“Do it tomorrow. Don’t wait.” My commands are snappy and harsh, but Élodie is used to me by now. It hardly fazes her anymore.
“Thank you again, Julian. Honestly, you?—”
Putting up a hand, I stop her right there. “I said to stop thanking me.” My skin crawls from the awkward attention. When she opens her mouth, I cut her off again. “And do not apologize. Take the rest of the week off. Don’t worry about your paycheck. I’ll make sure you get it. Just get him better.”
Pasting a steely, cold expression on my face, I furrow my brow and shove my hands in my pockets. After wiping her tears, Élodie gives me a knowing smirk that I ignore. Then, ignoring my standoffish presence, she quickly plants a kiss on my cheek and runs off toward the backstage entrance.
Biting back my smile, I wipe the kiss from my face.
Standing alone in the back, I watch the club like a hawk perched on the edge of a field. This place has become my home in the past year. Granted, I’ve been coming here since I turned eighteen, but I treated it like my playground then.
Since then, it’s turned into more. I’m comfortable here. My well-designed armor keeps me at a distance, so I’m at liberty to be and do whatever I’d like. It means sex without judgment or strings. It means scratching that emotional itch without the burden of vulnerability. I can find a person here, anyone really, and feel close to them for one brief moment without ever having to expose an ounce of my soul. They can touch me, but they can’t know me.
And there’s something so inherently magical about that.
When I’m confident that no one is watching or paying me any attention, I move toward the back wall of the club where a grid of black bars is fastened to the plaster. It’s darkest back here, although there is constant security and surveillance to ensure everyone’s safety. But that’s the idea. Darkness means anonymity. And anonymity means freedom.
That low buzz of arousal is still present, and my cock is still thick and swollen in my pants. It would take me just a moment to get what I need.
There are currently three people strapped to the back wall, one of whom is currently occupied. Each of the people is holding a scarf in their hand; the scarf conveys consent. The moment it leaves their fingers, consent is revoked and security is alerted.
There is a dark-haired woman I don’t recognize pressed face-first against the wall. She has one hand in the leather cuff and theother gripping the bars, waiting for someone to take what she is offering. In only a short miniskirt, heels, and a lacy bra, she looks delicious and mine for the taking.
My tongue darts out between my lips to lick the lower one before I glance around me once more for anyone I might know. No one is looking. So I step into the darkness.
Back here, no one can see me. I am just a figure in the shadows. Exactly how it was designed to be.
She lets out a soft hum when she feels my body press against hers. My movements are rushed as I kiss her neck, tasting her perfume-scented skin, devouring her gentle moans. Her ass sticks out to feel me while I frantically unbutton my pants and fist my cock.
I won’t fuck her, not without a condom, which are mandatory, and I don’t have time for that. But I can at least get the release I need. This curt connection to another human being contained within an anonymous interaction is what fuels me.
Grinding my cock against her ass, we both groan in pleasure. She’s writhing, her hands never leaving the wall as I seek out a hard friction against her ass. Her hips are in my hands as I grind and kiss her roughly.
My fingers roam to the front of her body, pinching her nipples through her bra, and when she yelps from the hint of pain, I feel one step closer to my hurried release.
We don’t utter a word, and I never once look into her eyes. That’s not what either of us want. It’s not called the polite greeting wall; it’s called the free use wall, and that’s exactly how we intend to use it.
With my orgasm just on the horizon, I grind rougher and faster against her ass, squeezing her tits harder and kissing her aggressively on the neck to the sounds of her mewling cries. In the corner of my eye, I keep that scarf in my periphery when I finally start to climax. Just before my cum has a chance to dirty her pretty little outfit, I snatch a handkerchief out of my pocket and catch my release in it.
The entire thing only took about five minutes, but that’s perfect. I don’t know this woman; she never got a good look at my face, and she never will. Before she can even turn around, I’m gone. The dirty handkerchief is shoved in my pocket, and my deflating cock is already hidden behind the zipper of my pants.
She didn’t come, a fact that I will overthink about for the rest of the night. Even if that’s not what she was offering. She wasn’t offeringherpleasure. The point of binding herself to the free use wall wasn’t to get off…it’s to render her body so someone else can.
And yet…I’ll still feel like shit about it.
But like I said, it’s not about the climax. If that was all I wanted, I would just jack off in my office or the shower. But for one brief encounter, I had a woman in my hands. I felt her writhing and panting with pleasure.
For just a moment, I wasn’t alone.
And not once did I have to let her in enough to see that behind the perfect, chain-mail designer clothes and dashing good looks is an imperfect man.
Rule #2: There are no rules.
Archer
“Take him down, Chopper!” my buddy Rex bellows, his deepvoice ringing through the commotion.
My opponent throws me a left hook that I narrowly deflect, giving me ample opportunity to sock him hard across his left cheekbone.
