By: Skye Jordan

And in some sick and screwed-up way, Troy looked forward to it. He relished the anticipation of submerging in the pain that was all he had left of Giselle.

Swinging both arms around the girls' shoulders, he sauntered toward the salon. “Let's warm up in here first.”

Giselle had been at the club only twenty minutes, and she was already coming out of her skin with unease. She didn't like the mask color coding. Didn't like being marked as a newcomer. But, if she were being realistic-probably not the best mindset for this environment-she was sure everyone here could tell she was new at this with one glance her way.

She was well into her first glass of wine-wine she shouldn't be drinking-when her cell vibrated. She drew it out of her purse to find exactly what she'd expected-a text from Chad: Everything okay?

Giselle tapped out a quick I'm here and I'm fine, barely resisting the leave me alone for a change that tingled on her fingertips. He was only doing what a good manager did-trying to take care of her.

She was about to stuff her phone away when another text came through. This one from Brook: So? Is it as bad as you thought?

Giselle smiled at her personal assistant's question and texted: Wild. Will call when I get back. Turning my phone off.

She zipped her silenced phone inside her clutch, then sighed as she picked up the glass and finished off the chardonnay. She'd have to hydrate well tomorrow to counteract the drying effects of the alcohol on her vocal cords.

Letting her eyes fall closed, she tried to collect her scattered thoughts and winging emotions, but the sounds of sex and rap music filled her ears-a female's moans and the slap of sweaty flesh to the beat of raunchy lyrics, only half of which she understood.

It had been so long since she'd felt a man's hands on her body, she'd been both electrified and unnerved by the club's tour alone. The sight of others engaged in hedonistic sex excited and disturbed her in the most…provocative way. And this raw spotlight on sex only amplified the pressure building between her legs. Now, not only were her panties wet, but she felt every pump of her heart, every brush of her skin. She was hot and damp and light-headed.

She opened her eyes and focused on the stage, where a very fit, very intense, very naked man shoved his partner back on the settee center stage. She was as curvy as he was muscular, and threw her arms overhead with the type of abandon Giselle craved but was never allowed. Everything in her life was scheduled, planned, measured, and calculated. Normally, that gave her a sense of security. Until she saw these wildly unscripted pleasure, and she realized what she was missing. What she'd been missing for so very long. And the years of restriction seemed to pile up all at once, giving her a deep and urgent need for abandon and raw connection.

That's not why you're here.

Giselle refocused on the stage. The man dropped to his knees, shoved his partner's thighs wide, and dove between them, ravaging her pussy with his mouth.

The woman's cry coincided with Giselle's sharp gasp of surprise. Lights brightened and faded and swept over their bodies like a sensual touch. The woman's hands reached for the back of the lounge, fingers digging into the shiny fabric as her hips lunged rhythmically against the man's face.

Giselle's sex throbbed. She switched the cross of her legs to ease the ache, but she still felt split in two, half of her wanting what the woman on stage had found while also wanting to bail on this whole idea.

But she couldn't leave yet. Not until she got what she needed.

She let her gaze travel over the spectators. When she heard the term “sex club,” she'd always envisioned skeezy, which was what Brook had been referring to in her text, but there wasn't one skeezy inch at Rendezvous. The club definitely catered to the elite. From what she could see, the membership was attractive, well dressed, heavily bejeweled, and on the younger side, between twenty-five and forty-five. The rooms she'd seen on the tour, while wildly varying in theme, were all exquisitely appointed with granite, slate, glass, and stainless steel. A guide monitored every room at all times, keeping it stocked and clean in the most unobtrusive manner she'd ever seen. Of course, the patrons were too busy to notice much of what was going on around them, but the guides, just like the waitresses, were hardly more than shadows.

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