Page 56 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

Sophie

Caleb reaches past me to lift the heavy brass knocker. The harsh, striking sound echoes ominously through the night.

I glance up and notice the camera mounted near the corner of the building.

Moments later, a lock releases with a quiet snick. Then the door opens.

A man fills the entrance. He doesn’t stand in it. He fills it.

He’s enormous, easily bigger than Caleb, which until this exact moment I wouldn’t have thought possible. His black shirt stretches across shoulders that seem designed for moving refrigerators without assistance, and his expression suggests he doesn’t spend much time discussing his feelings.

“Taranis.” Lucian inclines his head.

“Hawthorne. Pierce.” Then his gaze settles on me, and I can’t resist the urge to move closer to Caleb.

“This is Sophie,” Lucian says.

Taranis continues studying me for another second before he gives me a short nod and moves aside.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but the foyer doesn’t look like a warehouse.

Instead, there’s bright lighting, polished dark wood, and a row of church pews lining one wall.

I stare at them. Then I shake my head.

Maybe it shouldn’t surprise me that a BDSM club only provides uncomfortable-looking seats.

Beyond, there’s another massive door, and there’s a steady thumping behind it.

Nerves ricochet through me.

A minute ago, I’d wondered how scary this could be. Now my imagination is supplying enough images to make me shake.

A woman wearing a gray suit with a bright purple bowtie is seated behind an old-fashioned desk, and she watches our approach.

She greets my men by name. And then Lucian introduces us. “Sophie Langford, meet Miss Watson.”

“Welcome to the Retreat.” She slides a sheaf of papers toward me. “These documents will require your signature.”

I skim the rules, and they’re really common sense.

Privacy is to be respected. If someone is recognized from real life, there’s no acknowledgment of the relationship unless both parties agree.

Interfering with other people’s scenes is prohibited. The club’s safe word is red. Sexual activities must be confined to private rooms, which are monitored. Equipment is required to be sanitized after use. And Dungeon Masters will be obeyed. Taranis’s word is law.

I sign at the X and add the date.

Miss Watson double checks everything before asking, “Do you have a scene name?”

I blink. “A what?”

“An alias you may use inside the club to keep your identity secret.”

“Use one,” Caleb says.

I turn my head, and he folds his arms as if his decision is final.

“You may want to keep your professional life separate from this.”