Alice van der Poole loved her boyfriend. Really, she did. Ben was perfectly handsome, perfectly sweet, perfectly... bland. Every kiss was preceded with a gentle, "May I kiss you?" and followed by a whispered, "You're so beautiful." At night, Ben would tell her how precious she was, how delicate and sweet and lovely. His fragile, perfect little rose. Alice wanted to scream.
I must be a terrible person, she thought as he dropped feathery little kisses across her forehead. I want to scream.
It wasn't that there was anything wrong with sweet kisses and sweet words and sweet—ugh—lovemaking. It was... fine. But there was something in Alice's soul, something raw and dark and alive, that craved something more, something other. She wanted to be thrown against a wall, have her clothes ripped off her body and her aching cunt ravished by a strong, faceless stranger who didn't care if he left bruises, who didn't ask permission, who wanted to use her like a doll and leave her sweaty and gasping and satisfied... Oh god.
Alice pulled herself out of her daydream, aware that her white cotton panties were now soaking wet and her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink. She loved Ben, really she did. But if she had to spend another night with him lying on top of her like a sack of bricks and gently nudging his cock inside her and then falling asleep wrapped like a snake around her, she was going to explode.
In the mirror, her reflection was a jeans and white-blouse wearing miniature of her mother. Of every sweet, apple-pie baking suburban housewife Alice had ever passed in the grocery store. She was twenty-two years old. She wasn't ready for a life of anti-aging creams and sensible shoes, sex once a week and leftovers for dinner. It wasn't enough. Should it be enough?
Alice whipped out her phone and stared at the keys, her heart racing in her chest like she'd just run a mile. She sent a text to Ben: Spending the night at Ally's. See you tomorrow?
Two minutes later, she had her response: Of course, my sweet darling. Be safe and enjoy yourself; don't drink too much. I miss your beautiful face already. Love you. XXX.
Alice shivered. Could she really do this? Could she even think about it? She crossed to her closet and fished through the cream colored sweaters and sheath dresses to where a pair of leather pants she had bought but never worn were stashed. She stripped off her jeans and blouse, tossed her white cotton bra and panties into the hamper. She pulled on instead the red satin thong Ben had asked her not to wear and the matching half-cupped demi bra; over that, she pulled the buttery soft, skin-tight, glossy leather pants. A tight black camisole and a pair of high-heeled black boots completed the ensemble; she traded her sensible peach lipstick and blush for thick lines of smudged black eyeliner and inky mascara that turned her sweet, pretty face into something else entirely.
In the mirror, Alice's reflection was a stranger. A slender girl with mile-long legs and an ass that popped out behind her in a way that would make those apple-pie bakers avert their eyes. A tiny waist, perky 32DDs that bounced above her tiny red bra, and an expanse of luminous tanned skin that glowed in the evening light. Her face was seductive, feminine, feline: cat-shaped green eyes, luscious pink lips, eyelashes that sent shadows down her cheeks.
Her hair, tucked into a neat ponytail, was the only thing that didn't fit. Alice pulled it down and brushed it until it tumbled around her shoulders in a waterfall of coffee-dark waves.
Alice smiled nervously at her reflection. She had so much energy in her veins, so much pent-up frustration.... She needed a release. Just this once. Just this once she deserved to fall asleep with her cunt sore and stretched and satisfied, her tits aching, her body used and exhausted. Just this once.
She slipped out of the apartment and took a cab to Brooklyn, to a club called Luxe she had always wanted to visit but never dared. It was shadowy and hazy and full of electric, bouncing energy and sexuality that emanated from the vibrating beats and bodies inside.
The bouncer looked her over and nodded her inside. Alice smiled. Her whole body was throbbing with anticipation. The room was full of beautiful people, laughing people, people who were alive.
Alice headed to the bar; the bartender handed her two shots of vodka without waiting for her order. She swallowed them quickly and flashed him a nervous smile.
"First time?" He grinned.
She nodded. "Is it obvious?"
He laughed, not unkindly. "I've seen worse."
Alice felt a hand on her hip and turned to see a man—sharp cheekbones, broad shoulders, flashing black eyes—standing there. "Hello," he intoned quietly.
"Hello." Alice felt suddenly nervous. This man had the presence of a king. "I'm Alice."
"Carter. It's a pleasure."
"Mr. Carter owns Luxe," the bartender added quickly.
Carter shot him a look. "Lance."
