Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“We named it that after that really smooth, velvety sensitive spot on the head of a guy’s dick,” the girl says, her red lips tilting into a smirk as she peers up at Jigsaw.
I almost gag on the small sip.
Behind Bonnie, Lala shakes her head.
Clearing my throat, I set my glass on the bar top with a sharp clink loud enough to get Bonnie’s attention. “You named a drink after the corona of the glans penis? Bold choice.” I tilt my head, keeping my voice sugary sweet. “Fun fact, did you know the glans and shaft shrivel postmortem?”
“Ewww.” Bonnie sneers. “What?”
A strangled snort escapes Jigsaw. Shoulders shaking, he glances down at me. “Warn your man when you’re about to get clinical.”
“Weirdo,” Bonnie mumbles, storming off to harass her next victim.
Coming from her, I’ll consider that a compliment.
Lala rushes forward, bracing her hands against the bar. “That’s not true. Or if it is, I didn’t know that’s why they named it that when I offered you the drink.”
“It’s okay.” I twirl the stem of the glass between my fingers. “It’s good. Thank you.”
Trinity wedges herself in next to me, resting her hand on my shoulder. “I swear this clubhouse doesn’t always look like the bordello from hell,” she says against my ear.
I huff a soft breath of amusement and give my glass another twirl. “My first thought was ‘vampire whorehouse.’ Bordello sounds so much classier.”
She lets out a quick laugh, points to my glass, then holds up two fingers to Lala. “We’ll have to make a T-shirt to mark the occasion. I Survived the Vampire Bordello.” She twirls her hand in the air. “We’ll ask Shelby to come up with the slogan—she’s better with words.”
Jigsaw leans closer, his warm, solid body pressing tight against my side. “Thank you for letting Margot know it’s not always like this, Trinity.”
Her gaze flits around the room. “I mean, besides the lighting and big screen o’ porn nailed to the wall, it’s not that much different.”
“Not helping.” He flicks his hand at her in a mock shooing motion. “Get outta here.”
She grins. “Hey, I’m not knocking it. Upstate built a whole new clubhouse for their deviants.”
Lala hands Trinity two glasses. “Thanks, Lala.” She nudges me with her elbow and tilts her head to the side. “We claimed one of the rooms down there if you want to come join us later.”
I nod quickly, not sure I’m comfortable leaving Jigsaw’s side yet. “Okay.”
“Text me, I’ll come find you.”
“Thanks, Trin,” Jigsaw calls after her.
She melts into the crowd, carefully holding the glasses to avoid spilling on her dress.
A low murmur of excitement races through the room and someone pulls back the curtains by the front door with a dramatic flourish.
A tall, painfully thin and pale woman with jet black hair, red lips and what looks like a see-through slip of a dress walks in and lifts her arm, waving like a queen acknowledging her subjects.
“The guest of honor must’ve arrived,” I say to Jigsaw.
He grunts an affirmative sound and turns away from the door.
Applause breaks out, whistles and cheers following in her wake. Someone yells her name, and a group of men near the bar surge forward like she’s a celebrity—which, I guess she is to a certain demographic of people.
I glance up at Jigsaw, but his expression is unreadable—flat, detached, as if he’s already checked out of this part of the night.
That should comfort me. It doesn’t.
Compared to what I’ve seen in this clubhouse tonight, asking Jigsaw to teach me the joys of sex seems positively demure.
Now that I’ve witnessed what he’s usually surrounded by, he clearly had all the right qualifications for the job. No wonder he’s so good at sex.
But watching the way the women behave—how freely they touch, how little they wear, how shamelessly they offer themselves and how eagerly some of the men lap it up—ties my stomach in knots.
If this is the world he’s used to…
How long before the quiet girl who works with the dead starts to bore him?
How long before he craves a woman who’s bolder, louder, and more daring?
Someone who’s more comfortable surrounded by all this sexual chaos?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jigsaw
As I always suspected she would be, Margot’s scandalized by what’s going on around us.
And fuck, who can blame her? Between the hideous red lighting, bodies grinding on every available surface, and the screen now playing a loop of Stella’s greatest hits, my club ain’t exactly giving “girlfriends welcome” energy.
I could’ve come to the party alone. Showed my mean mug around and then bounced. I thought having the other ol’ ladies here would make Margot more comfortable. She’s trying. Making an effort not to cringe every time someone shrieks or grunts through an orgasm. I can tell.
Am I a sick fucker for wanting her to see this? The raw, vulgar side of club life. The stuff I’ve grown numb to and bored with? Will she understand that this is why I crave being with her so much? Or is she worried I’ll feel like I’m missing out?