“No touching though,” I call back, as I hurry up the steps.
He doesn’t answer. I’m not surprised at that. Whatever he and Jonas are, monogamous isn’t quite it. Although, they seem reasonably settled. I wouldn’t be, but hey? Each to their own, right? And what the hell was that thought? Monogamy? I’m not even contemplating why I’m thinking about that sort of crap on a night out. Fucking. That’s all this is. Again.
I shake my head, giggling to myself at my own absurdity, and walk through the dark tunnels to get me to Blake. He should be suitably settled in, and this place is nothing if not welcoming to people who want to spend money. That fact is proved when I eventually slip through the panels into the entrance of the private booth. The hostess behind the bar is all over him, too fucking close, and pushing her tits up as far as they’ll damn well go. Pathetic. Still, it gives me a chance to admire him from afar. Shirt tonight, green, sleeves rolled up to keep him semi-casual. Clean-shaven, which is a change from the last time we were together.
My gaze drifts lower, eyes focused on that cock he knows how to use to full effect. Not that I can see it, clearly, jeans and all that, but I remember it well enough.
“Finally arrived then,” he says, loudly, to counter the music. I look back up, watching as he smiles at me and starts making his way over. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d bailed on me.”
“No, just late. I’m on London time now. Late is normal.”
He looks me over, walks us back to the bar. “You look ridiculously hot.”
“I do? How kind of you.”
“Pretty sure you know exactly how good you look.”
“What? This old thing.”
He chuckles and looks down at my legs, licking his lips. “What are you drinking?”
“Cosmo, followed by another. And then, preferably another.”
“On a mission, are you?”
“Of a fashion.” I smirk to myself and lean back on the bar, eyes still taking in all the lines he has to offer. Still beautiful in all honesty, and currently wearing too many clothes for what my mind is imagining. I mean, that’s why I’ve got this dress on, isn’t it? So he can get straight to it if that’s what he feels like. Or I can. “So, what, exactly, are you doing back in good old Blighty?”
“Thought it was time to catch up on some things that needed attention.”
“And I’m one of those things?”
“If you want to be.” He looks down at me and tips his beer up to his lips, reminding me of what that mouth feels like on me. “Do you want to be?”
“I would think this outfit should prove I do.”
“Well,” he grabs my Cosmo from the top of the bar and hands it over. “You better get drinking then. I’m expecting an entertaining night while I’m here. All fucking night.” I sip and look out into the dance floor, watching as guests revel in the debauchery this place can provide. “And considering this is the type of place you’ve brought me to, I’m assuming you’re happy for a lot more than we’ve already indulged in.”
“It’s just a club, Blake.”
“Hardly. Have you seen some of the shit going down out there already?”
I smile and check out a couple who might well be fucking in a dark corner. “That’s what you called me for, isn’t it? This place can be whatever you want it to be. Take it for what it is and enjoy it.”
We drink for a while in relative silence other than loose chit chat, but mostly it’s just me looking at him and him glancing between me and the rest of the place around us. I don’t need to see it. I’ve seen it plenty, let alone through the years before this when Anton and Jonas first started playing with the idea of opening this kind of venue.
I end up telling him about how this place came to be, about Anton and Uni and too many drugs. Nothing heavy, but long nights came from smoking pot and drinking, and that's where dreams fester. Perhaps we were all perverts back then, or maybe I was just rebelling against Daddy issues I clearly don’t have. Either way, whilst this isn’t your everyday London club, and what we can see is only half of what actually occurs here, it is something I've enjoyed on occasion. Besides, they serve damn good Cosmos here. Of which I think I’ve already had four.
“I’m not into groups, Ivy,” he says. “Or sharing. Never have been.”
“No?” I hand him another drink and walk forward, ready to get this party started out there on the floor, but his hand slides around my waist, pulling me back until my arse is flush against the hard ridge of iron in his jeans.
“I came here for you, Ivy. Nothing else but you.” The hand on my waist slides lower until it’s hovering over the front of my crotch. There's not enough pressure on it for my liking, but there’s no denying he’s not shy about his move. It’s possessive, controlling, and I sigh at the feel of it against me. Shy isn’t something I’m ever interested in, and certainly not while we’re in here.
I let my body mould to his as I keep looking out into the melee of other partygoers and begin to sway to the rhythm of the music. It’s always so wonderful here. Dark and loud, sexy and naughty. Not many new men entering this venue would be handling it like he is. He’s not intimidated by it, or interested in it other than me, from what he’s said.
Sinking the rest of my drink at the thought, I turn in his hold, letting my gaze tell him exactly how I’m feeling about him touching me. He can do pretty much anything to me here, without any conversation involved. I don’t care. He wanted a night out in London—this was the best place for us to get into exactly what we’re meant to be doing.
It isn’t long before he’s taking hold of me in ways I remember well. Tight hands, firm hold. He sways with me, nudging his knee between my thighs so he can get a better grasp of the thing he’s come here for.
