Girl After Dark (15 page)

So I take a few more steps down the corridor, then pull back the shutter on another room, this time on the right hand side.

This time, there’s two girls alone in there — one blonde, one brunette. And as I watch them kissing and caressing each other’s lithe naked bodies, I think back to my night with Mistress Helena.

Again, I wonder if perhaps I could step inside, have a little fun.

But no, I continue on down the corridor, peeping curiously into the various rooms along the way, each new glimpse increasing my excitement.

And then, at the very far end of the corridor, I push open the large double doors onto …

Woah
.

I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. It’s like I’ve stepped out onto a movie set! There’s a long, glitzy bar at one side of the room, tables and chairs set out in the middle, and right in the center of everything, a circular stage complete with silver dancer’s pole.

The room is dark, illuminated only by tasteful pink spotlights lighting up the stage, and by the flickering candles on the tables, and as the small crowd watch on from their seats at the bar and at the small circular tables dotted around the middle of the room, the girl on stage dances, her toned body glittering with a thin sheen of sweat as she twirls around the pole, completely at ease.

With a flash of surprise, I realise that this is the very same woman I saw undressing in the changing rooms, just a few minutes ago. I could tell that fiery red hair of hers anywhere.

I can’t pull my eyes away from her as she twirls and twirls, and I realize I’m not alone. She’s got the whole room enraptured, as she spins, kicking out her long toned legs, her skin shining, her muscles taught.

But this show goes further than just dancing, further than anything you’d see at The Vortex …

Because as she writhes and gyrates, her hands begin to trace up and down her womanly body — exploring the curves that, I’m guessing, everyone in the room (including myself) wishes they too could touch.

She gasps as her hands move between her legs, her fingers slipping inside herself, her mouth curling in a brazen grin as she begins to toy with herself, right there in front of the whole room …

I’m in awe, completely enraptured, so it takes me a moment before I realise that there are now two guys, standing either side of me. They must have come the say way as me, down that long dim corridor.

“Quite a show,” one of them murmurs softly.

At first, I’m unsure if he’s talking to
me
or his friend, standing there just the other side of me.

So I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead, at the fiery redhead on stage, my own arousal now building too as I feel the electricity enveloping us all; because these two guys standing either side of me are giving out an unmistakable animal intensity.

“She’s hot,” the other one murmurs, “but not as hot as
this
little kitty …”

And with that I feel his fingertip trace up my spine, sending an electric shiver straight through me.

I don’t know how to feel.

I mean, a part of me is excited, while another senses trouble. But then, didn’t I come here for trouble?

I turn to the guy who just touched me, then cast my gaze the other way, over to his buddy. They’re both tall, tanned, built, and attractive by anyone’s definition. And after another moment, I realise something else, too: that they’re the very same two guys I saw when I first stepped into this place, the very guys who were both heaping attention on that cute black girl … Okay, I think. They obviously like doing things
together
.

“So, kitty?” the first guy murmurs,
his
hand now also stroking me, his fingers dancing up and down my right arm, while his friend’s touch continues to trace my spine. “Wanna come and join us for a little fun? We’ve got a private room, and we
really
know how to take care of a lady, if you know what I mean …”

I gulp.

My heart’s pounding.

I don’t know what to do, what to say.

Okay, a part of me wants to do this … like, really
really
wants to do this. After all, who wouldn’t want two hot guys paying attention to them at the same time?

But at the same time, I’m worried that I’m getting in way too deep, taking things too far, too quickly …

I glance back at the stage: at that beautiful, fiery older woman dancing, kicking her slender legs, displaying her body and her sexuality to the whole room, confident and free, the woman I’d one day like to become …

I think about my tattoo, my new hair, my new image, and ask myself: What would Girl After Dark do?

Then I take a deep breath and push the swirling doubts from my mind.

“Sure,” I say, with a cool little smile. “Lead the way, gents.”

The two laugh, and I feel both their arms slipping around my slender waist as they guide me back out of that room, through the heavy double doors, and into that long dimly-lit corridor.

