Page 37

Wyatt emerges from the shower, steam billowing behind him, a towel wrapped snugly around his waist. His hair is slicked back, droplets of water tracing paths down his toned skin. He notices my gaze lingering on him and a playful smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. "You're drooling, Bardot," he teases, his voice a mix of amusement and warmth.

"Am not," I retort as my mind is turns to mush, betraying my words.

He walks over, drops the towel, and starts getting dressed right in front of me. He’s so freaking hot, I can’t look away. Every scar, every hard line of muscle, is an open invitation and I’m tempted to jump him.

We finish getting ready in a comfortable silence, the kind that hums with anticipation and shared understanding. Both of us are on the brink of exploring something uncharted together, and the air is thick with the promise of our shared desire.

Wyatt, ever the gentleman, holds the door open for me as we step into the warm evening. He carefully double locks it behind us, the metallic clink echoing softly in the quiet night. His eyes scan the quiet street with a protective gaze before he guides me toward the SUV. His hand rests reassuringly on the small of my back causing my blood to heat in my veins. The city lights flicker like distant stars, and though the club is just a few miles away, it feels as though we're crossing into another realm entirely.

We park in the alley, next to a Porsche that probably costs more than my mother’s home. Wyatt comes around to open my door, and the moment my heels hit the pavement, he kisses me, hard and fast, like he can’t wait another second.

“Ready?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” I say, but my knees are jelly.

We walk up to the entrance. The door is steel, painted black, and there’s no sign, just a plate to scan your membership card or smart watch. Wyatt holds his watch up to it and the door clicks.

We walk inside and the familiar scent of the club hits me in the face. I always thought it smells like leather and expensive cologne, with a faint undertone of candle wax and something sweet. The lights are low, the music a deep pulse underfoot, and everyone in the lobby looks like they’re ready for an interesting night ahead.

Raven is working the desk tonight, dressed in a black sheath that says “dangerous” in about seventeen languages. She sees us and smiles, sharp as a scalpel.

“Hey, guys,” she purrs. “So good to see you on the other side of the velvet rope.”

Wyatt nods and asks. “How have things been going since they installed the new security system?” He has a hard time turning off his “bodyguard mode.”

She glances at him. “Much better. Thanks for helping Roman out with that unpleasant mess,” then the stunning woman turns to me. “You look radiant, Naomi.”

I blush, not sure if it’s the lighting or the compliment. “Thanks so much.”

She waves us through. “Enjoy yourselves.”

We take the elevator up, and the whole time, Wyatt’s hand never leaves my body. He holds me close, his thumb tracing slow circles on my hip, anchoring me in place.

The third-floor corridor stretches out, its walls lined with heavy, soundproof doors. At the corridor's end, a door stands slightly ajar with a flickering glow of candlelight spilling out and casting an inviting glow on the plush, deep red carpet that muffles footsteps.

Wyatt, with a gentle motion, opens the door for me and we step inside. The room inside is a seductive tapestry of black and red, accented with soft strokes of gold that shimmer in the candlelight.

A sumptuous couch lines one wall, while a king-sized bed dominates most of the room. On the wall, a rack of meticulously arranged toys catches my eye, causing my heart to stutter with anticipation. Silk ties hang next to leather cuffs, metal handcuffs, and blindfolds. Everything you need for a night of debauchery.

My pulse quickens in tandem with the atmosphere's charged energy. Wyatt closes the door behind us and the soft thud is followed closely by a decisive click of the lock.

He turns to face me, and something in him shifts. The protector, the bodyguard, is still there, but he’s let the leash go slack. He’s looking at me like I’m his next meal.

He steps forward and places his hands gently on my shoulders before brushing my hair back. “I love you, fever.”

The way he says it turns me to mush. “Show me how much.” I breathe.

“Fuck.” He takes my chin in his hand and tips my face up. “I’m like a kid in a candy shop. I don’t even fucking know where to start.”

He stalks around the room while I look around, stopping to test the strength of the restraint points built into the bed frame. He slowly catalogues everything like he’s trying to decide if the space is worthy of me.

I walk over to the bed, trace my hand along the cool, slippery red silk. “Do you have any idea what we’re supposed to do now?”

I sit back on the bed and he kneels in front of me, resting his hands on my knees. “Enjoy ourselves.” His grip is solid, unshakeable. “We can figure out what we like and go with that.”

He slides his hands slowly up my inner thighs and I forget we’re in a sex club.

“What do you want to try first, Naomi?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly.