Previously in The Club:
Heather and Claudia, two strangers drawn to a secret casting, arrived at a luxurious villa where pleasure is the currency--and the tests are anything but ordinary. Claudia entered a room where a woman and a man awaited her, for a test Heather could only imagine. Now, left to the quiet pulse of her own anticipation, Heather can't escape the images in her mind.
CHAPTER 5 -- HEATHER
The door clicked shut behind Claudia, and the room fell quiet again.
Heather stayed seated, legs crossed, fingertips pressing softly against her thighs--still, but not quite relaxed. The silence wasn't heavy, but it stayed with her--the kind that usually pulled her toward her phone.
She glanced down.
No signal. No messages.
She opened an app, closed it again. Tried another. Nothing held her.
Her eyes skimmed the screen, but her mind kept slipping--drawn toward something else entirely.
She never would've come on her own. Not really.
It had been Claudia's curiosity, her quiet nerve, that had carried them both across the line.
Heather pictured her--always alert, speaking in that certain way that made people listen without quite knowing why.
Claudia moved like someone who chose every word before it formed.
Well. By now, the talking was probably over.
Heather couldn't even hold a thought before it dissolved.
And then she completely lost control.
The image arrived quietly, like a thought that had been waiting for permission.
Claudia.
Lying back. Eyes closed. Breathing fast.
Her wrists held above her head, her legs open, the curve of her hip rising into someone's hand.
A mouth on her breast. A second body behind her.
Slow rhythm. Heat. Control.
Then it shifted--like a dream tilting sideways.
Claudia, standing now. Arms raised. Wrists locked in polished steel.
Her legs spread wide, held open by a bar, the metal gleaming between her thighs.
A soft hum. Something inside her. Moving.
And yet she didn't flinch. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, her whole body trembling around the pleasure.
A softer shift.
Someone stepped in behind her--a woman. Barefoot. Bare-shouldered. Calm.
Her hands moved around Claudia's body, slow and knowing. She kissed her neck. Brushed her lips along the edge of her ear.
Then, her fingers moved to Claudia's breasts, taking them gently in her hands. Her thumbs circled the soft peaks of her nipples, pressing and kneading with a delicate rhythm.
Claudia leaned into the touch, her body responding instinctively to the pressure, to the tenderness.
She caught a glimpse of the mirror--Claudia's body, the woman behind her.
But for a second, the face it showed wasn't Claudia's.
It was hers.
Claudia on her knees. Surrounded--five men. Still. Watching.
She didn't wait. Just reached out, wrapped her hand around one of them.
A slow stroke. Certain. Measured. Then her mouth followed--open, warm, deep.
She took him in--no hesitation, no fumbling. Just that calm, practiced rhythm.
The others stood close. One brushed her jaw. One slid fingers down her back.
Heather felt it all--the press of bodies, the low sounds, the way Claudia moved.
No orders. No permission. Just flow.
Her breath caught.
She was wet.
No surprise. Not after that.
Her fingers had pressed down--absently, at first. Then with purpose.
Not enough to come. But enough to feel it.
The heat. The edge. The ache.
