by Linnea May
“Rowan,” I respond without hesitation. “My name is Rowan.”
I didn’t share a big secret with her by answering that question, but the smile on her face turns grateful nonetheless.
“Nice to meet you, Rowan,” she says.
I don’t reply to her formal words but just nod before I take another sip of the exotic drink she made for me. It’s growing on me, just like she is. The taste was so foreign and unexpected at first—overwhelming me with its uniqueness and not leaving any room for judgment—but with every sip, I begin to understand what she’s been trying to tell me.
There’s something about it, something about the way these unusual ingredients play together, forming a rare but functioning team that tickles the palate in a new way.
“Told you,” she says, jutting her chin toward the drink in my hand. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
“I have to admit you know what you’re doing,” I tell her. “How long have you been working here?”
“You mean here at The Velvet Rooms?” she asks, waiting for my nod before she adds, “About two weeks. But ... I have more work experience than that.”
“Where did you work before coming here?”
She clears her throat, looking uncomfortable.
“A rougher place downtown,” she mumbles without looking at me. “Captain Seaweeds. You probably don’t know it. It’s very different to this place.”
“No sin over there?” I probe. “No angels and devils in lingerie? No kinky happenings on the second level?”
She huffs. “No. None of that. More like drunken brutes and loud music.”
“I don’t care for either of that.”
Her eyes beam with the delight of being understood.
“Neither do I,” she says. “That’s why I came to work here. The gentlemen clientele, the calm and classy atmosphere. It feels safer.”
“The kinkiness,” I add, winking at her. “Admit it, you came here for that, too.”
A giggle escapes her, and she immediately lifts her hand up to her face in an attempt to hide her embarrassment at her girlish response.
“No, I didn’t,” she protests. “But it doesn’t bother me either. People are nice here.”
“People are nice here,” I repeat solemnly. “I’ll drink to that.”
I raise my glass to her, relishing the cute smile that spreads across her pretty face. I know that another suggestion from my side will only lead to protest from her, so I hold it back, saving it for later.
The night is still young after all.
5
Melina
He stays at the bar all night.
Even when I have to walk away to serve other customers, he doesn’t get up from his seat to mingle with the enticing girls out in the guest room. He just watches me, studying every single move as I prepare drinks, clean up behind the counter, and exchange quick small talk with other patrons. The night gets busier, and eventually, I hardly find the time to come back to him and continue our flirty chit-chat even though I wish I could.
Yet he stays.
I don’t get it.
I don’t get him.
Why does he stick around? What’s his end game? Does he really think I can just end my shift and go upstairs to do ...? I don’t even know what. I have done similar things in the past, jumping into bed with a stranger I’d just met, but that was different. It was never when I was working. I was usually plastered, and I always regretted it afterward.
But he’s so different. He’s not a rough, drunk boy desperate to get laid. The maturity and composure he exudes are the exact opposite of those horny animals I used to give in to. However, by the way he’s acting toward me, I can’t even be sure he really wants to fuck me.
Maybe he doesn’t? Maybe this is his game, a game of make-believe, just to see if he could have me without ever going through with it.
I should be careful, but as more time passes, it gets harder to keep my guard up.
Still, I need to think this through. Even if that opportunity presented itself tonight, I shouldn’t just go for it without thinking about it twice.
I haven’t done anything rash in months.
Not since that night.
The night that changed everything.
The night when one of my worst nightmares came true.
I shake my head to cast the dark memory aside. My therapist used to tell me to yell at the beast. “It’ll come back to you, but you’ll be stronger every time it does. It will never win.”
It will never win.
“Almost time for the performance, isn’t it?”
I jerk in surprise at the sound of his deep voice coming from my right, putting an instant stop to my pondering. A quick glance at my watch tells me that he’s right. It’s almost time for the midnight stage performance. The variety of performances display different power dynamics and erotic and kinky scenes, but it never leads to actual sex. At least not in the limelight. The main area of the club usually empties quickly after the performance as people head up to the second floor to play out their own scenes in a more private setting.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious. Some of the scenes did more to me than just make my cheeks blush. Some left me so rattled and aroused that I found it hard to focus on my shift. More than once, I wish I’d been here in a different position. Not as an angel or a devil but maybe with one of these men as their date.
But where would I even find a date like that?
My eyes trail over to Rowan, the first man who has presented an obvious opportunity. He looks at me, anticipation written across his face as he awaits my response.
I get closer to him, knowing that he wouldn’t hear me from where I was standing before.
“Don’t you want to get closer to the stage to watch?” I ask him.
He cocks his head to the side, smiling gracefully when he replies, “I can see fine from here.”
The question is written all across my face, but I see the need to phrase it nonetheless. “Why are you still here? Why not mingle? Get a girl ... have some fun.”
The expression on his face changes, turning from playful and flirty to somber and pensive. Did I say something wrong? Does he think I’m trying to get rid of him?
