Guilty Pleasure #2

The bass of the music pulsed through the floor of Club Noire, the most exclusive, and notorious club in the city. Neon lights flashed like heartbeats in the dark, slow and sultry, coating every surface in red and violet, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and something darker, something sinful. This was not the kind of club where girls like her were meant to be.

“Elena, come on!” Avonlea shrieked over the music, tugging her arm with the force of a hurricane. “This is the real deal! Look at this place!”

Elena Carter clutched her fake ID tighter in her palm as her best friend, Avonlea, yanked her through the pulsing crowd. She stumbled in, still gripping her fake ID with guilt-laced fingers. The bouncer hadn’t even blinked at it as he’d scanned the card, glanced at her legs in that dangerously short black dress, and waved her in. She felt sick to her stomach.

"I can't believe we actually got in!" Killian shrieked over the music, his dark eyes glittering with mischief.

“This place is for twenty-five and up, guys,” she muttered, eyeing the crowd, but her voice was swallowed by the roar of the crowd. “This is a bad idea.”

Avonlea rolled her eyes, already heading to the bar with James, Sofia, Killian, and David trailing behind her.

She stood frozen for a beat, staring at the place. Bodies were tangled together like threads, strippers glided across golden poles under spotlighted stages, and people kissed as if it were the last night of the world. The stench of weed, alcohol, and too much cologne wrapped around her like a net. Her friends were lost in the chaos as well, shots in hand, lips locked with strangers. Elena’s skin prickled with discomfort.

She hated it.

Well, most of it.

"Relax, princess," Sofia teased, shoving a cocktail into her hand. "Live a little. You’re always saying you want more excitement."

“This isn’t what I meant.” Elena glanced around. “What if we get caught?”

David, always the reckless one, rolled his eyes. “We won’t. These things are pro-level fakes. You’re not bailing now.”

Elena took a hesitant sip, the sweetness doing little to mask the burn. She wasn’t a saint, but this was way beyond what she expected. Everything here screamed excess wealth, lust, recklessness.

The bartender barely looked at her as he slid her another drink that Sofia had apparently ordered on her behalf.

"Thanks," she muttered, grabbing the glass and glancing toward her group. They were already grinding on the dance floor, Avonlea wrapped around some guy in a shirt unbuttoned too far, Sofia laughing with a drink in one hand and a joint in the other, James was making out with a redhead and David was gone.

A guy brushed up beside her, probably in his early thirties, breath laced with tequila, and tried to start a conversation she wasn’t interested in. She barely managed to get out a “No, thank you” before he smirked and slithered away.

Behind her, someone shouted her name. She turned to see Avonlea grinding against a guy twice her size on the dance floor, waving a shot glass in the air like it was a trophy.

Then another man, maybe in his forties sidled up next to her, his cologne too strong. "Hey, gorgeous. Wanna dance?"

"No thanks," Elena said, turning away.

Two more men tried. She rejected them both. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t made for this kind of night. Irritation creeped inside her. 

She leaned on the bar, keeping a careful eye on her friends as she nursed the drink. Her short black dress rode high on her thighs, the hem just barely brushing her upper legs. She crossed one leg over the other and tried not to feel every eye in the place dragging across her bare skin.

That’s when she noticed him.

He was leaning against the far edge of the bar, swirling a glass of amber liquid. Black dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, a silver watch glinting under the moody red lights. His hair was mussed, as if someone had just dragged fingers through it, and his jawline — sharp, dusted with a trimmed stubble, clenched slightly as he sipped.

He was ridiculously handsome, dangerous and untouchable.

Elena couldn’t stop staring.

As if he felt the weight of her gaze, the man turned his head. His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers like she was the only thing in the room worth looking at. There was a quiet intensity in that gaze, as if he could strip her apart from across the room. His lips quirked.

Elena’s breath caught. She immediately looked away, cheeks burning, heart hammering. But it was too late. He was already moving. Each step he took was smooth and confident, unhurried, like a lion approaching a kill. He stopped just beside her, placing his drink down. 

“I believe that’s mine.” His voice was deep, rough, like whiskey and smoke.

Elena blinked. "What?"

He nodded at her glass. "You ordered a martini. That’s a bourbon."

Her pulse quickened. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t…..”

“No harm done.” His gaze swept over her, slow and deliberate. “Although most people can’t take their first sip of that without coughing.”

She stared at him, flushed but trying to sound confident. “Maybe I’m not like most people.”

He smirked. “You don’t look like most people.”

That made her chest flutter. She took another sip of the drink, burning again, but this time, she swallowed it without flinching. He watched her do it.

“You always watch strangers this openly?” he asked, voice deep, smooth, and edged with amusement.

But somehow, she didn't look away. “Only when they look... that good.”

He chuckled, slow and dark. “Dangerous line, sweetheart.”

Elena tilted her head, pushing past the warning in his tone. “Then maybe I like danger.”

“I’m Ryan,” he said finally, offering his hand.

She hesitated for half a second before slipping hers into his. His grip was warm, firm. His skin felt expensive.

