by Adore Ian
“VIP?” Hayden asks.
“It’s no big deal,” Tiana says, “I happen to know someone who knows someone who was able to reserve the best seats in the house for us.”
Jayce plops into a leather armchair. “This is some swanky shit.”
“No joke.” I move across the intimate seating area to a spot near Hayden. “Serious crème de la crème.”
“Sit by me, Damian.” Tiana pats the seat next to her. “We never talk, and since it’s my birthday, I get what I want.”
I roll my eyes sarcastically and sit next to her in the chair closest the stage.
Hayden lounges back. “Not gonna lie, I was a bit worried about the dress code.”
“You’re wearing jeans,” Vicky says.
“Yeah, but they’re nice jeans. And I had to borrow this shirt and jacket from Damian.”
White Rabbit doesn’t have a dress code, but it’s the kind of place that attracts people who wear only the latest fashion. When Hayden met me at my apartment earlier, I told him there was no way in hell I was letting him walk into a club—Jay-Z was rumored to have been at the opening of—wearing a navy-blue button-up shirt with matching jeans. Nope. Sorry. I’m too good a friend and I have a reputation to uphold. I threw him a designer flannel and a dark jacket and told him to change.
When he came out of the bathroom, he complained that he looked like, “Justin Timberlake or some shit.”
I’d counted to ten before telling him that was the fucking point.
“Where’s Marrin?” Devon asks.
Here we go.
I look at my lap to avoid everyone’s eyes. I’ve talked to her enough to know that she is coming tonight and that she wants to talk to me after.
“On her way,” Tiana says. “Said she’d be a bit late.”
“Cool. Cool.” Devon taps his foot. “So… how is she?”
Leave it to Devon to bring up the elephant in the room. The night of the fight was only a week ago. I imagine someone has told him about Marrin and I because it’s technically no longer a secret. It is, however, not something we’ve all acknowledged out loud in a group yet.
I get the feeling they’re all waiting on me to respond.
When I don’t, Vicky says, “Good.”
“So, like, is it gonna be weird when she shows up?” he asks.
My alpha male snaps. “Why would it be weird?”
Devon has the good sense to look slightly guilty and I have the basic decency to look ashamed.
“I only meant weird because this is the first time we’ll all be together after everything went down. Correct me if I’m wrong, but was I the only one who left Church feeling like there’s a lot about Mar we don’t know? Not trying to be an ass, but we’ve been friends since freshman year and I had no idea about…”
Vicky and Tiana exchange a look I can’t quite place.
A heavy moment passes.
I’m surprised to find that it’s me who breaks the silence. “Don’t bring it up. When Mar gets here, let her bring it up if she wants. Otherwise, it’s off limits. I mean it.” I look them all in the eyes. “Marrin is our friend and we’re not going to talk behind her back about shit some jackass said to hurt her.”
“Cheers to that,” Vicky proclaims.
We all lift our glasses in silent agreement and take a drink. The music cuts off and the house lights dim.
“It’s starting,” Tiana squeals.
“What’s starting?” Jayce and I say at the same time.
Vicky and Tia both shush us.
Every light in the place goes out. I can’t see a damn thing. I hear something mechanical and a bit of shuffling from stage but can’t make out anything but a few shadowy figures.
“This isn’t one of those musical theater clubs is it?” Hayden whines.
“Please no,” Jayce whispers. “I’m not—ouch.”
“Hush,” Vicky says. “Tia wouldn’t do that to you.”
“You could’ve said that without elbowing me,” he grumbles.
A low hum of music starts at the same time the floor of the stage lights up a deep purple, illuminating seven dancers sitting in chairs lined up in a V-shape. Each wears stilettos, briefs and an oversized cropped hoodie all in black. The dancer in the center is the only one who differs. Her bottoms are red and her hoodie is hiding her face.
A pop star begins singing about secret moments shared between two lovers in a crowded room and the dance begins.
