December Rain (32 page)

“I heard my name. Hi guys. I’m Derrick.”

“Monica and Quinn,” Tracey says, her tone full of anger over her husband’s feeding experience.

Monica leans into Quinn’s ear and whispers, “Feed her that tomato once she has the mask on. Trust me.”

Quinn gives her a ‘you little devil’ look not understanding what he’s missed. Tracy and Derrick are starting to squabble so Quinn moves behind her and reaches for the mask in her hands. “Let me help you with this,” he says.

He’s so sexy, turning on that charm.
Monica smiles at Derrick as Tracy’s anger and preoccupation disappear in the hands of her beautiful man. Quinn ties a satin bow very slowly, making sure to comb her hair with his fingers as he finishes. Derrick’s clearly surprised by the man who isn’t being paid to flirt.

“Is that for Tracy?” Quinn asks, reaching for the tomato before Derrick catches up. “Open up. These are sooo... savory,” he whispers in her ear.

Tracy’s breathing is a little off, but the mask is having its effect. Or maybe it’s just Quinn. She tries to take the whole thing, but he pulls it out teasing her. Once she sinks her teeth into it, his fingers are covered in goat cheese. They laugh at the mess. Tracy reaches for the rest, but he plays keep-away before giving the prize. She moans at the flavors and surprises everyone when she sucks his fingers briefly. Derrick’s shocked, but also a little turned on as he reaches for his wife. Quinn winks and moves back behind Monica.

“Well, that was delicious,” Tracy says, not looking at anyone in particular.

“Hello.” A raspy woman’s voice interrupts. The woman with fiery red feathers stands, different from the rest, waiting for them to finish their bites. A long strand of white beads nestles in her generous cleavage, and her pale pink lipstick glistens as she grips a clipboard. Her sultry gray eyes stare in silence.

“We should go find more of those tomatoes.” Tracy says linking arms with Derrick. “We’ll check in with you guys in a little while. Thanks.” She motions to the mask before walking away.

The fiery woman waits for their attention, and then when she has them slightly uncomfortable, she leans in and softly says, “You two are the sexiest couple in this room. I’m thrilled to seat you at my favorite table.” She looks at her seating chart and starts rearranging assignments. “Please follow me.”

They’re led to the only table directly across from the fireplace. It’s not so close that it’ll get too hot, but it fills the table with the most enchanting light. The woman places two folded cards down with each of their names.

“Tonight is particularly special. It’s the first time we’ve held an event on New Year’s Eve,” she explains. She looks at another sheet on her clipboard. “Looks like you two have the wine pairing throughout the night as well as a champagne toast at midnight. It is a seven-course menu created to awaken and celebrate your senses for a new year. We recommend that you arrange transportation now as this is an incredibly difficult night to get a taxi and we don’t want guests driving themselves.”

“We do have a car scheduled already,” Quinn says, with a little bow of his head.

“Perfect. May I ask what time you’ve assumed you’d like to depart?”

That’s an odd question.
Monica looks at Quinn who also looks a bit thrown.

“Um, the car will arrive at twelve thirty,” he says.

“Wonderful. If you change your mind please let me know and I’ll take care of communication with your driver. We often send complimentary dessert out when guests don’t want to leave.” She winks at Quinn as if trained by Diane and then walks away.

“I knew this was a swinger’s thing,” Monica says.

“Okay, I never said these people weren’t into open relationships, I said this party is not about that. We don’t have to do anything and there’s not supposed to be any sex or even nudity below the belt at all.”

“Really? Cause these people keep talking like we’re dessert.”

He takes her in his arms, amused and says, “Can you blame them?”

She laughs and gives a kiss before eying the large dinner tables. There are four total in the loft, each set for six, but large enough for at least eight. The rustic wood tables have chunky balustrade style legs that complement the ladder back chairs perfectly. In the center is a pyramid of flickering glass candle holders. Everything in the space is well designed and sturdy.
I’m sure Diane designed the decor. It feels like a villa in the French countryside where deviants gather to feast.

