by Cynthia Dane
Jasmine looked around the table. Ethan exchanged greetings with everyone else there, from Lana and Ken Andrews to James Merange and girlfriend Gwen. Rounding out the table was Kathryn and her boyfriend Ian Mathers, who smiled at Jasmine from across the table.
“You look lovely,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear. Beside him, Kathryn complained about something to Lana, who was not so covertly ignoring the vape trail coming from her husband’s electronic cigarette. “Blue is a good color on you.” He winked. Jasmine blushed, looking the other way before someone could accuse her of mental infidelity.
Ethan cleared his throat, and put a strong hand on Jasmine’s knee, peeking out from the hem of her skirt. “Watch out for playboys, my dear,” he growled in her ear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His hand tightened. “Don’t make me go over there.”
Jasmine suppressed the first true grin of the week. “Maybe I would like to see that.”
Their drinks arrived swiftly, and soon conversations bounced all around the table. Jasmine couldn’t keep up with half of them, either because she couldn’t hear them or because she was distracted by this woman’s perfume or that man’s smart suit and facial hair. Not just at the table, either, although these people always made dressing up look so effortless, whether they wore suits, sweaters, dresses, or designer jeans – although nobody wore even the nicest jeans to The Dark Hour.
No, Jasmine was distracted by everything and everyone. The place was packed. She was used to seeing it busy when Ethan did bring her, but this was a different level. The Dark Hour hadn’t been this busy since Jasmine came to watch Henry and Monica perform in front of everyone. Now those two relaxed at a table with friends, Henry’s arm wrapped languidly around Monica’s shoulders as she leaned back and kept her hands on her stomach. She probably wasn’t the only pregnant woman in the house, but she was definitely the only one with a bulge that big.
“You don’t come here often enough,” James said to Ethan from across the table. Most of the talk died down as everyone turned their attention to the man in question. “Whenever I do see that tempered face of yours, I have to double-take and consider calling you, telling you that I have finally found your doppelganger.”
“I’m a busy man,” Ethan said with his casual droll. “Unlike you.”
“Touché.” James stretched his arms above his head, and Gwen sank against his chest with a smile on her long face. “Still wouldn’t be bad seeing you around more often.”
The look on Ethan’s face probably meant nothing except to Jasmine and Monica, who exchanged glances. This is another reason he doesn’t come often. Ethan got along with other men fine… in small doses. He preferred them in a business setting. In public – or private – he was constantly reminded of his position as “new money.” Even if the “old money” men liked him well enough, they still treated him differently. They probably didn’t realize it, but there were subtle tells, like referencing their school days and Ethan awkwardly saying, “We didn’t have AP classes,” or “We didn’t have a music program in high school. Or soccer.” Jasmine caught her boyfriend up late one night reading the rules for lacrosse on his tablet, one day after he admitted to a business associate that he knew nothing of the sport that rich sons were so fond of. I had never even heard of it until I went to college. Not that Jasmine knew anything about it… other than the players tended to be hot.
“Now, now,” Lana Andrews interrupted. She didn’t slur as much when she wasn’t drunk at bachelorette parties. “Mr. Cole is the hardest working man here. Next to Kenny and me, of course.”
Kathryn slapped her hand over her mouth. When Lana gave her a harsh look, she said, “You’re a man, huh?”
Ken pinched his wife’s cheek and brought her in for a whiskey-laden kiss. “She’s the manliest man I have ever met! You should see her with a cock!”
Half the men shifted awkwardly in their seats. James, however, hooted. That man isn’t fazed by anything. And Gwen always looked at him as if he were the most interesting man in her world. I hear they’ve been together for years. Never married. Not even engaged… but people did not question whether or not they loved and were dedicated to one another. When Jasmine glanced at Ethan, she wondered if people would be saying the same thing about them in another five years.
“The day I see your wife with a cock is the day I take a long drive to Honolulu,” Henry said. “She might be coming for me, you know.”
