"Non-judgmental zone," Damien said softly, leaning close to my ear. "People dress however they want. Act however they want. As long as it's consensual and doesn't disturb others, there are no rules about how you present yourself."
I dragged my gaze across the room, finally registering what I'd been too overwhelmed to process.
Some people were fully clothed—jeans and t-shirts, yoga pants and tank tops. Others wore elaborate leather harnesses over bare skin. One woman strolled past in nothing but heels and a thong, her breasts completely exposed, chatting casually with a man in a three-piece suit.
Heat crept up my neck.
"Do people..." I lowered my voice, nodding toward the beds. "Does sex happen here?"
Damien shook his head. "This isn't a sex club, Emma. That's a completely different thing." He guided me toward an empty loveseat, his hand steady on my back. "Male genitalia isn't allowed to be out. Ever. That's a hard rule."
"But women can be...?" I gestured vaguely at the topless woman now settling into an armchair across the room.
"Females are always welcome to be naked, yes." Damien's face went rigid, attention fixed firmly ahead—pointedly not following the woman as she crossed her legs. "Different anatomy, different rules."
A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it. "You're not even looking."
"I'm being respectful."
"You're being obvious." I nudged his shoulder. "It's okay to have peripheral vision, Damien."
"I have a beautiful woman on my arm." He finally met my gaze, warmth lighting there. "Why would I look anywhere else?"
I grinned at him. The line was smooth—too smooth.
I sank into the loveseat, trying to process everything atonce. The pink corner with its stuffed animals. The beds where people cuddled like it was the most natural thing in the world. The casual nudity that no one seemed to notice or care about.
"This is..." I shook my head. "A lot."
"I know." Damien settled beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. "Take your time. We can sit here as long as you need."
We'd barely settled into the cushions when a man appeared at the edge of my vision.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Silver threading through dark hair at his temples. He moved toward us with easy confidence.
"Damien—"
Damien held up a hand, palm out. A small gesture, but firm.
The man stopped mid-stride. His gaze flicked to me—assessing, understanding—and his smile shifted into something softer. A nod. An acknowledgment.
Without a word, he pivoted smoothly, crossing the room to another man lounging near the pink corner. They clasped hands like old friends, falling into easy conversation as if that had been his destination all along.
I watched the exchange, brow furrowed. "What was that about?"
"Todd," Damien said. "We've known each other for years."
"I gathered." I tilted my head. "Why'd you wave him off?"
Damien's fingers landed on my knee, thumb tracing slow circles against the fabric of my dress. "Because you just walked into a world you've never seen before. You're overwhelmed—"
I balked.
"Don't argue, the last thing you need right now is small talk with a stranger."
I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it.
He wasn't wrong.
