Stroke Me (Body Scenes 1)
Chapter One
“What the hell kind of nightclub is this?” Annabelle Hardin whispered in her best friend’s ear as they each handed over their fifty-dollar cover charge and the special invitation Yvette had in her possession.
“It’s not just a nightclub,” Yvette Samson said as she plumped the fat, platinum-blonde curls that sat on her bare shoulder. She wore a stunning black strapless evening gown with a slit all the way up her left thigh. Matching full-length gloves and sparkling diamonds on her wrist and fingers completed the over-the-top ensemble. “It’s also an exclusive art gallery. One of the hottest ‘underground’ spots in Manhattan. You have to know people in order to get in here.”
Annabelle stepped farther into the glamorous ballroom of Body Scenes. An enticing name for what was supposed to be a unique mash-up of dance club and art showroom. Thus far, however, she’d discovered the place was more Plaza Hotel than a replica of a trendy Studio 54-type party spot. And she hadn’t seen anything yet to warrant the art gallery descriptor. There were no paintings on the walls or sculptures strategically placed about the cavernous room. Just excess personified by the elegant décor.
Enormous chandeliers overhead emitted a soft golden glow and a dazzling spectrum of colors as the light bounced off the cut-glass teardrops. Round mahogany tables accompanied by stately wing-backed chairs in rich burgundy leather filled the center of the room where cocktails were being served. Along the perimeter, the wainscoted walls had mini stages cut into them, the openings covered by crimson-colored velvet drapes with matching valances trimmed in gold embroidery.
All very sophisticated and hoity-toity, giving Annabelle pause. Yvette didn’t do hoity-toity. She was avant-garde and cutting-edge all the way.
“To get into a place like this, I’m guessing you have to know Donald Trump,” Annabelle said.
“More like Hugh Hefner.”
That puts a different spin on things.
Yvette flashed a mischievous grin and added, “Try not to sphincter up on me, sweetie.”
“Retract the claws, will you? I’m no prude.”
Yvette laughed. “Please. You can take the girl out of the country club, but can you take the country club out of the girl?”
Good question.
As she followed Yvette toward the crowded dance floor, Annabelle asked, “What, exactly, did we just pay the world’s loftiest cover charge for?”
“Keep your eyes open,” Yvette said over her shoulder with a wink. “Something wicked could happen at any moment.”
Annabelle knew her friend didn’t make idle promises and the thought of something exciting happening tonight enticed her. It’d been a long, long time since Annabelle had experienced anything that even bordered on wicked.
Marital bliss had been an urban legend in her household. Sexual bliss had been even more elusive. Now newly divorced, Annabelle was most definitely ready for “something wicked to happen at any moment”, and hanging out with Yvette was almost a guarantee she’d get her wish—and her money’s worth. Even if it was at a Manhattan hotspot that charged her fifty bucks just to get through the door.
Yvette was the type of person who always knew what was cool and trendy. When they were in college together, Yvette had been invited to all the best parties, by the hippest kids on campus. She’d dragged Annabelle to most of those parties and it seemed the festivities never truly got under way until Yvette showed up. Her adventurous spirit and uninhibited nature had led to some wild times back then and Annabelle was certain nothing about Yvette had changed.
Annabelle didn’t doubt for a second that there was a good time to be had here. Though, admittedly, she was still a little confused about the description of the venue.
“I don’t see any art,” she commented as she was jostled by a group of people dancing along the edge of the polished parquet dance floor. Clearly this “nightclub” needed to put some thought into the essence of that word. Why on earth would they have such toe-tapping swing music from a sixteen-piece band if they didn’t allot a large enough space for danc—
“Oof!” The strange little squeak rushed out of her mouth on a hard puff of air as someone slammed into her from behind.
Annabelle’s body pitched forward as she stumbled on her low, sensible heels. A thick arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and yanked her back. A very large body nearly curled around her much smaller one as a deep, intimate voice asked, “Are you okay?”
“Ah, yeah.” She could barely breathe. Not because the arm was wound so tightly around her, holding her steady, but because that deep, intimate voice oozed down her spine like hot lava. Making every inch of her tingle and burn. Making her cunt clench, that poor, long-neglected part of her body sending out a desperate plea for attention. To be filled and stretched and stroke
d. To be—
“I didn’t mean to plow into you like that,” he said, his arm still holding her captive.
Annabelle’s backside was pressed to his front and she could easily ascertain he had a hard, hunky body. She imagined the stranger holding her had a handsome face to go with the hot bod and sexy voice.
He added, “I jumped out of the way to avoid a couple dancing and ran smack into you.” His warm breath caressed the shell of her ear. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” she managed to say. Her pulse raced and her heart thundered. When was the last time a man had held her tight and whispered in her ear? Clearly it’d been too long, because she’d responded instantly to even the slightest bit of male attention.
Then again, the attention wasn’t quite so slight. The hand attached to the arm not wrapped around her waist gripped her hip, holding her in place, keeping their bodies melded together.
“If I let go of you,” he murmured in her ear, his voice teasing her in a way that made a little prickle of desire tighten her nipples and a not-so-little spark ignite a fire deep in her pussy. Her clit tingled and her toes curled in her new Prada shoes. “Will you walk away or will you dance with me?”
Good Lord, Yvette had been right. Something wicked could happen at any moment!