“She would certainly not be as gentle as your wife.”
Monica neither blushed nor flinched. “Well, of course I must be gentle. I’m almost six months pregnant. I must think of the baby.”
“Perhaps I should start my own monthly show here,” Lana said, after finishing her drink. “Take male volunteers and make them weep from the power of my hips.”
“Weeping? There’s supposed to be weeping?”
“I feel like there’s a weeping cock joke somewhere in here,” Ethan mumbled.
“It’s more like the sweet sounds of a man having the most unexpected pleasure of his life.” Now it was Lana’s turn to pinch her husband’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, Kenny? It’s good for a man to be adventurous and ready to try new and exciting things.”
James coughed into his arm. “In the ass.”
“You hear that, hon?” Kathryn said to Ian. “It’s good for a man to be into new and exciting things. Something something ass.”
He hid his paling face behind a glass of red wine. “One birthday at a time, sweet.”
Jasmine had no idea what to say. She didn’t know how to banter like this – not without embarrassing herself and possibly offending someone. She didn’t know what limits people had. She still got tongue-tied when Monica point-blank asked about her and Ethan’s sex life. I’m lucky they’re not bothering me. They probably wouldn’t either, if Ethan kept looking like he just consumed something sour. Was his bourbon that bad? Or was this a case of uncomfortable conversation in front of others?
Jasmine took quick stock of the table. Her, Ethan, and Monica for sure did not grow up privileged. She didn’t think Gwen did either, if the rumors of her being a bartender before meeting James were true. Yet Gwen seemed to fit easily in with these people, and Monica had the personality to become a chameleon. Ethan was cut-throat in business… and Jasmine? Jasmine was still trying to catch her bearings in this world of “stuck up rich kids” by day, “naughty partying rich assholes” by night.
“So did you hear about tonight’s show?” James said, finally changing the subject from men and the strap-ons they could one day love and appreciate. “Apparently this guy is a real Michelangelo at bondage.”
“The whole reason we changed plans tonight was to see this shit,” Lana answered first. “I’ve always liked a good bondage show, but most of the ones they have here are the same-old, ‘Tie ‘em up and watch ‘em squirm,’ variety. Don’t get me wrong. That’s hot, but after a while you don’t really care unless you’re absolutely in the mood for it.”
“Plus, let’s not forget who is doing it,” Ken continued on his wife’s behalf. “I hear this is the couple who helped take down Xavier Crow.”
A shudder went around the table. Jasmine had barely kept up with that news. Something about a billionaire out west being caught in a whole slew of lies, deceit, and murder. Sounded like something for a network television drama, not so much real life. Jasmine couldn’t figure out why people were shuddering, though. Even Monica looked like she wanted to be sick.
“Well, they must be pretty formidable, then,” Henry said. “Mr. Crow was apparently ruining and ending lives for years. Glad I never had any dealings with him.”
“Oh, we did,” Lana said. “Same business, you know. Not the pharmaceuticals, obviously, but the real estate he liked to do on the side. He came out here once or twice to look into our markets. Never bought anything and kept to his side of the country, but we had dinner with him a time or two. Apparently he was heavily into kin
k as well. Not the fun kind.”
Monica made the worst face at the table. Henry stroked the back of her neck without even glancing at her. He was that kind of guy, huh? Sounded like he would get along with Jackson Lyle, whatever that fucker was doing now.
“Didn’t you and your father have a falling out with him?” Ken asked over his wife’s head. His voice hit Ian within a few seconds. “I could’ve sworn.”
“Falling out? I think you mean he was one of our key investors on our major project last year and he completely fell off the face of the earth. When we found out it was because he was under investigation and then arrested… well, glad we didn’t touch the guy’s money.”
Kathryn patted her boyfriend’s leg. “It all worked out for you in the end though, didn’t it?”
“Not in front of polite company, Katie.”
