Vera

Tango Nightclub. Saturday night, April 9

“Saph, are you even real right now?” Saph practically squealed, clutching her chest. “First, you get us past the line like VIPs, and now you’re just… doing this?”

“Honestly, is anyone surprised? Vera’s got a PhD in making hot guys magically appear,” Mindy, my high school and college friend, remarked. She laughed as Saph’s eyes popped out at the two gorgeous beefcakes I led to our little group at Tango Nightclub.

It was eleven pm, and the place thumped with bass, bodies moving everywhere. It was basically Studio 54 with better lighting and way more glitter. Outside, people waited an hour just to get picked by the bouncers. Me? I never waited. Not when I’d once dated Mikey Reynolds, the manager. Let’s just say he left an impression, especially with his hands and his tongue. The man knew his way around anatomy.

I caught his eye across the bar, tossing him a knowing smile as I swung my hips, Mister X and Mister Y, whatever their names, tightening their grip on me like I was some kind of prize. Honestly, I wasn’t mad about it.

And then, like a TikTok trend that just won’t die, Ace Lockheart’s voice tried to crawl into my head. “You’re an ugly pity fuck, Vera. No guy wants you.” Classic Ace: a so-called nice guy, all charm and fake guitar serenades, until I slept with him and the mask cracked. First, the digs about my body. Then the bruises. Then waking up with him inside me, ignoring the word “no.” He called me a slut just for talking to my friends.

I shot him a mental middle finger. My brother shattered his nose on New Year’s Day. I never saw Ace again, and therapy took care of the rest. Nightmares still hit sometimes, but less and less. That’s the thing about trauma, healing isn’t linear, but you get there.

The best part? I’m not a victim. Not anymore. I’m a goddamn survivor. These days, confidence is my superpower, sexier than any little black dress. Guys notice that before anything else, trust me.

Tonight, unshackled from my shitshow past, I felt unstoppable. Two ridiculously gorgeous men, tall and sculpted like Greek statues, stood with me. Shirts unbuttoned, abs front and center, radiating the kind of sexual energy that made half the room jealous.

Mindy leaned in, stage-whispering, “Do they come as a set or is this a solo performance?”

I smirked. “I don’t know yet, but I’m willing to experiment.”

Saph just fanned herself with her hand, mouthing, “Iconic.”

I rolled my hips, feeling their hands claim me. Freedom never looked so good or felt so goddamn sexy. Let’s just say Ace would die if he saw me now. And honestly? Good.

“Seriously, Vee, how did you find these two handsome men?” Saph asked. She shook her head and sipped her Long Island iced tea.

“A lady never tells her secrets.” I smiled, then swatted Mister X’s naughty fingers, which lowered a loose strap down the shoulder of my black, lacy bustier. The top complemented my high-waisted white slacks, accentuating my curves.

“What do you plan to do with these guys?” Saph asked, eyes blinking rapidly.

“We’re going to The Church.”

“You mean the strip club?”

“Yup. It’s masquerade night at the club, so I’ll have some fun. Are you joining us?” I gazed at Saph first, then at Mindy, who toyed with her long, dark hair while staring at Misters X and Y.

“Umm, I don’t think so. It’s not my fetish,” Mindy replied, laughing at my boys. “Saph, this babe is like a guy in a woman’s body.”

“Mindy, get it right. I’m a woman who knows exactly what to do with this body.” I slipped out of Mister X and Mister Y’s arms just long enough to wink at her.

“A very sexually liberated one,” she quipped.

“And isn’t that a good thing?” Saph defended, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Whatever floats your boat. I love you, babe,” Mindy answered, hugging me tightly. “I’ll grab a cab home. Call me tomorrow.”

“I’ll join Mindy. I’m going to church tomorrow morning.” Saph’s eyes captured mine with a hint of flirtation. “The real church,” she teased as we hugged. She and Mindy left the club to join the ever-growing queue at the cab rank.

“Well, what are you looking at, boys?” I smirked, hands on my hips. “Come on, let’s follow the yellow brick road.” I grinned as the men escorted me on each arm.

The original building of The Church was an old church site, which the club’s owner refurbished. I’d never met the guy, but I heard he had his finger in every pie in the city. His family was old money. Oil money.

