Chapter 18
Nightscope
Not knowing how to feel about her mysterious lover after their last encounter, Seraphina made her way around the bar to the side with a view of the entire club. She wasn’t going to let him sneak up on her this time.
Inside, she mentally grimaced, second-guessing her decision. He might not approach her at all if she saw him. For some reason, he wanted to keep his anonymity. She had even figured out that his voice was forced. It was too gravelly to be normal. She didn’t care. She liked the obscurity.
As soon as she sat down, the waiter brought her a martini. She winked at him, passing him a twenty. In return, he smirked at her, slipping it into his tip jar.
Sipping her martini, she looked around, trying to figure out if her mystery man was there, and if so, who he could be.
There weren’t many people sitting alone. Groups of people stood together, couples lingered here and there. Some women stood in pairs, scoping out the scene. And then there were the pair of men, scoping the women scoping the scene.
Only a few men stood out as being alone. They didn’t fit the appearance of her mystery man that she had built up in her head. Too old, too cocky, too timid. None were just right.
She made eye contact with one man who stood with a group of other men, all holding beer bottles. As he started to smile at her, she looked down at her glass, picking up the toothpick and popping an olive into her mouth. There was no way that guy could be her guy. She wasn’t about to encourage him.
Nevertheless, it seemed that her move to look away had made her seem timid yet approachable, because not a minute later, the guy squeezed between her and the woman talking to her friend next to her.
“Hey.”
Seraphina looked up at him. “Hello.” She made sure to keep her tone neutral, not encouraging him. She didn’t swivel her stool in invitation toward him either, keeping her body facing the bar. She caught the bartender looking at her, looking at the guy, then shaking his head, as if she was on the hunt once again and had just hooked her target.
He couldn’t be further from the truth. She tried to relay that with a look, but he had already turned his attention to the mixture in his hand.
“What’s your name?” the frat boy asked.
“Rebecca,” Seraphina lied, using the name she always used. Her name was too unusual to give out. She also always gave a phone number that belonged to a real Rebecca. Well, unless that woman had finally changed it. Bitch.
“Huh, I’ve never met a Rebecca before.” His breath reeked of alcohol. She tried not to cringe. Instead, she gave him a noncommittal smile, not saying anything, like, you still haven’t, and picked up her glass, finishing it off.
“You want another one?” frat boy asked.
Before she could respond, the bartender set a fresh drink in front of her and swiped the empty one.
“Thank you,” she told him.
He gave her a small smile and a nod, looked at frat boy, then rolled his eyes before moving on.
Seraphina hid her grin behind her glass as she sipped it.
Frat boy continued to ply her with questions while she lied about her every response. This went on for ten minutes before the bartender slipped her a note.
She gave him an inquiring look, ignoring frat boy who hadn’t noticed.
The bartender shrugged. “It was passed on to me from a waiter. Said to give it to the doll in the gold dress.” He looked at her dress then around the bar in exaggeration. “You’re the only doll in a gold dress.” He shrugged again before walking away.
Seraphina looked down at herself. She hadn’t remembered what she had thrown on. It had been a last-minute decision to show up tonight.
“What’s that?” Frat boy had finally taken notice of the folded paper in her hand.
“Excuse me please.” Ignoring him, she swiveled the stool to the side, slid off, and then made her way to the bathroom, note in hand.
The bathroom was full of women standing at the wall to wall mirrors and in front of the sinks. There was a short line between them, but Seraphina didn’t need to wait. She simply turned herself into the wall and unfolded the note.
In the dark,
You will find,
The beauty of your light,
Within my arms.
For trespasses have been condemned,
And sorrows have taken flight.
Within my arms,
You will find the light.
Tears sprang to Seraphina’s eyes, and she tried to suck back the gasping sob that broke free. She didn’t know how, but he knew. He somehow sensed what she had been through, was still enduring. Who was he? He couldn’t be …
No, she determined. He couldn’t be him. She would know … wouldn’t she?