Each movement is sharp and sexual, then soft and intimate. The dancers are mercilessly in sync with one another and as flexible as rubber bands. They bend and turn, and suddenly they’re lying with their backs on the chairs. Hair whips, legs spread, spines arch—then they’re upright with a heeled foot on the chair.
The music continues with a line about how everything stops when the singer’s lover says her name, and the dancers begin unzipping their hoodies. Peeling them off slowly, sensually. Hips pop, bodies roll, and clothing hits the ground as the women sit back down.
The dancer in the center is the only one still hidden. But as the singer croons about wanting her best friend as a lover—she begins unzipping her hoodie. The two dancers closest help pull it off slowly. They lean sharply to one side and then the other—the movements bordering on break dancing.
The top vanishes and silver-white hair whips from a high ponytail.
It’s Marrin.
Marrin is the main dancer.
I sit bolt straight, completely shocked and unsure what’s going on.
A spotlight hits her and the other dancers vanish into the darkness beyond. Her hands roam her body as she bends and rolls, twists and arcs.
I know I’m in a room full of people but I can’t shake the feeling this whole performance is for me only.
The second verse starts and Marrin stands. Still the only point of illumination in the room, she walks to the end of the stage and descends the few stairs. Then she’s right in front of me, grabbing my hand and pulling me up.
There’s a line about how even if the singer gets burned by taking a chance with her new lover, it was worth it. I see it in Marrin’s eyes as much as I hear it with my ears.
I let her pull me on stage and the other dancers surround us in a circle. I have no idea if they’re dancing or not because suddenly Marrin is dancing before me, against me. She makes her way sensually to the floor, then slides up my body at a painfully slow pace. It’s as intimate as sex and as public as exhibitionism. And I suppose that for Marrin, this is a form of exhibitionism. She’s literally taking down her walls and letting me in.
I’m not surprised to see the corner of her mouth quirk up when she realizes I’m hard as a rock. I don’t even care that there’s a good chance all my friends, and a room full of strangers, can see, because I can’t even remember what planet I’m on.
When the chorus begins again, Marrin faces me. Two dancers grab my arms and one whispers, “Walk backwards, we’re going to lead you to a chair.” I don’t even blink when I realize it’s Priya from the Braxton Arcade. I just nod and watch Marrin, trusting them to make sure I don’t fall on my ass.
Marrin follows, hips rolling as she walks in the most seductive way I’ve ever seen in my life. My legs hit the edge of a chair and I sit.
The stage lights up again and Marrin begins dancing for me. Our eyes lock when she wants me to see her lip-syncing lines she means for me to understand. I gather she doesn’t want me as a best friend and that she bought a dress for the sole purpose of having me take it off. She’s not currently wearing a dress—more like the sexiest bikini I’ve ever seen in my life—but that’s not the point.
She’s showing me all the things she couldn’t before. Showing me the side of her she was afraid I’d reject. Showing me, because for her, showing is easier than talking. She’s physically and metaphorically laying herself bare to me and to her friends. There’s meaning in her eyes and in every line of her body as she moves.
Yet her expression is hard to read. I know she’s n
ervous, uncertain. I think I see resolve… And a bit of sorrow, too.
This is a secret she’s lived with for a long time. A way of life she’s honed and perfected. The Marrin who steps off this stage will not be the Marrin who stepped onto it. She’ll be different. Altered. Exposed in a way she’s always feared.
She backs up step by step—lips moving to lines about how I always saw the best in her, saw the truth in her lies. With someone else’s words, she tells me that she’s finally woken up and realized I’m the one she wants to be with. She turns suddenly and launches into the air—swinging around a pole.
Holy Mary, mother of fuck.
I have no idea where the pole came from but I’m pretty sure this is what miracles look like. The other dancers twirl around their own poles and—yes, this is exactly what miracles look like.
Halle-fucking-lujah. Praise be. Take my ass to church at the Temple of Marrin and I’ll worship devoutly for the rest of my goddamn life.
