For the next hour, I let myself forget everything except the pleasure. Vera could wait.
MISTERS X AND Y
Vera
Tango Nightclub. Saturday night, April 9
“Saph, are you even real right now?” Saph practically squealed, clutching her chest. “First, you get us past the line like VIPs, and now you’re just… doing this?”
“Honestly, is anyone surprised? Vera’s got a PhD in making hot guys magically appear,” Mindy, my high school and college friend, remarked. She laughed as Saph’s eyes popped out at the two gorgeous beefcakes I led to our little group at Tango Nightclub.
It was eleven pm, and the place thumped with bass, bodies moving everywhere. It was basically Studio 54 with better lighting and way more glitter. Outside, people waited an hour just to get picked by the bouncers. Me? I never waited. Not when I’d once dated Mikey Reynolds, the manager. Let’s just say he left an impression, especially with his hands and his tongue. The man knew his way around anatomy.
I caught his eye across the bar, tossing him a knowing smile as I swung my hips, Mister X and Mister Y, whatever theirnames, tightening their grip on me like I was some kind of prize. Honestly, I wasn’t mad about it.
And then, like a TikTok trend that just won’t die, Ace Lockheart’s voice tried to crawl into my head. “You’re an ugly pity fuck, Vera. No guy wants you.” Classic Ace: a so-called nice guy, all charm and fake guitar serenades, until I slept with him and the mask cracked. First, the digs about my body. Then the bruises. Then waking up with him inside me, ignoring the word “no.” He called me a slut just for talking to my friends.
I shot him a mental middle finger. My brother shattered his nose on New Year’s Day. I never saw Ace again, and therapy took care of the rest. Nightmares still hit sometimes, but less and less. That’s the thing about trauma, healing isn’t linear, but you get there.
The best part? I’m not a victim. Not anymore. I’m a goddamn survivor. These days, confidence is my superpower, sexier than any little black dress. Guys notice that before anything else, trust me.
Tonight, unshackled from my shitshow past, I felt unstoppable. Two ridiculously gorgeous men, tall and sculpted like Greek statues, stood with me. Shirts unbuttoned, abs front and center, radiating the kind of sexual energy that made half the room jealous.
Mindy leaned in, stage-whispering, “Do they come as a set or is this a solo performance?”
I smirked. “I don’t know yet, but I’m willing to experiment.”
Saph just fanned herself with her hand, mouthing, “Iconic.”
I rolled my hips, feeling their hands claim me. Freedom never looked so good or felt so goddamn sexy. Let’s just say Ace would die if he saw me now. And honestly? Good.
“Seriously, Vee, how did you find these two handsome men?” Saph asked. She shook her head and sipped her Long Island iced tea.
“A lady never tells her secrets.” I smiled, then swatted Mister X’s naughty fingers, which lowered a loose strap down the shoulder of my black, lacy bustier. The top complemented my high-waisted white slacks, accentuating my curves.
“What do you plan to do with these guys?” Saph asked, eyes blinking rapidly.
“We’re going to The Church.”
“You mean the strip club?”
“Yup. It’s masquerade night at the club, so I’ll have some fun. Are you joining us?” I gazed at Saph first, then at Mindy, who toyed with her long, dark hair while staring at Misters X and Y.
“Umm, I don’t think so. It’s not my fetish,” Mindy replied, laughing at my boys. “Saph, this babe is like a guy in a woman’s body.”
“Mindy, get it right. I’m a woman who knows exactly what to do with this body.” I slipped out of Mister X and Mister Y’s arms just long enough to wink at her.
“A very sexually liberated one,” she quipped.
“And isn’t that a good thing?” Saph defended, furrowing her eyebrows.
“Whatever floats your boat. I love you, babe,” Mindy answered, hugging me tightly. “I’ll grab a cab home. Call me tomorrow.”
“I’ll join Mindy. I’m going to church tomorrow morning.” Saph’s eyes captured mine with a hint of flirtation.“Therealchurch,” she teased as we hugged. She and Mindy left the club to join the ever-growing queue at the cab rank.
“Well, what are you looking at, boys?” I smirked, hands on my hips. “Come on, let’s follow the yellow brick road.” I grinned as the men escorted me on each arm.
The original building of The Church was an old church site, which the club’s owner refurbished. I’d never met the guy, but I heard he had his finger in every pie in the city. His family was old money. Oil money.
