Her Secret Santa

Chapter Six

CLARA

“ I just don't get it!” I whine, leaning against the cracking surface of my kitchen counter.

Allie pours us both a full cup of wine, shrugging her shoulders as she laughs.

“Maybe he just sucks?”

“He does! He's got a horrible attitude, he barely listens to the kids, and he gives all of the elves sass too. I thought maybe the first day was a fluke, but he was just as awful today.” Just thinking about Santa’s shitty attitude makes me want to scream. “I mean, he’s playing Santa, for fuck's sake. Shouldn't Santa love kids? I feel like that's part of the job!”

Usually, Allie is more than happy to listen to me bitch about work. She often even encourages it, wanting me to prioritize my own needs. Tonight, though, her smug grin doesn’t waver once, and as soon as I finish my rant, she leans in close.

“Sounds to me like you need to relax a little,” she says, a little conspiratorially. “And I just so happen to have something to help with that. It’s a chance to cross a little something off our Christmas lists too.”

My brows furrow in confusion as she turns to rifle through her bag. She said something about a surprise when we talked yesterday, but I can’t imagine what it could be.

She turns back to face me with an incorrigible grin, two tickets in her hand.

What could she have possibly gotten us tickets to that are making her this excited?

“You know that friend I have who does all that hacking stuff—Frankie, the one with that client that he always swears up and down is in the mob or something?” I nod slowly, worry creeping into my veins at the thought of her getting something from him. She already knows he does some shady stuff, and I don’t like the thought of her owing him or his weird client favors. As far as we know, his client really could be some big scary gangster. “Well, he owed me, so I asked him if he could work some hacking magic and get us in.”

She snaps the tickets down onto the counter and slides them my way. My concern about hacking and shady clients is blown clean away when I read the text printed on the tickets.

One night at Eternity. Shine like a Jewel for the chance to become a Diamond.

“Eternity?” I ask, my voice coming out in a shocked squeak.

I didn’t even think kink clubs like this place were real, and the only reason I know anything about Eternity is because of Allie. She’s got more connections than I do and she’s told me all about the sordid rumors that swirl around the place.

“Eternity,” she confirms, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “Tonight.”

“ Tonight ?” I gasp, panicking immediately. “I—what do I even wear? This is insane, Allie!”

She throws her head back on a laugh, chocolate curls bouncing perfectly. I have no doubt that she’ll look right at home there, she’s gorgeous and confident and outgoing. Me, though? I’m half scared out of my skin and we haven’t even gotten there yet.

My thoughts are in a whirlwind as Allie grabs her bags from the counter and drags me toward my bedroom, grinning all the way.

I’m definitely not upset about this—everything Allie’s told me about Eternity sounds like something out of a movie. Elite Dominants rolling in money who know exactly how to please a submissive, exclusive invitations, glittering lights. After losing my virginity when I was eighteen—four years ago now—in a remarkably lackluster fashion to an idiot who had no idea what to do with any of my desires, this sounds beyond perfect.

“You just sit tight,” Allie says, situating me on the toilet before she starts to pull accessories from one of the bags. “I’ve got everything handled, and I’m going to doll you up. You’ve got nothing to worry about, babes.”

I sit in shock as Allie rifles through her makeup kit and starts pulling out products that will suit me. Is this actually happening? Am I actually going to an invite only sex club to get my fantasies fulfilled? I don’t have a lot of experience, but I read… a lot. That’s actually one of the first things Allie and I bonded over. Graphic design, books, and kink. We were reading one of the same books when we were in that design class together, and she struck up a conversation about it. She’s the only person in my life who knows about anything I’m into, which soothes my nerves a little. She wouldn’t take me anywhere she thought would be bad.

“How does this even work?” I ask as Allie plugs in a curling iron to start on my hair. “Are we supposed to do anything special?”

“All we have to do is sign some paperwork and look pretty,” she assures me, twisting a section of my hair around the curling iron. “Our tickets get us access to the club as Jewels, so we can go dance and mingle and try to catch someone’s eye. They have little bracelets that are color coded to our kinks so the Elites don’t waste their time on someone they’re not compatible with. If you catch an Elite’s eye, they can make you their Diamond for the night. If they want you to come back, they contact the club owner and send you a Diamond bracelet that acts as your key to get in.”

This really does sound like something out of a book. I laugh incredulously, shaking my head slightly as Allie keeps sectioning my hair out for curls.

How is this my life?

“So our invites are one time use?” I ask, disappointed.

It would have been nice to have the chance to go back regularly. What happens if we don’t get picked tonight? Even if we do, there’s no guarantee we’ll be invited back a second time.

“Yeah,” she sighs wistfully. “We have to sign a bunch of NDAs and give them a recent bill of health and fill out paperwork, but we only have to do it once, so if we get to go back, we can just go and have a good time.”

It really sounds too good to be true.

“And you’re sure this isn’t, like, a human trafficking ring or something?” I ask, half teasing and half nervous.

