Alrighty then. It would appear I was in the right place.
“Champagne?” he asked.
Wes was staring at me again, so maybe he didn’t understand consent after all. “No, thank you,” he said to the collared man without taking his eyes off me.
Words. I needed to speak words. My anxiety was back tenfold, telling me I didn’t belong here, that I was going to make a fool of myself and get kicked out of the sex cult before I’d even been invited to join.
“No, thanks,” I forced out.
The man smiled, bowed his head, and walked back to a different man in all black with a well-groomed beard standing near a food table. The bearded man pointed to the floor, and the shirtless man knelt, setting the platter on the floor in front of him. When the man in black—a Dominant, I assumed—found me staring, he winked.
I swallowed hard and looked away.
Wes chuckled. Again. “Nova.”
“What?” I snapped. “Stop laughing at me.”
This time, when I met his eyes, they were softer, two pools of green and brown flecked with gold. He opened and then closed his mouth, as if censoring himself. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, okay? Look out for yourself above all else. Trust your instincts.”
My eyes narrowed, but before I could respond, he gracefully abandoned me. Maybe he was trying to be nice, but I found his read on me insulting. Did he assume I was naive? Or that I didn’t belong here? Or, more likely, both? If I couldn’t fool him, how could I fool this den of ridiculously hot, chains-and-whips enthusiasts?
As if on autopilot, I positioned myself closer to the safety of a table of food.
When I spotted a platter of caviar in a bowl with several kinds of chips and crackers surrounding it, my brows shot up.
To my right, a small huddle of people were laughing and chatting. A woman sporting pink everything—a satin pink dress, dramatic blush across her cheeks, nose, and eyelids, and pink-tinted lip gloss—broke off from the group and stepped slowly toward me.
“Hi! I’m Maisy,” she said, tucking a strand of light brown hair behind an ear.
“Nova,” I said, grateful someone was speaking to me so I didn’t have to weasel into a pre-established huddle.
“You’ve never been here before, have you?” She smiled.
“Isn’t that what orientation is all about?”
She nodded. “Well, yes, but there are active members here too. And I’m one of Jayne’s volunteers.”
“Are you a member?” I asked.
She looked around and leaned closer. “No, not yet.”
Why was her status a secret? Was that part of the cult ethos? Or was it a shameful truth to admit?
“How long have you been coming to… whatever this is?” I asked.
She grabbed a potato chip and spread a generous portion of fish eggs on top. “Only six months, but I’m really close to ascending.”
Six months?I fought hard not to audibly gasp. I was not about to suck up to a cult for six months in the hopes I may someday be deemed worthy of their overpriced swingers club.
“I’ve had a lot of basic fears I wasn’t ready to face before, but Jayne is helping me finally break free from all of that,” she said.
“Who’s Jayne?”
Her blue eyes widened, and she laughed softly, as if it was ludicrous I didn’t know whoJaynewas when I walked through the door all but two minutes ago. “She’s the co-founder of TheCircle,” she said, then quickly added, “Along with her husband, Archer.”
“I see. Is that good?” I asked, nodding to the caviar.
“No. I always hope I will acquire the taste for it, but I never do.”
