“Yeah.” She scoffs, then her eyes narrow. “You’re bright red, girl. What the hell happened in here?”
My eyes flick to my reflection in the mirror and I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me.
My mask is askew, hair somehow disheveled even though I can’t recall his hands sifting through it. My cheeks are red, but the flush doesn’t stop there. It travels down my throat to my chest, disappearing into my dress. Reaching behind my head, I untie the satin ribbon and remove my face mask.
“I’m… good?” I grimace because that’s a terrible response, but also… I’mgood.
Better than good.
I haven’t come like that in, like…ever.
With a grunt, my best friend stands and flushes the toilet, then unties her mask and pulls it off her face. “You’re good? With aquestion mark? Are you not sure?” Reaching past me to wash her hands, she eyes me in the mirror’s reflection. Her eyes flick frantically over my face, my chest, down my body and back up again. “What were youdoingin here? Did you just have a random hook-up with some Ghostface wannabe?”
Shaking my head, I drop my hand, then turn toward the sink, bracing myself with my hands splayed out over the cool porcelain countertop. “That wasn’t aScreammask, Imogen.”
“Whatever.” She snorts. Her gaze flicks to the door, then back to my reflection in the mirror. “Did he do something to you?”
I shake my head, hating the lie, but not ready to share what just happened to me. For now, this ismysecret, my moment.
It feels… I don’t know, sacred.
Her eyes remain wide, searching, still unsure. She knows me well enough to know thatsomethinghappened in this bathroom, but she’s not pushing me for answers. Which is good, because I’m not sure I have the words to explain what I just did.
After a moment, she finally exhales and says, “He was sobig.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “You certainly have a type.”
“What?”
Mo snorts. “Never mind, girl. You can be delulu.”
Frowning, I turn on the cold water to cool my wrists. Good grief, I’m about a thousand degreespastoverheated. “He was sohot.”
“How do you even know?”
I meet her gaze in the mirror, lips twitching on a smile.
“He took off his mask?”
I shake my head.
“Sutton! You couldn’t even see his face!” She shakes her head. “He could look like Freddy Krueger under there.”
Somehow, I don’t think he does. I’m also, curiously, not sure I care.
“I’m not going to spend time with him for his looks—”
When her eyes practically bulge out of her head, I slam my mouth shut, realizing I’ve said too much.
“I’m sorry, what now?” She reaches past me to turn off the water, then hands me a towel. It’s one of those fancy, custom throw-away paper towels, embossed at the bottom with the same intricate, gold rabbit logo that was on the invitation.
The Rabbit Hole.I sigh as I trace my fingertips over the gold embossing. I don’t know what I expected when I came here tonight, but it wasn’t this. I’ve never felt so… so freed.
Per the company website, which was damn near impossible to find before I accidentally stumbled upon that forum, The Rabbit Hole was created and overseen by a woman and geared toward the pleasure and safety of all clientele, but with an emphasis on their female-identifying clients. From what little I’ve experienced thus far, I’d say the people behind this club know what they’re doing.
With just one meeting, my masked man could read me like a book and knew exactly what I needed from him. Sure, he made me speak my thoughts aloud, but that’s all part of the rules. Rules and guidelines that, though extensive, stem from safety and consent above all else. In a world where safety and consent are rarely centered, this feels like a godsend.
I’ve only just met Dominus, but he was clear about consent, adamant about verbal communication. I bite my lip to keep from smiling—
“Hello?” Imogen snaps her fingers, pulling me out of my thoughts.
