The first thing that sticks in my mind is complete darkness. A sweet, heavy scent hangs in the air, and soft background music plays, relaxing, almost hypnotic.
The only guides through the space are these damn thin LED strips marking the way. Walking down the hallway wasn’t too bad, but once we entered the main room, it became trickier.
Using the glowing lines, I visualize the space as a large rectangular room. Judging by the sounds, it’s crowded.
Aside from the floor lights, there are glowing dots at waist height, small light sources. Probably tables. The dots flicker in different colors: white, red, and green.
"Artem," I whisper, reaching out my hand. "What do the colors mean?"
But my hand meets a solid chest.
The sensation is strange, unfamiliar. I can’t see him. But I feel oddly calm; this is a private party, after all. No one I know should be here. And yet, curiosity stirs, and the total darkness grants a kind of forbidden freedom. It’s intoxicating. Completely intoxicating.
The stranger stays silent. My fingers, suddenly bold, trace over his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath his shirt. I’m standing close enough to catch his scent, woodsy cologne mixed with his natural masculine smell. And honestly, I’m flustered.
The whole situation is strange, thrilling.
Adrenaline floods my veins, shoots to my head, makes my breath catch, and drives me toward reckless choices. I step closer.
My fingers climb to his forearm, as if trying to measure how broad his shoulders are.
Suddenly, a warning bell rings in my foggy brain, reminding me how wildly inappropriate this is. I pull my hands back. My breathing quickens.
"Sorry," I exhale.
"It’s all right," the stranger replies, his voice steady.
I swear I can hear the smile behind his words. And then he takes my hand. Gently. Lifts it, presses a brief kiss to the back of my palm.
"Shall we talk? I just noticed an empty table."
How he knows a table is free remains a mystery. But somehow, I can’t refuse. Nor can I pull my hand away from his warm fingers. Instead, I nod, flustered.
Then, remembering he can’t see me, I blurt out with false bravado I absolutely don’t feel:
"Why not? That’s the whole point, right?"
"Exactly," he replies, a smile audible in his voice.
The stranger walks confidently forward, still holding my hand. I have no choice but to follow.
He leads me to a table marked by a glowing green dot. I trace my fingers over the smooth wooden surface before sinking into the soft embrace of a nearby sofa. The round table, cradled by the intimate seating, feels almost too close for comfort. “How clever,” I think, a hint of sarcasm creeping in. It’s designed to draw us in, to foster closeness or perhaps something more.
As I settle in, my fingertips glide over the velvet upholstery. The man takes the seat beside me, and suddenly, the air crackles with unspoken tension. My heart races, and a shiver dances down my spine, but in the dim light, I force a calm exhale.
“Would you like a drink?” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear, igniting goosebumps along my skin.
I instinctively lean away, yet the idea of a glass of wine for courage sounds inviting. “A dry white wine, please,” I reply, flashing a smile that I realize he can’t see.
This club is becoming clearer. There’s no need for pretense or polite facades here. In this darkness, my other senses sharpen, making the experience feel dangerously thrilling. My fingers itch to glide over the stranger's palm, to feel his warmth. I shake off the impulse just as his hand brushes my thigh. I flinch, caught off guard.
“Hey. I agreed to talk. Nothing more was promised,” I warn, my voice firmer than I feel.
He chuckles softly, a sound that sends a shiver down me. “Sorry, I was just looking for the call button.”
“Right,” I retort, about to stand when a pleasant female voice chimes in, seemingly from the table.
“Good evening. What would you like to order?”
His tone is smooth as he places our order: wine for me, whiskey for him, and some grapes for a snack. The way he speaks, I can tell he’s enjoying this little game. Guilt flashes through me for doubting him, and I quickly apologize.
“Sorry, it’s my first time here, and I’m a bit disoriented.”
He laughs again, this time good-naturedly. “You’re not alone. I’m here by chance, too, invited along with a friend.”
A moment later, the speaker announces, “Your order is ready. Have a pleasant evening!”
The light on the table dims and rises, revealing our drinks. I marvel at the clever design; it’s practical, avoiding chaos in the dark. But then his warm fingers cover mine, and my breath catches. I don’t protest; instead, my heart races as I wonder what he’ll do next.
“Here’s your drink,” he says, and as his hand retreats, my skin tingles from the lingering touch. The glass feels cool against my fingers, igniting a heat within me.
“Thank you,” I manage, inhaling the scent of his cologne, a mix of warmth and danger. He’s too close, yet I find myself unwilling to shift away.
“What brought you here?” he asks, his voice low and inviting. “Testing the waters between virtues and vices?”
I sense his playful smirk even in the darkness. “Let’s just say a friend thought I needed a push to socialize.”
“Did she have reasons to think so?” He leans closer, and a thrill races through me.
He leans in, too close, and a sharp electric thrill shoots across my skin. I hold my breath, afraid to even move. But instead of pressing further, he reaches for a grape, plucks one from the bunch, and slowly pulls back.
The closeness leaves a wild storm inside me. Before I can collect myself, his warm fingers gently touch my cheek, trailing softly to my chin. The touch sends my pulse racing, my breath catching in my throat. Then his thumb brushes against my lips, and in a husky whisper, he murmurs, “Taste this. It pairs perfectly with the wine.”
His voice, his touch, the intimacy—it’s all too much. "Milana, pull yourself together. Breathe!" I scold myself silently. But before I manage to react, the cool smoothness of the grape brushes my lips, following the warmth of his fingers. The contrast is sharp. And instead of pulling back, my lips part instinctively. He gently but firmly pushes the grape inside my mouth. “Now, take a sip of wine,” he whispers, his voice rough and low. “The perfect combination.”The burst of sweetness sends a wave of heat coursing through me.
The grape bursts with sweetness, igniting my senses. A wave of heat spreads through my body, tightening deep in my belly. What the hell is happening? I watch, dazed, as he takes my wine glass from the table. There’s no doubt what he intends to do next, and worse, I’m subconsciously anticipating it. Forbidden sensations. It feels like my vices are winning over my virtues tonight.
And yet, suddenly, I realize this isn’t what I need. Not now. Not after Max. He moved on so easily, but I’m not ready to jump into something meaningless. Not this soon. Not like this. Those days are behind me. I’ve worked too hard to change. And honestly I like the version of Milana I’ve become. The thoughts crash through my head like a siren. I snap back, jerking away from him. The pull is too dangerous. The temptation too strong. I spring to my feet
"Sorry, but I need to go."
“Did I scare you?” he asks, the sensuality in his voice making my heart race faster. “I thought you weren’t the timid type.”
I inhale sharply. Yes, I’m not usually timid. But not tonight. Not with him.
I push past him, my footsteps muffled on the carpet as I hurry toward the dimly lit hallway. My breath quickens as I navigate the darkness, every shadow making my p ulse race.
Reaching the stair landing, I feel a momentary sense of relief. But just then, I hear footsteps behind me.
“Wait,” he calls, his voice close, chasing me down the stairs.
Panic surges, and I quicken my pace, heart pounding as I burst onto the street. I don’t stop, my legs carrying me away from the intoxicating heat of the night, my mind racing with questions and desires I can’t quite quell.