“Anyway,” Lana continued, “I want to know what these people are like. Rumor has it that they were undercover operatives or something. Plus I hear the fella is really cute.”
“You think anyone with stubble is cute.”
“Ah, yes, like my husband who goes two days without shaving and then thinks he can sneak up behind me and kiss my neck without getting a startled elbow to the groin.” Lana pushed Ken back to amused chuckles around the table.
“What does the man do again? Technology?”
“He develops management apps for companies.” Ian pulled out his phone and showed James something on the screen. “My father hired him before the kerfuffle to develop a system for our properties. See? You can see the details at a glance, including employee and client information. Totally secure, too. It’s not a bad system at all, although when my father got into something technological before I did…”
“You thought he was about to send money to some prince in Nigeria?”
“Something like that. Instead he sends money to my mother in the form of alimony payments.”
“Oh, right, I remember now.” Ken leaned against the table, nearly knocking over his empty whiskey glass. “You recommended him to us for our business. Might have to look into that now.”
“Especially if he’s cute.”
“Yes, dear, especially if he’s cute.”
“Don’t know anything about this girlfriend of his, though.” James shrugged. “All I’ve heard is that she’s almost ten years younger than him.”
“And? How is that weird? We’re all younger than our men.”
Silence fell around the table. Well, it’s not a lie. Jasmine was about five years younger than Ethan. Monica was also more than two or three years younger than Henry. Kathryn and Ian were close in age, but not the same. She didn’t know about Lana and Ken, and Gwen at least looked a few years younger than James – who may have been eternally young at heart, but still called the other men his peers. He was probably closer in age to Ethan than Ken, but that didn’t say much.
“Oh thank God, it’s starting. Thought I would have to sit here and talk to you people some more.”
“I know. I’m not drunk enough for your stilted ramblings.”
“And I’m not horny enough for either of you.”
These words peppered the air as the lights dimmed even more and Jasmine was thrown into near darkness. She saw the glint of Ethan’s watch beside her, and in the cover of darkness his hand traveled from her knee to the inside of her thigh. For the first time all night, heat flooded her veins. Jasmine covered his hand with hers and pushed her fingers between his knuckles. They shared a glance while someone came to the forefront of the stage, mic in hand and spotlight illuminating five silver hoops hanging from the ceiling.
The staff person introduced the first demonstration of the night – and the one most people probably came out early to see. While the woman said that this particular show was not sexual, per se, it would certainly stimulate more than a few people in the audience.
Jasmine jumped when Ethan’s breath suddenly appeared in her ear. “Tell me what you think when this is over.”
Shivers… especially when he pulled back her hair from her neck and shoulders, allowing his free hand to brush against her tender skin. Jasmine scooted her chair back as far as it could go, searching for the warmth of his embrace as it casually wrapped around her. No one else existed at the table. All that existed were her, Ethan, and the stage they watched together.
Jasmine supposed the couple were good looking. The man was tall, wearing a suit without a tie and cleanly shaven, much to Lana’s chagrin. The woman was young. Younger than Jasmine, to be sure. Eventually I will reach the age where everyone is younger than me. She was barely heading out of her mid-twenties, so that wasn’t happening anytime soon. Yet seeing a woman who was probably hardly old enough to even be in that club get up on the stage with her partner was a trip and a half.
Yet their chemistry singed the stage the moment the man swept her up in a firm hold and kissed her with more passion than Jasmine ever saw in the movies. Her hand clung to Ethan’s, strangling it, pushing deep between his fingers and getting to her own skin. He grunted something in her ear before she finally backed off, apologizing.
“Don’t apologize for getting turned on, my flower,” he murmured. “As long as your eyes come back to mine in the end, I don’t mind where they wander.”
He pressed his lips against the back of her neck, his hand dangerously close to the hem of her skirt. Don’t you dare. She rather hoped he would.
