“Nuh-uh,” I say firmly, catching Ruby’s intrigued expression. “No shop talk at the club or I might have to punish her for breaking the rules.”
The word “punish” lands exactly as intended. Ruby’sbreath catches, and for a moment, she forgets about Lily and Mari entirely. Her fingers curl against her thigh, and there’s a subtle shift in her posture—a yielding that’s almost imperceptible but speaks volumes. When she finally responds, her voice has dropped lower, taking on a husky quality that wasn’t there before. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Both,” I murmur, letting my voice drop to match hers.
Lily whistles low through her teeth. “And on that note, we’ll leave you two to…discuss club policies.” She winks at Mari. “Come on, let those sparks fly without an audience.”
Ruby stays against the wall where she’s backed up. She watches them disappear into the library, clearly trying to collect herself. “Those women…how do you find them?” She’s changed the topic, which is interesting. “They’re amazing.”
“They find me,” I say, purposely maintaining the distance between us, letting her recover her equilibrium. “No one outside the club talks about what happens here, but if they know someone who might want to become part of it, they discreetly send them my way.” I step closer then, drawn by the lingering vulnerability in her pose. “And yes, they’re amazing, though I have to say, none of them have made quite the entrance you did tonight.”
Ruby’s cheeks flush at the compliment. She moves to follow them downstairs, but I catch her hand and feel the jump in her pulse where my fingers rest against her wrist.
“Wait.”
Her eyes meet mine, questioning.
“All jokes about scary casino bosses aside…” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “If you ever want to explore those handcuffs—if it’s what you want—I need something from you.” I’m deliberatelynotusing words such as submissionor BDSM, conscious it might scare her. “I’ll need you to trust me. Completely.”
“I just gave you a bag with enough money to buy a house without asking for a receipt,” she says with a hint of sass, her eyes flicking to my mouth.
I smile, noting how she licks her lips without even realizing it. She wants to kiss me. The realization sends a rush of heat between my thighs, but I force myself to stay still. Kissing crosses a line that I’m not ready to cross. It goes beyond the controlled exchange of power, beyond the dance of dominance and submission. Kissing is messy, emotional—it leads to feelings that can’t be contained within scene boundaries or safe words. But God, I want to kiss her too.
I could do it right now. She’s close and her lips are slightly parted, plump and so inviting. But kissing Ruby Walsh would be like lighting a match in a room full of gunpowder.
“Athena?” Her voice pulls me back from my thoughts and I realize I’ve been staring at her mouth for too long. She squeezes my hand. “Yes,” she says, her voice soft and without sarcasm now. “I trust you. I don’t know how or why, but I do. And that says a lot. But…”
“But?”
Ruby shifts, her fingers tightening around mine. “I’m not sure I’m ready for…” She pauses, cheeks flushing. “You know.”
“Hey.” I cup her cheek and feel the heat radiating from her body. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Have a drink. Enjoy yourself. Let your hair down and hang out with a bunch of cool women. I’m just really happy to have you here.”
TWENTY-ONE
RUBY
The whiskey burns pleasantly as I take another sip, letting the exclusive spirit linger on my tongue. From my position on one of the velvet sofas, I have a good view of the main lounge. It’s busier than last time—at least forty women are scattered across the space, some dancing, others gathered around tables in intimate conversation.
Captain Rodriguez—“Call me Mari”—is telling me about flying an experimental aircraft, her hands animated as she describes breaking the sound barrier.
“Another round?” she asks, noticing my nearly empty glass.
I nod, watching as she signals one of the waitresses. The service here is impeccable—discreet staff who appear when needed and fade away just as smoothly, and no money changes hands. The rules are simple: no business talk, no gambling, no financial transactions, no illegal substances. It creates a sanctuary where powerful women can truly relax.
My eyes drift to Athena, who’s across the room talking to a small group near the bar. She’s shed her white hat, but otherwise looks immaculate in her signature white suit.Even here, she maintains that aura of control. The way she commands attention without trying, how other women defer to her gestures—it’s mesmerizing.
“See something you like?” A new voice joins our conversation. I turn to find Justice Donovan—Donna—settling onto the sofa beside me. She’s traded her red dress for a black pantsuit tonight.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, but the heat in my cheeks betrays me.
Donna laughs. “Honey, I’ve been coming here for a while. I know that look.” She accepts a fresh martini from the waitress. “Athena has that effect on people. Especially the ones who crave what she has to offer.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“Control,” she says simply, lighting a skinny cigarette. “Or rather, the freedom that comes from giving it up.” She studies me over the rim of her glass. “Some of us spend our whole lives maintaining iron control. Making decisions that affect hundreds, even thousands of lives. Never showing weakness.” Her eyes drift to Athena. “Sometimes the greatest relief is in letting someone else take the reins.”
The whiskey must be hitting me because I ask, “Do you do that with her?”