“Do you want me to leave?” he asks, proving my later suspicion.
“No, not at all!” I hurry to reply. “It’s just that—”
“Please don’t repeat those goddamn rules again, Melina,” he interrupts me, rolling his eyes. “I’m having fun, and I’m exactly where I want to be.”
He pauses, locking me into place with his dark eyes before he adds, “And with exactly the right girl.”
I shake my head. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true,” he simply states. “Why would I lie to you? For a better tip? Oh, wait, wrong way around.”
I regard him with a playful pout, but before I can say anything, he reaches out and places his hand over mine on the bar top.
“Stay close. Let’s watch the show together,” he suggests. “I would enjoy that.”
My breath hitches. “I have to serve.”
But he just shakes his head. “Not during the show, I’m sure. Everybody will be occupied.”
He’s right about that, making me wonder if he’s been here before. The performances on stage aren’t very long, barely lasting twenty minutes, but they’re intense and draw everyone’s attention. I’ve never had to prepare a drink during any of them.
“Okay,” I say, a smile trembling across my lips.
My acquiescence prompts a sinister wink from him and a come-hither look that makes my insides coil with befuddled joy. It’s hard to read his black eyes, the obsidian shadow hiding his secrets in inscrutable depths.
The world darkens around us before a single spotlight draws our attention to the stage. His hand is still on mine, squeezing gently as a young woman steps on the stage. She’s wearing nothing but a tiny black string that hardly covers her lips, adorning her hips with mu
ltiple strings of dark lace, and a matching bralette that leaves her nipples on display. She looks timid and strong at the same time, standing tall as she takes her position in the spotlight. All eyes are on her, but she pays no attention to the audience. Gazing straight ahead, her expression is aware and tense as a man follows behind her. He’s significantly older than she is but handsome and in good shape. He’s dressed entirely in black as well but has much less skin showing than she does. His black shirt is buttoned all the way up; the sleeves rolled up as if he’s about to get into some heavy work, and he’s wearing the same black suit pants that most men in here wear.
The room is dead silent—the music turned off, and all muttering has died down—and all eyes are on them. He walks up behind her, then leans forward and whispers something close to her ear. The girl’s facial expression doesn’t change, giving us no clue as to what he might have said to her, but she responds to him with a silent nod. Then she closes her eyes.
He produces a dark blindfold from his pants pocket and puts it on while barely touching her. She continues to stand tall, letting it happen without showing any reaction.
The silence in a room has never been this loud, provoking such a tense atmosphere as the couple on stage conduct their scene for us. He shields her from the world, adding earplugs to the blindfold to render her blind and deaf. Touch remains her only means of communication, and it’s obvious she craves it as soon as he hides the world from her.
He circles around her in small and deliberate steps. Keeping his eyes on her always, he walks close enough so she can sense his presence without him touching her.
I’m mesmerized by their play, too focused on the spectacle on stage to notice that Rowan’s gaze has long ago shifted. But his eyes are on me with such weight that it eventually besieges my tantalized ignorance, causing me to pull my attention away from the erotic performance on stage and meet the black of his eyes.
We remain like this for a moment with our eyes locked in a wordless communication—testing, asking, wondering.
I don’t move away when he pulls me closer.
6
Melina
Our lips meet before I know what’s happening. One moment, I was staring at the captivating scene on stage. My heart beat with lust and anticipation, wishing it was me, wishing I was the one shielded from the world and ready to let nothing but pleasure wash over me.
And then it happened. I felt his eyes on me, and when I turned to answer his silent call, he pulled me to claim something I was so ready to give but too shy to offer.
A kiss.
He’s kissing me. And a moment later, I’m kissing him, too.
We melt into each other even though we are still separated by the bar—a wall or protection that I usually cherish but would love to tear down at this very moment. His lips are hot and laced with the taste of elderflower, yielded by the exotic drink I made for him. He took a leap of faith by pulling me in like this, having to hope my desire would overcome my professionalism that might stop him, and I’m grateful for that. Our tongues meet, shyly at first, still testing and asking for permission while our lips remain locked onto each other. I can’t suppress a soft sigh when his claim on me becomes stronger, and our kiss grows in intensity.
Soon, it won’t be enough for either of us, and we will have to make a choice—break it off or climb over the goddamn bar to get a proper taste of each other.
This decision is for me to make. He’s reluctant to let me go when I withdraw from his kiss, his hold on my hand tightening for a split second. His black eyes fill with questions as I move away, trying to calm my breathing. I’m panting, fueled by an exciting promise.
But how will this turn out? How could this possibly happen?
Again, we stare at each other; our hands still touching even as our kiss has ended. I don’t know how much time passes—maybe seconds, maybe minutes—but at some point, I find it within myself to tear my eyes away from him and his penetrating look.
I search the room, trying to gather whether anyone saw us. I know the madam wouldn’t like this. Miss Barry runs the club based on strict rules, and she hates for anyone to break them. It doesn’t matter if it’s by a client or a member of the staff. And in this case, it would be both.