The young woman on stage was left to stand in the middle of it while her partner turned to the selection of bondage implements on the side. She was poised, standing tall while keeping her eyes pointed to the ground. From what Jasmine understood of this demonstration, the man was the “artist” and the woman his model, the centerpiece of his creation. She knew little about such things, but her interest piqued when the man selected a long, black piece of silk and approached his girlfriend from behind.
He blindfolded her, slowly, delicately. Every movement was deliberate. Titillating. Entrancing. The woman’s breaths quickened as her partner touched her, first her head, then her bare shoulders. She wore little. A simple black dress that hugged her torso and accentuated her breasts and hips. The hem clung to her thighs. Her leather boots covered more skin than that dress, and yet her look was far from erotic. It was practical for the occasion.
Her head slightly turned. His mouth found a line in her neck and kissed it, eliciting a sigh as his hands ran down her sides. The dangling ends of her blindfolds were brought up, along with her arms, until her hands held out in expectation, like the statue of an angel.
The man tied the ends of the blindfold around her wrists. When he released her, she stood stiffly, hands dangling, propped up by her head. Next, the man withdrew something from his inner jacket pocket. A silver collar. Something – a pendant of some kind that Jasmine could not see from that far away – sparkled in the middle of it. Soon it was around the young woman’s throat, and she shuddered to feel it placed there.
“I haven’t put a collar on you in too long,” Ethan murmured again. “I should do it sometime soon. How does that sound?”
While the man returned to the bondage implements to choose his next piece of silk, Jasmine imagined her boyfriend tightening her crimson collar around her throat, manhandling her body, taking her like he always used to. We haven’t done it like that in such a long time. The limo after the wedding was as crazy as they got since the new year. Jasmine didn’t want to believe that they were getting boring as their relationship progressed, but she had to admit there wasn’t much time to explore their kinkier sides as of late. Hell, there was barely time to make love and have vanilla sex. Ethan hadn’t touched her since she told him she might be pregnant.
“It sounds lovely,” she said, sucking in her breath. The man returned to the front of the stage, wrapping another silk scarf around his model’s torso. He glanced up at the hoops above him, tossing another band of silk through one of them. “One of these days I’ll have to serve you again… sir.”
Ethan’s
fingers dug into her flesh. It was almost painful… delectably so. “I love it when you call me that.”
“I love calling you that.”
Jasmine caught a sly glance from Monica before she looked back at the stage. By then, every hoop in the ceiling had a black piece of silk woven through it. Jasmine didn’t know what to expect, but she suspected that things were about to get wild.
She really had no idea yet.
Half the audience gasped when the woman was jerked into the air. Not lifted, jerked. Yet her face showed no surprise, no fear, and certainly no words as she relaxed her body and went with the flow. The man secured her, suspending her in the air with only the five hoops and their silk bands to keep her leveled. Her legs slowly drifted down as the man loosened the grip those bands had on her ankles. Jasmine watched in absolute awe, and almost in fear that the woman was going to crash to the ground, while more silk bands tied to this one, that one, and wove in and out of the woman’s protruding arms.
There was no telling what was going on. A woman who worked for the club brought out a step ladder for the man to use. He climbed on it right away, hurrying to wrap his beautiful, black-haired model in as many silk bands as possible. She was forced into the position of an Egyptian mummy, right there, suspended in the air. The man whispered something in her ear, and she drew her knees up, pushing them into her stomach. He was quick to wrap another silk binding around them. Soon, the woman was completely wrapped, except for her head.
Jasmine held in her breath. This was almost unreal.
The man jumped off the stool and removed his jacket, tossing it onto a bench. The same staff woman from before appeared to the side, offering him a glass of whiskey on the rocks. He downed it, his model still hanging from the ceiling, calm and patient.
The glass went back on a serving platter. The server walked away. The man returned to his project, hands on hips as he studied his partner above him. “I see,” he muttered. The only reason Jasmine could hear him was because she sat close enough. “That one right there…”