She knew and remembered everything about him. His smile, his laughter, his voice, the security of his embrace, the warmth of his eyes. Surely, she would recognize those things without seeing him. Then again, she hadn’t seen those things. Hadn’t heard his laughter, his real voice. Only felt.
The man who set her afire now seemed too hard compared to the soft, warm boy she once knew. He didn’t have that same tender disposition; the loving yet insecure touch. This man knew what he wanted and went after it. The boy from her past constantly asked if his every move was okay. Touched her as if she was porcelain.
Theirs had been the purest love she had ever known. The only love she had ever known.
Maybe she needed to get in line after all. She needed to dry her tears. She didn’t want him to see how his words had affected her.
She read the rest of the note.
Meet me in the dark.
I want your hands on the wall above your head, eyes closed, forehead pressed against the wall, dress pulled up over that beautiful ass, panties off.
If you obey, I will make you see lights.
Tucking the note inside the cup of her bra, she stepped into line. Women were giving her sympathetic looks, wrongly mistaking her tears on being burned by a man, no doubt. She ignored them, focusing forward on the three women in front of her in line.
When space opened in front of a sink, she stepped out of line and made her way in front of it. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she tore off a towel from the electric dispenser then wetted it. Looking at herself in the mirror, she assessed the damage. Her eyes looked hollow; dark circles made more profound by smeared eyeliner. Her cheeks were blotchy, too.
Taking another deep breath, she began to wipe away the streaked liner, removing it completely. It made her look so much younger and underprepared for a night out. Oh well, she thought. He had obviously already seen her, and now they were meeting in the dark once again. It no longer mattered what she looked like.
Her face mostly cleaned up, presentable, yet blotchier, she threw the tissue away then made her way out of the bathroom. She hoped no one would notice the state of her face in the dim lighting of the club.
In the club proper, she stopped and looked around, spotting the closet they had rendezvoused in once before. She then looked around more closely, again trying to spot a man who fit the description of him in her mind. No one. No one was even paying attention to her, no eye contact made. She did, however, notice that the frat boy was now chatting it up with the two women who had been sitting next to her. They seemed to be soaking up the attention.
She turned away from them and made her way to the closet like she owned the place, hoping no one stopped her. Hoping no one came in to investigation why she would hole herself up in a closet.
Once inside the dark room, she debated on whether she should lock the door or turn on the lights. She did both.
He wasn’t there … yet
From her last encounter with him, she knew the layout of the room, having turned on the lights after he had left to find her discarded clothing. The closet was more of a room. Large and spacious, farther in it had shelving lining three walls where cleaning supplies, linens, and surplus glassware and dishes were stacked. To her left, hanging from hooks, were mops and brooms. To her right, where they had fooled around months before, was bare wall. No obstacles in their way. That was where she knew she needed to be when he arrived.
She couldn’t believe it had been months—months!—since they’d had their last encounter here. She often went weeks to months without going out to the clubs. Her urge to do so came in spurts, lasting months before she took a break from the redundant routine, needing to recharge before the urge hit her again. It all depended on what was going on in her life.
She shimmied her panties down her legs then picked them up and set them on the shelf beside a stack of linens. Then she removed the note and set it on top. She wanted to keep that note forever.
Walking back toward the door, she flipped the lights off before turning toward the now black room. She couldn’t see anything as white spots danced in her vision.
She purposely hadn’t unlocked the door for a few reasons. One, she didn’t want someone else coming in here. Two, she wanted to see if he was an employee or had connections to 7. If so, it would make it easier to find out who he was. Three, if he wasn’t or didn’t, it would show her how enterprising he was. That he had long-prepared for this dance between them.
Facing the wall, her heart now racing, she lifted her dress and spread her legs to hold it up. Then she placed her hands against the wall, pressed her forehead against the cold concrete, tilted her hips back, and closed her eyes.
With the music drowned out, only the bass leaking into the small room, her breathing grew more pronounced. She breathed in the chemical scents in the air and breathed out her anxiety. In the darkness, waiting, she couldn’t even formulate a thought. She tried to remember what she had just been thinking but drew a blank. She was on autopilot.
