"She's there." Sage's fingers paint an invisible trail along the glass.
I move closer, my eyes honing in on the crowded mass on the dance floor directly in front of us. Some of them know that there are others with a clear and uncensored view of what they're doing. Others, those who are new to Skyn, think that it's exactly as advertised, just another club on the Lower East Side of the city. They're oblivious to the fact that the mirrored wall that runs the length of the dance floor becomes something more three nights a week.
It's on those nights that the large rooms behind the wall come to life with a fully stocked bar, music, and people who all want the same thing. From behind the one way glass we can assess, yearn for, and finally invite someone back to a place where consent is readily given and real names are rarely exchanged.
For those of us who understand the need for the private rooms equipped with all the tools of both pleasure and pain, we're here for one reason and one reason only.
"Where?" I lean closer to Sage hopeful that my voice will rise above the increasing volume of the rhythmic beat of the music that fills the entire club.
She taps her hand against the glass. "That's her. She's wearing a red dress. Her hair is long, it's brown. She's almost as tall as I am."
I scan the dance floor. I spot the woman Sage is pointing to almost immediately. Her dress, a scarlet red, hugs her frame. She's tall, lithe and has the body of a dancer. She's timid, her eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, all the while avoiding anyone.
"She's eager to meet you. I told her about you."
Those details would have been sparse at best. Sage, like anyone with an invitation to this area of the club, values her privacy. She's not going to willingly risk her reputation as the face of one of the country's most successful skin care lines.
Since the episode in my office years ago, she's been discreet. I don’t trust her fully. I never will but I recognize her need to be in the public eye. Her brand is what motivates her to keep her own secrets, as well as mine, hidden.
"What's her name?" I ask, as I turn back to look at the brunette. I don't expect an answer grounded in truth. I don't care what her real name is. I'll call her whatever she wants me to tonight because when I walk out of this club, I know that the driving need I feel right now will be quieted. I also know that by the time I feel the urge again, I'll be in Italy on business, or Germany, or somewhere, anywhere, far away from here.
"It's…"
Sage's voice is drowned out. It's not the music, or the boisterous sound of the voices next to us that overtakes me. It's my breathing. It's my own labored breathing.
I still as my eyes wander from the woman Sage pointed out to another, across the floor from her. Although her back is turned to me, the attraction is instant and intense.
I spot her legs first. They're not long, but they're toned. They disappear beneath a thin piece of black silk which only serves to cover the curves of a flawlessly shaped ass. The back of the halter dress she's wearing is non-existent revealing a smooth, delicately angled back.
As she turns slightly, the ponytail her hair is pulled into sways with the movement and the silver hoop earring in her left ear bounces against her neck. Even beneath the muted lighting above the dance floor there's no mistaking the outline of her full breasts beneath the fabric of the dress. She's supple, sensual and even though I've yet to see her face, she's undeniably, the most beautiful woman in the room.
"Gabriel." I feel Sage's hand on my shoulder. "Did you hear me? I said her name is Jovie."
"Not her." I stare at the woman in the short black dress. "I don't want Jovie. She's not the one."
"She is the one." Her voice is insistent. "I've spoken to her. We had a drink the other night. She's perfect."
"No. I found the one I want."
"Who?" Her tone is clipped and severe.
I feel my cock harden as the woman I can't take my eyes off of starts to move to the music. The fabric of her dress brushes against her ass tempting anyone within view. I see the blatant hungry glances of the men around her. I watch as they move closer, circling her like the untamed animals they are.
Not one of them is going to touch that body, taste it, or satisfy it the way I will.
I motion towards one of the club managers who are here to facilitate the needs of the people in this room. Their job is to go out and test the waters. They speak to the club patrons who have caught the eye of a private member. If the interest is mutual, they take them to a lounge, instruct them on protocol and handle all the necessary paperwork that ensures what happens here, stays here.