It had been worth it.
But being at the top of the business world could be a lonely place. There were more than enough men to satisfy whatever desires she had. But rarely could she find an outlet to display her vulnerability. Not without putting her company at risk. Hence, her need for a place like Club Zion.
As Angel she could put her vulnerability on display, anonymously. There would be no way anyone could recognize her, despite not wearing a stitch of clothing or a mask. Instead, she used contouring techniques to change the appearance of her face, and contacts to hide the color of her eyes. They would be too recognizable on their own. After all, not many people had one green eye and one blue.
Stephan stepped to the back of the room, watching Lydia in her exposed state. After a moment, he looked at Ronin and nodded once. Without further instruction, Ronin slid the pocket French doors open.
Almost immediately, people in various states of undress streamed into the room. There were men in business suits and masks. Women in dresses more suited for a charity dinner than a sex club. One woman wore a latex bodysuit that clung to her curvy body from ankle to neck. Another man donned leather shorts and two nipple rings connected to a leash, which ended in his master’s tight grasp.
One by one, person after person slinked into the room, most milling around the edges of the space, watching to see what would happen. Who would approach first?
Adrenaline pumped through Lydia’s bloodstream in time with the pounding of her heart. Every nerve ending sizzled with the need to be touched, to be satisfied. The pressure of dozens of gazes settling over her toned body drove her need higher, until she wanted to beg someone, anyone, to kick off the festivities. But she bit her lip, holding the words back. Eventually, someone would take the initiative. Some nights it might take as long as twenty minutes. Some nights as few as five.
But eventually, someone would take the initiative. All Lydia could do was wait.