However, as she continued to wait, she thought again at how reckless this was. She didn’t know this man. She couldn’t even describe him if he did hurt her, and he could. She had made and was making it too easy for him. She was a willing participant in a game without knowing the rules. What was the goal? What did he hope to gain from this? Was he someone she had used before? Was this their way of getting back at her? Or getting more of her? Was he a jealous conquest who wanted her to choose him?
She didn’t know the answers. She only knew she liked the way this game made her feel. She liked the way he made her feel. And now she liked his insightful words, too.
After about ten minutes, in which her thoughts had started to play terrifying scenarios, she heard the knob jingle. She instantly grew taut, fearing it wasn’t him, yet thrilled it could be. The overload of contradictions had her breathing growing more raggedly.
The jingling stopped. There was a pause. Then the sound of a key entering the slot. Either he worked here, had a connection, or the person about to walk in wasn’t him.
She started to panic, not knowing what excuse she would give if it wasn’t him. Nevertheless, she wouldn’t move from her position. The fear of getting caught was too exciting, bringing forth her arousal. And if it was him, she wouldn’t disobey, finding that being under the orders of a man turned her on more than she had thought.
She had always been able to elicit her own arousal. The thought alone of what was to come when she was on a hunt hungered her core. The thought of being filled aroused her. The thought of bringing a man to his knees made her clench. It was only when the tables turned that she cowered. Except with him.
The lack of control on her part, the thought that someone else was in control for once was a freeing experience that had her moaning before the door was even opened. She longed to clamp her legs shut, to stop the arousal that was making her core clench and seep.
The knob was finally turned. She heard every millisecond of its rotation. Then the door was opened, and she heard someone step inside before the door was promptly shut, the lock being flicked. When the light wasn’t immediately flipped on, she knew who was in the room with her. Well, she knew it was her lover. The very air confirmed it with its charged atmosphere. The molecules drifting from him to her, sending an awareness through her and electrifying her body.
She whimpered, the sound seeming to echo in the dark room. Then she moaned when she felt him press against her, sliding his hands from mid-thigh, over her bare bottom, and stopping at the tops of her globes where her dress was scrunched up. He then slipped his hands on either side of her hips and pulled her back so she could feel his arousal against her core. She whimpered again, wanting nothing else but to feel him there, slipping inside her, filling the eternal emptiness that plagued her nightly.
As she whimpered, he groaned, sounding so pained that she knew he would put them both of out their miseries and join them together.
He didn’t. Instead, she felt him crouch behind her, slipping his hands from her hips, down the sides of her thighs and around the back. At mid-thigh, he tightened his hold and forced them more apart. She gasped, then gasped again when he pulled her back, making her catch herself lower against the wall, bent at a ninety-degree angle.
She pressed her forearms against the wall, cradling her head that rested against them. Her eyes were open now, yet she couldn’t see anything. All she could do was hear their equally labored breaths, the bass of the music that was so sexually in nature that her core seemed to throb with it; smell the chemicals saturating the room with hints of her arousal; and feel him.
As quickly as he had rearranged her to his liking, he was there, licking and fondling, making her squirm and moan, filling her with fingers and tongue. The sensations devastated her, turning her into a primitive creature who only knew how to grunt and moan. His touch was so exquisite, so precise with the right amount of pressure, and with her arousal already so heightened by the clandestine meeting, she came with a gasp and a moan.
Her liquefied legs were unable to support her. The man with the magic touch guided her down to his bent knees, her bare ass meeting warm denim. He smoothed her hair away from her damp face then pressed kisses along her neck, making her moan and arch into his touch, her skin sensitive after her orgasm. His every touch sent shivers throughout her body, making her want more.
Sensing this, the man guided her up and pressed her against the wall. Though her arms still felt like jelly, she lifted them around his neck as he sucked and nibbled his way up her chest to her neck, to her chin, before claiming her mouth.