The world is nothing but legs and arms and hair. I’m surrounded by acrobats. They curve and flex and swing around in amazing displays of athleticism. I’m not sure what my face is doing, but as they slide to the floor and into the splits, the phrase kid in a candy store comes to mind.
They whisk around, legs in the air, then kick up to land perfectly on their feet. Now I know I’m grinning because—holy shit—I can barely do that and I’ve been studying martial arts for years. Also, these ladies did it in stilettos.
They spin around the poles a bit more and end the last note of the song in a wicked backbend. The lights go out, people applaud, Marrin grabs my hand and I follow her backstage and down a hallway.
We don’t stop until we’re inside a private dressing room and the door is closed.
It’s just us.
We say nothing.
With her back to me, we stare at one another through a light-bulb lined mirror.
Sweat glistens on her skin, she pants lightly through parted, red lips. She’s wearing nothing but a modest red bikini and stilettos that make her almost as tall as me.
I’m torn between shoving her up against the door or bending her over the vanity counter and burying myself inside her.
Instead, I hold her gaze in the mirror while stepping closer. I wrap my arms around her from behind. Her eyes shut and her throat bobs like she’s savoring the moment, the feel of me around her. Her head tilts and I kiss the sensitive spot just below her ear.
“Mine,” I whisper. I kiss just beneath the first. “Mine.” I splay a hand over her taut abdomen and run the other over the top of her thigh. I pepper kisses down her neck until I reach her collarbone. “Mine.”
“Yours,” she whispers.
My arms tighten around her possessively. I lean my head against the side of hers and close my eyes. She smells like fresh laundry and citrus and sweat.
Her arms cover mine and I’ve never felt so content, so whole. We stay that way for a long while.
“I missed you,” she whispers.
I open my eyes and see her blinking away tears in the mirror. I turn her to face me. “I missed you, too. Don’t cry, baby.” I cup the back of her neck and press her against me.
She relaxes, threading her arms beneath my jacket to cradle me. “I’m sorry. About everything.”
“I know, baby. It’s okay. I’m sorry, too.”
She kisses me. “I’d like to be your girlfriend. Officially. If you still want me.”
“More than anything.” I kiss her again, slipping my tongue into her mouth and that’s all it takes. We devolve into a mess of kissing and touching. Her hands burrow beneath my shirt, ruffle my hair, brush over my erection. Mine pull her hair to angle her mouth just where I want it. One slides over the curve of her ass to dip between her legs.
I back her into the vanity, wrapping one of her legs around my waist before grinding myself against her. Her head tilts back, a moan slips out.
I slide a finger along the hem of her red briefs. “These were a nice touch.”
“A secret for only you.”
“A gesture I very much appreciate. However,” I trace the seam along her inner thigh, “it’s not the secret I want to know at the moment.”
Anxiety tightens her body.
“Are you wet for me, Red?” I breathe into her mouth as I cup between her legs. She relaxes.
She thought I was going to ask about her mom, ask about all the things we still need to talk about. But right now she’s too vulnerable, too exposed—her confidence balanced on a tightrope. So I do the one thing I can in this moment that will help. I slip into the role of her Sir and ask her to give me control so I can show her how much I still desire her, show her that what I saw doesn’t scare me, nor does it make me see her any differently.
She presses her chest against mine and kisses me. “Not at all,” she says coyly.
“Don’t lie to me, Red.”
“I’d never lie to you, Sir.”
I bite her neck then drop to my knees in front of her. I hook her leg over my shoulder and watch her bite her lip as I pull the fabric between her legs aside. “You sure about that?”
She shakes her head, no.
I blow onto her exposed vulva, eyes never leaving her face.
She white knuckles the edge of the vanity.
Finally, I look between her legs. My mouth waters.
She’s glistening. For me.
