Lana wasn't looking for intimacy.
Not when she was sliding her feet into knee-high stiletto boots that whispered sex in classic leather. The perfume on her wrists and neck was subtle: a hint of musk, a dab of amber. She wore a thin slip dress of dark red over a lithe frame honed from yoga and running.
Heads turned when she exited her Manhattan apartment building. She paid them no attention. There was only one thought in her mind as she slipped the tip into the doorman's hands. Moments later, a sleek car pulled up to the curb with a driver decked out in a light gray uniform.
As silent as a robot, he opened the door for her. She slipped inside with bored disinterest on her face. She gazed blindly out of the window, sighing inwardly. There was nothing but that same monotony around her. The people may dress differently, but they were all the same. Random faces with no other purpose than to serve and be served. Like drones, they existed only to carry on with the tasks of the hive, the buzz of industry.
And though she'd profited through inheritance greatly from such work, her disdain for it all simmered underneath her skin. It was all pretentious. A beautiful, intricately carved lie glossed over with cosmopolitan glitter.
Lana's lip curled at the thought. God, what she would give to feel something. Anything than the throttling embrace of this fake world with its fake people. The ones who smiled at her and shook her hand were only after her wealth or her status. Still others wanted her as a stepping stone to bigger stars of their own.
It was a game that sapped the life out of its players until they were just as cold as calculating as the next.
But none of these thoughts were on her face when the car slowed to a stop. Instead, there was only the familiar nothingness. Hollow within her alabaster skin, she exited the car, all the while feeling as though she were nothing more than an animated mannequin.
She was in search of the one thing that would make her whole, if only for a moment.
The red awning beckoned. Lana slinked past another doorman and into the black doors beyond. Just inside was a small bar, lit with red and gold.
It was known in some circles as a gentleman's club, one of the last relics of an old New York elite. The bar and chairs were elegantly black, adorned with white marble tables sporting tall beige candles. The servers wore black and white, dressed from another era of slicked hair and French decadence.
And then there were the gentlemen themselves.
Fifty or so men were there, engaged in various pursuits. Some spoke of business while cementing contacts. Others gambled at discreet card tables tucked into the corners. A few chuckled over brandies. But the casual observer would never mistake these men for the average. They each held a distinguished air about them, the product of impeccable backgrounds.
Lana coolly noticed that pairs of eyes locked onto her as she entered unannounced. She sashayed straight to the bar where a tall man with black hair stood. He engaged an older man in boisterous discussion, unaware that he was being casually observed.
She ordered a drink, then leaned towards his ear.
"I am yours for this evening. I only ask that we depart from here momentarily."
Raymond's stare was calculating as he turned from his conversation. "What makes you think I'll go with you?" he asked in a low voice.
"Because I need a fuck and you want to give me one." She said it slowly, deliberately drawing out the moment.
He turned back towards his companion. "Apologies, Paul. We will have to continue this at another time."
Paul lifted and eyebrow, but nodded all the same. "Best of luck to you." He wandered across the room with one hand still holding onto a brandy.
Once he left, Raymond let his eyes settle on the face beside him. "I usually don't go for your type."
"And what type is that?"
"Desperate."
She laughed over her martini. "Do I seem desperate to you? I assure you I'm not. I'm merely interested in some of your time."
That much was true. He was lean in the way she liked with a sleek aristocratic face. Bewitching blue eyes dominated her, undressed her until she felt wonderfully exposed. Lana nearly purred when he grazed his knuckles along her arm.
"Let's go," he said.
Just like that. The play was on. He began walking out of the club. She followed.
Raymond had only to nod once before his driver pulled to the curb in a sleek limo.
But just after the doors shut and they were on their way, he surprised her. Raymond reached over and pressed his hand against her pussy, finding it exposed and waiting underneath the red slip. Without preamble, he shoved two fingers into her. A gasp erupted from her throat.
"Is this what you need?" he asked.
Lana closed her eyes, pressing a palm against the window as the warmth spread through her. "Yes. God, yes."
He pulled his fingers out with a gentle slowness that caused her to shiver. Then he put them in his mouth. "Sweet," he said. "How can something so sweet be denied?"
Lana's eyes glazed over. She looked at him through a haze of desire so strong it caused pearls of come to trickle from her pussy. "More, please, more."
