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 has already been called into a private room, leaving Heather alone with her thoughts, her fantasies--and a growing sense of anticipation she can no longer quiet. Now, as she waits for her turn, she's invited to relax by the pool.
This story is part of an ongoing series. For earlier chapters and more, check my profile.
CHAPTER 6 -- THE SPARK
They moved down a narrow path between hedges and pale fabric. Heather's footsteps were silent on the warm stone. The air still hadn't cooled. As they stepped into the open, she felt the breeze move over her skin--and suddenly became aware of how little she was wearing. The bikini Elin had picked was still clinging like it belonged to someone bolder. The top lifted her breasts high and round, the bottoms framed her hips in clean, deliberate lines. She hadn't worn something like this before. Not like this. But as she moved, she felt it again: the quiet charge of being seen. And maybe... the echo of wanting it.
Then the space opened around her--broad and green and humming with low music. It felt almost familiar. Like the beginning of a garden party.
There was music, low and rhythmic. Bare feet, long shadows. The scent of fruit and something floral--jasmine, maybe. People leaned against cushions or each other, talked quietly in the shade, shared drinks, touched shoulders. Nothing dramatic. Nothing loud.
But the calm didn't feel casual. It felt lived-in. Like this wasn't arranged for a special day--just a continuation of what always happened here. Like someone had simply left the doors open, and this was what the house looked like when no one was watching.
Invitation only.
Don't ask.
Don't post.
Heather felt it settle in her. A kind of tension, stretched between elegance and expectation.
The pool dominated the space.
Long, deep, almost too precise. This wasn't for decoration. It had been built to be used--measured, swum, trained. You could tell from the length, the lane markings, the angle of the steps.
Someone was still using it that way. A man, mid-thirties maybe, moved through the water in steady laps, each turn efficient, exact. His focus never broke.
But not everyone swam.
Near the shallower end, a couple floated together. The woman clung loosely to the man's shoulders, her legs drifting around his waist. They weren't kissing, not exactly--but their mouths were close. One of her hands was under the water, somewhere between his chest and stomach. Heather couldn't tell. She didn't need to.
At the edge, another woman leaned back against the tiles, her arms stretched behind her. A man stood in front of her, half-submerged, his hand slowly brushing the inside of her thigh as they spoke--heads tilted close, like people who were still deciding whether to cross a line or had already crossed it hours ago.
People were scattered across the space--lounging, standing, watching. Not frozen in poses, but relaxed in the kind of way that comes from knowing you're allowed to want.
One woman sat on a cushioned bench between two men. One handed her a glass, the other traced a line along her knee with the back of his hand. The woman didn't react, but she didn't move away either. Her eyes were closed.
Elin had started pointing out people. Names, little facts. Heather tried to listen, nodded once or twice, gave a few polite handshakes to those in their direct path. But the information slid right past her. Faces blurred. Details evaporated. Her body was reacting faster than her mind could process.
It wasn't just arousal. It was the way her skin registered heat. The way her eyes caught every drop of water. The way muscles moved beneath wet fabric.
A man walked by, shorts still damp, clinging to his hips. The curve of his lower back was exposed just long enough for her to imagine tracing it. Another sat near the edge, legs spread, arms resting behind him. His chest rose slowly, a thin line of hair vanishing into his waistband.
A long table stood in the shade, scattered with bowls of fruit, wine, and finger food. The fruit seemed especially popular--grapes, cherries, strawberries, all ripe and easy to share. Heather noticed a woman--tall, with freckled shoulders and a slow, feline grace--reclining on one elbow while a man leaned over her, holding a strawberry just above her lips. She smiled as she took it, biting gently, the juice touching the corner of her mouth. He brushed it away with his thumb. Their rhythm was unhurried. Private.
Heather's body was quiet on the outside. Inside, everything flickered.
She passed another man who had just pulled himself from the water. His muscles were slick, defined, moving with the precision of someone used to being watched. Her eyes caught the way the fabric clung to his body, tight across the front. She imagined the string at the hip--one small pull. What would fall, what would rise.
She pressed her thighs together slightly as she walked. Just for a moment.
The air around her felt charged. Not with tension--but with permission. She adjusted the shirt loosely hanging over her shoulders--still unbuttoned, still not quite hiding anything. She hadn't decided whether it made her feel braver or safer.
And then Elin slowed.
She didn't say anything. Just stopped.
Heather followed her gaze.
