It wouldn’t be the kind of life I dreamed of when I was younger, but it would be a good life nonetheless.
It takes us half an hour to get to the club in downtown traffic. When we exit the car, Rosa is already standing there, waiting for us. Seeing me, she grins and runs up to the car.
“Nora, you look gorgeous,” she exclaims before turning to Julian. “And you too, Señor.” She gives us a huge, beaming smile. “Thank you so much for taking me with you tonight. I’ve been dying to go to a real American nightclub.”
“I’m glad you were able to come,” I tell her, smiling. “You look amazing.” And she does. In sexy red heels and a short yellow dress that plays up her curves, Rosa looks hot enough to be a pinup girl.
“Do you really think so?” she says eagerly. “I got this dress in the city on Thursday. I was worried it might be too much.”
“There’s no such thing,” I say firmly. “You look absolutely phenomenal. Now, come, let’s go dance.” And grabbing her arm, I lead her to the club entrance, with an amused-looking Julian following on our heels.
Despite the club’s location in an older, seedier part of downtown Chicago, there is a long line of people waiting by the door. The place must be even more popular now than it was two years ago. As we walk by, the men eye both me and Rosa, while the women gawk at Julian. I don’t blame those women, even though some dark part of me wants to gouge their eyes out. My husband dressed up tonight, putting on a sharply tailored blazer and dark designer jeans, and he looks effortlessly hot, like a movie star coming out of a film premiere. Of course, movie stars don’t usually conceal guns and knives under their stylish jackets, but I’m trying not to think about that.
One word from Julian to the bouncer, and we’re inside, bypassing the waiting crowd. Nobody checks our IDs, not even at the bar where Julian buys Rosa a drink. I wonder if it’s because Julian’s men already warned the club management about us.
Either way, it’s pretty neat.
It’s only ten o’clock, but the club is already hopping, the latest pop and dance hits blaring from the speakers. Even though I’ve had no alcohol, I feel high, drunk with excitement. Laughing, I grab Rosa and Julian and drag them both to the dance floor, where tons of people are already grinding against one another.
When we get to the middle of the dance floor, Julian spins me around and pulls me against him, holding me from the back as we begin moving to the music. I instantly realize what he’s doing. With the way he’s holding me, I’m facing Rosa, and the three of us are sort of dancing together, but it’s Julian’s big body that surrounds me. Nobody can touch me, either on purpose or by accident, not without going through him first.
Even in the middle of a crowded dance floor, I belong to Julian and Julian alone.
Rosa grins, apparently also realizing Julian’s agenda. She’s even more excited than me, her eyes sparkling as she shakes her booty to the latest Lady Gaga song. Before long, a couple of good-looking young guys sidle up to her, and I watch, grinning, as she begins to flirt with them and gradually moves away from me and Julian.
As soon as she’s occupied, Julian turns me around to face him. “How are you feeling, baby?” he asks, his deep voice cutting through the blasting music. The colored lights flicker over his face, making him look surreally handsome. “Any tiredness? Nausea?”
“No.” Smiling, I vigorously shake my head. “I’m perfect. Better than perfect, in fact.”
“Yes, you are,” he murmurs, pulling me tighter against him, and I flush all over as I feel the hard bulge in his pants. He wants me, and my body responds immediately, the pulsing beat of the music echoing the sudden ache in my core. We’re surrounded by people, but all of them seem to fade away as we stare at one another, our bodies beginning to move together in a primal, sexual rhythm. My breasts swell, my nipples pebbling as I press my chest against his, and even through the layers of clothing we’re wearing, I can feel the heat coming off his large body . . . the same kind of heat that’s building within myself.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, staring down at me. His hips rock back and forth as we sway together, driven as much by our need for each other as the music’s beat. “You can’t wear this fucking dress ever again.”
“The dress?” I stare up at him, my body burning. “You think it’s the dress?”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them to meet my gaze. “No,” he says hoarsely. “It’s not the dress, Nora. It’s you. It’s always fucking you.”
I half-expect him to drag me away then, but he doesn’t. Instead, he loosens his grip on me, putting a couple of inches of space between us. I can still feel his body against mine, but the raw sexuality of the moment is reduced, enabling me to breathe again. We dance like that for a few more songs, and then I begin to feel thirsty.
“Can I please get some water?” I ask, raising my voice to be heard above the music, and Julian nods, leading me toward the bar. As we pass by Rosa, I see that she’s still dancing with those two guys, seemingly content to be sandwiched between them. I give her a wink and a discreet thumbs-up, and then we’re out of the dancing, writhing crowd.
Julian gets me a glass filled with ice water, and I gratefully chug it down, feeling parched. He smiles as he watches me drink, and I know he’s remembering it too—our first meeting, right here by this bar.