The spectacle on stage continues to hold everybody’s attention despite the lack of noise or apparent action that usually draws people in. The girl is standing stock-still while the man’s hands travel across her body. He’s touching her in various places, sometimes giving her nothing but the promise of a caress.
The girl is breathing heavily, just as I am. Over here hidden in my dark corner with Rowan’s hand still clasped around mine, we continue to watch the show. My eyes are glued to the people on stage, but still, I barely realize what’s going on. I watch him move around her; I watch her react with sighs and gasps but otherwise remain passive, and my core clenches with desire—but I won’t be able to recount anything once the show is over.
The spotlight gets turned off while the warm illumination of the rest of the club is returned to its previous level.
I shake my head as if just awakened from a trance and swallow hard when I’m met with his gaze. Rowan looks at me with that same demanding yet restrained expression on his face.
“That was quite something,” he says, and it’s apparent he’s not talking about the performance we just witnessed.
I swallow dryly and nod. “Yeah.”
My eyes widen in pained surprise when he removes his hand from mine and gets up from his seat. “Excuse me for a moment.”
He turns around and walks away from the bar without further ado, burying his hands in his pants pockets. He strides across the room in wide steps; turning his head neither left or right, he’s not paying any attention to the reserved buzz around him.
My heart sinks as I watch him walk away. So that was that.
“Hey!”
Sandy’s voice startles me, and I flinch in surprise when I notice her standing right in front of me, next to the chair that Rowan just got out of.
“Take this,” she says, stretching her right arm across the bar and holding out her clenched fist.
I knit my eyebrows with bemused anticipation as I hold my hand out to her. She opens her fist, and a key drops into my palm, only adding to my confusion. I look at her with a quizzical look. “What is this?”
“The key to the back entrance,” she enlightens me. “Miss Barry gave one to all of the girls because we’re often the last people to leave.”
She casts me a wicked grin, adding a wink as if that would help me understand.
“Why are you giving this to me?”
She rolls her eyes dramatically.
“Oh, girl, isn’t that obvious?” she laments. “I saw you and hot guy. I saw you kissing during the show.”
Shock pinches through my heart like a dagger. “You saw us?”
Sandy giggles and waves me off.
“Yes, I did! And now stop worrying! You guys are so into each other, and I know you want to go upstairs with him, don’t you?”
I bite my lower lip, unable to answer her question truthfully.
“I knew it!” she pipes, despite my lack of verbal response.
“Sandy, I can’t. I still have my shift to work and Miss Barry—”
“Miss Barry won’t know!” She cuts me off. “She’s leaving soon. She never stays until the end of the night because she’s the only one among us who has to work during the day, too. And the bar closes in less than two hours. If Mr. Handsome is still around then, and I bet he will be, you guys can go upstairs without anyone ever knowing.”
My heart races, adding a jump every time I focus on the alluring opportunity in front of me. It’s so taboo, so risky—but so exciting!
Yet I can’t help but worry.
“Why are you doing this for me?” I want to know; my eyebrows furrow with skepticism as I’m trying to figure out Sandy’s motivation behind all of this.
“Because I want to,” she says
, shrugging. “I’ve seen this before. The same longing, the same restraints. I don’t see why you should let it hold you back.”
“Because of the r—”
“Rules, schmules,” Sandy interrupts me. “Forget about those for a moment. I promise you won’t regret it.”
She winks at me one last time before she turns around on her heels and hurries away. Just as Rowan steps back inside the room, Sandy walks past him. She casts me a smirk back over her shoulder, adding an encouraging wave of her hand, which—luckily—goes unnoticed by Rowan.
My fingers close around the key in my hand, hiding the promise it holds from his eyes as Rowan returns to his seat in front of me.
7
Rowan
Something happened while I was gone.
Melina’s face is tense, her eyes wide open, and her lips slightly parted. I saw her talking to the same devil girl who walked up to the bar earlier, and I can’t help but wonder what transpired between them. Did she just receive some bad news? Did the girl say something mean to her?
She better have fucking not.
“You all right?”
My question comes across far more distant and indifferent than intended, but it has the desired effect. Melina’s lips curve into a smile, and she lets out a cute little huff before finding it within herself to speak to me.
“My friend, she just ...”
“The devil?”
Melina nods.
“Yes, her. She suggested we should ...”
She hesitates for whatever reason. Clearing her throat, she straightens with newfound confidence and pulls her shoulders back as she asks, “What was your plan for tonight?”
I crease my eyebrows at her question.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you come here?” she clarifies. “Here, to The Velvet Rooms.”
There should be an easy answer to her inquiry, but there isn’t. I could tell her I was looking to get laid, that I wanted my cock sucked by a dolled-up and willing girl. I could tell her I wanted to enjoy a little pleasure, a drink, and a beautiful woman taking care of me.
