Chapter 3: In the VIP
Inside Pacha, the world dissolved into a throbbing, sensory delirium. The bass was a tectonic force, rising up through the soles of their feet into their spines. Strobe lights fractured the darkness into freeze-frames of glistening skin, wild eyes, and open mouths. The air itself felt solid, hot and damp with expelled breath and spilled liquor.
Mari-Liis’s passes were talismans. A stern-faced host guided them through the pulsing crowd on the main floor, up a sleek staircase, and into another realm. The VIP lounge was a study sexy exclusivity, deep leather booths, bottle service, and a balcony overlooking the seething dance floor below.
The music was slightly muted, allowing the sounds of clinking glasses and laughing conversations to surface. Their hostess gestured to a sunken circular booth in a shadowy corner, where two women sat amid a glittering array of bottles and melting ice buckets. They were Mari-Liis’s friends, sleek predators in their own right, whom Rory and Sarah recognized from a beach club a season ago.
Lena and Anya offered cool, appraising smiles, their eyes gliding over the new arrivals with practiced ease. “Sarah! Rory! You brought puppies,” Lena purred, shifting to make room. Robbie practically fell into the booth beside her, his eyes wide as he took in the glamorous women in their expensive, minimal dresses.
“This place is fucking insane,” Robbie blurted, reaching for a bottle of vodka to pour himself a shot without being offered. “Absolute madness. You must come here all the time, yeah?”
Anya gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, tolerating his presence like a buzzing fly. “Often enough,” she said, turning her attention to Sarah with a more genuine interest. “Sarah, that dress is awesome! You're flasghing an awful lot of Sarah at the boys!” Sarah gave a twirl and sat beside her.
As the three older women converged, talking fashion and catching up, Robbie leaned in, trying to insert himself into their orbit with clumsy enthusiasm. Rory saw his opening. He patted the plush seat beside him, his gaze fixed on Chloe, who hesitated by the booth’s edge.
“Sit,” he said, his voice a low command barely audible over the lounge’s hum. She obeyed, perching on the cushion, her body angled away from Robbie’s noisy attempts to impress Lena with a story about a Leeds nightclub.
The satin of her dress felt cool under Rory’s palm as he let his hand rest on the cushion behind her. His arm lightly touching her, and created a barrier, a semi-private space. “He’s keen,” Rory laughed, his lips close to her ear.
Chloe watched Robbie flap his hands animatedly. “He’s just excited,” she said, but the words sounded hollow, an automatic defense.
“I think he's into MILFs” Rory whispered. "Who can blame him though, they all look bloody sexy. I don't think he minds which of them he ends up with."
"He's not ending up with any of them! He's my boyfriend! He's ending up with me!" she laughed.
"Well that depends who you end up with." Rory gave a wolfish grin and she laughed again.
“Their dresses are all fabulous,” Chloe replied. "Really sexy. I don't really have the budget, or the confidence to wear that sort of thing."
“Rubbish. You've look fucking awesome,” Rory said, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her shoulder. A jolt went through her. “Your dress might not be quite as short or plunging, or almost sheer," he laughed. "But it's pretty clingy, I can easily imagine what you look like underneath, i can see you have an insanely hot body."
She looked up at him coquettishly. "Oh can you now? Thank you I suppose" She made a playful face.
Rory's hand slid down from her shoulder, tracing the line of her spine through the thin satin. Her breath came faster, a shallow rhythm he could feel where his arm now rested against behind her back. On the other side of the booth, Sarah threw her head back and laughed at something Lena said, the column of her throat exposed. Her eyes, however, cut sideways through the dim light, meeting Rory’s for a fraction of a second before drifting to see his arm round Chloe and raising her eyebrows.
"Yeah, you don't have much on underneath it so it's easy to picture you without it," Rory leant in conspiratorially. "No bra so we can see the natural shape of your breasts, don't need too much imagination. You know you look good."
"Well that's not rocked science." she laughed, both embarrassed and flattered, and starting to feel a little tingly. "No straps."
Rory looked down unashamedly at her chest. "Not just that, I can clearly see your breasts moving as you laugh through that material. And your nipples. Are you cold?" He grinned.
Chloe’s blush was a dark heat he could feel radiating from her skin. She glanced down at her chest, the silver satin did cling, and the cool air of the lounge’s air conditioning, or perhaps just his attention, had indeed tightened her nipples into conspicuous, visible points against the fabric.
