The doors opened then, and my first impression was of low music, clinking glasses, and hushed conversations. We stepped into a large room filled with dining tables and large, round velvet columns lining both sides. The floor was the same black lacquer as downstairs.
There were no whips. Or chains. Or naked people.
Instead there were men dressed in suits, women in skirts and dresses, and all were masked.
Everything was set up facing a large stage with a black velvet curtain. Ornate silver light fixtures hung from the ceiling.
“What is this place?” I asked, my voice quiet.
“Tonight, it’s the hottest burlesque club you’ve never heard of before.”
Burlesque?
“Really?”
Rix nodded and led me to one of the velvet columns, which was actually a private booth of some sort. Raised several feet off the floor, the table sat in the middle with a half-round black leather upholstered bench seat. It had a perfect view of the stage, and was concealed from view unless you walked right up to the opening. Candles flickered on the table, and a bottle of champagne chilled in a bucket.
Rix gestured to the rounded stairs. “Ladies first.”
I climbed the stairs and slid across the smooth seat with his hand heating the small of my back. The lights began to dim almost immediately.
“Just in time,” Rix said as he reached for the champagne. Popping the cork without hesitation, he poured two glasses. I accepted one, and he clinked the rim of his to mine. “Cheers, duchess. I think you’re gonna like this.”
The house band started to play, which was coincidentally when I noticed there was an orchestra pit. The curtains split to reveal two black wrought iron beds made up with silky black sheets.
A woman leaned against the frame of one, dressed in an elaborate red-and-black top and skirt, and a man against the other, wearing simple black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a black tie.
I’d watched burlesque before, but never anything completely scandalous, only the run-of-the-mill sassy striptease. I’d seen the LIVE SEX SHOWS signs on Bourbon Street but hadn’t thought they were legit. More a scam to lure in drunk tourists willing to hand over money for the real NOLA experience.
But this . . . They started to move with the music. The woman pretended to ignore the man, who, even from our vantage point, looked hungry for her.
Was that what someone else would see when Rix looked at me? I glanced over at him, taking my eyes from the stage for just a moment, to find him watching me, his silver eyes intent.
Ah . . . so that’s what this was about. See how the straight-laced chick reacts to naughtiness. I slid closer to him on the bench and pressed a fingertip to his jaw, intending to turn his head back toward the stage.
“You’re here to watch the show,” I whispered when he kept his eyes on me.
“You’re the one I’m watching, duchess. Every chance I get.”
My cheeks heated, but so did other strategic parts of my body. “Rix . . .”
“Valentina.”
The music, sultry and sexy, picked up a deeper bass beat, and I looked to the stage and back to Rix.
“Watch the show.”
I complied and was captivated.
The woman was teasing the man. She sat on one of the beds, fluffing her hair, checking her lipstick in a compact. The man came closer, but she stood and bent to fix her shoe, popping her rear out in his direction, but rose before he could touch. And then the clothes started to come off.
His first. He pulled off his tie and tossed it on the bed he leaned against before unbuttoning and rolling up his cuffs.
Her attention dropped to the tie, and she flipped her hair before unsnapping part of the front of her sequined top and shimmying it off. Instead of revealing skin, it gave way to a deep V-cut strapless number. She tossed the discarded layer at his face, but he caught it in midair. The act unleashed him.
He stepped forward, wrapping her long hair around his fist and grasping the back of her head. His lips found her neck, her chin, her ear . . . much like Rix had in the SUV on the way here. The man was ravenous.
The woman arched back, grasping a handful of his shirt. The man didn’t stop for long moments, and when he did, it was to tear his shirt off and spin her around. Pinning her to the bed, he shackled both wrists above her head and kissed her again. Every move was more erotic than the last.
When he released his hands, she pushed at his chest, and he bounded up from the bed. She rose and pushed him backward until his knees hit the other bed and he sat. She climbed on his lap and with a snap of her wrist, the skirt of her outfit fell away, leaving bright red cheeky panties with a black bow on the back. This time it was her turn, pressing him down, pinning him, and taking what she wanted.
Both of his hands wrapped around her ass and squeezed, bringing her closer until she was directly above his face. He tore her panties in half, revealing a tiny red thong. She moaned, riding his face, and I couldn’t stop myself from looking back at Rix again.
His eyes were trailing down my body to where my nipples were puckered and pressed hard against the silk of my blouse.
He must have felt my stare because his gaze cut to mine, and in that moment I wanted him to unbutton my blouse and touch me. I wanted him to tear my clothes off the way the couple were onstage. I wanted him in a frenzy for me where what he wanted most in this world was me.
But that couldn’t happen here. Yes, the booth was semi-private and I was wearing a mask, but still . . . I just couldn’t. I might be finding my inner vixen, as evidenced by the slickness gathering between my legs at watching this show with Rix at my side, but sex in a semi-public place was pushing my limits too far.