Page 1 of Free to Fall

1

EGYPT ARMSTRONG

If sin had a scent, it was whatever lingered in the air the second I stepped through the black velvet curtain at Pleasure. It was thick, heavy, and laced with perfume, cologne, and sweat like a cocktail of lust and power that settled on the skin like silk.

The bouncer, Trey—eyed me with a smirk as he lifted the rope. “Back again, I see.”

I shrugged, lips twitching as I stepped past him. “Don’t act brand new, Trey. You know I’m good for it.”

He chuckled. “Always. You know the drill.”

I flashed my phone screen toward him, showing the QR-coded confirmation. As usual, it was paired with the digital NDA I’d re-signed on the ride over and a clean panel of recent test results. Pleasure didn’t play when it came to discretion or safety. That was probably why the place was still one of L.A.’s best-kept secrets.

Once I made it through the entrance hall, I slipped into the red-lit corridor that felt more like a high-end speakeasy than a sex club. Art-deco mirrors, velvet walls, the faint hum of bass-heavy music thumping through the floorboards. Two slim thick women in all black passed me, giggling, one of them carryinga tray with silk ties, a feather tickler, and what I swore was a remote-controlled plug.

Welcome to Pleasure.

Every visit started the same. STD test results at check-in, full consent forms, a no recording policy, and a basket near the front desk that held everything from condoms in bulk to Plan B pill packets. The club didn’t just encourage safe sex, they required it. Hell, there was even an on-site nurse in the back room in case anything went sideways. But despite all the… amenities, I didn’t come for the spectacle. Not anymore.

I moved past the main lounge, my heels clicking against the polished floor. My eyes caught glimpses of skin and satin, of mouths parted in pleasure, of couples, sometimes triples, pressed against plush furniture under gold light fixtures shaped like flames. The place was decadent chaos. And yet, somehow, I always found a sense of control in it.

At the bar, I spotted Mason, the bartender with the tattoo sleeve and easy smile. He was gorgeous, of course—hell, all the people that ‘worked’ here were. The first time I came, I thought Mason was on the menu, but unfortunately for me, he wasn’t. His almond-colored skin was always glowing and blemish-free. He was tall, towering over my 5’7” frame easily. And his smile could light up a room, perfectly shaped teeth with those canines just visible when he smiled.

“Long time no see, Songbird,” he greeted me, sliding a coupe glass toward me. “Cranberry vodka, splash of lime, little flirt of club soda. I remember.”

“Better not forget,” I smirked, taking a sip. “I might start thinking you don’t care.”

He leaned in slightly. “I always care.” Mason was charming, predictable and safe. He had never tried me, which was probably why I trusted him enough to keep coming back.

Without another word, he slid something else across the bar. A small silver key with a dangling tag: Room 34. My fingers wrapped around it slowly. My breath caught. Same room. Every time. It never got easier, the rush I felt holding that key.

We’d always had tension—me andhim. Long before this place, long before it became physical. I used to think it was just dislike. Irritation, maybe even clashing personalities. We came from the same kind of place—projects, pain, grit. The same survival instincts that kept you guarded even when you were safe. But there was always a current beneath it, an awareness, like we were made of the same flame.

And it wasn’t until Creed and Serenity’s wedding that we finally gave in to it. One dance. One too many drinks. One long stare when we thought no one was looking. We left together that night, no words, just heat. It wassupposedto be a one-time thing.

That was what we told ourselves when we pretended it never happened. Weeks passed and we went back to normal, back to our petty arguments. He knew how to get under my skin, and I always let him. It never failed. That one night we spent together seemed like a distant memory… until one night, I got an invite. No name, just a logoPleasureand a time.

I wasn’t gonna go. But curiosity? That shit was a beast. And when I walked in, Room 34 was already reserved, candles lit, music low… He was sitting there. Leaned back, hoodie on, hat pulled low, but I knew who he was. I’d know him from anywhere.

Nasseem Walker.

The one man who got on my last nerve and I couldn’t stand. The one man who made me feel like my skin was on fire. The one man who’d seen me unravel in ways I didn’t even recognize. Deep down, throughout all the arguing and the fights, I knew Nasseem was a problem for me. Maybe that was why I wasalways so cold with him. And now? Here I was. Still showing up, still turning the key, still falling.

I tossed back the last of my drink and slid the key into my clutch. Room 34 was calling. And I already knew who was waiting for me. I got up from the bar, fluffed my hair, checking out my frame in the blue dress I’d decided to wear, before walking toward the stairs leading to the private rooms on the upper level.

As I walked the pathway, I ran into two women kissing and touching each other in the hallway. Once I made it through the hall, past another bar and up the stairs, I had to convince myself this was the okay thing to do. I deserved this. Deserved the exhilarating thrill of it all. And I needed an orgasm that only this man could give me—one that he had given me at least six times before.

Once I got to Room 34, I slid the key into the door, and as soon as I heard the lock click, my breathing hitched. Yet and still, I slowly turned the doorknob and made my way into the room where a queen-sized four-post bed stood in front of me. The room was dark, a low red LED light casting the room in a sultry haze. As I closed the door, I saw him in the shadows, sitting in a chair near the bed.

“Take off your clothes.” Hewhispered loud enough for me to hear clear across the room.

My breath hitched in my throat as my shaky hands slowly found their way to the side zipper on my dress. The dress was form fitting, showing off the curves in my waist, accentuating my hips which had gotten wider and also showing off my long legs.

“Slower.” Nasseem mumbled watching me from the armchair, his legs spread apart as if inviting me to come stand between them. Yet, he wanted me undressed first. His tone was urgent, longing and I felt the energy he exuded from the other side of the room. He wanted me just as bad as I wanted him.

Once I had unzipped my dress, I lifted it over my head then let it fall to the ground, I felt a cool breeze sweep over me as I stood in front of this beautiful specimen of a man in nothing but a pair of black panties and red stilettos.

“Come here.”

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