Page 30 of Baby for My Ex's Brother

11

LUNA

Two weeks ago,over Thai food on his impossibly comfortable couch, with my feet in his lap, Ivan mentioned the club.

“There’s a private club,” he said, “for people with our interests, if the word interests means anything to you.”

By his tone, I could have guessed what he meant, but I needed confirmation. “Interests?”

“The kind we explore sometimes in the bedroom. And that restaurant bathroom. Like when I blindfolded you last night.”

“Oh, a kink club?”

He nodded. “Would you care to join me there?”

“Well… I’m curious. I’ve always known those things exist, but I never thought I could go to one.”

At that, he paused. “Does curious mean yes?”

That brought a smile to my face. “In this case, yes.”

And then neither of us brought it up again for fourteen days, while I have been able to think about nothing else.

But tonight he says, “Wear something you can move in. We’re going to the club.”

Oh my.

So, I wear the black slip dress with nothing complicated underneath, and Lev drives us somewhere the streetlights get older. Ivan holds my hand in the back seat the entire way, thumb moving over my knuckles in slow passes that give me chills for some reason, and says nothing. The silence has a current in it you could power a city block with.

The club is underground in every sense of the word.

An unmarked black door below a shuttered tailor. A man at the bottom of the stairs who greets Ivan by no name and with all the deference in the world. The air is cool on my skin. We pass a dark purple velvet-swallowed series of rooms that look the way a cello sounds. Warm dark wood, low amber lights, and conversations conducted at the volume of secrets.

They have good black candles lining the wall sconces, too.

I expected to feel nervous. Not cataloging, like my brain is misfiring my last moments in this body.

When something works for me, really works, my brain doesn’t flood, it itemizes and makes lists and takes notes. The hush of a space. The couple by the bar speaking quietly, her wrist wrapped in his hand. The rules posted at the entry, actual rules, framed, presumably enforced, a whole architecture of structure running under the velvet.

1.All play on these grounds is consensual.

2.All persons will be respected and respectful.

3.Every room is equipped with a stop button. Press it, and security will arrive within thirty seconds.

4.Anyone who breaks our rules wishes they had not.

I’m not sure what punishments a club can legally mete out, but considering I’ve seen bouncers break noses at regular clubs, I don’t want to know what a kink club would do to someone.

Ivan sees me reading the rules and leans down to my ear. “Security comes in ten seconds, not thirty.”

“Then why say thirty?”

“Partly to give themselves leeway, but more importantly, if a sub hits the button and their dom is not cooperating, the dom can more easily be caught in the act of their transgression if security comes sooner. This gives the club more witnesses to the act, ensuring the punishment is administered correctly. Less liability that way.”

I almost want to ask about that punishment, but I’m not brave enough yet. I focus on other aspects of the club to take my mind off that punitive thought pattern. “Your people understand lighting. Their candle budget is criminal, but the lighting?—”

“Tell me about the candles later.” His mouth does the almost-smile, and his hand finds the small of my back, searing me there and steering us deeper. “Tell me colors first.”