘BDSM light.’
“WHIPPED functions as a full-functional restaurant and bar with a full menu. For our more adventurous guests, private rooms are available. There are no public play spaces.”
Public play spaces?
I couldn’t believe some guy I’d met on a dating app had invited me to a BDSM club. I couldn’t believe the fact that the place was called Whipped hadn’t tipped me off. But how the hell was I supposed to know what really went on here? I’d just thought maybe they were known for their desserts or their mashed potatoes or something.
I was so not in Michigan anymore.
Public play spaces!
I will be punishing you.
What did that even mean?
I reached over and took a sip
of Callum’s drink in an effort to cool myself down. My skin felt prickly and hot.
The sour bite of lemon filled my mouth and I remembered how Callum’s lips had felt against mine, the broadness of his chest, the way his hands had felt as he unbuttoned my shirt.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was up and moving toward the back hallway toward the private rooms. I felt like an imposter, and I half expected one of the people who worked there to stop me, to tell me that I had no business being back there.
But no one even noticed.
It was quieter back here, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one.
I ventured down the hallway, my heart thrumming against my ribs, looking for room 4D. It was three doors down on the right.
I stopped outside the door and took a deep breath, listening for clues as to what might be going on inside these rooms. After a few seconds, my ears were able to filter out the music coming from the restaurant, and I zoned in on the sounds wafting out from behind the closed doors.
Slaps.
Smacks.
Moans.
A woman whimpering.
The sound of a man’s voice, gruff and demanding.
Get out of here, my mind yelled. Get the fuck out of here, Adriana, and don’t come back.
Instead, I raised my hand and knocked on the door of 4D.
“Come in,” Callum called.
I turned the knob and walked in, bracing myself for whatever I might find inside.
But there wasn’t anything scary about the room.
In fact, it was quite the opposite.
There was a dark grey couch pushed against one wall, and a soft-looking leather bench on the side of the room. The only thing that was slightly scary was a contraption in the corner, almost like a bench press machine with fur cuffs hanging from it. I quickly turned away from it.
Besides that, the room was bare, almost like I was in a room in someone’s house that they hadn’t gotten around to decorating.
The only other strange about 4D was the mirrors. They lined the walls on all sides, the reflections bouncing off each other so that looking at them made you feel disoriented, as if you were in a long, endless tunnel.
Callum stood over by the bench, his back to me. He’d removed his shirt, and was now wearing only a pair of dark dress pants that hugged his tight ass. His back was rippled with muscle, and when he turned around, I let out the breath I was holding.