“Look at me.” She does. I slide a finger through her warm center, her body jerks, breath hitches. I stroke her swollen labia from core to clit then clit to core. I pull my finger away and suck it into my mouth. “Fuck I missed this taste.”
My inner alpha male breaks free of his leash. I yank the briefs roughly to the side then pull her pussy wide before shoving my tongue inside. Her hips buck as I fuck her with my mouth.
She’s hot and aching and dripping. My tongue swirls.
“Oh God, D-Damian. What if s-someone hea—” She moans loudly, pulling my hair hard enough to rip.
I kiss and suck my way up, parting her flesh to give me better access. “Do you want me to stop?” I say with my lips around her clit.
She shakes her head.
Didn’t think so.
I suckle her swollen bundle of nerves with my lips, tongue, and teeth. She goes off like a rocket, panting and grinding herself on my face. I work her until she’s too sensitive to touch.
When I stand up, she’s slumped against the mirror.
I take a moment to admire my handiwork before pulling her up and kissing her. “As much as I’d like to stay here and make up for lost time, it is Tiana’s birthday.”
That snaps her out of her lust haze. She runs around the room, grabbing her clothes before twisting up her hair and disappearing into the bathroom for a quick shower.
“You could’ve changed out here,” I say, when she re-enters the room a few minutes later, wearing nice jeans and a sheer top that shows off the bra beneath. Her hair and makeup still intact. “Few appreciate the female form as I do.”
She snorts. “I’m sure, but you need to get your penis under control before we leave this room.”
“Not likely, babe. You should’ve just changed where I could watch.”
“I didn’t want to torture you.”
“Too late. Thoughts of you shaking it in that skimpy outfit are going to torture me for the rest of my life. Only one thing is going to fix the tent I’m pitching for you and if we start that now, we’re going to miss Tia’s birthday.”
She eyes my package as we move to the door. “To be continued then.”
“Damn right.”
Marrin
When we get to the door that leads into the club, I pause. My heart begins to race as fears flood my brain.
What if they judge me? What if they think less of me? What if they ask about my mother?
Damian puts a hand on my lower back and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Let’s stop at the bar first.” I nod. “I’ll be there the whole time. No one is going to judge you.
They’re your friends, they love you. I love you.” His lips find mine for a deep, thorough kiss. It swallows my fears and reminds me what this whole night is about.
I whine when he pulls away.
He smirks but lust glimmers in his eyes. “If we start this again, I’m going to drag you back to that dressing room and you’ll have to explain to Tiana why we missed her birthday.”
“I think she’d understand,” I tease, wiping my lipstick off his face.
“Come on.”
We get a drink then find our friends. I have no idea what I was worried about. They’re all excited to see me and impressed with the show. I explain that Alice owns this club and that I thought to kill two birds with one stone by treating Tia to a great birthday and laying it all on the line for Damian—and my friends.
They ask about when we started seeing one another and we explain, working our way through the weeks until we get to last weekend. No one asks about what Jake said, and I don’t offer any details. Vicky and Tia know everything, but no one else does. I want to tell Damian first and go from there.
When the night ends, Damian and I follow each other back to our complex. We enter the building together and take the stairs hand in hand. My heart pounds as we get to our floor.
I take a deep breath. “Do you want to spend the night at my place?”
His smile is blinding. “Hell yes.”
I’m not sure when his mouth finds me, but it’s definitely before I get the door unlocked. His lips press against mine—greedy and demanding. I submit and we damn near tumble into my apartment.
We don’t bother with lights.
He kicks the door closed and fumbles for the locks. Metal scrapes as the deadbolts slide, shoes scuff as they come off. Two jackets are abandoned on the floor.
Clumsily, we make our way to my bedroom, my sex haze so thick, I have to actively think about how to unlock the door.
Insert key, turn.
Sounds easy, but when Damian’s hands and mouth rove every inch of my body, basic tasks become mind-bendingly difficult.
The door opens and I pull him inside, absentmindedly flipping on the light.
