But his gaze holds me, unwavering, and something in it softens the edge of my doubt.
A small smile tugs at my lips as I take the glass and raise it to my mouth, letting the crisp warmth of the champagne melt over my tongue.
“I’ll try,” I whisper.
I sip the champagne, letting the bubbles burn a little at the back of my throat. The hum of activity below us becomes background noise, like the soundtrack to a film I’m not sure I should be watching.
Calvin doesn’t speak, he just watches the room through the glass, jaw tight, posture relaxed but alert, like he’s both a part of this world and somehow above it. I glance at him sideways.
“So, do you come here often?” I ask, casually enough that it might pass for curiosity.
His expression doesn’t shift. “Now and then.”
I nod slowly, running a fingertip along the rim of my glass. “It’s… different.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.” I tilt my head. “I just never imagined I’d end up somewhere like this.”
He doesn’t answer, but I feel him watching me. Not in a heavy way. Just… observant. Like he’s trying to figure out what I’m really thinking and maybe waiting to see if I’ll say it out loud.
I won’t.
Instead, I focus on the scene below. The people. The way they move. So uninhibited. So completely detached from judgment. It’s freeing, in a way. And terrifying.
“I used to think places like this only existed in books or movies,” I say, almost to myself. “I mean, I know the BDSM community exists, I guess I just never…”
Calvin’s voice slides in. “Never thought you’d be up and personal with it?”
“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “Something like that. It’s different when it’s not wrapped in a neat little plot with a guaranteed happy ending.”
There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but he doesn’t comment on that.
Instead, he leans back a little, voice casual. “So… what kind of books were those happy endings in?”
I smirk, sipping the champagne again. “A lady never reveals what’s on her Kindle.”
He laughs softly, a deep, knowing sound that tightens something low in my stomach like a pulled string. “Okay, Peach,” he says smugly.
That’s the second time he’s called me that.
I frown. “Why peach?”
Calvin’s smile curves wolfishly. He tilts his head, likehe’s deciding just how much to give me. But then he shrugs simply. “You don’t seem to realize this, but…”
He leans in slightly, his voice dipping to a rough whisper that curls around my spine. “You flush pink every time I so much as look at you. That pretty little color climbs up your throat like a secret you can’t hide.”
My breath catches… no, it’s been stolen from my lungs. But he’s not done.
“Or maybe,” he continues, eyes darkening, “it’s because of the way you smell. Like peaches. Soft, ripe, sun-warmed and sweet… like trouble in the middle of summer. Sticky-sweet and made to be bitten.”
My mouth goes dry. My clit throbs so hard I’m half-convinced he can hear it.
His arm stays stretched across the back of the couch, fingers brushing the cushion beside me, not touching, but close enough to burn. I shouldn’t notice. I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
God, I do.
