One Dirty Night

Gripping my steering wheel, I peered closer, reading the rain-bleeding text.

A scrawling cursive invitation.

An invitation that set my heart winging with a crazy, ridiculous fantasy.

The Spectacle of Secrets invites you to One Dirty Night.

One night where fantasies are indulged, and reality is ignored.

One night where you can be free, be you, be used, abused, worshipped, and adored…

Strictly R18.

Couples encouraged.

Singles implored.

Entry must include a recent medical health certificate and proof of age.

We look forward to you…

coming.

My cheeks ignited into flames at the last line. Whoever was in charge of advertising wasn’t shy. Decorating the edges of the invite were suggestive sketches of couples in all sorts of sexual poses—some bound, some begging, some in the throes of ecstasy.

Seemed the Spectacle of Secrets wasn’t afraid to give explicit information on exactly what went on in that big top.

Wow.

No wonder my skin flared with sinful thoughts when I first saw it. It wasn’t a circus for children; there’d be no lion tamers or pretty woman wrapped in silk—actually, there probably would be pretty women wrapped in silk—but it wouldn’t be the child-friendly variety. More like bondage… with velvet blindfolds, feathers, whips, and—

Ella…don’t—

Images exploded in my head.

My mouth watered at the thought of me bound, spread, and at some stranger’s mercy. Someone who looked like the shirtless guy; someone who did whatever they wanted to me and left me in a puddle of passion.

They’d mark me. Bite me. Make me scream.

Oh my God.

You’re going straight to hell.

Those sorts of fantasies usually only dared haunt me when I had the house to myself and a date with my vibrator. I made a point of keeping that part of myself buried deep down, suffocated under lock and key.

I’d never told another soul who I truly was beneath my prim skirts and pretty blouses. I’d never been tied up during sex. Never been made to crawl or beg. Never indulged in the dark parts of me that—

Well, you definitely won’t be starting now by paying for someone to do it. Jesus.

Whatever went on in that circus, I wanted nothing to do with it.

Are you so sure about that?

I strangled my steering wheel.

Very sure.

Absolutely, totally sure.