And as they lead me down it, they’d only have to take a quick glance at my body — at the goosebumps on my pale skin or the sheer hardness of my nipples — or listen to the shivery sound of my breathing, to know just how excited and aroused and … yes,
scared
I am right now.

But most of all?

I feel
alive
.

“Here we are,” the guy on the left says, coming to a stop outside one of the heavy wooden doors. He pulls on the handle and the door swings slowly open, at first revealing what seems like an empty room lit by candlelight. Then, as my eyes adjust, I realise that there are already a few figures in there — all male, their eyes shining as they turn to look at me, standing in the doorway before them.

“Wait,” I say, turning back to face the two guys who brought me here, “I thought you said this was a private room?”

“It is, baby,” the first guy murmurs. “Relax. These are my friends. They’re cool. They just want to meet you too ...”

I can feel his breath hot against my neck as he leans into me, holding me in place as I try to push back against him, to get away from this room and back towards the corridor, my heart beginning to pound and my skin going cold.

But the two guys close in on me quickly, easily pushing me backwards, stuffing me into this dim bare room, their hot hands holding my arms in place as I begin to struggle uselessly.

I can feel the other men encircling me now, too, their eyes hungry and shining.

And I can feel hands on my body, hot rough hands holding me firmly in place.

The door slams closed behind me.

I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this.

“Don’t worry, baby,” a voice whispers in my ear. “We just wanna have some fun.”

And before I can even scream, a hand closes over my mouth, silencing me.

Before I can even scream, a hand closes over my mouth, silencing me.

I try to struggle but more hands hold me tightly in place, grabbing me roughly by the arms and legs. It’s so dark in here, I don’t even know how many men are surrounding me. It feels like there are groping, grasping hands all over my body and I squirm, trying to break free, but it’s no use.

“Hey baby, just keep still,” a horrible sleazy voice whispers in my ear. “We just wanna have some fun, that’s all. We all know what you came here for, you little tease. Now be a good girl, why don’t you? If you don’t fight it, this will be a lot more fun for all of us. You understand what I’m saying?”

I can’t even speak. The hand is still clamped tightly over my mouth.

I know how this is going to go down.

I feel my body going limp, I feel the walls closing in on me, and in the distance I can hear laughter and music — the party continuing as if nothing is wrong.

And the most frustrating thing is, I know that even if I could scream, nobody could hear me anyway.

As my eyes start to become accustomed to the dark, I look slowly around this tiny room. Where before I only saw indeterminate shapes, now I can see clearly the sweaty male bodies filling every square inch of the room. It’s suffocating, it’s horrible, and worst of all, they’re all staring at me, pawing at me, all with that same nasty look in their eyes.

I look back at them, at each and every one of them and think:

Fuck you.

Then, with a sudden flash of anger, I bite down hard on the hand clamping my mouth, piercing his flesh with my teeth, feeling my mouth fill up for a moment with the distinctive coppery taste of blood before he pulls his hand from my mouth, staring at it in disbelief.

Jesus. I actually hurt him pretty bad.

“You fucking bitch,” he hisses, raising his other hand high above his head.

There’s a horrible pause, and I struggle to get out of the way but the other hands still hold me firmly in place.

And then …
CRACK
.

I feel his hand smash against my face and I yelp out in pain.

And with that, it seems like all hell breaks loose.

I fall backwards to the floor.

Then, moments later, the door slams open.

The room is flooded the room with intense white light.

All eyes turn to the doorway and there he is, his face obscured by his mask but even so, I’d recognize those  greeny-brown eyes anywhere.

Carson.

“Get the fuck away from her!” he shouts, his voice strong and powerful.

And with the sudden harsh light of the room, all those men that had seemed so powerful before, so big and scary, look embarrassed and ashamed of themselves now, hunched over and scrawny compared to him, none of them quite able to meet his gaze — or mine.

“Come on,” he says to me, holding out his hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”

And to my surprise, the other men in the room all step obediently back away from us, letting him take my hand and lead me out of the room, my legs buckling underneath me as I get to my feet.

