“Liam.” I nod. “It’s a special occasion.”
His eyebrows rise, but he knows better than to ask questions.
“Marcus said to expect you. Need one of the hosts to show you around, or do you remember your way?”
“Appreciated, but we’re all good.”
We step through the glass doors into an elevator. Dinara’s hand finds mine, and I bring her wrist to my lips. Her pulse jumps beneath my mouth.
“So, you’re a regular here?” she asks, her eyes gleaming with interest.
“Was a regular. Not anymore.”
The doors open to reveal a coat check area, soft red lighting, the distant thrum of music.
A woman in a leather corset and mask takes our coats, her eyes lingering on Dinara a beat too long.
I pull my wife closer.
“Possessive,” she murmurs, amusement threading through her voice.
“You have no idea.”
We push through the double doors into the main club. She inhales sharply beside me.
Low, colorful lights bathe the space in seductive shadows. The music pulses with a rhythm designed to mimic a heartbeat, to sync with the primal energy thrumming through the room.
Bodies move on the dance floor. Some masked, some collared, all willing participants in whatever game they’re playing tonight.
“Why did you come here?” Dinara asks, her voice pitched low.
“It was years ago. I was restless and searching for something I couldn’t name. I never found it. Tried a few scenes, tested a fewboundaries, walked away feeling emptier than when I arrived. I’m not that man anymore,” I insist.
“Oh yeah.” She smirks. “And what man are you now?”
“Now I’m only interested in one thing.” I lean down, my mouth brushing her ear.
“My wife. And making sure no one else gets any ideas about putting their hands on what’s mine.”
Her breathing quickens. Tonight is going to test every ounce of control I have.
A server approaches with champagne. I take two glasses, handing one to Dinara.
She sips, but her eyes never stop scanning the room. There’s a lot to take in.
The room is a study in controlled hedonism. Plush couches line the walls where couples, or groups in various states of undress, let go.
A woman in nothing but a leather harness and collar kneels at her partner’s feet, head bowed in submission.
Near the bar, a man traces patterns on his companion’s bare back with a piece of ice. Her soft gasps are audible over the music.
Doorways along the perimeter lead to private rooms, curtains drawn or left provocatively open depending on the occupants’ preferences.
Everyone wears masks—some elaborate, some simple—creating an atmosphere of anonymity that invites indulgence.
The mission should be the only thing on my mind, but with Dinara beside me and the air thick with sex and possibility, every fantasy I’ve buried about her surfaces with exacting clarity.
Her eyes capture mine, darkening as she reads the filthy turn of my thoughts.
