I arrived at On The Edge early, barely after sunset, and although there were already people on the dance floor, the crowd was nothing compared to what I had seen the previous week. I ordered a cocktail at the bar on the ground level and went down one staircase to stand on one of the suspended bridges. I sipped on the drink slowly, my eyes on the dancers beneath me but I wasn’t really seeing them. Instead, I was remembering, yet again, what had happened on that night a week earlier, how Anando had reached toward me, what it had been like to dance with him, what his hands had felt like on me, first on the dance floor, then when he had taken me home and undressed me. The white chest. The toys. The scarves. His cock. His fangs.
Slow sips turned into larger gulps, and it wasn’t long before I returned to the bar to get another drink. A different bartender took my order, tall and dark-haired, his eyes so dark they seemed completely black. He didn’t say a word, but I could practically feel his gaze caressing my neck where Anando had bitten me.
I made a decision at that moment. Whatever happened, it couldn’t go that far again, I had to stay in control. And I finally knew what toy I would choose for that. I paid for the drink and left to return to my observation point. This time when I scanned the dance floor and its growing crowd, I could actually see the people down there, and I started looking for darker skin and fluid movements. I wanted to see Anando first; I was certain that having a few moments to compose myself before I went to him would help me hold on to my resolve to remain in control.
The feel of a light hand brushing against my exposed shoulders startled me enough that I spilled some of my drink over my hand when I whirled back.
“It took you long enough to come back,” Anando said, a small smile playing on his lips. “I was beginning to think I scared you.”
I wanted to say something—something funny, or clever, or anything at all really—but to see him again like this, without warning, had my heart trying to break free from my chest and my mouth too dry to speak.
He looked even sexier than the first time I had seen him, if that was possible, with a silky black shirt open halfway down his chest, framing the smooth expanse of his dark honey chest. I wanted to touch him. I was sure his skin would be softer even than the silk of his shirt. But he winked at me, and without another word he was striding away, going down to the dance floor. It took me a little while to realize that, seeing how my mind had blanked out when my eyes fell on his ass, tightly encased in leather pants that left very little to the imagination.
… continued in Out of the Box 2