For a moment, I pictured Rhodes bound there instead, her full breasts lifting with every breath, pleading for my crop. What would she look like if she let her hair down.
If she gave up control?
I gritted my teeth and forced the image away, shoving it where it belonged. Rhodes wasn’t mine to think about. She was an employee. An analyst—a damn good one, apparently—but nothing more. Hard on herself. Tightly wound. The kind of woman who lived in pencil skirts and cardigans, who showed up to the office early and stayed late just to make sure everything was perfect.
Fuck. I pinched the bridge of my nose. She’d stepped onto the wrong elevator six months ago, and the shades of red she turned when she realized her mistake had gone straight to my cock. Victor and Ethan had laughed when she bolted at the next floor, but I hadn’t been able to shake it since.
If it hadn’t been for my friends, I might have acted on impulse. Might’ve pinned her to the elevator wall right then and there, her arms stretched above her head, her face pressed to the cold steel while I dragged her skirt up and?—
“You’re wound too tight,” Victor cut in, swirling his glass like he was daring me to come undone. “One of these days, Reid, that control of yours is going to snap.”
“Not tonight,” I bit out.
Ethan chuckled. “Not yet, you mean. When the right woman comes?—”
I ignored them both, focusing instead on the stage and the couple. On the perfect cadence of impact and stillness, pain and pleasure. A game of precision. A test of trust. The submissive’s head tipped back, her blindfold catching the red light, and mygut tightened. That kind of surrender didn’t come cheap. It had to be earned, owned.
The bass shifted deeper, more primal, rolling through the club like a heartbeat. The crowd swelled with it. Masks gleamed. Shadows stretched through the space. And then movement at the edge of the floor caught my eye. That’s when I saw her.
A woman, hesitant at first, then swallowed by the crowd. Long skirt brushing against her legs, hair pinned too neatly for this place, like she didn’t belong.
My pulse raced.
I hadn’t seen her here before, though I recognized the couple she trailed behind. Regulars. Players who knew the rules. She, though, moved like an outsider. It shouldn’t have mattered. Plenty of first-timers walked through these doors every week. For a business that’s base marketing was word of mouth and a simple website, they never lacked for guests.
This club thrived on anonymity, on masks and silence. It was the reason all three of us invested in this particular club, and each had our own rooms in the VIP section along with our own balcony so we could watch the crowd or indulge as we saw fit.
In a place where less was more, her ankle-length leather skirt stood out. The two men she’d come with were dressed nicely, one in a tailored suit, the other in an untucked shirt with no tie. She kept her arm looped through the suited one’s, but their attention was locked on each other, not her.
I tuned Ethan and Victor out, tracking her instead as they cut across the room toward a table in the back with a view of everything. Her gaze flicked everywhere, soaking it all in as her friends gestured for a waitress and ordered drinks.
A virgin to the scene? How would Ms. Rhodes take to what unfolded beneath?
Heat coiled low, and I adjusted my stance as they sat in the booth and accepted their drinks. I’d never seen anyone lookso uncomfortable here. After a couple minutes, I watched her excuse herself as one of them pointed her toward the restrooms in the back corner.
She walked across the dance floor as her companions cuddled up in the booth together. Halfway there, a man reached out, catching her wrist, yanking her toward him.
My teeth ground together.
She jerked back, flashing her wristband. White. Observer. Off-limits.
The man’s expression shifted in an instant. Hands up, he retreated, glancing around to make sure none of the wardens, Sentinel’s bouncers, had seen his mistake.
They hadn’t. But I had.
And I’d be speaking to the house mistress. At Sanctum, touch wasn’t permitted without invitation. And a white band was a goddamn boundary, not a suggestion. Anyone found not following the rules would be escorted out and their membership revoked for life.
Her companions were oblivious to the fact she’d gotten turned around. Alone in the press of bodies, she turned, searching, trying to orient herself again.
It was busy tonight, busier than most. The lineup for the stage had been advertised, and the entertainment always brought quite a crowd. It wasn’t every day we had a Shibari demonstration followed by an elaborate scene, but that was why they were here. Shadows rippled with movement, the bass thrummed harder, and the air thickened with anticipation.
The crowd swallowed her, a nervous lamb in a den of wolves.
I tracked her as the crowd jostled her back and forth, but she finally pushed herself through and against the far wall opposite the direction she’d originally been heading. Her chest heaved, hand pressed to her heart. She looked utterly out of place—andall I could think about was how she’d look strung up, skin bared, my marks across her body.
Then, the door to the VIP section cracked open. My gaze sharpened. Where the hell was the Warden, who stood watch over the hall of rooms? Wherever he’d gone, he’d be unemployed by morning. Those rooms were members only. The club’s mistress ran a tight ship and didn’t put up with any incompetence.
And yet, the girl who didn’t belong, slipped inside.
