“Well, well, well. How the ol’ tables have turned eh,” he adds. “Glad he’s finally seen sense, Em.”
“Thanks Josh, your support of my sex life is endearing. But what the fuck am I going to wear?”
“Something crotchless?” Josh suggests, as Chloe elbows him.
“Josh! Ew. But actually yes, maybe crotchless is your best bet? A short dress with crotchless knickers?”
“I don’t own crotchless knickers!” I exclaim, catching a smug side eye between the two of them. I love that there’s still magic in their marriage despite the three kids, even if I don’t particularly want the mental image at this exact moment.
“Ok, you know what’s more accessible than crotchless knickers?” says Chloe with a wicked smile. “No knickers at all.”
“Yes! Perfect, babe,” says Josh, kissing Chloe on the temple.
“Ok, but it’s got to be a long dress, right? I don’t want to flash a cabbie or get arrested on the tube.”
“Oh! I’ve just thought. You’ve still got that backless number, right? The one you wore to the opera that time?”
I do. It came with me when I packed up my shit from the house in Fulham. Colin told me it wasn’t classy because I couldn’t wear a bra with it but I didn’t care and wore it anyway.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.
“This is why I love you. Now I’ve got to try and get some beauty sleep and not spend the next 21 hours spiralling out,” I reply.
“You’ve got this babe. We’re rooting for you. I will require an immediate debrief after, ok?” she says, giving me an instructive nod.
“You bet. Thanks Chlo, thanks Josh. Love you guys.” I hang up and peel the gels from under my eyes.
Oh, we are SO on.
As I press the S doorbell at Salt the following evening, my palms are sweating. I have no idea what to expect and the butterflies in my stomach are making me feel like I might hurl on the pavement. I’ve got to find a way to channel my inner cool. I’ve been to Salt a few times now and I’ve never felt this nervousbefore. Before, I was window shopping. This time, I’m here to tick something off my extensive list with a man I’ve known most of my life. A man who, until recently, saw me only as his best mate’s little sister.
The doorman opens the door and gives me a warm smile.
“Ms Warner, Mr Pullman is expecting you. If you’d like to make your way to the bar, I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.” He takes my coat then gives me a subtle bow, gesturing towards the stairs, which I follow down into the main bar.
I’ve got to give Luke credit where it’s due – Salt really is beautiful. It’s such a classy place, all rich velvets and heavy fabrics. You’d never know what went on here if you didn’t visit the playrooms. It looks like any other fancy cabaret bar or speakeasy.
I’ve not been inside the playrooms yet, apart from on my tour with the manager Jessie when I joined as a member. I did a pretty convincing display of nonchalance which I'm sure she didn’t buy for a second; each room gave me a new spike of adrenaline and seriously sweaty palms. Most were set up with large four poster beds, with subtle additions of hooks and loops in the woodwork, but one had a working set of stocks and two of them had drains set into the tiled floors. I imagine the cleaning staff here have a story or two.
As I arrive at the bar, the bartender greets me with a warm smile and offers me a drink, “courtesy of Mr Pullman”. The man himself has yet to appear and I perch on the stool to sip my martini, summoning all my energy into looking effortless and bored. I’m the one who talked him into being my fuck buddy – I can’t lose face now.
A few seconds later, I feel a prickle of awareness down my spine and turn to see Luke striding towards me from through the curtains that lead to the playrooms. He’s wearing a velvet tuxedo, hair deliciously mussed, and he looksdevastating. Abolt of arousal whips right through my core at the memory of his face when he came undone the other night, and I can’t help but smile as we lock eyes.
He leans in and kisses my cheek, brushing my hair back and tracing his hand down my back. I see his pupils widen slightly as he realises the dress is backless and a glint of pure sex appears in his eyes. I take a deep breath as goosebumps ripple out from where his fingertips skimmed my skin.
“Em. You look stunning,” he says as he pulls back. His eyes are dark and I bite my lip as my eyes drop to his mouth.
“Thank you. So do you,” I reply, reaching out a hand to brush an invisible speck off his lapel. Any excuse to touch him.
“Giancarlo, can I grab a martini please? Extra dirty.” He leans on the bar next to me as the bartender grins and starts making it with a flourish. “How’ve you been?”
“Good thank you. You?” We’re making small talk but my eyes keep darting to the playrooms behind him and he doesn’t miss it. He leans in close to my ear.
“Are you nervous?” he whispers, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear. I shiver and my breath catches, nipples immediately perking up at his proximity.
“No,” I lie. He smirks.
“I’ll put you out of your misery. I thought tonight we might try a bit of good old-fashioned voyeurism. We’ve got a bit of a special performance tonight, a couple of regulars who love to put on a show out back.” He nods in the direction of the playrooms and my pulse kicks up a notch.