The games of sensual serving get more intense as each item is introduced. When dinner is ready everyone is asked to sit at their assigned tables and the room roars with introductions and laughter. The threesome across from Monica and Quinn however don’t rush to introduce themselves. A tall, very thin woman with long blonde hair keeps posing between two equally svelte men with incredible chiseled features and muscles. It’s unclear what their sexual relationship is, as all three are very touchy with one another.

Monica looks around at the other guests now seated generously around the room. No one is hideous in presence or event larger than a healthy plump, but the three at this table are unbelievably striking.
They look like exotic mannequins. Ironic coming to a supper club looking like they haven’t eaten in years.
Monica smiles when Quinn’s hand squeezes her knee.

The man on the left has dark skin, short black hair, and a tight black v-neck shirt that reveals his deep hairless sternum. The other man is blonde and fair, wearing a gray blazer, expensive jeans, and speaks with a thick Russian accent. He’s all about scanning for visuals, while his finger swirls around a wine glass, or the woman’s shoulder.
Monica admires her long beautiful neck, shown off in an emerald halter dress that plunges to her belly button.
I can see her ribs. That’s gross. Her skin is flawless though. Wonder if she’s a model.

Monica’s thoughts are interrupted when the sixth chair screeches and Diane places her hand on Quinn’s shoulder to greet him.
Of course this is her table. Best view of all guests in the room. Her voyeur inclination is painfully obvious.

“What was all that tomato stuff about?” Quinn asks Monica quietly.

“Oh, Tracy got super jealous when a waitress fed Derrick a tomato.”

Diane’s eyebrow raises overhearing them and Quinn takes notice. “Ah-ha.” He nods understanding that Diane’s presence is now going to make private talks pretty difficult.

Within a few minutes the staff parades onto a Persian rug in front of the fireplace and stands in a line. One at a time, from left to right, the person on the end moves behind the next and removes their shirt. Each person performs the task differently.

One waitress, much shorter than the man to her left, asks an older guest for his chair spilling her newly exposed lacy bra in his face. He places the chair where she wants as she draws up her skirt and climbs on seductively. She makes sure to stick her bare bottom and rocking hips out for the room’s pleasure while she slowly unbuttons the waiter’s shirt. Electric silence fills the room until she’s finished.

Once the last shirt, that of Ms. Fiery Feathers, is removed the staff slithers back to the kitchen area to grab the soup. A new wine glass is filled with a Chenin Blanc before guests are served bowls methodically from across the table. They press their bodies between and sometimes against guests nonchalantly.

That explains the generous table size.
Monica slurps every last drop of the vegetable prawn soup. “That was so good,” she says to Quinn. “I was afraid it’d be too salty.” She cringes instantly remembering the chef has ears at their table.

Diane smiles at her and says, “It is one of the reasons Richard became a chef. We find that too many restaurants over use salt and people have forgotten how delicious the actual food is. It all starts to taste the same when salt gets in the way.”

Why do I instinctively want to dislike her? She’s been so generous to me. I was thinking of handwritten thank you notes a couple hours ago, and now I have the urge to argue with her, except there’s nothing to argue about
. Diane is intelligent and well spoken, and nothing she’s said strikes actual conflict.

As the empty bowls are cleared it’s apparent the staff are now ignoring the guests entirely. The complete shift is in full choreographed sync. The ones who hold empty bowls are greeted by staff members with empty hands who start touching and eventually kissing their counterparts. There are woman kissing woman, men kissing men, and everything between. The kisses are gentle and brief, but the slow pace makes every stroke of the cheek or brush of hair linger for guests eyes.

