Salt Kiss (Lyonesse #1)

twenty

This open house is stressing me the fuck out, but so far, everything is whirring along with perfect, purring dispatch, and everyone who isn’t paid to keep the building’s occupants safe is having a great time.

The rooms are full of members, guests, and spectators, doing everything from impact play to having full-blown orgies; the bar upstairs is crowded and congenial; and the hall is like something from a movie—packed shoulder to shoulder, lights flashing, music filling the space with soaring synths the way that hymns fill up a church.

There’s plenty of sex and kink happening in here too, but at the edges, in the booths and nooks, not on the dance floor. This kind of dancing—all sound and light and sweat—is its own kind of kink practice, just as important to some members as cuffs or paddles, and club etiquette is to leave the floor itself to dancing and dance-adjacent foreplay. Anything more involved should happen along the edges or up in the balconies.