Catch Me

Rick Steele took in the crowd at the Vesper Lounge. A bit light tonight, but he appreciated the elbow space. He ordered the famous Vesper martini and swept his gaze over the elegant, open space of the bar. Set in the Cosmopolitan Hotel, Rick enjoyed getting away from the chaos of the casinos. The excellent knowledge of cocktails from the staff only added to the appeal. The spill of pendant type chandeliers and waves of glass from the ceiling, generous bar, and brightly patterned comfortable seating let a person unwind from a hectic day. And God knows, he’d had a hell of a day.

“Hey, dude, I gotta present for you.”

Rick turned at the familiar sound of his friend’s voice. Dan was a bouncer at the casino and fondly dubbed the ‘Brickhouse’ from the famous seventies song. Rick put up a finger and a Cosmopolitan was slid in front of him a few minutes later. Rick learned the hard way not to tease his friend about his choice of foo foo drinks. He’d seen personally the black eye and broken tooth from the last chump.

“A vacation in the Virgin Islands?” Rick asked. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Better.” Dan took a sip of his Cosmo, and slid an embossed black and gold card across the bar. The gold scrawl on the front read FANTA C.

Rick rolled his eyes, not bothering to pick it up. “Thanks anyway, but I’m burnt out on strip clubs.”

Dan shook his head. “You’re burnt out on everything lately, my friend. Look, I know you went through a bad time, but seriously dude, that was months ago. You gotta move on. You haven’t had a date or a screw for far too long. Trust me, this’ll be good for you. It’s the answer to your prayers.”

“Right. A strip club’s going to solve all my problems. Go ahead. I’m listening. Really. I am.”

Dan grinned, which looked more like a scowl from his meaty, gruff face. His brown eyes sparkled with excitement. “It’s not a strip club, not even close. This is an exclusive club. Unlisted, of course, and the clientele are guaranteed privacy, discretion, and the night of his or her dreams.”

Rick choked on his drink. The vodka burned down his throat, tearing at his eyes. “You’re trying to hook me up with an escort service?” he questioned. “Seriously, I’m outta here.”

Dan held up his hand. “You’re not listening to me. It’s not an escort service or has anything to do with hookers. Essentially, you give them your fantasy of who you want to spend one night with. Your ultimate thrill. They match you up with someone who can fulfill the fantasy.”

“Dude. No matter how you spin that, it’s a hooker. ”

“Not even close. The woman you’re matched with have the exact same fantasies as you do. See, if they don’t get a match, you don’t get a call back, but that doesn’t happen very often. Always someone out there who wants the same thing you do.”

Rick frowned. “You’re telling me they’ll find me my perfect woman for one night? What happens after that?”

“You go your separate ways and no one says a word.”

“Sounds like a hooker to me. A high priced one to boot.”

Dan let out an impatient groan. “The fee is high, and you fill out a bunch of paperwork. It’s a contract, but no one talks. It’s just one awesome fuck. It goes no farther than that unless, of course, you both want it to.”

“Then why is it called Fanta C?”

“Cause a lot of people do want sex and they want to experiment but they don’t know how to go about it or find partners that will respect their privacy. You need to do something different, Rick. I’m worried about you and I think this will help.”

Rick studied his friend, his features softening. It had been a long time since he’d played with a submissive, and hooking up in various clubs had stopped satisfying him a long time ago. He’d been craving a connection he couldn’t seem to find in any of the normal or not so normal male/female hook up spots. Endless women and no one interested him beyond an initial conversation. Since he moved to Vegas, Rick had focused only on work, friends, and nothing sexual, much less intimate. Maybe Dan was right.

Maybe he needed to try something different.

Rick took the card. Turned it around in his fingers. A phone number was scrawled on the back in raised gold embossed numbers. “Is there a name I need to ask for?” he asked.

“No. Just tell whoever answers the phone that I sent you. When you’re done, burn the card.”

A grin tugged at his mouth. Things were getting interesting and precisely at the right time. “This is legal, right? Because if it’s not, I’ll beat the shit out of you.”Dan laughed. “I don’t play that way. It’s totally legit. Just extremely exclusive. You won’t regret it, Rick. I sure didn’t.”

Rick tucked the card in his pocket and nodded. They turned the conversation to neutral chitchat, but the seed had been planted, and all he could think of was the number on the card. And what it promised.

Maybe it was time to experience a new adventure. He trusted Dan. And maybe having one night to remember would kick start him out of his rut and his current sexual starvation.

He’d make the call.

Two weeks later, Rick wondered if he’d made a mistake in making that call.

He tipped back his bottle of IPA and considered performing a Batman move and vanishing. The whole encounter seemed a bit too mysterious for him. When he dialed the number, he’d been connected immediately to an employee who seemed polished, nurturing, and thorough. He’d scanned back the contract and several intimate pages detailing everything he wanted in his encounter. Then he was promptly told if a match was found they’d contact him.

Rick got the call yesterday.

A name was sent to him, along with a short bio, and a meeting place. No further details.

He kind of wanted to kill Dan.