“I’m keen to watch you and your buddy enjoy a few lap dances,” I murmured to Mister X, squeezing his butt cheek. He groaned, redirecting my hand toward a large bulge at the front of his pants.

Fighting for my attention, Mister Y pulled me to him, drawing me into a hungry kiss. I savored the taste of his hunger, teased his tongue, then released the kiss. “I want to see you grind your body and moan tonight,” he said.

I broke away from Mister Y’s caress and poured some passion into Mister X’s lips. It was time to get some real fun.

Vera

Midnight

“Poor little Vera has two beautiful boys tonight. What will I do with them?” I teased Misters X and Y as we walked through the doors of The Church.

“I can think of several ways we can have some fun,” Mister Y caressed my waist.

“Mmm, like what, sexy?” I purred.

“Like, how about you tease me until I can’t take it any longer?”

“We’ll see, lover boy.”

I turned to Mister X and bit the corner of my lower lip. “How about you, handsome?”

“Do you feel this bad boy?” Mister X asked as he grabbed my buttocks with both hands and pressed his erection into my pelvis. “He wants you.”

Oh, I felt his hardness. There was no mistaking the arousal for anything else. Breaking away from the boys, I scanned The Church. A blend of musky vanilla and blooming gardenia hung heavily in the air. The employees were top-class professionals who mastered the art of seduction, from exotic dancing to whispering sweet nothings into the men’s ears, persuading them to stay longer and spend more money. This was the place where some of the clientele could forget their wives, girlfriends, and families for one night.

“I’d like to pay for the boys and me,” I said to the cashier by the cloakroom. Dolled to perfection, she wore nothing more than a gold mask, shiny nipple patches, and a sliver of a pink thong. She was stunning with her hair hoisted high in a thick, blonde ponytail, and her tanned body glossed with a glittery shimmer.

“Princess, you get in for free,” the blonde replied, eyeing me up and down before darting her baby blues at the men. “These boys will have to pay for themselves, though.”

She smiled sweetly at Mister X and Mister Y, who fished out their credit cards. It was simple. No one argued with the blonde bombshell, Mistress B. She gave us a choice of masks to buy, ranging from the heavily decorated Colombina half-masks to the more simplistic Volto full-masks, which guaranteed anonymity.

“We’ll take the half-masks,” Mister Y said, staring at the masks on display.

“No. Ladies first, gentlemen. Didn’t your mothers ever teach you manners?” Mistress B taunted with her pouty lips.

“I’ll take the half-mask on the left.” I pointed at a sleek red and gold Colombina.

“You will look stunning in this one,” she complimented, placing it on my head. Her fingers tucked loose hair behind my ears. She leaned forward and pulled me closer. “I’d like to give you a free lap dance tonight.”

I grinned, glancing at the guys as they picked their masks. “Can’t wait.”

“I swear, this is heaven,” Mister Y said, sliding his arm around my waist as his gaze tracked every curve in the room. We made our way toward the velvet lounge, surrounded by a sea of gorgeous, barely-dressed bodies.

Mister X pulled me away from his friend, voice low and hungry. “You’re not going anywhere.” He nipped at my earlobe, his hand slipping down the front of my lace bustier, fingers teasing my nipples until I had to bite my lip to keep quiet.

“You’re aroused,” he said, rubbing his lips along my neck, lacing it with gentle nips.

“You excite me, lover boy. First, we need to park our asses,” I murmured, gently pulling his hand out of my bustier. I pointed at a few vacant lounge chairs near the bar and instructed, “We’ll sit there. I could use a drink or two.”

“What’s your poison?”

“A Pornstar Martini.”

I caught Mister Y tangled up with a busty brunette, her bare chest pressed to his as she slid his hand down her side. He looked hypnotized, eyes glued to all that soft skin—honestly, I wouldn’t have minded swapping places with him just to feel her curves for myself. But the night was just getting started.

I sashayed toward the empty lounge chairs, feeling every gaze trail after me while Mister X made a beeline for the bar. Sinking into the velvet cushions, I scanned the room and that’s when I saw him.

