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Despite Pigalle’s longstanding tradition of catering to all kinds of carnal pleasures, there was only one club in the quartier that fulfilled more than just human desires.
And that darling was mine.
With an exhale, I let the final remnants of what would mark me as other go, then tapped out the access code on the sleek panel with a manicured carmine-red nail. The green light blinked, and I strode onto the decadent main floor, no more than Perine Beaumont—owner, entertainer. Loved by those who cherished carnal pleasure. And a thorn in the side of those who thought them vile.
As always, Succ’s trademark burgundy-and-black interior was filled with patrons boasting varying levels of sexual tension. The delicious anticipation made it easy to point out the ones who intended to retire to the private rooms, but even among the individuals who merely popped in for the atmosphere, show, and drinks, the undercurrent of desire persisted.
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