After one feverish night with Tyler Evans, Rory is never supposed to see the man draped in enigmas and devilish charms again.
Six months later, she's deep into a summer fling with Chace. As their fling becomes a committed relationship, she's adamant...
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I'm fucked.
Not because I'm doing drugs. Sure, my therapist recommended (and Vicky demanded) that I stray from the party life, but as Tyler said, it's no worse than drinking. It's not because I'm at a club. Sure, they're sexual in nature, but Chace and I have gone dancing so many times, and I've never had the urge or lack of control.
I'm fucked because people are fucking each other senseless everywhere. Combine that with the first two variables and I've got myself a problem. The sick desire to join them is conquering my bones. I haven't had a wild sex experience since Tyler. Before that? I was craving things like this until my parents threw me at a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with a sex addiction at sixteen.
I've taken all the precautions to keep it at bay and maintained that control throughout my entire relationship with Chace. I haven't relapsed once, but this place is a vivid reminder of all those nights I'd fantasize about these intimate encounters long before I knew my fantasies would lead me down a sick path.
This place is dangerous, and I loathe the way it ignites me.
My mouth is numb from coke. My body is jittery with anticipation. The familiarity is scary. My first experience with cocaine was right after I wanted to break off my relationship with David. One disastrous experience spiraled into a series of others until I became a girl my parents and friends no longer recognized. I was a menace. A force of chaos that nearly imploded.
Chace doesn't know about my past. Tyler doesn't know. They don't know how dreadful it can be; what I've been willing to risk. I can lose everything if I ever go back. I've been clean for nearly a year now. The horizon appears hazy.
Following Tyler down a staircase littered with ravenous couples ignites my core in sinful ways. My veins are on fire as I imagine every possibility that awaits. I'm at his heels, taking in the musk and metallic scents.
"We don't have to stick around for this area." He opens a door to a hall draped in velvet from the ceiling to the carpet. Golden borders line the walls with similarly tented lamps lighting the path. Sexual paintings hang with perfect symmetry on each side.
"Why?" I drift my fingers over a painting, admiring the rosy details of love and lust on blushing lovers. The aura of sex exudes from the very walls. There's something illicit but also romantic about it.
"I feel like this is an area where you'd want to be with a significant other." He continues striding toward the set of mahogany double doors.
The second he pushes the handle, they creak. That's when I hear it.
Moaning.
My body reacts vividly in shades of crimson and gold. Heat rises through my body, or maybe that's the cocaine kicking in. I swallow hard as a feminine voice, delicate as a flower, echoes off the high walls, making use of flawless acoustics. Tyler leans over a curved balcony where both sides end in staircases that spiral down a floor. I peep over the edge to see a large glass casing, round, twenty feet high and around, illuminated by a gentle hue of stage lights. A woman lies elegantly in the center with a man thrusting and grunting between her flushed thighs. A dozen seats surround the circle in six columns, guests watching in awe as two people fuck mere inches away from them.
