The VIP Room(4)

"John," the beefcake next to her said. He was a bit older than Tabby and I, probably getting close to thirty. He was fit, and I could tell he had money. Still, there was something about him that didn't do it for me, and I was confident that even a drunk Tabby could handle him. "How you doin'?"

Jesus, he sounded like a stereotypical refugee from the Jersey Shore. How'd he get to our town?

"Tabby, can I talk for a second?"

"Sure," she giggled, wiggling out of the booth. I had to give John credit, he didn't look too worried about it, although the way his eyes were fixed on Tabby's ass was something I didn't appreciate. Once we were a few feet away, she looked at me. "What's up?"

Tabby's lack of drunken slur in her voice made me do a momentary double take. "You doing okay?" I asked, looking into her eyes.

"I'm fine," she said, leaning in. "I'm just planning on cockteasing this guy for a while. Decent dancer, but not good enough for me."

I smiled and looked her over again. "Okay. So you're just acting a bit with him. Look.... I kind of met a guy upstairs. You good on getting home by yourself if you need to?"

Tabby smiled and squeezed my hands in glee. "Good. It's been too long for you. Go have some fun, and I hope it works out for you."

I was touched by the fact that not only did Tabby care enough about me to encourage me to have some fun, but also respected me enough to trust my judgment. "Thanks, Tabs. You and Kelly take care of yourselves. Stay safe."

"You know me, babe. Have fun."

I left Tabby, who twirled and giggled again in her 'drunken' state, her red hair whipping around to go back to the table. I found Mark by the bar, a special mimosa in his hand. "Here you are," he said. "My drink will be delivered up to the room in a few minutes. Shall we?"

I could barely control my breathing as I walked up the stairs to the second floor, and I could feel Mark's eyes look me over, especially my legs. I'm proud of them, they're well toned, but this time I felt nervous. He was a very sexy man with a silent confidence that I found seductive, and my mind kept thinking about him and his hands, running over my legs, cupping my ass. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts before goosebumps broke out on my skin.





Chapter 4





Mark





The VIP room I got was the smallest in the club, which was fine by me. I don't roll with a posse or have an entourage. The bodyguard, a big guy named Jerome that I knew was effective for his size rather than his skill, gave me a respectful nod as I came to the door. "Sir."

"Jerome. I have a drink order coming up. It's the only interruption I would like for a while."

"Of course. You'll have privacy."

I led Sophie into the VIP Room, closing the door behind us. The thick insulation cut off the house music, and I took a deep breath of relief. I detest house music. "So what would you like to listen to?" I asked, as I let the silence wash over me in an awesome wave. "The sound system in here is connected to an online database, I think they once told me it has over a million songs available."

Her answer surprised me. With her student budget outfit comprising of wine red satin top, only semi-tight black skirt and forty dollar heels, I would have expected either pop or hip-hop. "Does it have Hans Zimmer?"

Her request pleased me. While Zimmer is no Beethoven, he's one of the best modern composers today, in my estimation. Williams is the master of the brass, Zimmer's got him beat in percussion and strings. "I'm sure I can find something," I said, keying the touchpad and searching. Finding what I wanted, I tapped in the request for random selections, and soon could hear my personal favorite come muted over the speakers. "What do you think?"

"Time," Sophie replied, taking a sip of her mimosa. "Nice. I've used his work on Crimson Tide and Nolan's Batman movies for cardio workouts myself, but this is a pretty good one too."

I sat down next to her, and for the next hour we discussed music and art of all things. It was nice, an amazing change of pace from the normal conversations I have in my line of work, or the typical conversations I have with women, who are mostly interested in very banal things. I didn't once have to discuss just where I got my shirts from, or how expensive the watch I had on was.

As we talked, I was more and more impressed by Sophie. She kept herself to only two mimosas, sipping the drink carefully and not letting herself get drunk at all. I didn't tell her that the whole time I was sipping flat ginger ale, a modification of an old trick that I picked up from reading Batman as a little boy. With a drop of orange food coloring added, it looks just like aged scotch. By the time the last song drifted away, I knew that I wanted to see her again.

"You know, if you don't mind, I think I would like that dance now," I said, setting my empty glass aside and standing up. The VIP room had a small open area in the front, I'm sure it's been used for plenty of dancing of a different type than what I was wanting. "Would you?"

"I'd enjoy that," Sophie said, letting me pull her to her feet. She wasn't swaying at all, which was a good sign to me. She had handled the alcohol well. "What did you have in mind?"

Instead of answering, I tapped my request into the controller. The lights dimmed slightly, and slow saxophone filled the air. "Slow dancing should always be done to jazz," I told her, pulling Sophie in tight. My hands found the swell of her hips, resting lightly on the generous curve there. There's a saying that I agree with, even though I deride most of the people who use it as a whine. Real women do have curves, and Sophie's were wonderful. Pulling her in tight, her breasts pressed against my chest, and I could feel both of us breathing heavier, our eyes locked on each other as the slow jazz morphed, acquiring a heavy undercurrent of bass that brought us closer and closer together. I could feel Sophie's nipples hard against my chest, and my cock was aching inside my jeans, when she pulled back, suddenly shy.