Half-hidden in the corner, draped in shadows and women, was a man with the kind of half-mask that belonged in a fever dream. Angelic curls, dark blond or maybe light brown, impossible to tell in this light, framed his face. His suit fit like a glove, dark and expensive, white shirt open just enough to hint at trouble. His eyes found mine across the room, pinning me in place with a look that was all confidence and secrets.

Heat flared in my cheeks. I forced myself to look away, zeroing in on the stage just as the next wave of exotic dancers spun into the spotlight, applause and music swallowing the room.

An hour later, I sipped my second Pornstar Martini while Mister X’s hands groped my breasts. He devoured my neck and décolletage with sloppy, greedy kisses. His mouth traveled lower until it came close to reaching one nipple. I pulled away, teasing him with my waving finger before turning to watch the burlesque performers on stage. Their movements were erotic and flawless when they teased the men with their seductive glances, secretive smiles, and the slow reveal of their naked skin.

Mistress B straddled me like a queen on a throne, her bewitching hips grinding slowly. Her eyes never left Mister Y. He watched, glassy-eyed and hungry, as she slid a hand between her thighs and smiled like sin. Cash spilled from his grip. He shoved it into her thong like it might buy more of her attention.

Mister X let out a groan of satisfaction when I grinned. “You’re so fucking delicious.”

“I know, handsome,” I replied, stroking his hard shoulders.

“I want to fuck you.” He glanced at his friend. “Without him.”

I placed one finger under his stubbled chin and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Mister X nodded under the trance of my tease. His eyes glazed over with adoration and enthusiasm. A hostess with bunny ears and a bottle of chilled champagne interrupted my ascent from the chair.

“Here you go, gorgeous,” the bunny cooed, leaning in and popping the cork with a little flourish. She poured the champagne into a crystal glass and handed it over. I glanced at the bottle of Bollinger. Old money glam.

“Damn, this stuff is fancy,” Mister X blurted as the bunny handed me a glass. Mister Y and Mistress B already had theirs, clinking glasses like they owned the place.

“I didn’t order this,” I said, eyeing the label.

Mister X shrugged and raised his glass to the group, already downing half of it.

“Oh, it’s on the house,” the hostess chimed in, flashing a smile and nodding toward the masked man from earlier, the one who’d been undressing me with his eyes.

“What’s his name?” I asked, eyes locked on the mystery man across the room. He grinned, arms filling up with burlesque dancers as they finished their act, peeling off his jacket and kissing his neck like he was the main event.

The bunny leaned in, lowering her voice. “That’s Mister Scott. Alistair Scott. He owns Lester Harbor and this club, obviously. Trust me, women would kill for a bottle of anything from him.”

I arched a brow. “Cute, but tell him he’s not the first man to buy me a drink, and he sure won’t be the last. Gonna take a lot more than Bollinger to impress me.”

She laughed, shaking her head as I lifted my glass and sent a silent toast to Mister Scott. He caught it, raising his martini, mouth curling into a wicked grin.

I drained my glass, then reached for Mister X, letting my fingers trace his jaw before whispering, “Come play.”

“What about the champagne?” he asked, eyes flickering with trouble.

I drew a lazy circle on his palm. “I’m more interested in tasting you tonight.”

He grinned. “Say the word, I’m yours.”

With a smirk, I grabbed the champagne by the neck, tugged Mister X along, and strutted out of The Church, leaving Mister Y and Mister Scott to their audience of beautiful sinners.

Alistair

Who would’ve guessed Vera Richland would walk into my club, let alone on the arm of two pretty boys? Even with that lace mask barely hiding her face, I’d know her anywhere. A woman like that could turn my life upside down, and honestly, I wouldn’t mind the chaos.

Why? Simple. Vera was pure heat, a spitfire with a body built for sin and a mind sharp enough to cut me. She had that bad-girl energy, all Catholic-school charm gone rogue. I could picture her in knee socks and plaid, breaking rules just for the thrill, daring the world to catch her.

She was trouble, exactly my kind of trouble. Those boys she brought? Cute toys. But Vera knew how to hunt, and I’d bet anything she liked to play with her prey before taking a bite.

But every hunter eventually gets hunted. And tonight, Diana met her match. Vera was a challenge, and I lived for a challenge.

Was that honest enough? Hell, maybe. I’d never met a woman who made me want to risk everything for the chase.