He’s so close I can smell him, and not just his cologne and soap—although that is making my head spin almost as much as the cries of pleasure I hear behind these doors. I can also smell him—the true scent of Weston Bridges, the smell of his skin and clothes and just him. His face is so close to mine that if I turn my head one inch to the left our lips will surely meet. I part my lips as the image races through my mind.

“Please what, Mia?” he asks again. He shifts closer to me, his arm still blocking me in on one side. Without moving my head I look down and see that his belt and that part of his body is a half-inch from me. I picture him pressing up to me, and wonder what he feels like. Is he able to control his body in a place like this?

Because I am wet.

The walls of my sex are positively alive, clenching and feeling the desire beneath my lacy panties. My body is telling me what it wants, and I can’t help but be curious, especially when I hear the sound of chains in one of the rooms. The moans of pleasure and sex ring out of all of them, it suddenly seems, as if it’s a strange soundtrack to the club.

Weston—I can’t keep calling him Mr. Bridges, it’s ridiculous now that we’re in a place like this—shifts slightly closer to me. He’s waiting for me to say what I was going to say, but I’ve lost the words. I can feel the energy coming from him, which penetrates me and he’s not even touching me. But I imagine he is, or that he might. I imagine myself saying, “Please take me into one of these rooms.” I don’t know what he’d do with me in there, but I want him to show me exactly what he means when he said what he enjoys is beside the point. What would he do to me to ensure I enjoyed myself?

Weston’s fingers lightly touch my arm. He slides two fingers down my skin, sending chills through me. Even in the darkened hall he can surely see the goosebumps he’s given me. He’ll know instantly what he’s doing to me, how my body is reacting almost against my will. This is supposed to be a professional outing but I’m paralyzed against the velvety wall, my panties getting more soaked by the second. He can probably smell me.

He leans even closer to me, his chest touching my breasts the smallest bit, a whisper of a touch, so light I wonder if he’s even touching me. I want to arch my back to really feel him, but I don’t. My heart pounds in my ears, my breathing is shallow and hard.

“Mia, if there’s something more you want,” he says in my ear, his breath hot on my skin, “all you have to do is ask.”

I suddenly realize how serious he is being—how I could tell him right now to take me in one of these rooms and he’d do it. And then what? What really happens behind these doors? Only Mick down the hall knows, who is still there but politely not watching. I’ve barely kissed a man, much less had sex, much less had all this. Being alone with a man like Weston Bridges would only show what a novice I am—in other words, a total and complete virgin. I could never handle a man like Weston; I could certainly never please him. But the want my body is urging from me is too intense. The smell of Weston is too much. His hand on my skin makes me feel like I’m falling. I have to get out of here.

“Sorry,” I mutter, and I move away from him and quickly make my way down the hall, past Mick and through the bar. I don’t even know if Weston is following me or not. All I know is that I have to get out of here before I have a full-blown panic attack.

The front door is opened for me, and I step out into the narrow alley. I don’t get the fresh air I was expecting. It’s still so hot out, and there’s no breeze in the alley.

“Mia,” I hear. I don’t even turn to look at Weston. I’m embarrassed and overwhelmed. I feel so naïve, but at the same time knowing Weston is coming closer to me makes me excited. I’ve never felt so conflicted, wanting two things that make no sense together. “Hey, are you okay?”

I turn to face him. The light from the club illuminates behind him, casting strange but somehow sexy shadows over him. He slowly walks closer to me, and I feel myself take a step back until the cool brick of the alley touches my bare skin. I’m not afraid of Weston—I’m afraid of the way my body is reacting to him, of the way I want him in ways I’ve never wanted, or had, a man before in my life.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, a lie we both know.

“You look a little pale,” he says, worry in his eyes. “I thought you might pass out back there.”

There’s no need to hide how I feel, since it seems clear I’m not fooling anyone.

“I can’t do that,” I tell him, nodding toward the club’s entrance. I can hear the sounds of the city moving along without anyone noticing us even though we’re just ten feet from the bustle of the night.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It can be a little overwhelming at first.”

“You don't understand,” I say, knowing I need to be frank, totally honest with him. “Mr. Bridges—”

“And stop calling me that,” he says. “It’s really not necessary.”

I hadn’t meant to, and I feel even smaller once it’s escaped my lips.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be,” he says. He’s standing before me, his hands in his pockets. He’s watching me closely. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Mia.”

I press the palms of my hands against the cool brick behind me, steadying myself.

“I’m a virgin,” I say. I just blurt it out. If I felt stupid before, I feel like the city’s biggest idiot now. Oh my god. I’ve never been so close to such a gorgeous man before, and I just blurted out the very real status of my sexual history, which is nil. I can’t even look at him.

I hear him laugh softly, but I don’t think it’s a mean laugh. “Mia,” he says. “That’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m not. I mean, it’s just…that was a lot to take in. You could have warned me.”

“I wanted to get an honest reaction out of you,” he says. “Sometimes in reporting, you walk into situations you aren’t prepared for. But you shouldn’t give that away. You should always at least act like you’re prepared.”

“Fine,” I say. “Lesson learned.”

He shifts, his shoes scraping on the concrete. His voice softens when he asks, “Did you like it?”

I don’t even know how to answer. I can’t get the sounds out of my head, and my mind is in overtime picturing what might have been happening behind those closed doors…picturing what Weston might do to me if we went into one of the rooms.

“Did you like what you heard? The sounds they make? Mia, could you picture yourself in one of those rooms?” It’s like he’s reading my mind. Feeling like he knows what’s in my private thoughts makes me so uncomfortable I can’t even look at him.

I bite my lip. I can still feel that energy—that pull of Weston toward me.

“I was scared,” I say, my eyes on the ground. “But I also liked it—because you were there with me.”

I see his shoes edge closer to me. I finally look up. Weston’s eyes have turned heavy, penetrating my own with a message that seems clear: he wants me.

It seems impossible. My heart races, and I wonder if he’s going to do anything, and if I should do anything with him. As thoughts swirl in my mind, he puts one hand flat on the brick wall next to me, leans closer until I can feel his breath on my face. So slowly, his lips move toward me, and when they press into mine, all reason is blacked out of my mind.