Page 12 of Take Me Darkly

“They are his submissives,” Anton murmured, stepping so close his mouth brushed the shell of my ear. The low vibration of his voice set my nerve endings on fire. “Their performance is an extension of their relationship. Outsiders might look at that dynamic and see degradation, but for them, it’s a sacred ritual. Trust, not ruin. Soon, he will take them back to his private suite and reward them for their surrender.”

“It’s beautiful,” I admitted, my voice barely a breath. “The way they moved together. The way they trusted him. It was… a trustfall.”

“It was,” Anton agreed softly. “Everything at Club O is built on the foundation of trust. Desire. Vulnerability. Letting go of the masks the outside world forces you to wear.”

I turned my head, my eyes locking onto his dark, enigmatic gaze. “What does the world force you to be, Anton?”

“Untouchable. Unyielding. In total control,” he said simply, without a trace of hesitation.

“And when you’re here?”

His gaze dropped to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes. “In here... I get to breathe.”

I looked back toward the stage as the dancers stepped down, the trainer offering a hand to steady them. A war raged inside me—a clash between the good Catholic girl my mother had raised to judge such places, and the woman emerging from the ashes of trauma, desperate to understand the power of surrender. Both held space in my soul.

We walked deeper into the club, stopping before a set of massive double doors. They were bound in dark, hand-forged iron that looked centuries old. Anton turned to face me, assessing my headspace.

“Ready?” he asked softly.

I looked up at the words carved into a plaque mounted above the doorway.

The Dungeon.

After everything I had seen, I doubted anything behind those doors could shock me. I squared my shoulders. “Let’s go.”

The air grew noticeably cooler as the heavy doors opened, revealing a wide staircase descending into what had once been the church’s catacombs. A dull, throb began to pulse in my shoulder, reminding me that this was the most active I’d been since the night I was shot. I rolled my good shoulder slightly, trying to ease the tension.

Iron sconces burned in stone niches as I followed Anton down. I had envisioned a dark, claustrophobic maze of damp cells, but the reality was breathtaking. When Anton pushed open a second set of sound-proof doors, we stepped out onto a wide, suspended balcony.

I gasped, looking down at a space that looked like a sleek, dangerous dream.

“This isn’t anything like I thought it would be.”

“What did you picture, princess?”

“Well, something like its name—The Dungeon. You know… bars, chains, tiny rooms.”

A dark, sexy chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I had the original floor excavated and dropped ten feet, and the stone vaults reinforced. The designer—one of our founding members—conceived this perimeter walkway.”

I looked around the upper level. The platform wrapped around the vast perimeter of the subterranean hall like an iron ring, allowing guests to walk, drink, and observe the play taking place on the main floor below. The floor of the balcony where we stood was constructed of smoked, semi-translucent glass and dark steel, offering an intoxicating view of the floor beneath us.

Over the railing, the central dance floor gleamed in matte black, backlit from below so the jagged seams in the material glowed like molten lava seeping through cracked earth. Surrounding the dance floor, various open and semi-private alcoves revealed curated scenes. From where I stood, I could see a heavy velvet X-frame, a leather bench positioned beneath a canopy of polished chains, and private suites featuring sprawling beds and mirrored walls that instantly recalled the elite club Anton had taken me to in Florence.

The memory of that night in Italy flooded back with terrifying force—the heavy bass throbbing in sync with my pulse, the heat of packed bodies, the scent of expensive perfume, spilled liquor, and raw desire. Hands had roamed without apology. Anton had pressed me against a wall, his fingers sliding beneath my dress, finding my slick heat, teasing that electric knot of nerves until I was sobbing his name. I hadn’t cared who was watching. I had only wanted to feel.

Anton’s hand settled on the railing beside mine, his knuckles brushing my forearm.

“Stay with me, Serena,” he whispered, his thumb lightly stroking the inside of my wrist where the red silicone band rested. “You’re a thousand miles away.”

“I was thinking about Florence,” I admitted, my skin flushing hot at the memory. “At the club.”

“Do you remember what you promised me that night?” he murmured, leaning down until his warm breath grazed my temple, sending a shiver straight to my core.

My nipples hardened against my bra as the sensory memory consumed me. I remembered the brief flare of shame that night, instantly drowned by the sheer, unadulterated heat of his touch. I had decided the guilt could deal with me later. I had wanted him with a hunger that defied reason.

“I said a lot of things that night, Anton.”

“I asked you to trust me.”