Chapter 2: Building Tension
The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar when Ace reached it, the faintest sliver of golden light spilling into the hallway. The music from the party was muffled here, replaced by the low hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of laughter. His fingers hovered over the knob for a second, then turned it slowly, the mechanism clicking softly in the silence.
The room was dim, lit by a single bedside lamp that cast long shadows across a king-size bed. Candice sat on the edge of the mattress, her “Bride” tiara now in her hands, twisting it nervously. Chloe stood near the window, arms crossed, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. The air smelled like hotel linen and someone’s faded perfume.
“You made it,” Chloe said, her voice a low purr that cut through the quiet. “Close the door. Let’s keep the noise out.”
Ace pushed the door shut until the latch engaged with a definitive thud. The party sounds vanished, replaced by a thick, expectant silence. He could hear his own breathing, could feel the crumpled bills in his robe pocket like a branding iron. Candice looked up at him, her eyes wide and shining in the lamplight.
“You okay?” Ace asked her, leaning against the door. He kept his tone soft, professional. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not into.”
“She’s fine,” Chloe answered for her, moving to sit next to Candice on the bed. “Aren’t you, Beth? This is your party.” She put a hand on Beth’s knee. “Tell him what you liked about the show.”
Beth—Candice—swallowed. “The, um. The whipped cream thing was… creative.”
Ace gave a small, practiced laugh. “Yeah? Seemed like you enjoyed it.” He untied the belt of his robe, letting it hang open. He saw her eyes drop, then dart away, then return. He moved from the door, the plush carpet muffling his steps. “A private show’s different. More… personal.”
He stopped in front of them. The space felt electrified, too small. He dropped to one knee, putting himself at their eye level. Candice flinched, just slightly, then held still.
“Relax,” he murmured, his performer’s charm switching on almost automatically. He reached out, his fingers just brushing the satin of her bachelorette sash. “This is just for you.”
He let his hand trail up, over her shoulder, along the side of her neck. Her skin was warm. She let out a slow, shaky breath. He turned his head, his gaze including Chloe. “For both of you.”
Chloe leaned back on her hands, watching him with the intensity of a director. “She liked when you got close earlier. Before the cream.”
Ace understood. He shifted forward, closing the last few inches between his face and Candice’s lap. The short, flirty party dress she wore rustled. He could smell the champagne on her breath, feel the heat coming from her. He looked up, meeting her eyes. Her lips were parted.
With deliberate slowness, he placed his hands on her thighs. He felt the muscle tense beneath his palms, then gradually yield as he applied a gentle, steady pressure, urging them apart. She allowed it, a quiet, surrendering sigh escaping her.
“Good,” Chloe whispered, her hand coming to rest on Candice’s back. “See? It’s just fun.”
Ace didn’t speak. He lowered his head, his breath hot through the thin fabric of her dress. He nuzzled the soft inner seam of her thigh, inhaling the scent of her arousal mixed with laundry soap. Candice made a small, choked sound. Her fingers fumbled, then clutched at the bedspread.
He hooked his fingers into the hem of her dress, inching it up. She didn’t stop him. The fabric gathered at her hips, revealing simple lace panties, damp at the center. The visual was stark, intimate. His own body responded, a jolt of desire that was terrifyingly real, not performative.
“Jesus,” Candice breathed, almost to herself.
Chloe’s smirk widened. “Told you he was worth the extra.”
Ace pushed forward, burying his face against the damp lace. He exhaled, his hot breath making her jolt. Then he used his teeth, gently, to tug the fabric aside. She was bared to him, glistening. The last thread of his detachment snapped.
He tasted her.
Her back arched off the bed, a sharp, silent cry ripping from her throat. Her hands flew from the bedspread to his hair, not pushing him away but tangling in it, holding him close. The act was raw, viscerally different from the stage show. This was a secret, wet and real.
He lost himself in the rhythm of it, in her stifled moans and the frantic pressure of her hands. The six hundred dollars in his pocket felt meaningless. This was about the desperate, hungry sounds she was making now.
A hand touched his shoulder. Chloe’s. He pulled back, his lips wet, breathing hard. Candice looked wrecked, beautiful, her eyes dark and unfocused.
“My turn,” Chloe said, her voice rough. She was already pulling her own dress over her head, no hesitation. She lay back beside Candice, a study in confident exposure. “Don’t stop on my account.”
Ace looked between them—the blushing, overwhelmed bride and her demanding, impatient friend. The script was gone. He moved, his body aching. He kissed his way up Candice’s trembling stomach, over the lace of her bra, to capture her mouth. She tasted like cheap champagne and herself.
Then he turned his head and kissed Chloe, hard, letting her taste her best friend on his lips. Chloe kissed back aggressively, biting his lower lip.
“You’re good at this,” she muttered against his mouth, her hand sliding down to grip him through his robe. He flinched at the direct contact. “For a rookie.”
Her touch was a command. He broke the kiss and shifted down the bed, his movements less graceful now, driven by a pounding need. He attended to Chloe with the same focused intensity, losing himself in another set of rhythms, another taste. The two women’s hands found each other, fingers lacing tightly as he worked.
Time blurred, measured only in gasps and shudders. When he finally pulled away, his jaw ached. The room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing. Candice was staring at the ceiling, a stunned, languid smile on her face. Chloe propped herself up on an elbow, her eyes gleaming with triumph.
“See?” Chloe said to Candice, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Unforgettable.”
Candice turned her head, looking at Ace with a new, startling clarity. The nervous bride was gone, replaced by a woman surfaced from some deep, hidden place inside herself. She sat up, her dress still bunched around her waist.
“I want more,” she said, the words clear and direct. Her eyes were fixed on the prominent bulge in Ace’s robe. “I don’t want this to just be… that. Not tonight.”
Chloe’s eyebrows shot up, a flicker of genuine surprise breaking her cool facade. She recovered quickly, a grin spreading. “Attagirl.”
Ace’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was the line, the one he’d circled back at the agency. The money felt like it was burning a hole. Candice reached out, her fingers tracing the outline of him through the silk. The contact was electric, decisive.
“Just me and you,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him. She glanced at Chloe. “Wait outside.”
For a second, Chloe looked like she might argue. Then she shrugged, a silent concession to the bride’s prerogative. She slid off the bed, grabbing her dress, and padded to the door without a word. She gave Ace a final, unreadable look before slipping out.
The latch clicked again. They were alone. The dynamic shifted completely, the charged audience gone. It was just Candice, him, and the terrible, tempting stillness.
“The money’s already paid,” she said, as if reading the conflict on his face. She untied the sash around her waist, let it fall. “This isn’t for them. It’s for me. One last thing before the rest of my life.”
She moved closer, her hands now on the knot of his robe. “And I’m allergic to the pill, so… you’ll pull out, right? You guys must have a method.”
Ace’s mind stalled. The assumption was so casual, so catastrophically incorrect, it lodged in his throat. He looked at her—her flushed cheeks, her desperate, hopeful eyes. The ‘yes’ was right there, poised to fall out, to keep the fantasy, and the money, intact.
He opened his mouth. No sound came out.