Page 77 of Midnight Curfew

We coast up into the hills, the incline pressing me back into the seat. Silence fills the car, and my body hums, feeling him close.

It’s just the adrenaline.

The impending potential danger of the night to come.

But I can’t keep my eyes off him.

Drifting up his legs to his waist and then his chest, I don’t care if he sees me looking. I’ll look at whatever the hell I want.

His suit hugs his body in all the right places, and I go no further than his neck, but I know when he knows, because his chest hitches for a beat.

He’s so controlled now. Different than he used to be.

The car dips over a manhole, our knees brushing, and my groin fills with blood.

“Can I touch men?” I ask, finally lifting my eyes.

His voice is just a murmur. “Yes.”

Good. I hear about these clubs in Miami, but most accommodate straight people or woman on woman.

“You know I’m not coming in here just to up the ante, right?” I say, more as a rhetorical question.

I’m not interested in daring him to catch me past midnight. That’s not what this is.

He blinks his understanding. “I know you wouldn’t put yourself in my company willingly.”

“On the contrary,” I reply. “I want to know what it must feel like to be you.”

I half smile, watching the trees and homes go by out the window, periodically meeting his eyes. “You’re as close to a Roman emperor as I’ll ever get.”

His eyebrows reach for his hairline, and I know he doesn’t believe it. He’s not that rich and powerful, of course, but…

“The first time I read about an ancient orgy,” I explain, “I got so hard.” I lick my lips, remembering the picture I had formed in my head. “All the things to feel. All the things to watch. Masked dancers wrapped in see-through fabric. Wives worshipping each other. Cocks so hard they’re fucking swords and wet with oil, being stroked long and slow.”

I lock on him, sitting across from me and remembering the fantasy of seeing what I really wanted to see.

“Bending him over a bed,” I go on, “and burying myself inside of him so fast and hard, because he’s driving me crazy and all we can do is hold on.”

When I lower my eyes, I see his nice black pants are beautifully tight and tented.

I smirk as we pull up to the country club, Callum’s body rigid and his fingertips pressed into his thighs.

The driver exits the vehicle and comes around, opening our door.

I sit there, waiting for my host, but he looks like he wants to say something.

Callum sits up, barely breathing, and I’m ready for it.

But he simply tells me, “There’s no smoking in there.”

And then he exits the car.

I rumble with a laugh. Fuck, I forgot cigarettes. One might’ve been in order tonight.

I follow him out of the car and through the unmarked brown door of the field house in the back of the property, a single light shining overhead.

When I close the door after me, we’re immediately consumed in near darkness, the scent of cement and wet earth taking me back to the last time we were here.