Burning Moon (Wattpad Version)

Chapter 11

And he was right. I definitely did need rescuing.

“I’m Mark, and this is my ball and chain Bruno.” I looked at Bruno. He was a man in possession of the type of jaw that could easily secure him a starring role in a soap opera. It was that square. He was also a man of few words -- perhaps his jaw impeded his speech in some way -- he just nodded.

“Champagne?” Again, Mark gave me no choice and simply poured me a glass. Though I wasn’t complaining -- I think I needed the social lubricant.

“Is that fake Chanel I see?” Mark said, leaning over and practically climbing into one of my shopping bags. “Don’t you just love how cheap everything is here? Hey, Bruno?”

This time Bruno gave a grunt.

I sipped my champagne and looked at my new friends and was very glad they’d saved me from the embarrassment of looking like a pervert leering from the shadowy sidelines. I was just about to thank them when...

The lights dimmed.

“Here we go, here we go,” Mark said, downing his champagne and squealing like a piglet.

I felt a series of frantic tap-taps on my shoulder, “Hold onto your panties sweetie. It’s about to get steamy.”

By now, I’m sure you’ve become aware of the subliminal messages I’ve been planting in the pages? {Think Brad Pitt in Fight Club}.

So now the time has come to really think about that image. Imagine it for a moment. Let it marinate, simmer and smoulder. Keep it in the forefront of your mind as you carry on. And if you’re struggling to visualise it, for heaven's sake go and Google it, NOW.

Multi-coloured lights illuminated the stage and a loud puff of smoke came billowing out from behind a red velvet curtain. The song ‘I’m a Slave 4 U' by Britney filled the air and everyone started screaming like high school girls. All I could think about was what a cheesy choice of song it was, but looking around, it was clear that no one else shared this sentiment. But my train of thought was cut short when I saw Damian burst onto the stage, dressed in a suit and tie. The shock was instant and I buried my face in my hands, no doubt going bright red in the process.

“Oh no you don’t,” Mark said, pulling my hands away from my eyes. By this stage, I wasn't sure if I was more embarrassed for Damian or myself, but I was cringing so badly I didn’t think I’d be able to watch.

Now in my mind, a strip show is a seedy affair, punctuated with much grinding and thrusting and rubbing and gyrating. But this wasn't the case at all; because as soon as Damian started moving around the stage, it became obvious he was taking the piss. He started his routine with a cartwheel, which made the audience laugh, whoop and whistle. And then in a very dramatic move, he whipped off his jacket and waved it around his head like a lasso, which caused even more laughter and whistling and 'ooohing' and 'aaahing'. I felt an elbow in my ribs, “Mmmm, yummy delish.”

Next came the tie, which he made one of the very obliging men in the audience remove. Damian then used the tie as a whip and gave the air a few playful lashings; of course this just caused more mirth. The whole event was ridiculous, he danced around the stage like a clown and at one point did something that crudely resembled the Macarena. By now my initial anxiety had left me, and I was starting to relax and get into the spirit of things, when, without warning, Damian changed it up and pulled out the big guns...

He suddenly slowed everything down.

His face became serious.

His black eyes, dark and broody.

Then one by one, and very, very slowly, he undid his shirt buttons. He looked directly at the audience this time; a wicked, naughty boy look glinted in his eyes. I buried my face in my hands again, but Mark was on it.