“Scotch, single malt.”
I freeze as the words leave my mouth. I haven’t touched scotch in years. It had been something I loved with Hayes, and it might be stupid, but drinking it without him feels like a betrayal.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Red wine is fine.”
Plus, I don’t need to be thinking about him tonight. He’s my former best friend—the one who instantly, and embarrassingly, friend-zoned me years ago; the one who put me on a pedestal of innocence and purity.
I hold up my wrist for the bartender to scan it to track how many drinks I’ve had, then accept the glass of wine from her, resisting the urge to chug it as my nerves hum.
What if my masked wolf isn’t here?
What if he is?
What if he’s here but isn’t wearing his mask? How will I tell it’s him?
What if he’s here but isn’t wearing his mask, and he recognizes me in mine but doesn’t approach me?
This was such a mistake. What am I doing here?
My nerves rattle, and I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself as I survey the room.
Like the first night I was here, the main room is full of people, and the absolutely hedonistic activities happening live up to the club’s name. Some people are completely naked, while others are in various states of dress. Many people are openly touching, kissing, and having sex, while many others, like me, watch them.
My core pulses as I observe the abandonment of people seeking and finding their pleasure. I never thought I’d be so turned on by watching others this way, but the wetness between my legs tells me I like it very much.
My nerves ease while I people-watch and sip my wine, trying to determine if any of the people engaging in the sexual acts could be my masked wolf. I don’t see his mask on any of the members here tonight, nor do I see his tattoos on any of the men who have exposed torsos. None of the dressed men have that exact strong but lean build, nor do they move with the stealth of a wild animal.
I relax a bit more at the fact that he isn’t one of the ones having sex in the main room. But what if he doesn’t come tonight?
Or what if he’s having sex in one of the private rooms or in one of the many kink rooms?
Yeah, thanks, brain. You can take a hike, thank you very much.
“Aren’t you a beautiful vision?” a man’s voice says into my ear.
But it’s not my wolf. And this man is standing way too close, breathing on the bare skin of my shoulder.
I turn to face him, taking a step back to put some space between us, hoping he’ll get the hint to back off without me having to be too assertive.
He doesn’t get the hint, though, and steps closer. “You don’t remember me.”
Like everyone at Masked Night, his face and identity were hidden, but his is revealed tonight. When I look down, I recognize his wedding ring. This was the aggressive asshole who ignored me when I politely turned down his advances.
Without his mask, his gaze is even more leering. His shirt is unbuttoned beneath his suit jacket, revealing a large amount of his chest.
“I recall your wedding ring, and like I said the other night, I’m not interested.” I lace my words with a German accent so there’s no way this man could figure out I’m Leeva Malone. I lightly touch my mask, making sure that it’s firmly in place.
He steps closer to me and smiles when I back up to keep space between us. “My wife doesn’t care that I’m here.”
“Either way, I’m not interested.”
“You realize you’re in a sex club, here to get fucked, right?” He reaches out to drag his finger down my arm, and I push his hand away, very done with the polite way of doing things.
“And I have a choice for who I do that with,” I say sharply.
He chuckles, as if my consent isn’t an issue. But Riveria stressed that each member is in control of what they do or don’t do in this club, and that consent is king, even in consensual-non-consent situations. She also stressed that if anyone tried to imply otherwise, I was to alert a staff member immediately.
“Why the mask, beautiful? Let me see who I’ll be fucking tonight.”
