Page 1 of Uncharted Desires
Chapter One
Blake
I’M NOT SURE what pisses me off more—the fact that I'm standing in a massive line on a Friday night or the fact that the line leads to a sex club. A sex club I have never intended to go to in the first place.
I keep my gaze glued to the ground, avoiding eye contact with anyone around. One look at me and they’d know this wasnotmy first choice for the evening.
It's been fifteen minutes, and there are still two couples in front of me. I chance a look behind. Everyone here is either coupled up or grouped up in some weird configuration. I'm the only single person around.Fuck.
A sound of throat clearing gets my head snapping forward. The two couples are now heading inside and I'm five feet away from the bouncer. Adjusting my stance to appear more confident, I walk up to him, and before he can ask me a single question, I say, “I'm here to see Sawyer.”
He gives me a sharp nod. “Name?”
“Blake,” I say, hoping that will be sufficient. I'm not exactly dying to share all my personal information in a place like this.
He runs his gaze across a list he’s holding—one page, then the next, then the next.
My cheeks flush with heat.Please tell me Sawyer has put me on that fucking list. It costs a grand even to step foot in this place. And I swear to God if that motherfucker—
“There you go.” The bouncer makes a little tick with his pen before he grabs the black tape separating us from the entrance and pulls it back, letting me through.
I drop my gaze once I notice he sizes me up, and rush to the door before he can see me for what I am and change his mind.
I press on the handle and pull, but the door doesn’t budge. I brace myself and try again, with more success this time. Well, now I know why there are no single people here—it takes two to even open the door.
The sounds hit me the moment I enter. Soft instrumental music—Jazz, maybe?— spills from all directions mingled with laughs and chatter, and… Well, that's a moan, if I ever heard one.
I make my way through a hallway that never ends and enter a large club area.
There are additional hallways to my left and right, and across the room stretches the longest bar I have ever seen. That’s my destination. I assume its location isn't arbitrary at all, because to get there, you have to walk past and between a dozen or so large, black leather sofas without backrests or armrests. Just giant square islands positioned between narrow alleyways and equally square tables.
And on those sofas? A fucking madhouse.
People are getting it on in every corner; sucking face, touching the way you wouldn't touch anyone in any other public space, whispering God knows what into each other's ears.
I'm halfway through the room when one guy right in front of me picks up the lady he’s with. They make out like there's no tomorrow. She wraps her legs around his waist, and he carries her into one of the hallways. I can only imagine what’s out there—wilderness.
I manage to get to the bar after what feels like forever, and the first thing I notice, or rather don't notice, is Sawyer, who’snot here. I pull out my phone and check the time. Nine-thirty. I was supposed to get here at nine, but it's not my fault the line was never-ending. Plus, he said he was working all night.
If this is some kind of prank, I swear I will kill him. God knows he’s had it coming for a long time.
“Can I get you something to drink?” a bartender who isn't Sawyer asks as soon as I take a seat on one of the stools next to a throuple getting handsy in all possible configurations.
“I'm just waiting for someone, thanks.”
The guy gives me a polite smile and moves on to other customers.
Damn, I should have ordered something just so I could tip him. He works with Sawyer, after all—his life is already as shitty as it can get. I tap my fingers on the bar top before pivoting on the stool and propping on my elbows. I'll give him five minutes, and then I'm out of here. We're supposed to be working. Together. Not by my choice, mind you. And I have no fucking idea how I could focus in here, anyway.
I try to get my mind off people's hands and mouths and other body parts. I don't feel entirely comfortable watching.Instead, I focus on the human aspect of things. Everyone is well groomed—not quite what I expected. Glamorous, expensive looking, sure of themselves. I guess that makes sense, given the entry fee.
I look down at my jeans and t-shirt and immediately feel even more out of place. Why that bouncer let me in is beyond me.
A grunt from my left brings my attention to a man with his fly open and a woman's hand inside his pants, working him over. And she looks so into it. Lucky guy.
On the square sofa next to them, a couple is kissing passionately, the guy's hand cupping the side of his date’s head as if pushing it out of the way so he can ogle the couple next to them.
It's ridiculous and thrilling at the same time. Definitely not my scene, but I guess I can see the appeal.
