By: Skye Jordan

Getting ahold of her would be tricky, not to mention awkward…

The smack of leather against flesh sizzled through Troy's body and focused his gaze on the stage again. Intricately placed spotlights cast the performing couple in dramatic, almost artistic, shadows. The man brandished a crop in his free hand and brought it down for a swift crack on the woman's bare ass. Her cry of pained pleasure flooded Troy's groin with heat. He was already half-hard.

Lil Wayne's “Pussy Monster” rocked the room as Troy let his gaze roam the woman's body, curvy and luscious and partially naked. Some type of costume that had been pulled down to expose her tits and pushed up to show her ass. Another set of roving lights titillated the audience with flashes of the performers' bodies and gleamed off her spiked heels.

He scanned the space, filled mostly by couples and groups lounging to watch or engage in foreplay before they took their activities into another room. The sight of attractive couples, semi-naked, touching and kissing added blood to Troy's cock, turning it rock hard. He was definitely overdue for a night of mindless, rabid fucking.

“Sir,” the bouncer whispered to him from the door. “Your guests are here.”

Troy returned to the front, where he vouched for the women, who had donned purple masks, marking them as guests, not members.

“Where should we start?” Becca asked, giddy.

“Let's see what's going on in the other rooms before we decide,” Casey said.

When she tugged on Troy's arm, he stayed put. “You two check it out and report back. I'll be…”

His words evaporated as two women emerged from a corridor that led to Champagne Court, an upper-crust sex playroom with plush lounges, soft lighting, and pretty much anything pleasurable that money could buy-from toys to drugs to sexual services.

Goldilocks. The woman from the street strolled out beside one of the club's guides, someone who gave newcomers a tour and explained the rules and prices that accompanied special services. Goldie wore a crimson mask, the color of a prospective member, which meant she'd passed the rich-and-famous requirement. Troy's mind immediately twisted back to Giselle, and nerve endings sizzled in his belly.

And goddammit, he hated how this relentless hope of seeing Giselle kept tipping his brain off axis.

“Hel-lo…” Becca waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you with us?”

“Sure.” He refocused on the women. “Go ahead. I'll be right here.”

They shrugged and disappeared down the hallway leading to the Dungeon.

Troy scanned Goldilocks from the tips of her shiny black rhinestoned spikes to the top of her golden head. She wore a trendy black leather trench that hit her just above the knees, and now held her hat in the tight curl of one creamy fist. And damn those masks. They did an excellent job of hiding a person's identity. It covered her face from her hairline to her nose, curving down to hide most of her cheek. There was really nothing but the woman's hair color to link her to Giselle. Well, that and her size, a smallish five foot three, maybe one hundred and ten pounds. Yet her mere presence made Troy's gut turn somersaults.

His mind spiraled and spiraled, first convincing himself the woman was Giselle, then assuring him she wasn't. Couldn't be. Giselle wouldn't be caught dead in a sex club. And never alone.

The guide tucked one hand intimately into the crook of Goldie's arm, head bent close to speak quietly. As the women inched closer to Troy on their way toward the main salon, the guide said something that pulled Goldie's gaze from the partial view of the stage through the arched opening. The action there now drew deep moans and pleasure-drenched mewls. Goldie glanced toward the guide with a little smile on her lips, but instead of meeting the guide's eyes, her gaze slid past the other woman to Troy. And locked on.

He felt the punch of excitement at the center of his body. Tingles spiraled through his torso, raced down his spine. His mind toggled like a pendulum.

Yes, it's her.

No, it's not.

With her eyes on his, her smile grew. A tentative, nervous smile. And a tiny dimple created a sweet little divot just outside her lips on the left.

Everything inside Troy froze and heated, stalled and raced-his heart, his lungs, his mind.

That dimple confirmed it-this was Giselle.

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