Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
LIVIANNA/LILY
Then
Valentine’s Ruin & The Night I Find Myself
They don’t ask why I’m here, only who I want to be when I leave.
Paris doesn’t whisper on Valentine’s night. It breathes in moans and exhales sin.
This is it, Livianna. My limbs tremble with the mounting excitement coiling in my stomach.
Valentine’s Day without a lover to share it with is flat-out wrong, so I took matters into my own hands. I stand on the threshold of the unmarked building, my heart pacing like it’s late for a train I’m about to miss.
Today, in this city, I don’t ask for love. I demand desire. And tonight, I’m here to claim exactly that.
Underneath the awning, there’s no sign above the entrance. Just a man in a black suit so sharply cut, it could be a weapon. He’s standing at a podium. I suck in a breath of courage and approach him.
“Hi, I’m Livianna Hemings. Mateo Beckett put my name on the list for entry this evening.” I shift from side to side, adjusting my red-lace-covered black dress.
The man doesn’t respond with words. He raises a scanner. His eyes flick to mine with the kind of cool detachment reserved for royalty. He scans my face, then my palm. No words are spoken.
But the air between us says everything…permission granted. The door opens without a sound.
Warmth spills out as soft, seductive music plays and hums in time with my pulse. I step inside, and the world outside dissolves.
The air is heavier. Not stifling, but intimate like the inhale just before a secret is told.
Elite-Sinsations isn’t just a venue. It’s a sanctuary designed for reclamation, seduction, and sensory surrender. The interior matches its members—veiled in anonymity that isn’t just given, it’s worshipped.
The club is layered in power and crafted to ignite erotic transformation. It promises luxury and passion while exploring taboo encounters.
They’re all legal and range from sinfully delicious scenarios to various levels of extreme. Everything is invitation-only and granted after written consent, signed nondisclosure agreements, and a clean STI panel.
When Mateo sent over the list of options or kinks the members are into, I had a hard time choosing just one experience. Some like to be voyeurs, while others are exhibitionists.
But for me…I’m here to find a part of myself. To own a side of myself that I’ve always just given away to create a bond.
Tonight is my liberation from that, and I’m going to enjoy my sexual escape guilt-free. I plan to lean into being wanted and the only woman my partners are interested in.
God, I need this.
After another one of Jax’s rejections and Callum’s never-ending pokes at me, I crave having the power to control what happens to me in a romantic or sexual way. And the situation I set up is about just that.
Velvet drapes cloak the entry in blackness, inviting me to feel before I see. The air is spiced with sandalwood and tension, laced with jasmine oil and something sinful like sex before going to church.
I inch forward, not knowing exactly how I’m supposed to proceed. I take in every piece of my surroundings. The aesthetics are enhancing my anticipation.
The walls are lined with black leather. They’re designed to bend the light, shifting it from crimson to champagne.
I reach a row of dressing rooms. One of them has a red rose-colored robe hanging on the wall. There’s a locker with the initials LH etched on a gold-plated label. This must be my designated space. I close the heavy black drape behind me and change my clothes.
I shake out my hands and decide to go naked underneath the robe. That way, the experience will be easier to access when the time comes.
Once my purse and clothes are secure in the locker, I step into an open area. Masked patrons drift in and out of velvet-curtained rooms like slow-moving shadows in gowns, tuxedos, or nothing at all.
No one lingers too long. No one stares because no one needs to. In this place, being seen is a choice. And being pleased is a certainty.
Tonight, I want to transcend all time and space. Not because of shame but because of the weight of being known too deeply by people who never earned the right.
“Miss Hemings.” A man’s voice cuts through the hush behind me.
I turn to find a guy standing just far enough away not to intrude, dressed in black-on-black Armani and the calm stillness of someone who doesn’t chase power because he already owns it.
“Mr. Beckett asked me to show you around.” His smooth British accent wraps around me like silk over bone. “He asked me to greet you and assist with your introduction.”
“And you are?”
“Justin.” He dips his chin with a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though he doesn’t offer his hand. “I’m Mateo’s right-hand man. But for tonight, I’m yours, should you still wish to proceed.”
His words hit deep, right between my ribs where doubt used to live. I study him for a moment.