Allie laughs brightly, blue eyes crinkling as she shakes her head.

“Cross my heart,” she swears. “No trafficking.”

Excitement thrums in my veins, and I do my best not to bounce as Allie finishes up my hair and moves on to makeup. She ghosts a pale pink glitter over my eyelids before reaching for my mascara.

“No foundation?” I ask as she coats my lashes with mascara.

“Frankie said everyone wears masks to ensure anonymity, so pretty much only your mouth and chin will be visible. He sent me this whole long list of stuff, so I made sure to memorize the important bits. Our masks are silver and the Elites wear black. Your skin is perfect, so you just get lip gloss,” she says with a grin.

Masks? This gets more and more exciting—and nerve wracking—by the minute. I ignore her comment about my skin because she makes a habit of complimenting me almost daily. She’d find something to compliment even if I was an old hag covered in warts. I drop my mouth open when she pulls out the gloss, letting her slick it across my lips.

“Perfect. I’m a genius,” she praises herself. “Alright, little miss, go get dressed. Your outfit is in the paper bag.”

“You bought me clothes?”

She doesn’t need to be spending money on me, especially not to buy clubbing clothes. I know her youngest brother has a birthday coming up in the new year, and her money would be put to better use on him than on me. And it’s not like she doesn’t have bills of her own—and her family’s—to pay. Her dad died when she was still in high school, a horrible case of mistaken identity mixed with being in the wrong place at the wrong time that wound up with a bullet in the back of his head. She doesn’t like to talk about it, but her family has struggled ever since he passed, and she does everything she can to support them now.

“I thrifted you clothes,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Go put them on and stop complaining. You can pay me back by having a good time tonight.”

She waves me off, already starting on her own eyeshadow. Snagging the bag off the floor, I can’t help but giggle as I leave to dress. I feel less awful about her thrifting clothes for me, but I’ll still have to pay her back when I get my check.

She hums along to whatever song is stuck in her head as I return to my bedroom and empty the contents of the bag on my bed. I should be prepared for something out of my comfort zone, but this is a little past insane.

“Allie!” I screech, holding it up and staring in shock.

I'd call it a dress, but I don't know if the flimsy scraps of fabric in front of me qualify as a full article of clothing. There's no way I can actually go out in this.

“Put it on before you start complaining!” she calls, her voice echoing from the bathroom..

I sigh in defeat, knowing better than to try to argue with her. It doesn't take long to strip out of the white shirt and khakis I wore to work and pull a lacy thong out of my drawer. I haven't worn anything just to feel sexy in so long that I almost forgot what it feels like.

The sight of my own body in the mirror is a little shocking, and I blush at the thought of someone getting to see me like this later.

I grab the dress off the bed and step into it, refusing to think twice about it. Tonight is a night for fun and pleasure, and the black silk clings to my skin like a promise of both. It criss-crosses over my body, offering glimpses of my sides and dipping low in the back. All that holds it up are two tiny strings that look like they'll snap at the slightest pressure. It only just barely covers my ass, and I stare in shock at my reflection.

I’m all mile long legs and perfectly wavy hair. I look hot . And way taller than I actually am. These heels are insane.

Allie lets out a low, appreciative whistle from the entrance to the bathroom, her brows raised in appreciation.

“Damn, I'm good,” she says with a grin.

I have to admit, she made me look like an absolute goddess.

“You better be wearing something similar,” I say, pointing a warning finger her way even as a grin teases at my lips.

“Me?” she asks, fluttering a hand over her heart playfully. “Please. I'm wearing even less.”

I laugh at her confidence, wishing I could be that sure of myself. I know what I like and what I want, but it’s not easy for me to talk to people about my own desires. I’m much better at giving than I am at taking, but tonight is supposed to be for my own selfish wants.

Maybe it’ll be easier when I can hide behind a mask.

Allie finishes getting ready quickly, stepping into a lacy bodysuit and a shiny black latex skirt that’s only barely modest enough to count as street legal. There’s no doubt that she’ll catch someone’s eye tonight. We decide to take a cab over to the club, since it’s in a much richer part of Manhattan than either of us could ever afford, and we don’t want to show up in my old beater of a car.

We spend the ride over practically vibrating with anticipation, texting each other excitedly so as to spare the poor cabbie from having to listen to our debaucherous fantasies of what the night will bring.

The city scape shifts from houses and worn down brick walls to bright, glittering lights and sleek buildings. Stepping out of the cab feels like stepping into a whole different world. I share an excited glance with Allie as she joins me on the sidewalk. It’s time for a completely new adventure to begin.

She walks confidently up to the heavyset man standing in front of a nondescript black door and pulls the tickets from her purse, handing them over.

“Take a silver mask when you go inside,” he tells us, his voice low and gravelly. “Put it on before you go through the door to the left. The Floor Master will go through your paperwork before you can enter.”

My heart pounds with excitement as he reaches for the door and pulls it open, stepping aside to allow us entry.

“Welcome to Eternity.”