Bailey
Hahnville is in the rearview mirror, literally.
I blow out a sigh of relief as the last exit sign for the town fades into the distance behind us. The bustle and lights of NOLA beckon, and I let myself relax more with every mile we cover. A shadow has plagued us the last few weeks. I can’t deny that any longer, just as I can’t deny that I can feel its noxious grip on me loosen as we put more distance between us and the marsh.
“I can’t wait to show you the club,” I gush. “The DJ tonight is supposed to be great. I plan on dancing the night away!”
My enthusiasm is contagious, and Tanner stands no chance against it. “Oh?” he asks, smirking playfully. “What kind of dancing can I expect tonight? Grinding? Twerking?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and I giggle.
“The funky chicken,” I reply in the driest tone I can muster.
Tanner lets out a booming laugh, and I quickly join him. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize that I haven’t heard him let loose like that in quite some time. I dimly recognize that I should be concerned about that, but I’m too caught up in savoring the moment to dwell on it.
The rest of the drive passes quickly. We joke around, and I even manage to coax another chuckle out of Tanner. The sound zings straight to my core, reminding me that we haven’t had sex for a while either. The promise of the hotel room at the end of the night becomes almost as enticing as my man’s laugh, and I find myself squeezing my thighs together until we pull up in front of the club.
It takes us a few minutes to find parking, but Tanner manages to ease his oversized truck into one of the tiny spaces along the busy street. I never knew that a man parallel parking could be so sexy.
“Ready?” he asks as he joins me on the sidewalk outside the club.
I pause for a moment to admire the handsome angles of his face, his tanned skin, the roots of stubble freckling his jaw. He’s gorgeous, and he’s mine. I flash him a saucy grin and loop my arm through his. “Always,” I answer, slightly breathless.
We have no problem getting into the club. The bouncer simply squints at our ideas and steps aside to let us in.
The atmosphere transforms the moment we cross the threshold. Bass throbs, igniting the fire inside of me that’s been smoldering since Tanner laughed in the car. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. Sweet alcohol and perfume invade my nose, a far cry from the fetid odor of the marsh. Bodies writhe in every corner, chasing out any of the ghosts of Bourbon Street that might have a mind to linger. This place is alive in the same way the swamp is dead.
I reach down and take Tanner’s hand and squeeze. He returns the pressure, smiling down at me. I’m sure now that this was a good idea, that all we needed was to get out from under the shadow of the Gregory place.
Tanner tugs me by our linked hands, guiding us through the throng of bodies towards a free table near the back of the club. I slide into one of the high-top seats, but he doesn’t sit.
“Stay here,” Tanner orders, his hot breath caressing the shell of my ear. “I’ll get us some drinks.”
The heat of his body sweeps away as he weaves towards the bar, and I shiver at the sudden loss. I pull out my cell phone and scroll through my socials as I wait for him, but my mind is too busy thinking about all of the other things he’ll order me to do tonight to pay much attention to the screen, and I end up sliding the device back into my purse only a few seconds later.
By the time Tanner returns, I’m properly hot and bothered. I barely even notice that his hands are empty. In that moment, I can think of far better things those fingers could be doing.
“Let’s dance,” I say. It’s more of a command than a suggestion, and he doesn’t look like he’s about to argue.
I once again take him by the hand and lead him to the dance floor. The space is already crowded, but I zero in on a spot closer to the door, and we quickly claim it as our own.
Our movements start out innocently enough. I wrap my arms around Tanner’s neck. He’s so tall I have to stand on my toes to reach. He splays his hands on my hips and then roughly pulls me forward so that our bodies meet in the middle, resulting in a delicious lack of negative space between us. The lights pulse around us, disorienting me in the best way. I haven’t even had a sip of alcohol yet, but the heartbeat of the music gives me a heady feeling like I’ve already had several shots.
A serene smile slips across my face as I let my eyelids flutter closed. I’ve always loved dancing. My career as a nurse has often forced me to be serious and to consider other people’s needs before my own. But with music like this sultry fusion of jazz and techno, I can let everybody else go and focus solely on myself. Dancing is like sex to me, but the pleasure is solely mine.
I let the pulsing beat guide my moves, the music feeding into my limbs as I slide against the hard planes of Tanner’s body. I can feel how much he’s enjoying this through his jeans. The friction is maddening, and I decide that tonight, I want to lose my fucking mind.