I realise I’m shaking all over from shock, but he takes me gently by the waist, his other hand supporting my arm as he leads me out into the darkness of the hall and then back through the maze of winding corridors, and as we walk I find myself wondering just how he knows his way around this place so well. He seems to know exactly where he’s going.

He’s leading me away from the crowds, away from people, and I feel so safe next to him. No longer shaking, I take his arm from around my waist, hold his hand in my mine and squeeze it. He squeezes back in silent solidarity.

Like me, he’s naked — his bare flesh gleaming — and for a brief stupid moment, as we walk together like that, hand in hand like that, I think of Adam and Eve.

“Here,” he says, stopping by a small alcove — set into which is an ornate wooden bench.

He takes a seat and I join him.

“It’s okay,” he says, soothingly. “You’re safe now, I promise. I’m so sorry that happened.”

“I don’t even know what just happened,” I reply, my voice breaking up, on the edge of tears. “What are you doing here?”

He laughs and shrugs.

“I’m a member. In fact, I know the owner pretty well. I was hoping to see you here tonight. I had a hunch that this would be the place. And even if I did find you, I just wanted to keep my distance at first — let you enjoy yourself for a while. But when I saw you walk off with those guys, I knew it wasn’t gonna end well. They’ve been here a couple of times now, and I’ve had a bad feeling about them. This just confirms my suspicions. Don’t worry. I’ll let Blake, the guy who owns this place, know. Trust me, they won’t be back again.”

I shake my head. There’s still so much I don’t understand.

“But what do you mean you had a hunch? How did you you know I was gonna be here? I’m so confused!”

He smiles playfully and runs his fingers through my hair.

“Should I call you Honey, or is Girl After Dark more appropriate?” he says.

“Wait, what?” I gasp. “I thought my blog was anonymous?!”

His smile widens as he takes my hand.

“Don’t worry,” he says gently. “Your secret’s safe with me. Although certain details from your very first post seemed kinda similar to an amazing night I spent with a beautiful girl called Honey.”

I can feel myself blushing, my cheeks flooding with heat.

“Of course,” I say. “I hadn’t thought about that. I just didn’t think that anyone was reading at first. I guess all of this,” I continue, gesturing to the crazy place we’re in now, “has maybe got a little bit out of hand?”

“So, do you have lots of fans?” he asks.

“Out of nowhere, yeah,” I reply. And I’m about to tell him all about my fans when all of a sudden he reads my mind:

“Did you like the flowers? A bouquet of beautiful English flowers for a beautiful English flower.”

“What?” I say, my head still spinning. “How do you know about the flowers? First you found me here. Then you know about the flowers. Are you reading my mind or something?”

He smiles, his eyes flashing.

“I’m not reading your mind,” he laughs, “just your blog …”

Oh my God, I think.

“It’s you, isn’t it! You’re Prince C!”

“Guilty as charged.”

“But you’re still Carson? That is your real name?”

He nods again.

This time I’m the one who’s laughing.

“I had no idea that was you!” I say. “But it’s all starting to make sense now. But there’s one thing I still don’t understand. How did you find my blog in the first place? There are thousands of blogs out there, and I’m certainly not the only person on the internet writing about sex.”

“It was the girls in my office,” he explains, “they’ve been talking about it for weeks. Everyone’s reading it. And, when I started reading it myself, I could totally see why. It’s really engrossing. You’re a really good writer, Honey.”

“Okay, so you read my blog,” I say, “and you found me here. But the flowers? How did you find my address? That’s not something you can find out just by reading my blog, is it?”

“Okay,” he says, holding his hands up, “you’ve got me there. I just hope this doesn’t sound too creepy but after we met again in the store? Well, I just felt so sure about you. And I knew that with your Dad there, we’d never be able to talk properly. But I was so scared of losing you for a second time. It felt like a one in a million chance — running into you like that — and I wasn’t prepared to let that slip through my fingers again. So …”

At this he turns and puts his head in his hands, obviously embarrassed.

