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KRISTINE
“Come with me,”Ethan whispers the invitation across my lips, nudging me onward.
A chuckle escapes me. The man has me feeling and acting like a younger, less jaded version of myself. “It hinges on one thing. Do you truly believe this is wise?”
Ethan winks at me tantalizingly. “I've told you before. You're safe with me.”
Smiling, I reach out and take his hand, with the strange feeling that he's not lying.
For the first time in ages, a sense of security washes over me in the presence of a man, an odd and unsettling sensation, yet incredibly freeing.
In the last week, I've forgotten everything and just let go, losing control with Ethan. Having breakfast with him in bed and spending the nights in the midst of conversations that are choppy as desire consumes us, and we are forced to succumb to our undeniable attraction.
Now it's Friday, and he has insisted that I accompany him to Club Allure to see what it's like since the first time I visited, I wastoo busy running from my ex-husband's goons to appreciate the club.
The valet takes Ethan's car away as I get out, and a young woman at the entrance takes care of my coat and purse.
Ethan's fingers lace with mine, their warmth a grounding presence as we step into the pulsating heart of Club Allure. The transition from the crisp night air to the club's warm cocoon of sound and light is like slipping into another world. A thrumming bassline seeps into my bones, an insistent beckoning to join the rhythm that animates the space.
The club unfolds before me in layers of sensory indulgence. My eyes roam, drinking in the opulence—a mosaic of moving bodies cast in the glow of roving spotlights. The dance floor is a sea of undulation, a hypnotic blend of motion and music where strangers become part of a collective pulse.
I can feel Ethan's gaze on me, perhaps gauging my reaction. His thumb strokes the back of my hand, a small gesture that speaks volumes. In this realm he's created, he remains an enigma—both king and guardian. He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear.
“Welcome to my world,” he murmurs, and there's a hint of pride mingled with something else—vulnerability? It's gone before I can dissect it further.
A waitress glides toward us, her smile practiced yet welcoming. “Mr. Callahan, your usual table is ready.”
He nods, and we follow her lead. The crowd parts for Ethan as if by some unspoken command, and I'm acutely aware of the power he wields here. It’s intoxicating, this proximity to someone so commanding yet so complex.
We reach an intimate table nestled in a secluded corner. It offers a panoramic view of the club's vibrant lifeblood—the dance floor—while allowing just enough privacy for two people to exist in their own little bubble.
The tabletop gleams under low-hanging lights that cast everything in a soft golden hue. He pulls out a chair for me—chivalrous gestures come naturally to him—and I sink into the plush cushioning. Ethan settles across from me, his brown eyes holding mine with an intensity that sends a ripple through my chest.
As he converses with the waitress about our drinks, I take in more details of our surroundings—the sleek lines of the bar counter where bartenders move with choreographed precision, pouring and shaking cocktails like liquid artists. The sumptuous aroma of exotic perfumes mingling with the subtle scent of aged wood and citrus from freshly zested garnishes for drinks.
Everywhere I look, there are faces illuminated by fleeting expressions—joy, desire, abandon—all set against the backdrop of this lavish playground Ethan and his business partners have masterminded. There's beauty here, but also something cutting-edge and evolving just beneath the surface.
Our drinks arrive—a glass of red wine for me and something darker for Ethan—and our fingers brush as we both reach for our glasses. The contact is brief but electric.
“To new experiences,” he toasts, his voice low and resonant.
Our glasses clink gently. “And unexpected companions,” I add.
The wine tastes rich and complex on my tongue. Each sip is like peeling back another layer of Club Allure’s perfectly crafted appeal. My gaze lingers on Ethan, observing as he surveys the surroundings—a vigilant guardian, always alert even amid the festivities.
The DJ shifts gears, and a sultry beat replaces the pounding bassline—a siren song that seems to echo my own accelerating heartbeat. Ethan stands and extends his hand to me once more.
“Come with me?” There’s no command in his tone now—only an invitation laced with desire.
Rising to meet him, I place my hand in his once again—a perfect fit—and allow him to lead me toward the dance floor. My pulse quickens as we approach. It’s not fear that propels it now but anticipation—the thrill of being drawn deeper into his world.
Ethan leads me through the crowd, past the dance floor, and up a flight of stairs to the VIP area of the club.
Ethan's voice resonates with a hint of pride as he guides me through the threshold. “Welcome to the testing grounds, where exclusivity takes on a new meaning.” His arm sweeps across the expanse, directing my gaze to the opulence before us. “This,” he gestures, “is the main room, frequented by people you'll recognize from the music and film industry.”
I follow his gaze, my eyes catching the glitter of fame mingling about, a constellation of celebrities that would dazzle any onlooker. “It's... incredible,” I murmur, words failing to encapsulate the grandeur.
“And beyond,” Ethan continues, leading me forward, “are our private rooms.”