She tasted herself on his lips, and it made her hungrier, knowing that mouth had fucked her better than any cock.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked against her lips, pressing himself against her.
“N-no,” she stuttered, pulling his hips toward her and wrapping a leg around one.
He grunted at the impact, rubbing his groin against her while kissing down her chin again, making his way to her neck. “Would you tell me the truth if you were?”
“Yes,” she hissed, kissing up his neck as he bit her earlobe.
“Hmm …” he hummed, as if he thought differently.
She ignored him, working on loosening his belt, but he pulled his lower half away from her while claiming her mouth again.
He gripped both sides of her face as he deepened the kiss, moaning into her mouth as his hips seemed to unconsciously seek hers out, grinding against her again, seeking relief. She answered it by hoisting herself up, wrapping her legs around his hips and thrusting against him. He sagged into her, mimicking the act of sex fully clothed, pressing himself against her and her against the wall.
She started to ache again to unbearable levels as his erection rubbed against her. She gasped, and her breaths stuttered, and he swallowed her moans as she swallowed his groans. It was almost enough.
She slipped a hand down the front of his pants from between them, feeling the silky, hard length of him. He grunted at the touch, biting her lip as he pressed more forcefully into her, effectively trapping her hand inside his jeans. Then he reached under her and slipped two fingers into her, making her gasp and buck against him.
As his thumb joined in the pleasure, pressing against her button, she continued to gasp, unable to gain a proper breath. She gyrated her hips against his hand while trying to move her hand inside his pants to reciprocate. However, he kept her wrist trapped inside the band, only allowing her fingers to move as she caressed him the best she could.
He pumped his fingers into her harder, adding a third finger, while rotating his thumb faster. Seraphina couldn’t keep up with her own attempt to pleasure him. Her entire body went limp as she succumbed to him, concentrating on just feeling. Unlike before, she felt the orgasm creeping up, heating her body and quickening her breaths. She tightened the arm around the back of his neck, trying to hoist herself up, as if trying to get away from the sensation he was triggering inside her.
“No,” he grunted, pulling her hand out of his pants before thrusting his erection against her as if he himself were about to come. That thought sent her over the edge, and she wrapped both arms around his neck, tightening her legs around his hips and quivering around his fingers while arching against him, screaming her climax.
The world went black. Blacker than the room. No sound penetrated, no senses of any kind, except for the explosions convulsing her body.
“Dammit, Seraph. Damn you,” was all she heard before noises once again infiltrated the small room before being cut off by the clicking of the door being shut.
She found herself lying on the floor, alone.
Belatedly, she realized he knew her name. He knew her real name.
~~~~~
Nathan walked away from the closet, his boxers wet from his release. He hadn’t meant to get himself off, but what red-blooded male wouldn’t have when sex scented the air, the taste of it lingered on his tongue, and a goddess was in the throes of passion in his arms, trying her damnedest to please him as he had her.
Even with the release, he felt unfilled. He felt like he had to pound and pound into something. He felt brutal with it. Like if he didn’t fuck and fuck for hours, then he would beat the shit out of someone.
Instead of making his way into the kitchen, not wanting to have to talk to Jeffrey in the state he was in, he made his way out the front door, the thunderous expression on his face giving him a wide berth.
Inside his car, he felt no shame in the dark lot as he undid his pants and took his new erection in hand. He could still taste her on his tongue. Her touch still lingered over his skin, a soft branding that tingled. His lips still tingled, too, still felt the brush of her lips, the bite of her teeth, the prodding of her tongue. He could cry with the memory of it and a hundred more that preceded them.
He stroked himself cruelly, crying out at the force of his orgasm. Then he did cry. Real tears and not the cries of passion. He cried for the years he had spent in purgatory. For the years he had thought she was dead. For the betrayal at finding out she was alive. For the shock at finding out something was wrong with her. Mostly, he cried at his inability to help her, to be there for her. He cried for all they had lost.