by Ally Vance
“Hello.”
“Heather, it’s Makayla.”
“Hey, girl. How’s it going?”
“Um.” I exhale a shuddered breath. “Well, my boyfriend just dumped me—literally. Like left me at a hotel.”
She gasps. “Seriously?”
“I’m sorry for just calling out of the blue like this, but I don’t know anyone else—”
“No, I’m glad you called,” she cuts in.
“Do you have plans later? I was wondering if you’d like to meet for drinks.”
“No plans. I’d love to meet for drinks.”
“Great. How about the martini bar in Pelican Cove? I’m staying at The Martin Portside. Oh, wait. I don’t even know where you live. Is that too far?”
“Not at all. Just text me the time and I’ll be there.”
“Will do. Thanks, Heather.”
“Can’t wait. See you.”
Chapter Seven
Cannon
After Heather finished checking out all four apartments, I took her home to change, and now I’m dropping her off at the martini bar to meet Makayla.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says as she climbs out of the car, then leans into the open doorway. “Don’t wait up, Dad,” she adds with a smirk before closing the door.
Shaking my head, I pull away from the curb and dial Desiree. “Cannon,” her sultry voice purrs through the speakers. “How was the graduation?”
“Eventful.”
“Oh?” she asks, obviously intrigued.
“Did you enjoy your time with Victor?”
I’m met with silence for a good fifteen seconds before she says, “I know we agreed no getting involved with members, but—”
“I’m willing to make an exception,” I cut in.
There’s another beat of silence. “Why?” she drawls, her skepticism clear.
Desiree knows me better than anyone, even Heather. She and I met twelve years ago at a grand opening of a new club. We hit it off instantly. We danced, she drank—because I’m not much of a drinker—and then I took her out to my car and fucked her. Afterward, I drove her home and fucked her again. We dated for seven years after that.
“Because I want you to be happy.”
“Cut the shit, Cannon. You don’t even like Victor.”
I chuckle. “True. Were you aware he was involved with someone?”
There are no secrets between Desiree and me, no matter how much the truth hurts.
She inhales sharply. “I… I suspected there might be, but he never said, and I never asked.”
“Her name is Makayla. She’s a beautiful young woman.”
“If she’s with Victor, I wouldn’t expect her to be anything less than perfect.”
“She is perfect.” I pause. “But not for Victor.”
A soft laugh comes from her. “Sounds like someone has a crush on Victor’s girlfriend.”
“She’s not his girlfriend anymore.”
“Meaning?”
“Victor gave her up for you. I don’t trust him, but if he’s what you want, you’re free to continue seeing him.”
“What about Makayla?”
I grin. “Let me worry about Makayla.”
Chapter Eight
Makayla
“Thanks for the drinks, Victor, you fucking dick,” Heather cheers, bringing the glass to her lips.
I throw my head back and laugh. She’s fun.
While waiting for my Uber, I checked my bank account, and my eyes nearly fell from their sockets. Victor gave me a very generous graduation gift, and after I’d calmed down, I decided I wouldn’t be too hasty in returning his money. I still need to find a place to live and a job, after all.
“What about you?” I prompt. “Do you have a man?”
Heather pulls her glass from her lips and shakes her head. “I’m not really a relationship type of girl.”
“Oh?”
Now I’m curious. Heather is exotically beautiful with dark, wavy hair that hangs down just past her shoulders, golden brown skin, light eyes, and full lips.
“Relationships are too much work.” She sets her drink down on the table and leans back in her seat. “When I was sixteen, my parents were killed in a car accident. I had a hard time getting close to anyone after that.”
I frown. “I’m sorry.”
She lifts a shoulder. “I’ve had a few boyfriends since then. I just haven’t met anyone worth the effort.”
Running my finger over the rim of my glass, I tell her, “I had a few boyfriends in high school, but only one serious relationship. I went out with few guys in college, but I wasn’t interested in second dates. Junior year, I dated a guy, Spencer, a senior from my Economics class, for a few months. He was cute and nice. We slept together a handful of times, then he graduated and I never heard from him again.” I snort. “Then I met Victor.”
She picks up her glass and holds it out. “To new beginnings.”
“Ugh.” I roll my eyes.
She tilts her head, frowning. “What did I say?”
“That’s what Victor said before he dumped me.”
“What a tool.” She shakes her head then lifts her glass again. “To starting over then.”
I take a big gulp of my dirty martini before setting it down. “You know what I want? A night of hot sex with a stranger.”
Heather snorts. “You need a sexorcism.”
“Yes,” I add with a giggle. “Do people even do that anymore?”
“One-night stands?” she asks. “Sure.”
I look around the bar and take in the dozens of men dressed in suits. It’s happy hour, and I’d say the male-to-female ratio is around sixty-forty. Several guys at the bar are minding their own business, drinking and watching the baseball game playing on the television above. Clearly they’re here to unwind after a long day at the office and not looking for a hookup. Some are gathered at their own tables, engrossed in conversations and laughing. And then there are the prowlers. The ones watching and waiting for an opening to pounce on some poor unsuspecting woman who just wants a fun night out with her girlfriends.
