"That sounds impressive.” I nod.
"Your turn.” He points to me and then there's that intense look again.
"I'd rather not," I say. “I don't think this is working out.”
I can't be this person, I say to myself. I don't know what I'm doing here at The Redemption? Who names a club that anyway?
What kind of redemption?
Besides, I don’t need redemption. I need revenge.
I make my way past small clumps of people just as the music starts to heat up and the dance floor starts to fill. Someone grabs my hand. It’s him. The one whose name I don’t know, who made me spill my drink.
"Dance with me," he says. I pull away, but he tries again. "Please?"
And then as if my body is acting of its own free will, I give in. I let go, and I let him lead me to the dance floor.
The music starts to pump and his hands find my waist and then pull me close to him. We grind. There's no other way to describe it. His body is intertwined with mine. I rub against him. I'm not even a great dancer, but the music sounds like a heartbeat, and we move as one. I let him carry me away. His hands make their way down my hips and then over the small of my back again.
The next song is even more sensual and intense and when he pulls me closer, I don't want to pull away. He slides down my body, pausing briefly to worship my breasts as if they are an altar.
Sweat starts to run down my back and he grabs onto my butt, holding me tightly, telling me how much he loves my body. His is strong. The heavy weight expensive fabric of his slim-cut suit outlines each muscle. Suddenly, the quietness and the demure attitude, the standoffishness is gone.
The music slows down and he presses his lips to my earlobe. I think he's about to whisper something, but he sucks on it instead. Shivers run up my spine, and I continue to grind on his leg.
He brings his fingers up to my neck and carefully runs them all the way down to my clavicle. He goes further after that, tapping just the outside of my breasts ever so gently, waiting for me to give him consent to go further.
How could I not? I need him to kiss me now. I need his lips on mine, but he hesitates.
No, that's not what it is.
He's teasing me.
He wants me to wait.
"Kiss me," I beg, but he shakes his head no.
His hands continue to make their way up and down my body, feeling every curve, every groove, every indentation. My nipples get harder, even though I feel like I'm about 120 degrees, so I reach over and grab his head and pull his chin toward mine, but he pulls away.
"Not yet," he says confidently, like there's going to be more. Suddenly, I know there will be.
We continue to dance or rather press against each other like high school kids who haven't had sex yet, and then finally, just when my legs start to burn and the balls of my feet feel like they won't be able to hold me up anymore, he pulls me close to him and puts his lips on mine.
It's a surprise, and there's a stiffness there at first, and then I let go and open my mouth and I feel his tongue with mine. I bury my hands in his thick, dark hair, and he collects mine into loose ponytails and tugs lightly, making me moan.
"Come with me," he says.
He grabs my hand, and I follow him. We walk off the dance floor, down a long corridor, and into one of the rooms.
The sheets are satin red and the walls are wallpapered in some sort of textured gold, and red, and black fleur-de-lis. The light is low, all candlelight, originating from the four corners of the room.
I peer into the darkness as he takes off his jacket and throws it onto the plush red velvet couch in the corner.
"Have you ever been to one of these rooms before?" he asks.
"I've never been here at all." I shake my head no.
"Well, then you have a lot to experience. Call me Dante," he says.
"Like the poet?" I ask, realizing the name is making my English literature major heart flutter extra hard.
"Yeah. My mom loved Italian Renaissance." As he moves, his dark hair falls into his eyes just a little bit. I reach over, brushing it out of the way. He smiles.
"What's your safe word?" he asks.
I reach over to kiss him again.
"Tell me."
"I don’t know," I whisper.
"This is your first time. You don't want to take it too far. I need a safe word. Club's rules."
Oh, yes, I’m suddenly reminded of the fact that whatever it is we have between us isn't really real.
I sit down on the edge of the bed. It's not that the spark is gone. It's that by saying his name, I was at first excited and then I realized that this is part of the story like everything else.
He's here to meet a stranger and to have a good time. That’s why everyone’s here, right? Including me?
Dante sits down next to me and reaches over and kisses my shoulder. He tugs on the spaghetti strap of my cocktail dress and pulls it down a little bit.
With his lips to mine, it all comes back. How we danced, how we sweated together out there.
What if we did that here? I lean over and kiss him on the mouth. His lips find mine. He kisses me back, opening my mouth wider and deeper, leaning me back on the bed. He pulls up my skirt and finds my panty line.
I spread my legs open for him, and he kisses the inside of my thighs, and I feel myself starting to get wet. Drenched.
I want him. I want him inside of me. He starts to tug on my panties and unbuttons his shirt.
I grab onto the sheets because I've never done anything like this. Yes, I've had ex-boyfriends or rather one ex-boyfriend, but a stranger in a place like this? A one-night stand to do anything you want with? No, that I've never had.
Suddenly the door swings open, and four people barge in laughing and talking, clearly very intoxicated.
"Oh, sorry. It's occupied. It's occupied," they tell one another, each time louder and louder.
"Get the fuck out!” Dante yells, pointing to the door. "Didn't you see the red light?"
They apologize again and stumble out even more gracelessly than they stumbled in. Then he leans over me, but I shake my head no.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"I don't know. I can't."
"Okay." He pulls away, just like that. "If you don't want to have sex with me, I'm not going to force you to," he says, mildly insulted.
"Or do you want me to just woo you again?" He smiles mischievously.
I shake my head no, but he grabs my hand and pulls me close, and with his fingers intertwined with mine, a spark returns.
3
Jacqueline
"I have to go.” I pull away from Dante.
He nods and our fingers separate. He sits down on the edge of the bed, not so much crestfallen, but a little disappointed.
I try to find my small crossbody bag with my wallet and phone, and I realize that I had dropped it somewhere and one of us had kicked it under the bed.
As I lean over, Dante reaches for me, grabbing me around my waist, and I suddenly remember how he held me out there when we danced. My heart starts to beat fast and everything within me yearns for him.
I turn around and he pulls me on top of him. My skirt prevents me from opening my legs too wide so he pushes it up to my waist and feels the smoothness of my butt, squeezing tightly.