“Elena.”

“Elena.” He said her name like he was testing it on his tongue. “Pretty name for a pretty lady.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now. “That’s original.”

“I wasn’t aiming for the original.” His smile tilted sideways. “Just honest.”

He stood closer now, barely an inch between them. She could smell him something like cedarwood and clean linen and power. Her heart wouldn’t stop thumping in her chest.

“You look too young for this place,” he said suddenly, scanning her features again. “You sure you’re over twenty-five?” His blue eyes pinned her in place.

She met his gaze without flinching. “I’m twenty-seven.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, clearly not buying it, but not pressing it either.

His thumb brushed the rim of her glass, his gaze dropping to her lips. Elena laughed a little, sipping more of the whiskey. The warmth settled in her belly like a slow fire. 

The way he looked at her, it made her forget how young she was. She should’ve walked away, should’ve found her friends. But the way he looked at her like he wanted to devour her, sent a thrill down her spine.

“Seems you’re not enjoying it here much. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m with my friends. They must be around,” She took a sip. “Are you alone?” 

His laugh was dark. "I own the place."

Her eyes widened. Before she could react, his fingers traced the bare skin of her thigh, just where her dress rode up. A jolt of electricity shot through her.

They talked. Flirted. She teased. He leaned in closer, dangerously so. Somewhere between her third drink and his second, her limbs grew heavier, her laughter a little too loud. Her skin tingled. Her mind blurred. Every time his gaze dropped to her lips, she felt something deep twist inside her.

Somewhere along the way, she leaned too close. Their bodies touched as she adjusted herself on the stool. Her skin lit up under his fingertips like an electric wire.

“You keep doing that,” she whispered.

He looked down. “Doing what?”

“Touching me like you don’t even realize it.”

His eyes snapped back to hers. “Oh, sweetheart. I realize.”

Her heart crashed into her ribs and something inside her snapped. Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the way he said sweetheart like it meant something sinful.

The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers. She grabbed his collar and pulled him down to her, lips crashing into his. Ryan froze for half a second, but then he kissed her back. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, hard, hot and consuming.

His hand tangled into her curls as their mouths moved together in a rush of desperation. His tongue  swept into her mouth, stealing her breath, her thoughts, her sanity. She gasped, melting against him, her fingers tangling in his hair.

Someone whistled. Someone else laughed. Elena didn’t care. The music faded around them. The lights blurred.

Her thighs parted slightly as his hand slid up the outside of her leg, fingers stopping just before the hem of her dress. The touch was maddening. She moaned softly against his mouth.

She didn’t stop, neither did he.

Ryan pulled back just enough to growl against her lips, "Private room. Now."

Elena bit her lower lip and nodded, feeling dizzy with lust. They stumbled off the barstool together, their bodies pressed, hands grabbing, mouths glued to each other as they moved through the crowd, past the VIP section, down a dimly lit hallway.

They stopped in front of a door near the back. It opened as Ryan swiped a keycard from his pocket and pulled her inside. The door clicked shut behind them, and the noise of the club dulled to a throb through the walls.

The room was sleek and had low lighting. A king-sized bed dominated the space.

Ryan didn’t give her time to think. He backed her against the wall, his hands sliding under her dress, joining their mouths for another kiss. Elena moaned softly as his hands traced her waist, her thighs, her back. She was drunk, too drunk, but it didn’t stop the way her body responded to his touch. Her dress rode higher, and her hands clutched at his shirt, fingers trembling.

“God, you’re…” he whispered, trailing kisses down her jaw, “...unreal.”

She barely heard him. All she could think about was how he tasted, how he felt, how much she didn’t want this to stop.

As they broke the kiss, Elena fell back onto the bed, dress riding high on her thighs. Ryan stood above her, chest rising and falling, eyes locked to her lips. She didn’t wait and pulled him down and kissed him again. Ryan's hands roamed her curves, squeezing and caressing through the thin fabric of her dress. Elena moaned into the kiss, her own fingers tangling in his hair.

By the time they broke the kiss, they were both naked, their bodies flush against each other.

Ryan crawled on top of her with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "I'm going to worship every inch of you, sweetheart," he growled, lowering his head to her breasts. He lavished attention on her nipples, sucking and licking until they were hard peaks.

Elena writhed beneath him, lost in a haze of pleasure. "Yes, just like that," she panted, arching into his touch.

Ryan kissed a trail down her stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into her navel. He settled between her thighs, breathing in her scent. "You smell amazing," he rumbled, before diving in to taste her.

Elena cried out, her hands fisting in the sheets as Ryan's tongue worked its magic. He licked and sucked, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Just as she was about to reach her peak, exhaustion overtook her and she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Ryan smiled against her skin, nuzzling her inner thigh before pulling away. He settled beside her, arm around her waist. Her head rested on his chest. His arm draped protectively around her. As the music outside pulsed on, they fell into a heavy, intoxicating sleep, wrapped in each other's arms, unaware of the tantalizing desires their entwined bodies hinted at.