“If I was sure I wouldn’t be kidnapped, killed, or walk away with some unnamed STD, I’d totally hook up with a random guy.”
Heather smirks. “If there was a place that could guarantee all those things and more, would you go?”
I raise my brows. “Does such a place exist?”
Nodding slowly, she scans my face, carefully considering her next words. “It’s very private. The only way in is if you’re invited by a member.”
Propping an elbow on the table, I rest my chin in my open palm. “Are you a member?” I drawl teasingly.
She wiggles her brows. “I might be.”
Lowering my voice, I ask, “Is it one of those sex clubs where they tie you to a big wooden cross and whip you?”
She leans forward, the corners of her mouth curling up in amusement. “It’s a fantasy club.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes. If your fantasy is being tied up and whipped, then you can have that. It’s up to you. You can change it up whenever you want.”
“So, what if I just wanted someone to rub my feet?”
“Then your fantasy guide will rub your feet. But you can get a foot massage anywhere.” She flicks her wrist, waving the suggestion away. “Be more creative.”
I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. “I guess if it were my fantasy, I’d want the man to make it all about me.” Isn’t that what Victor did?
“Well, it’s your fantasy, so it is about you,” she explains.
“True.” I nod, staring down at my glass. “I don’t have a lot experience. I’ve been with three guys yet I don’t know what I like or if I’m even good in bed. My high school boyfriend was just as inexperienced as I was. Spencer was okay, but he was lacking in the foreplay department. Then Victor came along…” I shudder at the thought of what took place in the hotel earlier. “I don’t hate Victor for his sexual preferences. I
hate him for forcing them on me, knowing my lack of experience, and for making me feel used and worthless.”
“I think that’s all part of his need to control you.”
“Ugh. I’m done whining about Victor,” I say, biting the inside of my lip. “Take me to this club.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” she says with a laugh, shaking her head. “I have to make an appointment, and you’ll have to go through the application process.”
“Seriously? What kind of application process?”
“Background check, proof of birth control, drug screening, STD testing, and pregnancy testing.”
“Pregnancy?”
She shrugs. “Can’t be too careful.”
I push myself away from the table and lean back against the booth. “I’m gonna need to get tested anyway. I’m on birth control, but Victor and I didn’t use condoms.”
The waiter comes over to the table with a round of drinks we didn’t order.
“Where did these come from?” I ask.
“They’re from a secret admirer.”
I crane my neck to scan the bar. “Which one?”
“He left.” He sets the drinks on the table. “They’re safe, I promise. I made them myself.”
“Thank you,” Heather says.
“Would you mind bringing us the check?” I ask.
“The gentleman paid your tab, too.” He winks. “Great tipper.”
I frown. “What did he look like?”
The waiter beams. “Tall, dark, and handsome, honey.”
Chapter Nine
Cannon
Stepping out of the shower, I dry off and wrap a towel around my waist before heading to my bedroom. As I slip into a pair of boxer briefs, my phone vibrates on the nightstand. It’s a text from Heather. It’s been two hours since I dropped her off for drinks with Makayla.
Heather: I’m taking Makayla to Veil. Set it up.
Me: What the fuck? That wasn’t the plan.
Heather: Trust me on this.
Me: You better not fuck this up for me.
Heather: You can thank me later.
I haven’t taken a woman to Veil since the Courtney disaster three years ago. The only time I go is to discuss business with Desiree. I never involved myself with the members, and my passion for the club died the day my father did. Desiree took over management while I worked endlessly on building my father’s empire, as I couldn’t keep up with running two businesses. I confess, I found myself back in Desiree’s bed from time to time, but that fizzled out years ago. Despite that, she’s still my best friend, partner, and one of the few people I trust.
Chapter Ten
Makayla
Heather rolls to a stop outside a set of tall iron gates and punches in a number on the call box. A moment later, a woman’s voice purrs through the speaker, “Good afternoon. This is Desiree.”
“Good afternoon, Desiree. It’s Heather. I’m here with Makayla Hawkins.”
“Lovely,” she chirps.
The call cuts off with a buzz, and the gate swings open.
Last night, after drinks, Heather and I took an Uber back to the penthouse, ordered room service, raided the bar, and watched a Sex and the City marathon.
“This is my favorite show,” I’d told her.
“Which character do you think you’re most like?” she’d asked.
“Charlotte.”
“Really?” She sounded surprised.
I nodded, thinking about the fantasy club. My interest was piqued, and I wanted to know more. I’d always been the good girl, and the idea of doing something naughty, but also being in control, was tempting.
“But for one night, I’d like to be Samantha.”
“Samantha it is,” she cheered. Then she reached over, grabbed my hand, and said, “Don’t worry, Makayla. I’ve got you.”
And though my head was swimming with a gallon of alcohol, I knew she meant it.
