Page 61 of Take Me Darkly

Through the right wall, faintly muffled by the heavy acoustic insulation, came the undeniable sounds of a couple lost in play—the rhythmic thud of a frame against plaster, accompanied by a woman’s breathy, climbing gasps.

Serena went dead still the second we stepped over the threshold. I felt the sudden change in her body, the sharp intake of her breath as she registered the auditory intimacy.

I closed the door and turned the deadbolt.

“Take the mask off,” I commanded.

She lifted her hands, untying the satin ribbons at the back of her head, and set the Venetian mask on the side table. Stripped of the gold leaf, she stood before me as purely Serena—vulnerable, fierce, and breathtakingly beautiful.

I removed my tuxedo jacket, draping it over a chair, then pulled my tie loose and unbuttoned my collar. I took my time, letting my eyes travel over her body, watching her watch me.

She bit down on her lower lip, her signature tell when her mind was racing.

I studied her face for a moment, then crossed to her before she could think too much. I gathered her hair into my hand and drew it back slowly, feeling her breath change yet again as I wrapped it once at the nape and held it there. I didn’t pull. I just held her steady.

“You said you wanted to be seen,” I said, low against her ear.

“I did.”

“Then talk to me.” I kept my grip on her hair and stepped around until I was behind her, tipping her head back in a way that forced her gaze to stay on me. “Tell me what you were imagining.”

“I wasn’t imagining anything specific.” she breathed, her voice raspy, sending a surge of heat straight to my groin. “It was... curiosity. I wanted to know what it feels like to shed the self-consciousness. To be in a space where desire doesn’t come with shame.”

I angled my head, my eyes narrowing. “You carry shame?”

“Sometimes. I love the way you touch me, Anton, and the way this building stirs things in me that I shouldn’t want to feel. But a part of me...” She trailed off, searching for the words.

I brought my free hand to her jaw, tilting her face higher. “Speak freely to me. Always.”

Her brow creased as she worked through the internal conflict, her jaw tightening before she finally let out a slow exhale.

“My whole life, I thought that desire was something I had to contained. But somewhere, deep down, I think this side of me was always there. It was just at odds with my Catholic upbringing, so I subconsciously tamped it down,” she explained carefully. The crease between her brows deepened for just a moment before something in her face shifted. “But it’s mine. What I feel when I’m with you belongs to me. No confession is required.”

She said it like someone finishing an argument that had been running through her mind for years. The color in her cheeks gave away the fact that saying it out loud had cost her something, but she held my gaze and didn’t take it back.

“Is that why you want to be seen by others? To prove a point to yourself?”

“Maybe,” she whispered, her chin lifting with a spark of defiance. “I wanted to feel reckless. I wanted to feel desired. Not just by you—I wanted the thrill of knowing others could see what I am when I’m undone.”

The dark, animalistic possessiveness inside me roared to life.

I yanked her hair—sharp and uncompromising—forcing a startled gasp from her lips as her eyes went wide and dark.

“Do you want another man to watch me fuck you, princess?”

The sound that broke from her throat was raw and immediate, with equal parts embarrassment, shock, and filthy, overwhelming hunger.

“Yes,” she breathed.

The single word hit me like a strike to the chest.

I released her hair and stepped back.

She blinked, disoriented, her hand reaching out for me instinctively before she caught herself. I backed toward the foot of the bed, my jaw locked, fighting the dark rage clawing at my ribs. The anger wasn’t directed at her. She had done exactly what I’d demanded—she surrendered the absolute truth. I was the one who had forced the question, and now I was standing here consumed by an irrational, blinding jealousy because she’d answered honestly.

I had built Club O on the sanctity of uninhibited, consensual expression. I believed in that freedom with every fiber of my being.

And yet, the thought of sharing her destroyed me.