The new nightclub BLUE was the meeting place, and a main hot spot in Vegas, complete with laser blue lighting, pounding music, and a visual feast for the senses. The two level dance floor already held a rowdy group grinding away with some new dirty dancing and baring more flesh than glittery clothes. The music mixed with sprays of shooting water that occasionally drenched the crowd and brought up a roar of approval. His ears, which had long ago gone numb in Vegas, throbbed to the rhythm, reminding him he’d had a bitch of a day and made him wonder why he was here in the first place.

Rick bit back a groan and wondered again if he’d made a mistake. Dealing cards called to his soul, but a bunch of sore losers and drunks stomped out of the woodwork to torture him. He'd had to break up two fights, busted a card counter, and now he waited for a woman he'd never met in the trendiest club in Vegas, while he tried to ignore his blooming headache.

He curbed his impatience and took another sip of beer. Ever since he left Atlantic City for a change of scene, he'd been grateful. Vegas called to his sense of adventure and hard play. The past year proved he'd made the right decision, even though it was difficult leaving his brothers. A beautiful apartment, new job, and endless women stretched out before him in one glorious chorus line. He'd moved past his heartbreak and unleashed his single status on a number of very willing participants the first few months. Things were good.

Then why wasn't he happy?

He pushed the annoying thought away and tried to get a grip. OK, so Dan was right and it had been months since he last took a woman to bed. His choice. Hell, he'd thought Dan would applaud his selectiveness instead of urging him to accept a blind date through FANTA C.

Rick's lips twisted in mock humor as he set his empty bottle down on the trendy glass table. He wondered about the woman he was about to meet. Tara Denton. She’d obviously been through a brutal past and needed a tender hand. He was a natural Dominant, but used a gentle, firm touch. He was not into pain, and focused more on bondage for his submissive partners. After his encounters, though, he liked to keep his distance. Get in, and get out with his soul and heart intact. A little respect, a lot of pleasure, and no boundaries crossed. Of course, that's another reason he'd taken a break. Easier to wake up alone then face the empty feeling of meeting a woman's sleepy gaze and realize she'd never be the one. Or even the one for another evening.

Perhaps, Tara Denton was looking for the same type of thing. It would be so nice to enjoy a woman with no guilt, no expectations, and no letdown when the sun came up.

His phone vibrated. Muttering under his breath, he fished it out of his pocket and read the flashing text.

Tara Denton is in the Blue Lounge awaiting your arrival. Right corner table. Enjoy your evening.

His fingers paused on the keys. A slither of unease skated down his spine. His gut screamed once he agreed, his life would never be the same.

The screen went blank.

Rick shook his head to clear the strange fog and headed past the bar. The throbbing hip hop music dimmed as he made his way through a large tunnel of elaborate glass, displaying an impressive amount of golden statues in different forms of eroticism. He took a hard left, and entered the Blue room.

Aptly named, the quieter lounge area spilled an eerie blue light, reminding him of the Blue Grotto in Capri. The room shimmered from the floor to the ceiling with stunning crushed blue crystals embedded in every surface. A large aquarium tank took up one wall, displaying sea turtles, stingrays, and exotic fish in all sizes and colors. The sensual sounds of the flute and trickling water spilled from the background speakers, and gave the impression of another reality, just a few feet down from the main club. The exotic atmosphere impressed him every time he came into the themed room, even in Vegas.

He let his eyes adjust to the change of light and focused on the far right corner.

She sat with her legs crossed, neatly tucked under the glass table. A pink frothy drink rested in front of her, and she fiddled with the paper umbrella in nervous anticipation. She didn't look up, and Rick grabbed the moment to study her before she had the chance to put her guard up.

Her body was like nothing any tabloid magazine had tried to emulate with their extensive Photoshop and airbrush capabilities. This woman was the real deal. The plain photo that had been emailed to him didn't do her justice. Not even close.

He estimated Tara topped five foot, even with the three-inch heels she currently had wrapped around her sexy feet. She had obviously gone all out for their meeting, evident in the flashy silver top clinging to lush breasts, and the short black skirt she kept yanking down, revealing a good few inches of rounded thigh. She sported the perfect hourglass figure that pushed his lust buttons to an all time high, but never seemed fashionable for women nowadays.

Her hair was jammed up in a sophisticated chignon. Loose strawberry blonde strands popped out in an effort to be freed. She wore a bit too much makeup, but under the bright blue lights, Rick spotted the smattering of freckles and pure white skin that was a part of her Irish heritage. In a few seconds, he summed up one of her problems immediately. She was a gorgeous woman who didn't know it. She seemed uncomfortable in her flashy clothes, makeup, and heels. Rick bet she'd be ready to flee within minutes if he didn't walk over and close the deal.

He waited one beat. Two.

She looked up.

A foreign longing rose up and caught him in a chokehold. Aqua blue eyes widened as her gaze locked with his. The anxious worry he glimpsed deep in those depths caused a protectiveness to surge from within. His second thought centered on what she would look like when he thrust deep inside her and brought her to orgasm.

He hardened instantly. Son of a bitch. This was going to end up being an interesting night after all.

Rick held her gaze for a moment longer. Then strode over to the table.