I move toward him, closing the distance between us in steady steps as the black lights go from dim to bright, then back to dim in a long wave.
The lights flick off when I’m only a few paces from him and the girl he’s dancing with, and I take a few quick steps to the left in the short time between the black lights going off and the other lights coming on.
Damon looks around, his head on a swivel as he searches for me, and I duck behind a small group of dancers, using them as cover to stay out of sight.
This is fucked up. I’m supposed to be watching him, not engaging him and doing whatever this is. But I can’t bring myself to care that I’m breaking my own rules as more of that strange satisfaction moves through me.
I’ve always known I’m into some fucked-up shit, and that some of the things I fantasized about would probably get me institutionalized if I told anyone about them.
I’ve also always been a thrill seeker, and doing things I shouldn’t, things that are forbidden or taboo, has always gotten me off. I know they shouldn’t, but they do, and I’ve spent the lastten years keeping that side of myself suppressed and only letting it out when I’m alone with my thoughts and my hand.
Most of my partners have been pretty open-minded when it comes to experimenting, but their limits were still on the tame side of kinky. Things like handcuffs, toys, and spanking are fun to add to the mix to spice things up a bit, but they’re not extreme by any stretch of the imagination. Especially not my imagination, and they don’t even scratch the surface of what I think about when I’m alone.
Those thoughts are dark and depraved and full of things that aren’t supposed to get me hot.
The idea of hunting someone has always appealed to me, but I’m not into tracking. It’s more the act of cornering someone that gets me hot, and thoughts of chasing and catching them after I toy with them have always gotten me off. And scaring someone into submission isn’t nearly as unappealing as it should be.
In fact, it’s not unappealing at all.
Neither is the idea of overwhelming someone until the only thing they can do is plead with me to stop or beg me to give them what they need. And the idea of hearing both at the same time is way more interesting than it should be.
I might have always had these thoughts and urges, but one of the main reasons I’ve been able to repress them so far is because no one has ever triggered the desire to act on them.
Until Damon.
And his being a guy doesn’t make me want him any less. In fact, it actually makes me want him more because he’s the only person who’s ever gotten under my skin like this.
But I don’t just want to own him, I want to fucking destroy him. Break him down until I’m the only thing that exists in his reality, then build him back up just so I can watch him fall apart as he fully surrenders.
The song ends, and there’s a clunky transition as the music switches to an EDM song I don’t recognize. I watch as Damon gently untangles himself from Becca and makes the universal sign for getting a drink when she leans in to say something to him.
They part ways, and I follow Damon as he heads to the bar, keeping a dozen or so paces behind him as Becca disappears into the crowd.
My body is tight with anticipation and desire as he leans against the wooden bar top, his back arching enticingly as the material of his shirt pulls tight around his wide shoulders.
I move into the shadows as a pretty blonde bartender steps in front of him. She’s all flirty smiles as she takes his order, and I have to push down my irritation when she practically waves her breasts in his face while she makes his drink.
Damon starts to move away from the bar, but he’s sidelined when a guy in black pants and a white fishnet shirt, identical to the ones the bartenders are wearing, approaches him.
Unlike a lot of the parties that offer illicit favors to their guests, Baxter House doesn’t leave their stash out for people to help themselves. They have servers who walk around taking orders for things, then they retrieve the goods from the guys in charge of handing them out and bring them to whoever requested them.
It’s a way to stop people from overindulging or pinching things to take home with them. And it helps them keep better tabs on their stash when they only have a handful of people keeping inventory and doling them out.
Damon and the server speak for a few moments, then the server gives him a quick nod and strides away. Damon watches him for a few beats, then tears his gaze from the guy’s back and gulps down about half of his drink.
I should take this as my sign to go back to what I was doing and follow my original plan, but it’s getting harder to remember why this is a bad idea. And it’s getting even harder to care that it is.
Damon is either distracted by something, or he’s in a hurry to get fucked up because he finishes his drink in the five or so minutes it takes for the server to come back. When he does, he hands Damon a small pillbox, like the ones that come in those pill caddies people use to keep track of their medications.
Damon takes it from him and looks at it as the server leaves to go talk to someone else.
He seems hesitant, but then he pops the caddy open and lifts it to his lips. I can’t see what he takes, but I assume there’s at least one pill or tablet in it when he drains the last of the liquid in his drink, his head tipped all the way back as he tries to get every drop from it.
The song that’s playing fades out and is replaced by another mashup of two pop songs from the ’90s. It’s not the greatest mix, and one of the tracks is too quiet compared to the other, so it sounds off, but it’s still catchy as hell.
The lights above us dim as the black lights flash up, then there’s a drop as the chorus for one of the songs kicks in, and the black lights flicker and pulse in time with the beat.
The effect is like being in a purple strobe light that momentarily creates a sea of glowing white as it flashes, and my feet once again seem to move of their own volition as I step out from the shadows.