The shape of his mouth. The quiet intelligence behind his gaze. He’s not trying to come on to me, and somehow, that makes him more dangerous. He isn’t flirting. He’s offering something rarer.
Control. The kind you hand over because it’s yours to give.
“I would like to continue.” My heart races in anticipation. “I take it you’re familiar with what I requested.”
He nods. “I am, and the space has already been prepared.”
“And them?”
“They know why they’re here. And more importantly, they understand the kind of woman they’re here for.”
I pause, letting that settle. “And you?”
“I’ll be present at first to ensure comfort, to calibrate the tone and the energy. But if you’d prefer me to stay...” His gaze lingers. “I can do more than set the scene.”
He doesn’t smile when he says it. And he doesn’t need to.
A thrum builds inside my chest. “But you know who I am. I don’t want to have any ties to my partners.”
“I understand.” He gestures for me to follow. “Maybe another time.”
We stroll down an intimate hallway lit by iron wall sconces that pulse a low amber light like the heartbeat of the building itself.
Each door we pass is marked with nothing but a brass number, discreet and cold against the warmth spilling from the rooms behind them.
Some of those rooms seem to breathe. Others sigh, but none of them open.
Until we reach the one meant for me.
“Chamber Eight.” Justin stops in front of a matte-black door with the number eight engraved flush with the leather-paneled wall. “This area is reserved for initiates and tailored experiences. You’ll have full autonomy and control over the entire evening.”
“That’s nice to know. Thank you.”
His hand hovers near the handle. “You requested an experience with two men with whom you’ll share no names. I’ve made sure they understand your terms, your boundaries, your preferences, and the strict code of devotion to you. No speaking unless necessary. You set the limits and command the pace.”
I steady my breath. “And the blindfold?”
“Of course.” He pulls out a folded black cloth from his inner jacket pocket. “You’ll see no faces. Just feel sensations.”
I nod and take a breath, knowing I’m about to have sex with two men I don’t know. I won’t be able to identify them after I leave tonight.
That’s part of the thrill because I don’t want to be Livianna Hemings. I don’t want to be the girl who loves too hard, or the woman who got left behind by men trying to be storms that try to wipe me out. I want to vanish without losing myself.
I never thought I would do something like this, but I don’t want to have any emotional attachments right now. Only physical pleasure that makes me see stars. The devotion piece is a pretend love and I’m okay with that.
Justin holds out the blindfold. “You understand there are windows around the room you’re entering. People will be watching you, but you won’t be able to see or hear them. You’ll never know who’s on the other side.”
“I understand and I consent to it all.” I don’t reach for the blindfold.
Instead, I stare past him toward the closed door, and for one fractured second, I wonder if Jaxon or Callum knows what tonight means.
Can they feel me crossing this line? Does some part of them ache, knowing they’re the reason I needed to seek this out in the first place?
“Shall I?” Justin asks gently.
“Not yet.” Chills scatter over my skin and adrenaline snakes up my spine. “What’s it like inside?”
“It’s a space designed for pure pleasure. You’re not expected to be anyone here. Not the woman they write about. Not the one who walked away from the stage. Just a goddess in the moment being worshiped by those who understand how to read your desires and fulfill your every wish.”
“That’s what I want.” I pull my hair back into a high ponytail and tilt my chin.
“Would you like me to place the blindfold now, or once you’re inside?”
“Now.”
The silk glides over my eyes like a kiss I vow to honor, and everything disappears. Sight. Direction. Judgment. My entire world narrows to sound, scent, physical sensations, and trust.
And the promise waiting behind that door. I shiver in response.
Justin’s fingers brush mine as he guides me forward. The door opens. And I’m led into a room where no one cares about my name, and for the first time in too long, neither do I.
The warmth hits first. It’s the kind of heat-cultivated anticipation that feels like breath held between strangers who already know how this ends.
The door closes behind me. A lock slides into place, not as a threat but as a promise. My heartbeat races.
And then silence. It’s not the cold, sterile kind. This is the hush of sexual tension. Of restrained hunger. Of something sacred coiled in the dark, waiting for permission to come undone.
The air carries a scent like an invitation full of amber resin, dark woods, and faint musk. It’s as if the room itself remembers every touch, every moan, and every boundary that’s ever been respected so thoroughly it became a poem.