Glances from Quinn are getting heated as his hand moves up Monica’s thigh, making her shift in the seat. The staff returns with arugula salad and fresh cracked pepper.
Of course.
A waitress who was previously on the other side for the soup course is now between Monica and Quinn. Her skirt is amongst the shortest of those in the room, and she rests her elbows on the table to slowly churn the pepper grinder over the blonde’s salad. Quinn is discussing his background with Diane, seemingly disinterested in the bare ass between them, but Monica realizes the waitress is now looking back at her. Caught staring, she smiles and caresses Monica’s shoulders as she stands up.

“Do you want pepper?” she says.

“Yes,” answering flustered with embarrassment.

The waitress moves behind and wraps her arms around before leaning into her ear. “Tell me when to stop.”

Monica can feel the top of the woman’s bare breasts pressing against her back. She starts to overheat by the time she motions to stop. Her flush cheeks catch the intense eye of the Russian as the waitress briefly skims her earlobe with her tongue. Monica gasps in surprise and shivers as her beaded earrings rock against her neck. She reaches for her glass and takes a large drink of wine.

“You alright?” Quinn whispers, “You look flush?”

Monica’s shy smile amuses everyone. “She is fun to watch,” says the Russian. “I’m sure you already know this. Those cheeks are so adorable.”

Quinn’s eyes focus on hers, growing more serious. “Yes. She is fun to watch.”

The table grows quiet while everyone tastes the fresh winter salad. Diane starts the conversation again by informing Monica of the threesome’s talents as dancers for the San Francisco Ballet.
Of course. Now they make sense
.
I can’t imagine their schedules and restrictions. Such an amazing commitment. This seems like the perfect secret place to cut loose. They’re probably more comfortable with their bodies too. Touchy and all.

The staff returns, attentive again, asking if there’s anything they need, refilling the third wine choice of the evening. A couple of servers near the kitchen are making out which seems intended for the chef and his staff, but many other eyes nibble on them. When the tables are cleared there’s an excitement in the room for the show.

The make-out couple move in front of the fireplace. The man fondles under her skirt as their kisses heat, and she gropes the bulge in his pants. Suddenly the woman takes off running, and there’s a gasp from the room. He doesn’t chase or follow, he leans back and spreads his arms across the mantle. The waitress leans against the opposite wall facing him.

There’s a stare down until she reaches behind and unclasps her bra. The man licks his lips and shifts his stance. Ever so slowly she peels her bra, covering her breasts with her left arm and lifting the bra with her right. She grasps the iron sconce above her head, letting the bra dangle onto her shoulder.

He gives up and rushes to take her into his arms and then lips. He lifts her and curls her legs around his waist before hanging her bra from the sconce. Their bodies press firmly against the wall. She no longer hides her breasts, and welcomes him to discover them with his mouth. Their passion is real. As real as it’s going to get. After a few hot moments he turns to take her into the back bedroom. A few people at another table golf clap, pleased with the display. Monica looks for Tracy who has melted entirely as Derrick nibbles on her neck.

“This is unique, you gotta admit.” Quinn says.

“I love dinner and a show,” the blonde dancer says, her sultry eyes trying to get his attention.

The rest of the staff filter in with plates of tiny waffles and robiola rocchetta cheese piped into tall swirls. The little works of art result in group discussions throughout the room. A waiter, wanting to feed Quinn, presents one to his nose for a whiff. The dancers perk up with excitement as Quinn opens his mouth wide. He shoves the entire treat in with a devious grin while Quinn tries not to choke from laughter. The waiter laughs and cheers him on as the soft cheese squeezes out with each attempt to chew. Quinn tries to cover his mouth, but the waiter is strong enough to pin his wrists to the table. Cheese is left on the tip of Quinn’s nose and the valley above his full lips. He quickly clears his lip as the waiter moves close enough to kiss him. He slowly licks the spot from his nose before handing him a napkin.

The gesture receives applause from the ballet team, and Quinn nods to Monica. “That was good.”

“The cheese or the delivery?” the blonde asks.

Quinn continues to laugh, a bit embarrassed. “Both, I guess.”

“I bet,” says Mr. V-neck, undressing Quinn with his eyes.