Page 55 of Revenge At Raleigh High
At the far end of the bar: the stage is double its normal size, and three extra stripper poles have been brought down from upstairs. People—couples, and occasionally a three or foursome—lounge in the booths angled toward the stage, watching as a raven-haired woman wearing little devil horns on her head dances seductively on the stage. In her hands, she uses two large crimson feather fans to hide her body, strategically turning them over and spinning them, letting one fall only to preserve her modesty with the other at the last second. Ornearlypreserve her modesty. She’s naked, pale skin practically glowing up on the stage, the fans covering anything that might make her blush. Except, every few seconds or so, a fan will slip or be coquettishly lowered, and the curve of her breast will be visible. A flash of nipple. The apex of her thighs. And the dancer isnotblushing.
I give Silver a sidelong glance. She’s seen worse than this upstairs in the regular bar. The strippers up there get fully naked if enough dollar bills are dropped at their feet. It’s different down here, though. There’s a heightened sexual tension in the air. The men and women at the high-tops, sprawled out in the booths and leaning up against the bar haven’t just come to enjoy the show. They’ve come to find some excitement of their own. To make some sort of clandestine, taboo connection with someone, even if that connection is only made when they meet a stranger’s eyes and an unspoken message is passed between them.
I am nothing more than my desires.
I am here to be used.
I am here to be plucked.
I am here to command.
I am vulernablepowerfulweakbrokenhurtstrong.
“This is absolutely insane,” Silver says. I watch as her eyes skate over the scene before her. She pauses on a couple in a shadowy booth close to the burlesque dancer. They’re in their late twenties by the looks of things. Sleek and toned—the kind of couple who have a joint fitness account on Instagram and wear t-shirts that say ‘Swole Mate’on them. The woman is completely naked, her legs parted, and the guy sitting beside her is stroking her clit, teasing her, whispering into her ear as she stares, glazed-eyed at the dancer.
My dick stirs in my pants, already getting hard. Not because of the woman being teased by her man. But by the brief burst of dark fascination that flares in Silver’s eyes. She reins it in quickly; I could believe I’d imagined it, but her breathing is a little too deep. A little regulated. She’s a fool if she thinks she can hide the fact that she’s turned on fromme. I’ve spent far too long studying her now. I know every slight, subtle change in her mood and where it will take her.
She turns to me, smiling conspiratorially. I think she’s a little embarrassed. “This isn’t so bad. I was picturing some crazy mass orgy or something. Lots of people all having sex on some giant, gross bed.”
I smirk, gesturing to the open, insignificant looking doorway off to one side by the stage. “Walk through there and that’s exactly what you’ll find.”
Her eyes double in size. “Jesus.”
“Along with sex swings, and racks, and little private rooms, and…well. Just don’t walk through that door unless you’re prepared to see some shit.”
She swallows thickly. Kind of adorable, really. Kinky littleDolcezzadoesn’t even realize she’s kinky yet. She’s like the bud of a flower, petals all wrapped up and swaddled tight around herself, waiting to bloom. “I think I need another drink,” she tells me, grabbing hold of my hand.
Behind the bar, Jasmine and Delilah are running the show tonight. They’re dressed in next to nothing, little kick-shorts barely covering their expertly fake-tanned ass cheeks, tits threatening to spill out of their bikini tops any second. They won’t spill out, though. They’re fake and barely even fucking bounce as the girls hurry up and down the bar, serving guest after guest.
Delilah sees me standing at the end of the bar and breaks out into a mile-wide grin. She gestures that she’ll be with me next.
“Blondie sure has a big smile for you. I’m assuming she wants to fuck you?” Silver says teasingly. She leans up against the bar next to me, arching an eyebrow suggestively.
“She does,” I say coolly.
Silver looks both horrified and amused. “Awesome. Now I’m up against porn star wannabes with perfect teeth and giant tits? I suppose I’d better make the most of my time with you ifthat’smy competition.”
“She isn’t.”
“A porn star wannabe?”
“Your competition,” I clarify. “You don’t have any.” I angle my body, leaning into her, enjoying the scent of gardenia that hits the back of my nose when I breathe her in. “There isn’t a woman in this building you need to worry about,Argento,” I rumble. “There isn’t a single woman in the world you should think about that way.”
“Oh, come on.” She laughs. “Guys always want their hall passes. They usually set it aside for Jessica Alba.”
“Fuck that.” I tangle my fingers into her hair, enjoying the thickness of it. She looks up, pale blue irises fixing on mine, and the future stretches out in front of me. It’s happening more and more often. The questions that used to plague me every hour of the day, ricocheting around the inside of my head like stray bullets demanding answers, all crumble to ash. See, they’re no longer necessary. The uncertainties, the decisions that will need making, the choices I will have to make…they have all been taken care of with the arrival of just one person in my life:Silver.
Whatever happens now, whatever I wind up doing, Silver is the only thing in my life that really, truly matters. “You’ve taken root now. I’mdone. You’re all there is for me from here on out.” Every word is true.
Shefeelsthe weight of the truth in my confession, I can see it on her face, but she chooses to continue with her line of joking self-deprecation anyway. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be saying that if Jessica Alba was up on that stage, making eyes at you.”
“We can stop talking about Jessica Alba now. I have no clue who she is, but she doesn’t fucking matter. You are thesun, Silver. You’re gravity. You’re the air in my fucking lungs. I’m a satellite, trapped in your orbit, and I’ll remain here until the end of time. My face and my dumb, wretched heart, will always be turned to you.”
I’m not a romantic person by nature. I don’t say these things to try and flatter her with pretty words. This is simply the confession of a helpless man resigned to a beautiful fate.
We stare at each other like we’re both tumbling forward into the void of eternity, and neither one of us can stop ourselves from falling.
“Christ Almighty, that shit is far too intense for this crowd,” a laughing voice says.
