The statement makes me angry, but I force a smile and nod, watching the elevator doors close behind them.
Chapter Twelve
In which we explore Dante’s Circles of Hell.
Aria…
When I went to Columbia University in New York City, my friends giggled endlessly about their visits to a notorious sex club down in Tribeca. I never went with them. I had studying to do and frankly, if I met someone in a place like that, I’d spontaneously combust from embarrassment if I ever saw them again in the real world.
I should have stayed on the rooftop with my dessert. But there was something about that casual, “You’re my good girl. Stay right here,” that infuriated me. So dismissive, like forcing me to marry him meant he could control me, like a pet. As if he knew everything about me.
So here I am, strolling around the area below Lachlan’s office in my black dress and silver mask, and just like my first visit to Dante’s Inferno, my eyes averted from the very enthusiastic orgy on the raised platform. It’s like an eclipse; you can’t look at it directly or you’ll burn your corneas out.
“Good evening, what can I get you?”
Adam knows who I am under this mask, but the pleasant smile on his dark face betrays nothing more than a polite bartender ready to pour me a glass of wine.
“Um, a Riesling, please,” I smile back, grateful for the chance to ground myself. The guests entangled in the thrashing pile of arms and legs and unmentionable body parts are getting louder,determined to let the rest of us know just how much they are enjoying themselves.
I gulp half the glass when Adam hands it to me. With a perfectly straight face, he refills it.
“There are levels here at Inferno that you might like to explore,” he says, barely heard over the moaning and shrieking. “Your mask gives you safe passage anywhere you like. You might want to start at the top floor, just under the boss’s office. That’s level one, and then you can work your way down.” He winks, “According to your comfort level, of course.”
Draining my glass like a sorority girl at last call, I hold it out to him. “One for the road, please.”
He gives me a quick wink and refills the glass. “There’s staff everywhere in the black masks, just speak to one if you’re lost or feeling uncomfortable, aye?”
“Uh-huh,” I smile weakly before taking my wine and weaving through the crowd.
Lachlan will be so mad that he didn’t get to give me the big tour…
Good.
I know he’s proud of Dante’s Inferno and for a novice like me, it is awe-inspiring and a little terrifying. He needs to know that I’m not his obedient little pet.
Starting at the first level is a little surprising; it’s all comfortable seating, flowers, elegant artwork, and well-dressed people talking softly. Like Dante’s circles of Hell, this is Limbo, where sex isn’t allowed. It looks more like a private club for very wealthy people… well, actually that’s what Inferno is.
The second level is more like your average nightclub… if everyone is naked at your average nightclub, glistening bodies dancing and rubbing against each other. There’s chrome and glass and a laser show spiraling up the wall where the DJ labors. In dark corners, couples kiss and writhe, but nothing overt. A cloud of a thousand competing perfumes and colognes battle for supremacy, but the pheromones rise above them all.
“What was the next circle in Dante’s Inferno?” I’m mumbling to myself, dodging bare breasts and asses. Dancers smile at me invitingly, but no one attempts to touch me.
They take the rules seriously here, thank god…
Ah. Level three is a visit back to the orgy rooms. Gluttony. The lights gleam in a way meant to flatter the tangle of men and women, each desperate for another orgasm, another lover, an endless swirl of need and desire.
However, Bartender Adamisthere with a giant bottle of Riesling for me, so I might revisit this one later.
The fourth level must be Greed, then. Taking another gulp of wine, I wonder what the difference would be between the gluttonous madness of the orgies and this floor of the club?
There are hallways with glowing lowlights, enough to help me find the way without detracting from the enthusiastic acrobatics in the lush bedrooms with huge viewing windows. The people outside in the halls are shadows, gazing longingly as the erotic scenes play out, unable to touch or feel those desperate, grasping hands on their own bodies. They greedily follow every thrust, every moan and sigh.
“Brilliant,” I whisper.
The word is just a breath, but the man closest to me turns and smiles. His mask is white with a red outline and my mind races, trying to remember the meaning.
Switch, bottom and top? I think?
“Are you enjoying the view?” He nods to the window in front of us.