Before she could answer, a shriek of laughter erupted from across the booth. Robbie beamed, utterly captivated as he gazed at Sarah, then at Lena who was telling a story, then at Anya who was watching him with amused detachment. Chloe looked over at him
"He's not watching you. He's completely fixated on trying to chat up those three." Sarah looked over and gave them a relaxed smile, as if to tell Chloe she understood what was going on. While Sarah was looking Rory leaned in to Chloe and said calmly, "If you stood up, and gave me a twirl I could probably tell if you're wearing knickers too."
She looked at with an exaggerated fake cross look. "You are a very naughty boy."
He leaned in again. "And if you're not, I bet I could even tell whether you shave there."
Chloe gave him a slightly shocked look, her mouth forming a small, silent 'O' of scandalized amusement. Before she could formulate a retort, the energy around their booth shifted abruptly.
Two men materialized at the booth, both in tight sleeveless tops that showcased gym-toned arms and deep tans. "Ciao, bella!" the taller one, with dark, swept-back hair, exclaimed in accented English, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "We saw you from the bar. A vision!"
"I'm Marco, this is Fabrizio," he said, his smile wide and practiced as he nodded at the group. Sarah's face lit up with interest, a different warmth than her earlier calculated cool.
"Join us! Plenty of room," she said, scooting over without a glance at Rory. Lena and Anya made assessing, pleased noises, shifting to accommodate them. Robbie’s eager smile dissolved into a sullen pout, his brief moment as the only male with them evaporating.
Marco and Favrizio slid in smoothly, their presence immediately dominating the space. They brought athletic confidence, Marco tall and excessively handsome, Fabrizio more squat, even more muscular with a boxers face. Bottles were summoned, glasses filled. Favrizio immediately engaged Sarah in broken English and settling his hand on her knee.
Rory watched, his fingers still tracing idle patterns on the satin covering the small of Chloe's back. He leaned into the space between them, his voice a gravelly murmur lost to the new, louder conversation. "Bad news for Robbie's fantasies," he said, nodding toward the two newcomers who were now commanding all the women's attention. "These guys are much more Sarah's type."
Chloe followed his gaze. Marco was already demonstrating a magic trick for Lena and Anya, his hands quick and sure. Favrizio had leaned close to Sarah, whispering something that made her throw her head back with a throaty laugh, her cherry-red lips parting. Robbie looked adrift, gulping his drink, his earlier bravado deflated.
"You're not jealous? He's being pretty handsy with your wife." Chloe asked quietly, surprising herself with the question. Her own heart was beating a strange, unsteady rhythm, part anxiety, part thrilling complicity.
Rory’s smile was slow, knowing. "Why should I be?" he said, his hand finally settling possessively on the curve of her hip. His thumb began to stroke the thin fabric, a millimeter from the bare skin of her waist. "They're having fun. So are we."
Down the booth, Sarah accepted a fresh cocktail from Fabrizio, her fingers brushing his. She caught Rory’s eye over the rim of her glass and blew him a kiss. The gesture was both teasing him and showing she was having fun . She then turned her full attention back to Fabrizio, letting his large hand rest on her bare thigh.
Marco’s laughter was loud. Fabrizio’s fingers traced circles on Sarah’s skin. Their very broken English and clumsy inuendo making the girls laugh. Robbie slumped, ignored, draining another glass. Lena and Anya watched it all with feline detachment.
Rory felt the simmering frustration in the young man beside him, but his focus was Chloe against his side. He leaned close, his lips brushing the delicate shell of her ear. “It’s getting a bit crowded in here,” he murmured, his voice a rough counterpoint to the thumping house music. “And a bit bit cock-heavy.” She turned to look at him at the crude expression.
His breath sent a visible shiver through her. She nodded, a tiny, jerky motion, his hand tightening on her hip. “You should sample the real atmosphere. Pacha’s dance floor”
He didn’t wait for her agreement. He simply stood, drawing her up with him by the hand. The move was smooth, decisive. “We’re going to boogie” he announced to the table, his tone light, leaving no room for debate. “Show Chloe the dance floor, see what her moves are like.”
Sarah glanced up, her gaze flicking between Rory’s possessive grip and Chloe’s slightly dazed expression. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “Don’t do anything I wouldn't do,” she said, her voice a silken thread in the noise before she turned back to Fabrizio, deliberately shifting her leg to give his wandering hand better access.
Robbie just stared, confused, as Rory led his girlfriend away from the booth.
The wall of sound hit them first as they descended the stairs. Then the heat, a wet, living blanket. And then the bodies, a single, undulating organism under the pounding strobe.