As if sensing my thoughts, Tanner flips me around suddenly so that my back molds to the front of him. His hardening cock presses against me through constraining layers of fabric. Lust ricochets through my veins as I grind onto him in time with the music, teasing him with my curves. His large hands begin to roam, sliding up my sides and brushing the edges of my breasts. A pulse of pleasure thums through me at the contact, but it’s not enough.
“More,” I urge, though realistically I know that there’s no way he can hear me over the driving beat of the music. Even so, he seems to come to the same conclusion. He leans over, his body crushing fully against mine as we sway to the bass, and he catches the shell of my ear with his teeth.
I gasp at the contact and arch back against him. “More,” I repeat. I need more. I need him.
His mouth hovers just over the spot he bit. “Beg,” he commands, his voice low and gravelly. “Beg me for it.”
I nearly come undone at his words. All I can do is pant, “Please, Tanner. Please.”
He leans down further and chuckles against the crook of my neck. I turn my head to grant him better access, and he immediately latches onto my pulse point, sucking and licking as he continues to grind his hips into mine.
“More,” I urge. “Please, I need more.”
A whimper escapes my lips as his hands course down my body. One wraps one around my waist, holding me to him in a vice grip. The other snakes beneath the short hem of my dress, trailing fire in its wake.
“Is this what you want?” he murmers in my ear. “Do you want me to touch you?”
“Please,” I gasp as his mouth returns to my neck.
Before I even have time to form a coherent thought, he pulls the edge of my lacy thong aside and runs one thick finger through my slit. I jump at the sudden contact, but his arm clamps around me, holding me in place. I melt into him as he once again rubs his finger against my slick heat before pushing roughly inside me. I groan in pleasure as he works in a second finger before pulling out, only to curl them back in at precisely the right angle to have me seeing stars.
“Fuck,” I moan, my head rolling back against his chest as he pumps his fingers in and out of my pussy. I can feel my own wetness trailing down my thighs as he brings me higher in rhythm to the pounding of the base.
“Do you like that?” he asks in a voice like black velvet. I’m dimly aware that his tone sounds off somehow, but I’m far too distracted to care. “Look how wet you are for me. Are you so much of a slut that it turns you on that I’m fucking your tight little cunt with my fingers in front of all these people?”
I blink, fighting against the haze.
Something about this is wrong. Tanner’s never spoken to me like that, not even in our kinkiest moments. He’s never degraded me or talked down to me like this. I try to pull away, but his arm cages me in, tightening around me so much that it starts to hurt. The pleasure begins to fade as reality sinks in.
“What’s the matter, Bailey?” His voice is more a hiss than a purr now in my ear. “Don’t you want everybody to see you come on my fingers like the dirty little whore that you are?”
As he speaks, his voice changes, and all at once I realize that whoever is behind me is not Tanner.
Panic flares through me, flooding my veins and imbuing me with the strength to move. I struggle against him, flailing my arms and twisting my body until I’m able to wrench free of his grasp. His fingers slip from inside of me as his grip around my middle breaks. I push away from him and then spin to face him, my hand raised and ready to slap him square in the face.
But shock strangles me as I stare up at the man who had touched me.
“Dalton?” I gasp.
The man in front of me is still for a moment. Under the shifting lights of the club, he sure looks like Layla’s boyfriend. The angles of his face and the color of his hair match. But then one of the lights hits him just right, and I realize that his eyes are black, not the jade green that they should be.
This is not Tanner, and it’s definitely not Dalton either.
I don’t think he’s even a person.
It grins at me, and it’s like watching a corpse with rigor mortis try to smile.
Every atom in my body screams at me to run, and that’s exactly what I do. I stumble, reeling backward into the sea of bodies, fighting against the current. I don’t even know where I’m going. All that matters is that I get away from that thing, as far away as possible.
Out of nowhere, two strong arms grab me and spin me around. I struggle for a moment before a familiar, concerned voice asks, “Bailey? What’s wrong babe?”
“Tanner?” I ask weakly.
“It’s me,” he nods, confusion wrapping around his features. And in that moment, I’m sure that this is the real Tanner. “What happened, Bailey?” he asks gently. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“That man,” I manage, turning to point to the thing that looked like Dalton.
But when I look, the thing is gone, as though it was never even there at all.