“I had my driver follow you home. At a discreet distance of course. I would never just show up on your doorstep, I hope you understand that. But even so, I had to let you know how much I cared.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he smiles. “This is fun and everything, and if you want, I promise we can come back some other time. But for now, what would you say to a slice of pie and a cup of coffee, somewhere where everyone’s fully dressed?”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’d really like that. Oh, and it’s Melissa. My name’s Melissa.”

§

In the cosy warmth of our diner booth, warming my hands on a cup of coffee with a huge slice of apple pie and ice cream in front of me, back in all my clothes, I’m starting to feel like I’m returning back to normal again.

“How’s your face?” Carson asks.

I touch my cheek and wince.

“It’s okay,” I say, “but I’m so scared it’ll swell up. Is it bruised?”

“A little,” he replies. “I can’t believe that bastard actually hit you.”

“Nor can I,” I say, “but don’t worry, but I’m not gonna let it ruin my evening. Now if you’ll excuse me for a second, I’m just going to visit the ladies’ room.”

I slide out of the booth and head towards the toilets.

When I first look into the mirror, I gasp.

To the side of my left eye is a shiny dark purple crescent of a bruise. It looks awful. But, luckily, I’ve had my fair share of practice covering up zits, so this can’t be too much different, can it?

I pull my makeup bag from my purse and with the aid of my concealer, pretty soon you can’t tell. I’m really pleased with my handiwork, and I’m about to head out the door when I remember: Hey Melissa, you’re on a date after all.

So I turn back to the mirror, put on some plum coloured lipstick, run a comb through my hair and I’m ready to join my date once more.

“Wow,” says Carson when he sees my transformation. “Good as new.”

“In that case,” I say, “can we start again? Like, totally reset things?”

“Sure,” he says with a smile.

“My full name is Melissa Lane,” I tell him. “I’m twenty-four years old. I grew up in London but my dad’s American, so I have duel citizenship. I used to be a fashion blogger, but I’m taking a break from that at the moment. I’m a coffee addict, a Scrabble expert and I’m terrified of earwigs. My favourite icecream flavour is butterscotch, my favourite colour in the world is lemon yellow and if you ever get me drunk enough, I’ll probably end up showing you that Molly Ringwald trick from The Breakfast Club. Okay, your turn.”

“I’m not sure how I’m going to compete with that,” he grins. “But here goes … My name’s Carson Ashcroft, I’m twenty-nine, and I’m a native Manhattanite. I practice law for a non-profit organization, which makes my Stepmother, Esme, extremely unhappy as I refuse to do my duty, join the family firm, and make a killing in corporate law. I’m also a coffee addict, I’ve never played Scrabble but I was a high school chess champion. And I know it’s corny but I just really love Christmas. No, seriously, everything about it. Oh, and ever since I was about eleven years old? I’ve had the biggest crush on Molly Ringwald.”

And just like that, it seems like we’ve known each other all our lives.

Despite the crazy situation we’ve just been in, I feel safe with Carson. It’s getting late, but I don’t want to leave him. I stifle a yawn, battling hard against my tiredness. It seems so crazy that we’ve seen each other totally naked tonight, but we’ve done nothing more than simply hold hands. And I want him so bad right now. But where? I mean, it’s not as if he can come back to mine. Would it be too forward to invite myself over to his? But again, even as I’m thinking this, I yawn again.

“I’m so sorry,” I explain. “It’s not you. I’m having a really nice time with you, I promise! But I’m just so … so … tired.”

“Hey,” he smiles back. “Don’t worry. Listen. I’m going to put you in a taxi and make sure you get safely home. I don’t want your dad worrying about where you are.”

I watch his hand slide across the table towards mine, sending a brief flash of electricity through me as his fingers slip over mine.

“Believe me,” he says quietly. “I want nothing more than to take you home tonight with me, but under the circumstances, I think it’s best for you to go home.”

He’s right, of course.

And although I have to admit I’m a little disappointed not to be hugging a teddybear tonight instead of him, I’m secretly kind of thrilled and pleased at what a gentleman he’s being. This guy really cares about me, I realise with a shy smile.