“Veil is by appointment only.” Heather’s voice pierces through my thoughts as she eases through the gate and up the tree-lined driveway. “You must call Desiree to schedule so she can arrange it with your fantasy guide.”
“Is she the owner?”
“No, but she runs the place.”
“Do you know who owns it?”
“Just that it’s a man. He’s anonymous.”
“Hmm.” I turn to look out the passenger window.
Heather reaches over, resting her hand on top of mine. “It’s just an application. You can change your mind anytime.”
A large white mansion comes into view. It has a French chateau vibe with windows lining both the top and bottom floors, accented with Juliet balconies. A fountain fills the center of a circular driveway surrounded by lush landscaping and trees.
“This is Veil?” I ask in awe.
“It is.” Heather nods as she parks her convertible BMW in the driveway.
I slide out of the passenger seat and tilt my head, taking in the massive structure.
Heather leads the way up the four short steps to the glass-and-iron door, and rings the doorbell.
“Do people sleep here?”
“I imagine some do. Think of it as a fantastical bed-and-breakfast,” she adds with a laugh.
The door swings open, revealing a tall, gorgeous woman standing in the doorway. She’s wearing a cream-colored blouse tucked into a pair of black fitted dress pants. Her black hair is parted down the middle and cut into a blunt bob. Her pouty lips, painted a bright red, stretch across her pretty face in a friendly smile.
“You must be Makayla. I’m Desiree.” She holds out a hand and her long, slender fingers curl around mine. “Welcome to Veil.”
The only way to describe Veil is like something out of a movie. The house is pristine, and everything is a creamy white with a little black added in here and there. A large crystal chandelier hangs in the grand foyer between two sweeping staircases leading to the second floor.
Heather tells me she’ll see me later before she slips through the double doors between the staircases. Desiree leads me into the living room and gestures for me to have a seat on the white sofa, then sits in one of the black accent chairs, hands clasped in her lap.
Although it’s just Desiree and me, I feel a prickle of awareness on the back of my neck as though I’m being watched. I take one quick scan around the room and just chalk it up to nerves.
“So, why are you interested in Veil?”
“I need a sexorcism,” I deadpan.
“A what?” Desiree asks through a soft laugh.
“Stupid joke.” I wave it off. “Sorry. I’m nervous.” I shift back on the sofa and cross my legs. “I just recently got out of a relationship with someone. Uh… I… I’m not really that experienced sexually.” My cheeks heat with embarrassment.
“You’d be surprised by what you discover about yourself and your body with the right partner.”
My stomach sours at the memory of Victor’s face just inches away from mine when he spewed those ugly words, “You said you wanted the man you fell in love with. This is that man.”
“Let’s start with what you don’t like,” she continues.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I don’t like having a cock shoved down my throat to the point I can’t breathe, but I’m here for a fantasy, not therapy.
“I like sex. It’s just Vic—my ex, he liked to control everything in and out of the bedroom.” Desiree frowns and tilts her head, and I continue. “Before him, I’d only had sex with two guys. My sexual experience basically went from awkward to… confused.”
She leans over, picks up a leather folder from the coffee table, and flips it open to reveal a blank notepad. “Let’s start with some simple questions about sex? Oral. Vaginal. Anal….”
A hot flush spreads over my chest, neck, and cheeks. “Oral and vaginal are good. Can we revisit the other another time?”
“Of course.” She grins, then continues going over her list of questions. By the time she’s fini
shed, my face is on fire.
While giving me a tour of the house, Desiree goes over the application process, including the various tests and screenings Heather previously mentioned.
Keeping with the décor of the house, the upstairs hallway is white and lined with shiny black doors. Desiree opens the first door on the right, and I follow her inside the empty bedroom.
“Wow,” I whisper, turning in a circle.
The walls are black, and the floor-to-ceiling windows are flanked by long cream-colored silk drapes. A large chandelier hangs over a king-sized bed covered in crisp white bedding. The bed sits atop a black shag rug, situated between two shiny black nightstands topped with crystal lamps. The black silk tufted headboard is high, and a matching bench sits at the foot.
I move to stand in front of the oversized floor-length mirror fixed to the wall. A chill runs down my spine, and once again I get the feeling someone is watching me. Maybe someone is. I scan the corners of the room, looking for cameras, but I don’t see any.
“Do you live here?” I ask.
“Mostly.”
“You must get lonely in this big house by yourself.”
“I’m never lonely.” She winks before leading us back to the door.
Stepping into the hallway, I notice a skinnier door beside each bedroom door, like a storage closet, and I can’t help but wonder what kind of kinky stuff might be in there.
“The rules are pretty simple,” Desiree begins as we descend the stairs. “You must arrive at least fifteen minutes early, dressed in cocktail attire. You may have no more than two drinks at the bar before your session. We don’t want our members getting drunk. You’ll need to be in your room at your scheduled time. If for any reason you’re running late, you need to call and let me know. If you cross paths with another member, you’re free to engage in casual conversation, but try not to ask personal questions. Our members pay a lot for privacy, and we don’t want them to feel uncomfortable. They’re here for one thing.”
