“Want me to move on, yes.” She gives me a small smile. “Everyone says that. And logically, I know it’s true. Anyway, I was lying awake at three a.m., feeling guilty while I thought about…” She catches herself.
“About what?”
She stares into her coffee. “That room, with the bed. The women together. And then…” Her voice drops lower. “The other room. The one with the handcuffs.”
She reaches for the sunscreen on the table between us and starts to apply it to her legs. Her movements are practical rather than seductive, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her hands as they glide over her skin.
“You seemed particularly interested in that room,” I observe carefully.
“I’ve never considered it to be something I might wantto try. But I can’t stop thinking of it, and about…” She swallows hard. “Never mind.”
I set my coffee down, my heart racing. “No. Tell me.”
She bites her lip, now frantically working the lotion into her arms so she doesn’t have to look me in the eyes. “It must be nice to be able to let go. To trust someone else to…” She doesn’t finish the statement, but her meaning is clear.
Sensing it might be too soon for this conversation, I gesture to the sunscreen. “Can I help you with that? I don’t want your back to burn.”
She stares at the bottle like it might bite her, then at me. I can’t help but laugh.
“Come on, Ruby. It’s just sunscreen.”
She hesitates, then hands me the bottle.
“Turn around,” I say, letting a hint of command slip into my tone. Her reaction is immediate—a slight shiver, a quickening of breath.
Interesting.
I consider straddling her but decide against it. Instead, I perch on the edge of her lounger, warming the lotion between my palms before touching her skin. The first contact draws a soft gasp from her—whether from the coolness of the cream or my touch, I’m not sure.
What starts as a simple application becomes something more intimate. I knead the tension from her neck, trace the line of her spine, map the curves of her shoulder blades. Each stroke of my hands draws a deeper response—a sigh, a subtle arch, and finally a low moan.
The sound awakens something dangerously spontaneous, something I’ve kept dormant. In the club, intimacy is choreographed, controlled—a dance of power and submission. This is different. Raw. Unscripted. Thesimple act of touching her bare skin affects me more than any scene I’ve orchestrated underground.
Her skin is smooth and soft beneath my palms as I work the delicate knobs of her spine. I love the way her muscles jump when my fingers find a sensitive spot. I shouldn’t be touching her like this—she’s vulnerable, still processing her first night at the club, still grieving. But I can’t seem to stop.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur. Her muscles tense at my words. “Sorry,” I add quickly, though I’m not. “Just objectively speaking. I’m not trying to?—”
“You want me in those handcuffs, don’t you?” She doesn’t turn around, but I hear the tremor in her voice. It’s not a joke.
“Yes.” My hands move lower, skimming her sides, and she arches into the touch. Suddenly I’m acutely aware of how intimate this has become.
Last night, as Ruby moved through the club, I saw something awaken in her. The way she watched those women together, the flush in her cheeks, how her breath caught when we entered the playroom—it was like watching a flower slowly unfold. It was beautiful, and as much as she’s been thinking of last night, I’ve been thinking of Ruby.
“I should go,” I say, standing abruptly.Not outside the club.The loss of contact feels physical.
Ruby sits up quickly, adjusting her robe. “Wait, what? You’re leaving?” She searches my face with concern. “Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”
“No, of course not.” I grab a towel from the lounger and dry my hands, trying to appear casual, though I’m a little flustered. “I just remembered I have a meeting at the Olympus in twenty minutes. I completely lost track oftime.” I toss the towel aside and try to slow my breathing. “Will you be at the club tonight?”
“I don’t know…”
“You’re one of us now,” I remind her. “You can come and go as you please, even when I’m not there. You know my gate code and the password. It’s your playground too.”
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, considering. “I need some time,” she says finally. “To process everything. But maybe Friday, after work?”
I nod, gathering my composure. “Friday then.” I pause at the foot of her lounger, allowing myself one last look at her. “And Ruby? When you’re ready to explore those handcuffs…” I let the sentence hang unfinished, enjoying the way her pupils dilate. “I’ll see you around, neighbor.”
SEVENTEEN
